FRANK FAIRLEGH

OR

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER I — ALL RIGHT! OFF WE GO!

“Yet here... you are stayed for
... There; my blessing with you,
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character——-”
“Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than living dully, sluggardis'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.”
“Where unbruised youth, with unstuff'd brain,
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.”
Shakspeare

“NEVER forget, under any circumstances, to think and act like a gentleman, and don't exceed your allowance,” said my father.

“Mind you read your Bible, and remember what I told you about wearing flannel waistcoats,” cried my mother.

And with their united “God bless you, my boy!” still ringing in my ears, I found myself inside the stage-coach, on my way to London.

Now, I am well aware that the correct thing for a boy in my situation (i.e. leaving home for the first time) would be to fall back on his seat, and into a reverie, during which, utterly lost to all external impressions, he should entertain the thoughts and feelings of a well-informed man of thirty; the same thoughts and feelings being clothed in the semi-poetic prose of a fashionable novel-writer. Deeply grieved, therefore, am I at being forced both to set at nought so laudable an established precedent, and to expose my own degeneracy. But the truth must be told at all hazards. The only feeling I experienced, beyond a vague sense of loneliness and desolation, was one of great personal discomfort. It rained hard, so that a small stream of water, which descended from the roof of the coach as I entered it, had insinuated itself between one of the flannel waistcoats, which formed so important an item in the maternal valediction, and my skin, whence, endeavouring to carry out what a logician would call the “law of its being,” by finding its own level, it placed me in the undesirable position of an involuntary disciple of the cold-water cure taking a “sitz-bad”. As to my thoughts, the reader shall have the full benefit of them, in the exact order in which they flitted through my brain.

First came a vague desire to render my position more comfortable, ending in a forlorn hope that intense and continued sitting might, by some undefined process of evaporation, cure the evil. This suggested a speculation, half pleasing and half painful, as to what would be my mother's feelings could she be aware of the state of things; the pleasure being the result of that mysterious preternatural delight which a boy always takes in everything at all likely to injure his health, or endanger his existence, and the pain arising from the knowledge that there was now no one near me to care whether I was comfortable or not. Again, these speculations merged into a sort of dreamy wonder, as to why a queer little old gentleman opposite (my sole fellow-traveller) was grunting like a pig, at intervals of about a minute, though he was wide awake the whole time; and whether a small tuft of hair, on a mole at the tip of his nose, could have anything to do with it. At this point my meditations were interrupted by the old gentleman himself, who, after a louder grunt than usual, gave vent to his feelings in the following speech, which was partly addressed to me and partly a soliloquy.

“Umph! going to school, my boy, eh?” then, in a lower tone, “Wonder why I called him my boy, when he's no such thing: just like me, umph!”

I replied by informing him that I was not exactly going to school—(I was nearly fifteen, and the word “school” sounded derogatory to my dignity)—but that, having been up to the present time educated at home by my father, I was now on my way to complete my studies under the care of a private tutor, who only received six pupils, a very different thing from a school, as I took the liberty of insinuating.

“Umph! different thing? You will cost more, learn less, and fancy yourself a man when you are a boy; that's the only difference I can see:” then came the aside—“Snubbing the poor child, when he's a peg too low already, just like me; umph!”

After which he relapsed into a silence which continued uninterrupted until we reached London, save once, while we were changing horses, when he produced a flask with a silver top, and, taking a sip himself, asked me if I drank brandy. On my shaking my head, with a smile caused by what appeared to me the utter wildness and desperation of the notion, he muttered:—

“Umph! of course he doesn't; how should he?—just like me”.

In due course of time we reached the Old Bell Inn, Holborn, where the coach stopped, and where my trunk and myself were to be handed over to the tender mercies of the coachman of the Rocket, a fast coach (I speak of the slow old days when railroads were unknown) which then ran to Helmstone, the watering-place where my future tutor, the Rev. Dr. Mildman, resided. My first impressions of London are scarcely worth recording, for the simple reason that they consisted solely of intense and unmitigated surprise at everything and everybody I saw and heard; which may be more readily believed when I add the fact that my preconceived notions of the metropolis had led me to imagine it perhaps might be twice the size of the town nearest to my father's house; in short, almost as large as Grosvenor Square.

Here, then, I parted company with my fellow-traveller, who took leave of me thus:—

“Umph! well, good-bye; be a good boy—good man, you'd like me to say, I suppose; man, indeed! umph! don't forget what your parents told you”; then adding, “Of course he will, what's the use of telling him not? just like me”;—he dived into the recesses of a hackney-coach, and disappeared.

Nothing worthy of note occurred during my journey to Helmstone, where we arrived at about half-past four in the afternoon. My feelings of surprise and admiration were destined once more to be excited on this (to me) memorable day, as, in my way from the coach-office to Langdale Terrace, where Dr. Mildman resided, I beheld, for the first time, that most stupendous work of God, the mighty Ocean; which, alike in its wild resistless freedom, and its miraculous obedience to the command, “Thus far shalt thou come, and no further,” bears at once the plainest print of its Almighty Creator's hand, while it affords a strong and convincing proof of His omnipotence.

On knocking at the door of Dr. Mildman's house (if the truth must be told, it was with a trembling hand I did so) it was opened by a man-servant, whose singularly plain features were characterised by an expression alternating between extreme civility and an intense appreciation of the ludicrous.

On mentioning my name, and asking if Dr. Mildman was at home, he replied:—

“Yes, sir, master's in, sir; so you're Mr. Fairlegh, sir, our new young gent, sir?” (here the ludicrous expression predominated); “hope you'll be comfortable, sir” (here he nearly burst into a laugh); “show you into master's study, sir, directly” (here he became preternaturally grave again); and, opening the study door, ushered me into the presence of the dreaded tutor.

On my entrance Dr. Mildman (for such I presumed a middle-aged gentleman, the sole tenant of the apartment, to be) rose from a library table, at which he had been seated, and, shaking me kindly by the hand, inquired after the health of my father and mother, what sort of journey I had had, and sundry other particulars of the like nature, evidently with the good-humoured design of putting me a little more at my ease, as I have no doubt the trepidation I was well aware of feeling inwardly, at finding myself tête-à-tête with a real live tutor, was written in very legible characters on my countenance. Dr. Mildman, whose appearance I studied with an anxious eye, was a gentlemanly-looking man of five-and-forty, or thereabouts, with a high bald forehead, and good features, the prevailing expression of which, naturally mild and benevolent, was at times chequered by that look which all schoolmasters sooner or later acquire—a look which seems to say, “Now, sir, do you intend to mind me or do you not?” Had it not been for this, and for an appearance of irresolution about the mouth, he would have been a decidedly fine-looking man. While I was making these observations he informed me that I had arrived just in time for dinner, and that the servant should show me to my sleeping apartment, whence, when I had sacrificed to the Graces (as he was pleased to call dressing), I was to descend to the drawing-room, and be introduced to Mrs. Mildman and my future companions.

My sleeping-room, which was rather a small garret than otherwise, was furnished, as it appeared to me, with more regard to economy than to the comfort of its inmate. At one end stood a small four-post bedstead, which, owing to some mysterious cause, chose to hold its near fore-leg up in the air, and slightly advanced, thereby impressing the beholder with the idea that it was about to trot into the middle of the room. On an unpainted deal table stood a looking-glass, which, from a habit it had of altering and embellishing the face of any one who consulted it, must evidently have possessed a strong natural taste for the ludicrous: an ancient washing-stand, supporting a basin and towel, and a dissipated-looking chair completed the catalogue.

And here, while preparing for the alarming ordeal I was so soon to undergo, let me present to the reader a slight sketch of myself, mental and bodily; and, as mind ought to take precedence of matter, I will attempt, as far as I am able after the lapse of time, to paint my character in true colours, “nought extenuating, nor setting down aught in malice”. I was, then, as the phrase goes, “a very well-behaved young gentleman”; that is, I had a great respect for all properly constituted authorities, and an extreme regard for the proprieties of life; was very particular about my shoes being clean, and my hat nicely brushed; always said “Thank you” when a servant handed me a plate, and “May I trouble you?” when I asked for a bit of bread. In short, I bade fair in time to become a thorough old bachelor; one of those unhappy mortals whose lives are alike a burthen to themselves and others—men who, by magnifying the minor household miseries into events of importance, are uneasy and suspicious about the things from the wash having been properly aired, and become low and anxious as the dreadful time approaches when clean sheets are inevitable! My ideas of a private tutor, derived chiefly from Sandford and Merton, and Evenings at Home, were rather wide of the mark, leading me to expect that Dr. Mildman would impart instruction to us during long rambles over green fields, and in the form of moral allegories, to which we should listen with respectful attention and affectionate esteem. With regard to my outward man, or rather boy, I should have been obliged to confine myself to such particulars as I could remember, namely, that I was tall for my age, but slightly built, and so thin, as often to provoke the application of such epithets as “hop-pole,” “thread-paper,” etc., had it not been that, in turning over some papers a few days since, I stumbled on a water-colour sketch of myself, which I well remember being taken by a young artist in the neighbourhood, just before I left home, in the hope of consoling my mother for my departure. It represented a lad about fifteen, in a picturesque attitude, feeding a pony out of a very elegant little basket, with what appeared to be white currants, though I have every reason to believe they were meant for oats. The aforesaid youth rejoiced in an open shirt-collar and black ribbon à la Byron, curling hair of a dark chestnut colour, regular features, a high forehead, complexion like a girl's, very pink and white, and a pair of large blue eyes, engaged in regarding the white currant oats with intense surprise, as well indeed they might. Whether this young gentleman bore more resemblance to me than the currants did to oats, I am, of course, unable to judge; but, as the portrait represented a very handsome boy, I hope none of my readers will be rude enough to doubt that it was a striking likeness.

I now proceeded to render myself thoroughly wretched, by attempting to extricate the articles necessary for a change of dress from the very bottom of my trunk, where, according to the nature of such things, they had hidden themselves; grammars, lexicons, and other like “Amenities of Literature,” being the things that came to hand most readily. Scarcely had I contrived to discover a wearable suit when I was informed that dinner was on the table; so, hastily tumbling into my clothes, and giving a final peep at the facetious looking-glass, the result of which was to twist the bow of my Byron tie under my left ear, in the belief that I was thereby putting it straight, I rushed downstairs, just in time to see the back of the hindmost pupil disappear through the dining-room door.

“Better late than never, Fairlegh. Mrs. Mildman, this is Fairlegh; he can sit by you, Coleman;—'For what we are going to receive,' etc.;—Thomas, the carving-knife.”

Such was the address with which my tutor greeted my entrance, and, during its progress, I popped into a seat indicated by a sort of half wink from Thomas, resisting by a powerful act of self-control a sudden impulse which seized me to bolt out of the room, and do something rash but indefinite, between going to sea and taking prussic acid; not quite either, but partaking of the nature of both. “Take soup, Fairlegh?” said Dr. Mildman. “Thank you, sir, if you please.”

“A pleasant journey, had you?” inquired Mrs. Mildman.

“Not any, I am much obliged to you,” I replied, thinking of the fish.

This produced a total silence, during which the pupils exchanged glances, and Thomas concealed an illicit smile behind the bread-basket.

“Does your father,” began Dr. Mildman in a very grave and deliberate manner, “does your father shoot?—boiled mutton, my dear?”

I replied that he had given it up of late years, as the fatigue was too much for him.

“Oh! I was very fond of carrying a gun—pepper-when I was-a spoon-at Oxford; I could hit a—mashed potato—bird as well as most men; yes, I was very sorry to give up my double-barrel—ale, Thomas.”

“You came inside, I believe?” questioned Mrs. Mildman, a lady possessing a shadowy outline, indistinct features faintly characterised by an indefinite expression, long ringlets of an almost impossible shade of whity-brown, and a complexion and general appearance only to be described by the term “washed out”.

“Yes, all the way, ma'am.”

“Did you not dislike it very much? it creases one's gown so, unless it is a merino or mousseline-de-laine; but one can't always wear them, you know.”

Not being in the least prepared with a suitable answer, I merely made what I intended to be an affirmative ahem, in doing which a crumb of bread chose to go the wrong way, producing a violent fit of coughing, in the agonies of which I seized and drank off Dr. Mildman's tumbler of ale, mistaking it for my own small beer. The effect of this, my crowning gaucherie, was to call forth a languid smile on the countenance of the senior pupil, a tall young man, with dark hair, and a rather forbidding expression of face, which struggled only too successfully with an attempt to look exceedingly amiable; which smile was repeated with variations by all the others.

“I'm afraid you do not distinctly perceive the difference between those important pronouns, meum and tuum, Fairlegh? Thomas, a clean glass!” said Dr. Mildman, with a forced attempt at drollery; but Thomas had evaporated suddenly, leaving no clue to his whereabouts, unless sundry faint sounds of suppressed laughter outside the door, indicating, as I fancied, his extreme appreciation of my unfortunate mistake, proceeded from him.

It is, I believe, a generally received axiom that all mortal affairs must sooner or later come to an end; at all events, the dinner I have been describing did not form an exception to the rule. In due time Mrs. Mildman disappeared, after which Dr. Mildman addressed a remark or two about Greek tragedy to the tall pupil, which led to a dissertation on the merits of a gentleman named Prometheus, who, it seemed, was bound in some peculiar way, but whether this referred to his apprenticeship to any trade, or to the cover of the book containing his history, did not appear. This conversation lasted about ten minutes, at the expiration of which the senior pupil “grinned horribly a ghastly smile” at the others, who instantly rose, and conveyed themselves out of the room with such rapidity that I, being quite unprepared for such a proceeding, sat for a moment in silent amazement, and then, becoming suddenly alive to a sense of my situation, rushed frantically after them. My speed was checked somewhat abruptly by a door at the end of the passage being violently slammed in my face, for which polite attention I was indebted to the philanthropy of the hindmost pupil, who thereby imposed upon me the agreeable task of feeling in the dark for a door-handle in an unknown locality. After fumbling for some time, in a state of the greatest bewilderment I at length opened the door, and beheld the interior of the “pupils' room,” which, for the benefit of such of my readers as may never have seen the like, I will now endeavour shortly to describe.

The parlour devoted to the pupils' use was of a good size, nearly square, and, like the cabin of a certain “ould Irish gentleman,” appeared to be fitted up with “nothing at all for show”. In three of the corners stood small tables covered with books and writing materials for the use of Dr. Mildman and the two senior pupils; in the fourth was a book-case. The centre of the room was occupied by a large square table, the common property of the other pupils; while a carpet, “a little the worse for wear,” and sundry veteran chairs, rather crazy from the treatment to which many generations of pupils had subjected them (a chair being the favourite projectile in the event of a shindy), completed the catalogue. Mr. Richard Cumberland, the senior pupil, was lounging in an easy attitude on one side of the fireplace; on the other stood, bolt upright, a lad rather older than myself, with a long unmeaning face, and a set of arms and legs which appeared not to belong to one another. This worthy, as I soon learned, responded to the name of Nathaniel Mullins, and usually served as the butt of the party in the absence of newer or worthier game. Exactly in front of the fire, with his coat-tails under his arms, and his legs extended like a pair of compasses, was stationed Mr. George Lawless, who, having been expelled from one of the upper forms at Eton for some heroic exploit which the head master could not be persuaded to view in its proper light, was sent to vegetate for a year or two at Dr. Mildman's ere he proceeded to one of the universities. This gentleman was of rather a short thick-set figure, with a large head, and an expression of countenance resembling that of a bull when the animal “means mischief,” and was supposed by his friends to be more “thoroughly wide awake” than any one of his years in the three kingdoms. The quartette was completed by Mr. Frederick Coleman, a small lad, with a round merry face, who was perched on the back of a chair, with his feet resting on the hob, and his person so disposed as effectually to screen every ray of fire from Nathaniel Mullins.

“You are not cold, Fairlegh? Don't let me keep the fire from you,” said Lawless, without, however, showing the slightest intention of moving. “Not very, thank you.”

“Eh! quite right—glad to hear it. It's Mildman's wish that, during the first half, no pupil should come on the hearthrug. I made a point of conscience of it myself when I first came. The Spartans, you know, never allowed their little boys to do so, and even the Athenians, a much more luxurious people, always had their pinafores made of asbestos, or some such fireproof stuff. You are well read in Walker's History of Greece, I hope?” I replied that I was afraid I was not. “Never read Hookeyus Magnus? Your father ought to be ashamed of himself for neglecting you so. You are aware, I suppose, that the Greeks had a different sort of fire from what we burn nowadays? You've heard of Greek fire?”

I answered that I had, but did not exactly understand what it meant.

“Not know that, either? disgraceful! Well, it was a kind of way they had of flaring up in those times, a sort of 'light of other days,' which enabled them to give their friends a warm reception; so much so, indeed, that their friends found it too warm sometimes, and latterly they usually reserved it for their enemies. Mind you remember all this, for it is one of the first things old Sam will be sure to ask you.”

Did my ears deceive me? Could he have called the tutor, the dreaded tutor, “old Sam”? I trembled as I stood—plain, unhonoured “Sam,” as though he had spoken of a footman! The room turned round with me. Alas for Sandford and Merton, and affectionate and respectful esteem!

“But how's this?” continued Lawless, “we have forgotten to introduce you in form to your companions, and to enter your name in the books of the establishment; why, Cumberland, what were you thinking of?”

“Beg pardon,” rejoined Cumberland, “I really was so buried in thought, trying to solve that problem about bisecting the Siamese twins—you know it, Lawless? However, it is not too late, is it? Allow me to introduce you, Mr. Fairplay———”

“Legh, sir,” interrupted I.

“Ah, exactly; well, then, Mr. Fairlegh, let me introduce this gentleman, Mr. George Lawless, who has, if I mistake not, been already trying, with his usual benevolence, to supply a few of your deficiencies; he is, if he will allow me to say so, one of the most rising young men of his generation, one of the firmest props of the glorious edifice of our rights and privileges.”

“A regular brick,” interposed Coleman. “Hold your tongue, Freddy: little boys should be seen and not heard, as Tacitus tells us,” said Lawless, reprovingly.

The only reply to this, if reply it could be called, was something which sounded to me like a muttered reference to the Greek historian Walker, whom Lawless had so lately mentioned; and Cumberland continued:—

“You will pay great attention to everything Lawless tells you, and endeavour to improve by following his example, at a respectful distance—ahem! The gentleman on your right hand, Mr. Mullins, who is chiefly remarkable for looking ['like a fool,' put in Coleman, sotto voce], before he leaps, so long, that in general he postpones leaping altogether, and is in the habit of making ['an ass of himself,' suggested Coleman]—really, Freddy, I am surprised at you—of making two bites at a cherry—you will be better able to appreciate when you know more of him. As to my young friend Freddy here, his naturally good abilities and amiable temper ['Draw it mild, old fellow!' interrupted the young gentleman in question] have interested us so much in his favour that we cannot but view with regret a habit he has of late fallen into, of turning everything into ridicule ['What a pity!' from the same individual], together with a lamentable addiction to the use of slang terms. Let me hope his association with such a polished young gentleman as Mr. Fairlegh may improve him in these particulars.”

“Who drank Mildman's ale at dinner?” asked Coleman; “if that's a specimen of his polished manners, I think mine take the shine out of them, rather.” "I assure you,” interrupted I, eagerly, “I never was more distressed in my life; it was quite a mistake.”

“Pretty good mistake—Hodgson's pale ale for Muddytub's swipes—eh, Mull?” rejoined Coleman.

“I believe you,” replied Mullins.

“Well, now for entering your name; that's important, you know,” said Lawless; “you had better ring the bell, and tell Thomas to bring the books.”

I obeyed, and when Thomas made his appearance informed him of my desire to enter my name in the books of the establishment, which I begged he would bring for that purpose. A look of bewilderment that came over his face on hearing my request changed to an expression of intelligence, as, after receiving some masonic sign from Lawless, he replied:—

“The books, sir; yes, sir; bring 'em directly, sir “.

After a few minutes he returned with two small, not overclean, books, ruled with blue lines. One of these Lawless took from him, opened with much ceremony, and, covering the upper part of the page with a bit of blotting paper, pointed to a line, and desired me to write my name and age, as well as the date of my arrival, upon it. The .same ceremony was repeated with the second.

“That's all right: now let's see how it reads,” said he, and, removing the blotting paper, read as follows: “'Pair of Wellingtons, £1 15s.; satin stock, 25s.; cap ribbon for Sally Duster, 2s. 6d.; box of cigars, £1 16s. (mem. shocking bad lot)—5th Nov., Francis Fairlegh, aged 15'.—So much for that; now, let's see the next: 'Five shirts, four pair of stockings, six pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of white ducks—5th Nov., Francis Fairlegh, aged 15'.”

Here his voice was drowned in a roar of laughter from the whole party assembled, Thomas included, during which the true state of the case dawned upon me, viz.—that I had, with much pomp and ceremony, entered my name, age, and the date of my arrival in Mr. George Lawless's private account and washing books!

My thoughts, as I laid my aching head upon my pillow that night, were not of the most enviable nature. Leaving for the first time the home where I had lived from childhood, and in which I had met with affection and kindness from all around me, had been a trial under which my fortitude would most assuredly have given way, but for the brilliant picture my imagination had very obligingly sketched of the happy family of which I was about to become a member; in the foreground of which stood a group of fellow-pupils, a united brotherhood of congenial souls,, containing three bosom friends at the very least, anxiously awaiting my arrival with outstretched arms of welcome. Now, however, this last hope had failed me; for, innocent (or, as Coleman would have termed it, green) as I then was, I could not but perceive that the tone of mock politeness assumed towards me by Cumberland and Lawless was merely a convenient cloak for impertinence, which could be thrown aside at any moment when a more open display of their powers of tormenting should seem advisable. In fact (though I was little aware of the pleasures in store for me), I had already seen enough to prove that the life of a private pupil was not exactly “all my fancy painted it”; and, as the misery of leaving those I loved proved in its “sad reality” a much more serious affair than I had imagined, the result of my cogitations was, that I was a very unhappy boy (I did not feel the smallest inclination to boast myself man at that moment), and that, if something very much to my advantage did not turn up in the course of the next twenty-four hours, my friends would have the melancholy satisfaction of depositing a broken heart (which, on the principle of the Kilkenny cats, was all I expected would remain of me by that time) in an early grave. Hereabouts my feelings becoming too many for me at the thought of my own funeral, I fairly gave up the struggle, and, bursting into a flood of tears, cried myself to sleep, like a child.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER II — LOSS AND GAIN

“And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw
rheumatic day?”
“His thefts were too open; his filching was like an
unskilful singer, he kept not time.... Convey, the wise
it call. 'Steal!' foh! a fico for the phrase!”—
Shakspeare.
“From Greenland's icy mountains.”—Heber.

AMONGST the minor phenomena which are hourly occurring in the details of everyday life, although we are seldom sufficiently close observers to perceive them, there is none more remarkable than the change wrought in our feelings and ideas by a good night's rest; and never was this change more strikingly exemplified than on the present occasion. I had fallen asleep in the act of performing the character of chief-mourner at my own funeral, and I awoke in the highest possible health and spirits, with a strong determination never to “say die” under any conceivable aspect affairs might assume. “What in the world,” said I to myself, as I sprang out of bed, and began to dress,—“What in the world was there for me to make myself so miserable about last night? Suppose Cumberland and Lawless should laugh at, and tease me a little at first, what does it signify? I must take it in good part as long as I can, and if that does not do I must speak seriously to them—tell them they really annoy me and make me uncomfortable, and then, of course, they will leave off. As to Coleman, I am certain———Well, it's very odd!”—this last remark was elicited by the fact that a search I had been making for some minutes, in every place possible and impossible, for that indispensable article of male attire, my trousers, had proved wholly ineffectual, although I had a distinct recollection of having placed them carefully on a chair by my bedside the previous night. There, however, they certainly were not now, nor, as far as I could discover, anywhere else in the room. Under these circumstances, ringing the bell for Thomas seemed advisable, as it occurred to me that he had probably abstracted the missing garment for the purpose of brushing. In a few moments he answered the summons, and, with a face bright from the combined effects of a light heart and a severe application of yellow soap, inquired, “if I had rung for my shaving water?”

“Why, no—-I do not—that is, it was not—I seldom shave of a morning; for the fact is, I have no beard to shave as yet.”

“Oh, sir, that's no reason; there's Mr. Coleman's not got the leastest westige of a hair upon his chin, and he's been mowing away with the greatest of persewerance for the last six months, and sends his rashier to be ground every three weeks, regilar, in order to get a beard—but what can I do for you, sir?”

“Why,” replied I, trying to look grave, “it's very odd, but I have lost—that is, I can't find—my trousers anywhere. I put them on this chair last night, I know.”

“Umph! that's sing'lar, too; I was just a coming upstairs to brush 'em for you; you did not hear anybody come into your room after you went to bed, did you, sir?”

“No; but then I was so tired—I slept as sound as a top.”

“Ah! I shouldn't much wonder if Mr. Coleman knew something about 'em: perhaps you had better put on another pair, and, if I can find 'em, I'll bring 'em back after breakfast.”

This was very good advice, and, therefore, of course, impossible to follow; for, on examining my trunk, lo and behold! dress pantaloons, white ducks, et hoc genus omne, had totally disappeared, and I seemed to stand a very good chance of making my first appearance at my tutor's breakfast-table in an extemporary “kilt,” improvised for the occasion out of two towels and a checked neckcloth. In this extremity Thomas, as a last resource, knocked at Coleman's door, informing him that I should be glad to speak to him—a proceeding speedily followed by the appearance of that gentleman in propria persona.

“Good-morning, Fairlegh! hope you slept well. You are looking cold; had not you better get some clothes on? Mildman will be down in a minute, and there will be a pretty row if we are not all there; he's precious particular, I can tell you.”

“That is exactly what I want to do,” replied I; “but the fact is, somebody has taken away all my trousers in the night.”

“Bless me! you don't say so? Another case of pilfering! this is getting serious: I will call Lawless—I say, Lawless!” “Well, what's the row?” was the reply. “Have the French landed? or is the kitchen chimney on fire? eh! What do I behold! Fairlegh, lightly and elegantly attired in nothing but his shirt, and Thomas standing like Niobe, the picture of woe! Here's a sight for a father!”

“Why, it's a bad job,” said Coleman; “do you know, here's another case of pilfering; Fairlegh has had all his trousers stolen in the night.”

“You don't say so!” rejoined Lawless: “what is to be done? It must be stopped somehow: we had better tell him all we know about it. Thomas, leave the room.”

Thomas obeyed, giving me a look of great intelligence, the meaning of which, however, I was totally at a loss to conceive, as he went; and Lawless continued:—

“I am afraid you will hardly believe us,—it is really a most unheard-of thing,—but we have lately missed a great many of our clothes, and we have every reason to suspect (I declare I can scarcely bear to mention it) that Mildman takes them himself, fancying, of course, that, placed by his position so entirely above suspicion, he may do it with impunity. We have suspected this for some time; and lately one or two circumstances—old clothesmen having been observed leaving his study, a pawn-ticket falling out of his waistcoat pocket one day as he went out of our parlour, etc.—have put the matter beyond a doubt; but he has never gone to such an extent as this before. Mind you don't mention a word of this to Thomas, for, bad as Mildman is, one would not wish to show him up before his own servant.”

“Good gracious!” cried I, “but you are joking, it never can be really true!” Reading, however, in the solemn, not to say distressed, expression of their faces indisputable evidence of the reality of the accusation, I continued: “I had no idea such things ever could take place, and he a clergyman, too!—dreadful! but what in the world am I to do? I have not got a pair of trousers to put on. Oh! if he would but have taken anything else, even my watch instead, I should not have minded—what shall I do?”

“Why really,” replied Coleman, “it is not so easy to advise: you can't go down as you are, that's certain. Suppose you were to wrap yourself up in a blanket, and go and tell him you have found him out, and that you will call a policeman if he does not give you your clothes instantly; have it out with him fairly, and check the thing effectually once for all—eh?”

“No, that won't do,” said Lawless. “I should say, sit down quietly (how cold you must be!) and write him a civil note, saying, that you had reason to believe he had borrowed your trousers (that's the way I should put it), and that you would be very much gratified by his lending you a pair to wear to-day; and then you can stick in something about your having been always accustomed to live with people who were very particular in regard to dress, and that you are sorry you are obliged to trouble him for such a trifle; in fact, do a bit of the respectful, and then pull up short with 'obedient pupil,' etc.”

“Ay, that's the way to do it,” said Coleman, “in the shop-fellow's style, you know—much obliged for past favours, and hope for a continuance of the same—more than you do, though, Fairlegh, I should fancy; but there goes the bell—I am off,” and away he scudded, followed by Lawless humming:—

“Brian O'Lynn had no breeches to wear,
So he took an old catskin, and made him a pair.”

Here was a pretty state of things: the breakfast bell had rung, and I, who considered being too late a crime of the first magnitude, was unable even to begin dressing from the melancholy fact that every pair of trousers I possessed in the world had disappeared; while, to complete my misery, I was led to believe the delinquent who had abstracted them was no less a person than the tutor, whom I had come fully prepared to regard with feelings of the utmost respect and veneration.

However, in such a situation, thinking over my miseries was worse than useless; something must be done at once—but what? Write the note as Lawless had advised? No, it was useless to think of that; I felt I could not do it. “Ah! a bright idea!—I'll try it.” So, suiting the action to the word, I rang the bell, and then jumping into bed muffled myself up in the bedclothes.

“Well, sir, have you found them?” asked Thomas, entering.

“No, Thomas,” replied I dolefully, “nor ever shall, I fear; but will you go to 'Dr. Mildman, and tell him, with my respects, that I cannot get up to breakfast this morning, and, if he asks what is the matter with me, say that I am prevented from coming down by severe cold. I am sure that is true enough,” added I, shivering.

“Well, sir, I will, if you wish it; but I don't exactly see the good of it; you must get up some time or other.”

“I don't know,” replied I gloomily, “we shall see; only do you take my message.”

And he accordingly left the room, muttering as he did so, “Well, I calls this a great deal too bad, and I'll tell master of it myself, if nobody else won't”.

“Tell master of it himself!”—he also suspected him then. This crushed my last faint hope that, after all, it might turn out to be only a trick of the pupils; and, overpowered by the utter vileness and depravity of him who was set in authority over me, I buried my face in the pillow, feeling a strong inclination to renew the lamentations of the preceding night. Not many minutes had elapsed when the sound of a heavy footstep slowly ascending the stairs attracted my attention. I raised my head, and beheld the benevolent countenance (for even then it certainly did wear a benevolent expression) of my wicked tutor, regarding me with a mingled look of scrutiny and pity.

“Why, Fairlegh, what's all this?—Thomas tells me you are not able to come down to breakfast; you are not ill, I hope?”

“No, sir,” replied I, “I don't think I am very ill, but I can't come down to breakfast.”

“Not ill, and yet you can't come down to breakfast! pray, what in the world prevents you?”

“Perhaps,” said I (for I was becoming angry at what I considered his unparalleled effrontery, and thought I would give him a hint that he could not deceive me so easily as he seemed to expect), “perhaps you can tell that better than I can.”

"I, my boy!—I'm afraid not; my pretensions to the title of doctor are based on divinity, not physic:—however, put out your tongue—that's right enough; let me feel your hand—a little cold or so, but nothing to signify; did this kind of seizure ever happen to you at home?”

Well, this was adding insult to injury with a vengeance; not content with stealing my clothes himself, but actually asking me whether such things did not happen at home! The wretch! thought I; does he suppose that everybody is as wicked as himself?

“No,” I answered, my voice trembling with the anger I was scarcely able to repress; “no, sir, such a thing never could happen in my dear father's house.”

“There, don't agitate yourself; you seem excited: perhaps you had better lie in bed a little longer; I will send you up something warm, and after that you may feel more inclined to get up,” said he kindly, adding to himself, as he left the room, “Very strange boy—I can't make him out at all”.

The door closed, and I was once more alone. “Is he guilty or not guilty?” thought I; “if he really has taken the clothes, he is the most accomplished hypocrite I ever heard of; yet he must have done so, everything combines to prove it—Thomas's speech—nay, even his own offer of sending me 'something warm'; something warm, indeed! what do I want with anything warm, except my trousers? No! the fact was beyond dispute; they were gone, and he had stolen them, whilst I, unhappy youth, was entirely in his power, and had not therefore a chance of redress. 'But I will not bear it,' cried I, 'I'll write to my father—I'll run away—I'll———'”

“Hurrah!” shouted Thomas, rushing into the room with his arm full of clothes, “here they are, sir; I have found the whole kit of them at last.”

“Where?” exclaimed I eagerly.

“Where? why in such a queer place!” replied he, “stuffed up the chimbley in master's study; but I have given them a good brushing, and they are none the worse for it, except them blessed white ducks; they are almost black ducks now, though they will wash, so that don't signify none.”

“Up the chimney, in master's study!” here was at last proof positive; my clothes had been actually found in his possession—oh, the wickedness of this world!

“But how did you ever find them?” asked I.

“Why! I happened to go in to fetch something, and I see'd a little bit of the leg of one of them hanging down the chimbley, so I guessed how it all was, directly. I think I know how they got there, too; they did not walk there by themselves, I should say.”

“I wish they had,” muttered I.

“I thought somebody was up too early this morning to be about any good,” continued he; “he is never out of bed till the last moment, without there's some mischief in the wind.”

This was pretty plain speaking, however. Thomas was clearly as well aware of his master's nefarious practices as the pupils themselves, and Lawless's amiable desire to conceal Dr. Mildman's sins from his servant's knowledge was no longer of any avail. I hastened, therefore (the only reason for silence being thus removed), to relieve my mind from the burden of just indignation which was oppressing it.

“And can you, Thomas,” exclaimed I, with flashing eyes, “remain the servant of a man who dares thus to outrage every law, human and divine? one who having taken upon himself the sacred office of a clergyman of the Church of England, and so made it his especial duty to set a good example to all around him, can take advantage of the situation in which he is placed in regard to his pupils, and actually demean himself by purloining the clothes of the young men” (I felt five-and-twenty at the very least at that moment) “committed to his charge?—why, my father———”

What I imagined my father would have said or done under these circumstances was fated to remain a mystery, as my eloquence was brought to a sudden conclusion by my consternation, when a series of remarkable phenomena, which had been developing themselves during my harangue in the countenance of Thomas, terminated abruptly in what appeared to me a fit of most unmitigated insanity. A look of extreme astonishment, which he had assumed at the beginning of my speech, had given place to an expression of mingled surprise and anger as I continued; which again in its turn had yielded to a grin of intense amusement, growing every moment broader and broader, accompanied by a spasmodic twitching of his whole person; and, as I mentioned his master's purloining my trousers, he suddenly sprang up from the floor nearly a yard high, and commenced an extempore pas seul of a Jim Crow character, which he continued with unabated vigour during several minutes. This “Mazurka d'ecstase,” or whatever a ballet-master would have called it, having at length, to my great joy, concluded, the performer of it sank exhausted into a chair, and regarding me with a face still somewhat the worse for his late violent exertions favoured me with the following geographical remark:—

“Well, I never did believe in the existence of sich a place as Greenland before, but there's nowhere else as you could have come from, sir, I am certain.”

“Eh! why! what's the matter with you? have I done anything particularly 'green,' as you call it? what are you talking about?” said I, not feeling exactly pleased at the reception my virtuous indignation had met with.

“Oh! don't be angry, sir; I am sure I did not mean to offend you; but really I could not help it, when I heard you say about master's having stole your things. Oh lor!” he added, holding his sides with both hands, “how my precious sides do ache, sure-ly!”

“Do you consider that any laughing matter?” said I, still in the dark.

“Oh! don't, sir, don't say it again, or you will be the death of me,” replied Thomas, struggling against a relapse; “why, bless your innocence, what could ever make you think master would take your clothes?”

“Make me think? why, Lawless told me so,” answered I, “and he also said it was not the first time such a thing had occurred either.”

“You'll have enough to do, sir, if you believe all our young gents tell you; why, master would as soon think of flying as of stealing anything. It was Mr. Coleman as put them up the chimbley; he's always a playing some trick or another for everlasting.”

A pause ensued, during which the whole affair in its true bearings became for the first time clear to my mind's eye; the result of my cogitations may be gathered from the following remark, which escaped me as it were involuntarily—“What a confounded ass I have made of myself, to be sure!”

Should any of my readers be rude enough to agree with me in this particular, let them reflect for a moment on the peculiar position in which I was placed. Having lived from childhood in a quiet country parsonage, with my father and mother, and a sister younger than myself, as my sole companions, “mystification”—that is, telling deliberate falsehoods by way of a joke—was a perfectly novel idea to me; and, when that joke involved the possibility of such serious consequences as offending the tutor under whose care we were placed, I (wholly ignorant of the impudence and recklessness of public school boys) considered such a solution of the mystery inconceivable. Moreover, everything around me was so strange, and so entirely different from the habits of life in which I had been hitherto brought up, that for the time my mind was completely bewildered. I appeared to have lost my powers of judgment, and to have relapsed, as far as intellect was concerned, into childhood again. My readers must excuse this digression, but it appeared to me necessary to explain how it was possible for a lad of fifteen to have been made the victim of such a palpably absurd deception without its involving the necessity of his not being “so sharp as he should be”.

The promised “something warm” made its appearance ere long, in the shape of tea and toast, which, despite my alarming seizure, I demolished with great gusto in bed (for I did not dare to get up), feeling, from the fact of my having obtained it under false pretences, very like a culprit all the while. Having finished my breakfast, and allowed sufficient time to elapse for my recovery, I got up, and, selecting a pair of trousers which appeared to have suffered less from their sojourn in the chimney than the others, dressed myself, and soon after eleven o'clock made my appearance in the pupils' room, where I found Dr. Mildman seated at his desk, and the pupils apparently very hard at work.

“How do you find yourself now you are up, Fairlegh?” inquired my tutor kindly.

“Quite well, sir, thank you,” I replied, feeling like an impostor.

“Quite recovered?” continued he.

“Everything—entirely, I mean,” stammered I, thinking of my trousers.

“That's well, and now let us see what kind of Latin and Greek lining you have got to your head.”

So saying, without appearing to notice the tittering of the pupils, he pointed to a seat by his side, and commenced what I considered a very formidable examination, with the view of eliciting the extent of my acquaintance with the writers of antiquity, which proved to be extremely select. When he had thoroughly satisfied (or dissatisfied) himself upon this point, he recommended Horace and Xenophon to my particular notice, adding, that Coleman was also directing his attention to the sayings and doings of the same honourable and learned gentlemen—and that, therefore, we were to work together. He then explained to me certain rules and regulations of his establishment, to which he added a few moral remarks, conveying the information, that, if I always did exactly what he considered right, and scrupulously avoided everything he deemed wrong, I might relieve my mind from all fears of his displeasure, which was, to say the least, satisfactory, if not particularly original.

Exactly as the clock struck one Dr. Mildman left the room (the morning's “study,” as it was called, ending at that hour), leaving us our own masters till five, at which time we dined. Lest any kind reader should fancy we were starved, let me add, that at half-past one a substantial luncheon was provided, of which we might partake or not as we pleased. As well as I remember we generally did graciously incline towards the demolition of the viands, unless “metal more attractive” awaited us elsewhere—but I am digressing.

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CHAPTER III — COLD-WATER CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE

“Oh! grief for words too deep,
From all his loved ones parted,
He could not choose but weep,
He was so lonely-hearted.”
—Shortfellow.

“How does the water come down at Lodore?
Dashing and flashing, and splashing and clashing,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.”
—Southey.

“PRAY, Fairlegh, what did you mean by not coming down till eleven o'clock?” asked Cumberland in an angry tone.

“Did its mamma say it was always to have its breakfast in bed, a dear?” sneered Lawless.

“When she fastened that pretty square collar round its neck,” chimed in Coleman.

“Just like a great gal,” added Mullins.

“Mildman was exceedingly angry about it, I can tell you,” continued Cumberland, “and desired me to speak seriously to you on the subject; such abominable idleness is not to be tolerated.”

“It was not idleness,” answered I, warmly; “you all know very well, why I could not come down, and I don't think it was at all right or kind of you to play me such a trick.”

“Eh—now don't say that—you will hurt my feelings; I declare it is quite affecting,” said Coleman, wiping his eyes with Mullins's handkerchief, of which he had just picked his pocket.

"I'd have given five pounds to have seen old Sam's phiz, when he was trying to make out what ailed young stupid here, whether he was really ill, or only shamming,” said Lawless; “depend upon it, he thinks it was all pretence, and he can't bear anything of that sort; that was why he began spinning him that long yarn about 'meriting his approbation by upright and straightforward conduct,' this morning. I saw what the old boy was aiming at in a minute; there's nothing puts him out so much as being deceived.”

“Won't he set him all the hard lines to construe, that's all!” said Mullins.

“It will be 'hard lines' upon him if he does,” observed Coleman.

“Hold your tongue, Freddy! your puns are enough to make one ill,” said Cumberland.

“Well, I don't know whether you are going to stand here all day baiting your pinafore, Cumberland?” interrupted Lawless; “I'm not, for I've got a horse waiting for me down at Snaffles's, and I am going to ride over to Hookley; there's a pigeon-match coming off to-day between Clayton, of the Lancers—(he was just above me at Eton, you know)—and Tom Horton, who won the great match at Pinchley, and I have backed Clayton pretty heavily—shall you come?”

“No,” replied Cumberland, “no, I am going down to F———Street.”

“As usual, the board of green cloth, eh? you will go there once too often, if you don't mind, old fellow.” “That's my look out,” replied Cumberland. And away they went to their different pursuits, each, as he left the room, making me a very low obeisance; Coleman taking the trouble to open the door again after he had gone out, to beg, “that, if I were going to write to my mother, I would tell her, with his love, that she need not make herself in the least uneasy, as he had quite got over his last little attack”. In a few minutes they had all quitted the house, and I remained the sole tenant of the pupils' room.

Many a long year has passed over my head since the day I am now describing, and each (though my life has been on the whole as free from care as that of most of the sons of Adam) has brought with it some portion of sorrow or suffering to temper the happiness I have enjoyed, and teach me the much required lesson, that “here we have no abiding place”. I have lived to see bright hopes fade—high and noble aspirations fall to the ground, checked by the sordid policy of worldly men—and the proud hearts which gave them birth become gradually debased to the level of those around them, or break in the unequal struggle—and these things have pained me. I have beheld those dear to me stretched upon the bed of sickness, and taken from me by the icy hand of death; and have deemed, as the grave closed over them, that my happiness, as far as this world was concerned, was buried with them. I have known (and this was grief indeed) those loved with all the warm and trustful confidence of youth prove false and unworthy of such deep affection; and have wished, in the bitterness of my soul, that the pit had shut her mouth upon me also, so I had but died with my faith in them unshaken. Still, although such sorrows as these may have produced a more deep and lasting effect, I do not remember ever to have felt more thoroughly desolate than upon the present occasion. The last scene, though trifling in itself, had made a great impression upon me, from the fact that it proved, as I considered, the animus of the pupils towards me. “Every man's hand was against me.” Even the oaf Mullins might insult me with impunity; secure that, in so doing, if in nothing else, he would be supported by the rest. Then I had offended my tutor, all my predilections in whose favour had returned with double force, since I had satisfied myself that he was not addicted to the commission of petty larceny; offended him by allowing him to suppose that I had practised a mean deception upon him. Moreover, it was impossible to explain my conduct to him without showing up Coleman, an extreme measure for which I was by no means prepared. Besides, every one would think, if I were to do so, that I was actuated by a paltry spirit of malice, and that would have been worse to bear than anything. No—turn my gaze to whichever side I. would, the horizon seemed alike clouded; there was no comfort for me anywhere. I looked at my watch—two o'clock! Three long hours to dinner-time, in which I might do what I liked. What I liked! there was mockery in the very sound. What was there for me to do? go out and see more new faces looking coldly on me, and wander up and down in strange places alone, amidst a crowd? No! I had not the heart to do that. Sit down, and write home, and by telling them how miserable I was, render them unhappy too?—that was worst of all. At length I found a book, and began reading as it were mechanically, but so little was I able to fix my attention that, had I been questioned at the end of the time as to the subject of the work I had been perusing, I should have been utterly at a loss for an answer. I had fairly given it up as hopeless, and closed the book, when I heard footsteps in the passage, followed by the sudden apparition of the ever-smiling Mr. Frederick Coleman, who, closing the door after him, accosted me as follows:—

“What, Fairlegh, all in the downs, old fellow?—'never say die!'—come, be jolly—look at me”.

As he said this I involuntarily raised my eyes to his features, and certainly if ever there were a face formed for banishing blue devils by a glance, it was his. It was a round face, not remarkable for beauty of outline, inasmuch as it bore a strong resemblance to that of the gentleman on the blue China plates, in two pigtails and a petticoat, who appears to pass a mild ornithological and botanical existence in studying intently certain fishy-looking birds, and a cannon-ball tree, which form the leading feature of the landscape in his vicinity. With regard to expression, however, Coleman had a decided advantage over the Chinese horticulturist, for, whereas the countenance of the latter gentleman expresses (if indeed it can be said to express anything) only meek astonishment, Coleman's small black eyes danced and sparkled with such a spirit of mischief and devilry, while such a fund of merriment, and, as it now for the first time struck me, of good-nature also, lurked about the corners of his mouth, that it seemed impossible to look at him without feeling that there was something contagious in his hilarity.

“Why,” said I, “everything here is so new to me, so entirely different from all I have been accustomed to before, and the unkind—that is, the odd way in which Lawless and the rest of you seem to behave to me, treating me as if you thought I was either a fool or a baby—it all seems so strange, that I confess I am not over-happy.”

“Precious odd if you were, I think,” replied Coleman; “and it was a horrid shame of me to hide your trousers as I did this morning. Oh! how delightfully miserable you did look, as you stood shivering up in the cold! I'm sorry for it now, but I'm such a chap for a bit of fun, that if a trick like that comes into my head, do it I must. Oh! I get into no end of scrapes that way! Why it was but the other day I put a piece of cobbler's wax on the seat of Mildman's chair, and ruined his best Sunday-going sit-upons; he knew, too, who did it, I'm sure, for the next day he gave me a double dose of Euclid, to take the nonsense out of me, I suppose. He had better mind what he's at, though! I have got another dodge ready for him if he does not take care! But I did not mean to annoy you: you behaved like a brick, too, in not saying anything about it—I am really very sorry.”

“Never mind,” said I; “it's all right again now: I like a joke as well as anybody when I know it's only fun; the thing I am afraid of now is, that Dr. Mildman may think I wanted to deceive him, by pretending to be ill, when I was not.”

“I daresay he has got a pretty good notion how it is,” said Coleman, “but we'll get Thomas to tell him what I was up to, and that will set it all straight again.”

“That will be very kind indeed,” replied I; “but will not Dr. Mildman be angry with you about it?”

“Not he,” said Coleman, “he never finds fault unless there's real necessity for it; he's as good a fellow as ever lived, is old Sam, only he's so precious slow.”

“I am glad you like him, he seems so very kind and good-natured,” said I, “just the sort of person one should wish one's tutor to be. But about Cumberland and Lawless; what kind of fellows are they when you come to know them?”

“Oh, you will like Lawless well enough when he gets tired of bullying you,” replied Coleman; “though you need not stand so much of that as I was obliged to bear; you are a good head taller than I am—let's look at your arm; it would be all the better for a little more muscle, but that will soon improve. I'll put on the gloves with you for an hour or so every day.”

“Put on the gloves!” repeated I; “how do you mean?—what has that to do with Lawless?”

“Oh, you muff! don't you understand?—of course, I mean the boxing-gloves; and when you know how to use your fists, if Lawless comes it too strong, slip into him.”

“He must bully a good deal before I am driven to that,” replied I; “I never struck a blow in anger in my life.”

“You will see before long,” rejoined Coleman; “but at all events there is no harm in learning to use your fists; a man should always be able to defend himself if he is attacked.”

“Yes, that's very true,” observed I; “but you have not told me anything of Cumberland. Shall I ever like him, do you think?”

“Not if you are the sort of fellow I take you to be,” replied he; “there's something about Cumberland not altogether right, I fancy; I'm not very strait-laced myself, particularly if there's any fun in a thing, not so much so as I should be, I suspect; but Cumberland is too bad even for me; besides, there's no fun in what he does, and then he's such a humbug—not straightforward and honest, you know. Lawless would not be half such a bully either, if Cumberland did not set him on. But don't you say a word about this to any one; Cumberland would be ready to murder me, or to get somebody else to do it for him—that's more in his way.”

“Do not fear my repeating anything told me in confidence,” replied I; “but what do you mean when you say there's something wrong about Cumberland?”

“Do you know what Lawless meant by the 'board of green cloth' this morning?”

“No—it puzzled me.”

“I will tell you then,” replied Coleman, sinking his voice almost to a whisper—“the billiard table!”

After telling me this, Coleman, evidently fearing to commit himself further with one of whom he knew so little, turned the conversation, and, finding it still wanted more than an hour to dinner, proposed that we should take a stroll along the shore together. In the course of our walk I acquired the additional information that another pupil was expected in a few days—the only son of Sir John Oaklands, a baronet of large fortune in Hertfordshire; and that an acquaintance of Coleman's, who knew him, said he was a capital fellow, but very odd—though in what the oddity consisted did not appear. Moreover, Coleman confirmed me in my preconceived idea, that Mullins's genius lay at present chiefly in the eating, drinking, and sleeping line—adding that, in his opinion, he bore a striking resemblance to those somewhat dissimilar articles, a muff and a spoon. In converse such as this, the time slipped away, till we suddenly discovered that we had only a quarter of an hour left in which to walk back to Langdale Terrace, and prepare for dinner; whereupon a race began, in which my longer legs gave me so decided an advantage over Coleman that he declared he would deliver me up to the tender mercies of the “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,” for what he was pleased to call “an aggravated case of over-driving a private pupil”.

We had not more than five minutes left when we arrived at Dr. Mildman's door, Coleman affording a practical illustration of the truth of the aphorism, that “it is the pace that kills”; so that Thomas's injunction, “Look sharp, gentlemen,” was scarcely necessary to induce us to rush upstairs two steps at a time. In the same hurry I entered my bedroom, without observing that the door was standing ajar rather suspiciously, for which piece of inattention I was rewarded by a deluge of water, which wetted me from head to foot, and a violent blow on the shoulder, which stretched me on the ground in the midst of a puddle. That I may not keep the reader in suspense I will at once inform him that I was indebted for this agreeable surprise to the kindness and skill of Lawless, who, having returned from his pigeon-match half-an-hour sooner than was necessary, had devoted it to the construction of what he called a “booby trap,” which ingenious piece of mechanism was arranged in the following manner: The victim's room-door was placed ajar, and upon the top thereof a Greek Lexicon, or any other equally ponderous volume, was carefully balanced, and upon this was set in its turn a jug of water. If all these were properly adjusted, the catastrophe above described was certain to ensue when the door was opened.

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“Fairly caught, by Jove,” cried Lawless, who had been on the watch.

“By Jupiter Pluvius, you should have said,” joined in Coleman, helping me up again; for so sudden and unexpected had been the shock that I had remained for a moment just as I had fallen, with a kind of vague expectation that the roof of the house would come down upon me.

“I suppose I have to thank you for that,” said I, turning to Lawless.

“Pray, don't mention it, Pinafore,” was the answer; “what little trouble I had in making the arrangement, I can assure you, was quite repaid by its success.”

“I'll certainly put on the gloves to-morrow,” whispered I to Coleman—to which he replied by a sympathetic wink, adding:—

“And now I think you had better get ready, more particularly as you will have to find out 'how to dress jugged hair,' as the cookery-books say”.

By dint of almost superhuman exertions I did just contrive to get down in time for dinner, though my unfortunate “jugged hair,” which was anything but dry, must have presented rather a singular appearance. In the course of dinner Dr. Mildman told us that we should have the whole of the next day to ourselves, as he was obliged to go to London on business, and should not return till the middle of the day following—an announcement which seemed to afford great satisfaction to his hearers, despite an attempt made by Cumberland to keep up appearances, by putting on a look of mournful resignation, which, being imitated by Coleman, who, as might be expected, rather overdid the thing, failed most signally.

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CHAPTER IV — WHEREIN IS COMMENCED THE ADVENTURE OF THE MACINTOSH, AND OTHER MATTERS

“How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done.”
“Come, tailor, let us see't;
Oh! mercy.... What masking stuff is here?
What's this? a sleeve?”
“Disguise, I see; thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.”
“A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!”
—Shakspeare.

ON returning to the pupils' room Lawless commenced (to my great delight, as I thereby enjoyed a complete immunity from his somewhat troublesome attentions) a full, true, and particular account of the pigeon-match, in which his friend Clayton had, with unrivalled skill, slain a sufficient number of victims to furnish forth pies for the supply of the whole mess during the ensuing fortnight. At length, however, all was said that could be said, even upon this interesting subject, and the narrator, casting his eyes around in search of wherewithal to amuse himself, chanced to espy my new writing-desk, a parting gift from my little sister Fanny, who, with the self-denial of true affection, had saved up her pocket-money during many previous months in order to provide funds for this munificent present.

“Pinafore, is that desk yours?” demanded Lawless.

Not much admiring the sobriquet by which he chose to address me, I did not feel myself called upon to reply.

“Are you deaf, stupid? don't you hear me speaking to you?—where did you get that writing-desk?”

Still I did not answer.

“Sulky, eh? I shall have to lick him before long, I see. Here you, what's your name? Fairlegh, did your grand-mother give you that writing-desk?”

“No,” replied I, “my sister Fanny gave it to me the day before I left home.”

“Oh, you have got a sister Fanny, have you? how old is she, and what is she like?”

“She is just thirteen, and she has got the dearest little face in the world,” answered I, earnestly, as the recollection of her bright blue eyes and sunny smile came across me.

"How interesting!” sighed Coleman; “it quite makes my heart beat; you could not send for her, could you?”

“And she gave you that desk, did she?—how very kind of her,” resumed Lawless, putting the poker in the fire.

“Yes, was it not?” said I, eagerly. “I would not have any harm happen to it for more than I can tell.”

“So I suppose,” replied Lawless, still devoting himself to the poker, which was rapidly becoming red-hot. “Have you ever,” continued he, “seen this new way they have of ornamenting things? encaustic work, I think they call it:—it's done by the application of heat, you know.”

“I never even heard of it,” said I.

“Ah! I thought not,” rejoined Lawless. “Well, as I happen to understand the process, I'll condescend to enlighten your ignorance. Mullins, give me that desk.”

“Don't touch it,” cried I, bounding forward to the rescue; “I won't have anything done to it.”

[ [!-- IMG --]

My design was, however, frustrated by Cumberland and Lawless, who, both throwing themselves upon me at the same moment, succeeded, despite my struggles, in forcing me into a chair, where they held me, while Mullins, by their direction, with the aid of sundry neckcloths, braces, etc., tied me hand and foot; Coleman, who attempted to interfere in my behalf, receiving a push which sent him reeling across the room, and a hint that if he did not mind his own business he would be served in the same manner.

Having thus effectually placed me hors de combat, Lawless took possession of my poor writing-desk, and commenced tracing on the top thereof, with the red-hot poker, what he was pleased to term a “design from the antique,” which consisted of a spirited outline of that riddle-loving female the Sphinx, as she appeared when dressed in top-boots and a wide-awake, and regaling herself with a choice cigar! He was giving the finishing touch to a large pair of moustaches, with which he had embellished her countenance, and which he declared was the only thing wanting to complete the likeness to an old aunt of Dr. Mildman's, whom the pupils usually designated by the endearing appellation of “Growler,” when the door opened, and Thomas announced that “Smithson” was waiting to see Mr. Lawless.

“Oh yes, to be sure, let him come in; no, wait a minute. Here, you, Coleman and Mullins, untie Fairlegh; be quick!—confound that desk, how it smells of burning, and I have made my hands all black too. Well, Smithson, have you brought the things?”

The person to whom this query was addressed was a young man, attired in the extreme of the fashion, who lounged into the room with a “quite at home” kind of air, and, nodding familiarly all around, arranged his curls with a ring-adorned hand, as he replied in a drawling tone:—

“Ya'as, Mr. Lawless, we're all right—punctual to a moment—always ready 'to come to time,' as we say in the ring”.

“Who is he?” whispered I to Coleman.

“Who is he?” replied Coleman; “why the best fellow in the world, to be sure'. Not know Smithson, the prince of tailors, the tailor par excellence! I suppose you never heard of the Duke of Wellington, have you?”

I replied humbly that I believed I had heard the name of that illustrious individual mentioned in connection with Waterloo and the Peninsula—and that I was accustomed to regard him as the first man of the age.

“Aye, well then, Smithson is the second; though I really don't know whether he is not quite as great in his way as Wellington, upon my honour. The last pair of trousers he made for Lawless were something sublime, too good for this wicked world, a great deal.”

During this brief conversation Smithson had been engaged in extricating a somewhat voluminous garment from the interior of a blue bag, which a boy, who accompanied him, had just placed inside the study-door.

“There, this is the new invention I told you about; a man named Macintosh hit upon it. Now, with this coat on, you might stand under a water-fall without getting even damp. Try it on, Mr. Lawless; just the thing, eh, gents?”

Our curiosity being roused by this panegyric, we gathered round Lawless to examine the garment which had called it forth. Such of my readers as recollect the first introduction of Macintoshes will doubtless remember that the earlier specimens of the race differed very materially in form from those which are in use at the present day. The one we were now inspecting was of a whity-brown colour, and, though it had sleeves like a coat, hung in straight folds from the waist to the ankles, somewhat after the fashion of a carter's frock, having huge pockets at the side, and fastening round the neck with a hook and eye.

“How does it do?” asked Lawless, screwing himself round in an insane effort to look at the small of his own back, a thing a man is certain to attempt when trying on a coat. “It does not make a fellow look like a Guy, does it?”

"No, I rather admire the sort of thing,” said Cumberland.

“A jolly dodge for a shower of rain, and no mistake,” put in Coleman.

“It is deucedly fashionable, really,” said Smithson—“this one of yours, and one we made for Augustus Flareaway, Lord Fitz-scamper's son, the man in the Guards, you know, are the only two out yet.”

“I have just got it at the right time then,” said Lawless; “I knew old Sam was going to town, so I settled to drive Clayton over to Woodend, in the tandem, to-morrow. The harriers meet there at eleven, and this will be the very thing to hide the leathers, and tops, and the green cutaway. I saw you at the match, by-the-by, Smithey, this morning.”

“Ya'as, I was there; did you see the thing I was on?”

“A bright bay, with a star on the forehead! a spicy-looking nag enough—whose is it?”

“Why, young Robarts, who came into a lot of tin the other day, has just bought it; Snaffles charged him ninety guineas for it.”

“And what is it worth?” asked Lawless.

“Oh! he would not do a dirty thing by any gent I introduced,” replied Smithson. “I took young Robarts there: he merely made his fair profit out of it; he gave forty pounds for it himself to a man who bred it, only the week before, to my certain knowledge: it's a very sweet thing, and would carry him well, but he's afraid to ride it; that's how I was on it to-day. I'm getting it steady for him.”

“A thing it will take you some time to accomplish, eh? A mount like that is not to be had for nothing, every day, is it?”

“Ya'as, you're about right there, Mr. Lawless; you're down to every move, I see, as usual. Any orders to-day, gents? your two vests will be home to-morrow, Mr. Coleman.”

“Here, Smithson, wait a moment,” said Cumberland, drawing him on one side; “I was deucedly unlucky with the balls this morning,” continued he in a lower tone, “can you let me have five-and-twenty pounds?”

“What you please, sir,” replied Smithson, bowing.

“On the old terms, I suppose?” observed Cumberland.

“All right,” answered Smithson; “stay, I can leave it with you now,” added he, drawing out a leather case; “oblige me by writing your name here—thank you.”

So saying, he handed some bank-notes to Cumberland, carefully replaced the paper he had received from him in his pocket-book, and withdrew.

"Smithey was in great force to-night,” observed Lawless, as the door closed behind him—“nicely they are bleeding that young ass Robarts among them—he has got into good hands to help him to get rid of his money, at all events. I don't believe Snaffles gave forty pounds for that bay horse; he has got a decided curb on the off hock, if I ever saw one, and I fancy he's a little touched in the wind, too and there's another thing I should say——”

What other failing might be attributed to Mr. Robarts' bay steed we were, however, not destined to learn, as tea was at this moment announced. In due time followed evening prayers, after which we retired for the night. Being very sleepy I threw off my clothes, and jumped hastily into bed, by which act I became painfully aware of the presence of what a surgeon would term “certain foreign bodies”—i.e., not, as might be imagined, sundry French, German, and Italian corpses, but various hard substances, totally opposed to one's preconceived ideas of the component parts of a feather-bed. Sleep being out of the question on a couch so constituted, I immediately commenced an active search, in the course of which I succeeded in bringing to light two clothes-brushes, a boot-jack, a pair of spurs, Lemprière's Classical Dictionary and a brick-bat. Having freed myself from these undesirable bed-fellows I soon fell asleep, and passed (as it seemed to me) the whole night in dreaming that I was a pigeon, or thereabouts, and that Smithson, mounted on the top-booted Sphinx, was inciting Lawless to shoot at me with a red-hot poker.

As Coleman and I were standing at the window of the pupils' room, about ten o'clock on the following morning, watching the vehicle destined to convey Dr. Mildman to the coach-office, Lawless made his appearance, prepared for his expedition, with his hunting-costume effectually concealed under the new Macintosh.

“Isn't Mildman gone yet? Deuce take it, what a time he is! I ought to be off—I'm too late already!”

“They have not even put his carpet-bag in yet,” said I.

“Well, I shall make a bolt, and chance it about his seeing me,” exclaimed Lawless; “he'll only think I'm going out for a walk rather earlier than usual, if he does catch a glimpse of me, so here's off.”

Thus saying, he placed his hat upon his head, with the air of a man determined to do or die, and vanished.

Fortune is currently reported to favour the brave, and so, to do her justice, she generally does; still, at the best of times, she is but a fickle jade, at all events she appeared determined to prove herself so in the present instance; for scarcely had Lawless got a dozen paces from the house, before Dr. Mildman appeared at the front door with his great coat and hat on, followed by Thomas bearing a carpet-bag and umbrella, and, his attention being attracted by footsteps, he turned his head, and beheld Lawless. As soon as he perceived him he gave a start of surprise, and, pulling out his eye-glass (he was rather short-sighted), gazed long and fixedly after the retreating figure. At length, having apparently satisfied himself as to the identity of the person he was examining, he replaced his glass, stood for a moment as if confounded by what he had seen, and then turning, abruptly re-entered the house, and shut his study-door behind him with a bang, leaving Thomas and the fly-driver mute with astonishment. In about five minutes he re-appeared, and saying to Thomas, in a stern tone, “Let that note be given to Mr. Lawless the moment he returns,” got into the fly and drove off.

“There's a precious go,” observed Coleman; “I wonder what's in the wind now. I have not seen old Sam get up the steam like that since I have been here. He was not half so angry when I put Thomas's hat on the peg where he hangs his own, and he, never noticing the difference, put it on, and walked to church in it, gold band and all.”

“I wouldn't be Lawless for something,” observed I; “I wonder what the note's about?”

“That's just what puzzles me,” said Coleman. “I should have thought he had seen the sporting togs, but that's impossible; he must have a penetrating glance indeed if he could see through that Macintosh.”

“Lawless was too impatient,” said Cumberland; “he should have waited a few minutes longer, and then Mildman would have gone off without knowing anything about him. Depend upon it, the grand rule of life is to take things coolly, and wait for an opportunity: you have the game in your own hands then, and can take advantage of the follies and passions of others, instead of allowing them to avail themselves of yours.”

“In plain English, cheat instead of being cheated,” put in Coleman.

“You're not far wrong there, Freddy; the world is made up of knaves and fools—those who cheat, and those who are cheated—and I, for one, have no taste for being a fool,” said Cumberland.

“Nor I,” said Mullins; “I should not like to be a fool at all; I had rather be——”

“A butterfly,” interrupted Coleman, thereby astonishing Mullins to such a degree that he remained silent for some moments, with his mouth wide open as if in the act of speaking.

“You cannot mean what you say; you surely would not wish to cheat people,” said I to Cumberland; “if it were really true that one must be either a knave or a fool, I'd rather be a fool by far—I'm sure you could never be happy if you cheated any one,” continued I. “What does the Bible say about doing to others as you would have others do to you?”

“There, don't preach to me, you canting young prig,” said Cumberland angrily, and immediately left the room.

“You hit him pretty hard then,” whispered Coleman; “a very bad piece of business happened just before I came, about his winning a lot of tin from a young fellow here, at billiards, and they do say that Cumberland did not play fairly. It was rather unlucky your saying it; he will be your enemy from henceforth, depend upon it. He never forgets nor forgives a thing of that sort.”

“I meant no harm by the remark,” replied I; “I knew nothing of his having cheated any one; however, I do not care; I don't like him, and I'm just as well pleased he should not like me. But now, as my foreign relations seem to be rapidly assuming a warlike character (as the newspapers have it), what do you say to giving me a lesson in sparring, as you proposed, by way of preparation?”

“With all my heart,” replied Coleman.

And accordingly the gloves were produced, and my initiatory lesson in the pugilistic art commenced by Coleman's first placing me in an exceedingly uncomfortable attitude, and then very considerately knocking me out of it again, thereby depositing me with much skill and science flat upon the hearth-rug. This manouvre he repeated with great success during some half hour or so, at the end of which time I began to discover the knack with which it was done, and proceeded to demonstrate the proficiency I was making, by a well-directed blow, which, being delivered with much greater force than I had intended, sent Coleman flying across the room. Chancing to encounter Mullins in the course, of his transit he overturned that worthy against the table in the centre of the apartment, which, yielding to their combined weight, fell over with a grand crash, dragging them down with it, in the midst of an avalanche of books, papers, and inkstands.

This grand coup brought, as might be expected, our lesson to a close for the day, Coleman declaring that such another hit would inevitably knock him into the middle of next week, if not farther, and that he really should not feel justified in allowing such a serious interruption to his studies to take place.

“And now, what are we going to do with ourselves?” asked I; “as this is a holiday, we ought to do something.”

“Are you fond of riding?” inquired Coleman.

“Nothing I like better,” replied I; “I have been used to it all my life; I have had a pony ever since I was four years old.”

“I wish I was used to it,” said Coleman. “My governor living in London, I never crossed a horse till I came here, and I'm a regular muff at it; but I want to learn. What do you say to a ride this afternoon?”

“Just the thing,” said I, “if it is not too expensive for my pocket.”

“Oh no,” replied Coleman; “Snaffles lets horses at as cheap a rate as any one, and good 'uns to go, too; does not he, Cumberland?”

“Eh, what are you talking about?” said Cumberland, who had just entered the room; “Snaffles? Oh yes, he's the man for horse flesh. Are you going to amuse yourself by tumbling off that fat little cob of his again, Fred?”

“I was thinking of having another try,” replied Coleman; “what do you say, Fairlegh? Never mind the tin; I daresay you have got plenty, and can get more when that's gone.”

“I have got a ten-pound note,” answered I; “but that must last me all this quarter: however, we'll have our ride to-day.”

“I'll walk down with you,” said Cumberland; “I'm going that way; besides, it's worth a walk any day to see Coleman mount; it took him ten minutes the last time I saw him, and then he threw the wrong leg over, so that he turned his face to the tail.”

“Scandalum magnatum! not a true bill,” replied Coleman.

“Now, come along, Fairlegh, let's get ready, and be off.” During our walk down to Snaffles' stables Cumberland (who seemed entirely to have forgotten my mal à propos remark) talked to me in a much more amiable manner than he had yet done; and the conversation naturally turning upon horses and riding, a theme always interesting to me, I was induced to enter into sundry details of my own exploits in that line. We reached the livery stables just as I had concluded a somewhat egotistical relation concerning a horse which a gentleman in our neighbourhood had bought for his invalid son, but which, proving at first too spirited, I had undertaken to ride every day for a month in order to get him quiet; a feat I was rather proud of having satisfactorily accomplished.

“Good-morning, Mr. Snaffles; is Punch at home?” asked Coleman of a stout red-faced man, attired in a bright green Newmarket coat and top-boots.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Lawless told me your governor was gone to town, so I kept him in, thinking perhaps you would want him.”

“That's all right,” said Coleman; “and here's my friend, Mr. Fairlegh, will want a nag too.”

“Proud to serve any gent as is a friend of yours, Mr. Coleman,” replied Snaffles, with a bob of his head towards me, intended as a bow. “What stamp of horse do you like, sir? Most of my cattle are out with the harriers to-day.”

“Snaffles—a word with you,” interrupted Cumberland.

“One moment, sir,” said Snaffles to me, as he crossed over to where Cumberland was standing.

“Come and look at Punch; and let's hear what you think of him,” said Coleman, drawing me towards the stable.

“What does Cumberland want with that man?” asked I.

“What, Snaffles? I fancy he owes a bill here, and I daresay it is something about that.”

“Oh, is that all?” rejoined I.

“Why, what did you think it was?” inquired Coleman.

“Never mind,” I replied; “let's look at Punch.”

And accordingly I was introduced to a little fat, round, jolly-looking cob, about fourteen hands high, who appeared to me an equine counterpart of Coleman himself. After having duly praised and patted him I turned to leave the stable, just as Cumberland and Snaffles were passing the door, and I caught the following words from the latter, who appeared rather excited:—

“Well, if any harm comes of it, Mr. Cumberland, you'll remember it's your doing, not mine”.

Cumberland's reply was inaudible, and Snaffles turned to me, saying:—

“I've only one horse at home likely to suit you, sir; you'll find her rather high-couraged, but Mr. Cumberland tells me you won't mind that”.

“I have been mentioning what a good rider you say you are,” said Cumberland, laying a slight emphasis on the say.

“Oh, I daresay she will do very well,” replied I. “I suppose she has no vice about her.”

“Oh dear, no,” said Snaffles, “nothing of the sort.—James,” added he, calling to a helper, “saddle the chestnut mare, and bring her out directly.”

The man whom he addressed, and who was a fellow with a good-humoured, honest face, became suddenly grave, as he replied in a deprecatory tone:—

“The chestnut mare? Mad Bess, sir?”

“Don't repeat my words, but do as you are told,” was the answer; and the man went away looking surly.

After the interval of a few minutes a stable door opposite was thrown open, and Mad Bess made her appearance, led by two grooms. She was a bright chestnut, with flowing mane and tail, about fifteen-and-a-half hands high, nearly thorough-bred, and as handsome as a picture; but the restless motion of her eye disclosing the white, the ears laid back at the slightest sound, and a half-frightened, half-wild air, when any one went up to her, told a tale as to her temper, about which no one in the least accustomed to horses could doubt for an instant.

“That mare is vicious,” said I, as soon as I had looked at her.

“Oh dear, no, sir, quiet as a lamb, I can assure you. Soh, girl! soh!” said Snaffles, in a coaxing tone of voice, attempting to pat her; but Bess did not choose to “soh,” if by “sohing” is meant, as I presume, standing still and behaving prettily; for on her master's approach she snorted, attempted to rear, and ran back, giving the men at her head as much as they could do to hold her.

“She's a little fresh to-day; she was not out yesterday, but it's all play, pretty creature! nothing but play,” continued Snaffles.

“If you are afraid, Fairlegh, don't ride her,” said Cumberland; “but I fancied from your conversation you were a bold rider, and did not mind a little spirit in a horse: you had better take her in again, Snaffles.”

“Leave her alone,” cried I, quickly (for I was becoming irritated by Cumberland's sneers, in spite of my attempt at self-control), “I'll ride her. I'm no more afraid than other people; nor do I mind a spirited horse, Cumberland; but that mare is more than spirited, she's ill-tempered—look at her eye!”

“Well, you had better not ride her, then,” said Cumberland.

“Yes, I will,” answered I, for I was now thoroughly roused, and determined to go through with the affair, at all hazards. I was always, even as a boy, of a determined, or, as ill-natured people would call it, obstinate disposition, and I doubt whether I am entirely cured of the fault at the present time.

“Please yourself; only mind, I have warned you not to ride her if you are afraid,” said Cumberland.

"A nice warning,” replied I, turning away;—“who'll lend me a pair of spurs?”

“I've got a pair here, sir; if you'll step this way I'll put them on for you,” said the man whom I had heard addressed as “James,”—adding, in a lower tone, as he buckled them on, “for Heaven's sake, young gentleman, don't mount that mare unless you're a first-rate rider.”

“Why, what's the matter with her? does she kick?” inquired I.

“She'll try and pitch you off, if possible, and if she can't do that, she'll bolt with you, and then the Lord have mercy upon you!”

This was encouraging, certainly!

“You are an honest fellow, James,” replied I; “and I am much obliged to you. Ride her I must, my honour is at stake, but I'll be as careful as I can, and, if I come back safe, you shall have half a crown.”

“Thank you, sir,” was the reply, “I shall be glad enough to see you come back in any other way than on a shutter, without the money.”

Of a truth, the race of Job's comforters is not yet extinct, thought I, as I turned to look for Coleman, who had been up to this moment employed in superintending the operation of saddling Punch, and now made his appearance, leading that renowned steed by the bridle.

“Why, Fairlegh, you are not going to ride that vicious brute to be sure; even Lawless won't mount her, and he does not care what he rides in general.”

“Nevermind about Lawless,” said I, assuming an air of confidence I was very far from feeling; “she won't eat me, I daresay.”

“I don't know that,” rejoined Coleman, regarding Mad Bess with a look of horror; “Cumberland, don't let him mount her.”

“Nay, I can't prevent it; Fairlegh is his own master, and must do as he likes,” was the answer.

“Come, we can't keep the men standing here the whole day,” said I to Coleman; “mount Punch, and get out of my way as fast as you can, if you are going to do so at all”—a request with which, seeing I was quite determined, he at length unwillingly complied, and having, after one or two failures, succeeded in throwing his leg over the cob's broad back, rode slowly out of the yard, and took up his station outside in order to witness my proceedings.

“Now, then,” said I, “keep her as steady as you can for a minute, and as soon as I am fairly mounted give her her head—stand clear there.”

I then took a short run, and, placing one hand on the saddle, while I seized a lock of the mane with the other, I sprang from the ground and vaulted at once upon her back, without the aid of the stirrup, a feat I had learned from a groom who once lived with us, and which stood me in good stead on the present occasion, as I thereby avoided a kick with which Mad Bess greeted my approach. I next took up the reins as gently as I could, the men let go her head, and after a little plunging and capering, though much less than I had expected, her ladyship gave up hostilities for the present, and allowed me to ride her quietly up and down the yard. I then wished Cumberland (who looked, as I thought, somewhat mortified) a good-afternoon, turned a deaf ear to the eulogies of Mr. Snaffles and his satellites, and proceeded to join Coleman. As I left the yard my friend James joined me, under the pretence of arranging my stirrup leather, when he took the opportunity of saying:—

“She'll go pretty well now you're once mounted, sir, as long as you can hold her with the snaffle, but if you are obliged to use the curb—look out for squalls!!!”

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER V — MAD BESS

“Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind,
We sped like meteors through the sky,
With glossy skin and dripping mane,
And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,
The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain
Up the repelling bank.
We gained the top, a boundless plain
Spreads onward.
My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
And throbbed awhile, then beat no more,
The sky spun like a mighty wheel,
And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
Which saw no farther.”
Mazeppa.

OUT of consideration for the excitable disposition of Mad Bess we took our way along the least bustling streets we could select; directing our course towards the outskirts of the town, behind which extended for some miles a portion of the range of hills known as the South Downs, over the smooth green turf of which we promised ourselves a canter. As we rode along Coleman questioned me as to what could have passed while he was seeing Punch saddled, to make me determine to ride the chestnut mare, whose vicious disposition was, he informed me, so well known, that not only would no one ride her who could help it, but that Snaffles, who was most anxious to get rid of her, had not as yet been able to find a purchaser. In reply to this I gave him a short account of what had occurred, adding my more than suspicion that the whole matter had been arranged by Cumberland, in which notion he entirely agreed with me.

“I was afraid of something of this sort, when I said I was sorry you had made that remark about cheating to him this morning—you see, he would no doubt suppose you had heard the particulars of his gambling affair, and meant to insult him by what you said, and he has done this out of revenge. Oh, how I wish we were safely at home again; shall we turn back now?”

“Not for the world,” said I—“you will find, when you know me better, that when once I have undertaken a thing, I will go through with it—difficulties only make me more determined.”

“Ah!” said Coleman, “you should get somebody to write a book about you, that is the kind of disposition they always give to the heroes of novels, the sort of character that will go and run his head against a brick wall to prove that it is the harder and thicker of the two—they knock out their brains though, sometimes, in doing it, when they happen to have any—it is very pretty to read about, splendid in theory, but I much doubt its acting so well if you come to put it in practice.”

“You may laugh at me, if you please,” replied I; “but depend upon it, a man of energy and determination will undertake great deeds, aye, and perform them too, which your prudent, cautious character would have considered impossibilities.”

“Perhaps it may be so,” was the reply; “I know I am not the sort of stuff they cut heroes out of—woa, Punch! steady, old boy; holloa, what ails him? this is getting serious.”

During this conversation we had been gradually leaving the town behind us and approaching the downs, and had arrived at a point where the road became a mere cart-track, and the open country lay spread for miles before us. Our two steeds, which had up to the present time conducted themselves with the greatest propriety, now began to show signs of excitement, and, as the fresh air from the downs blew against their nostrils, they tossed their heads, snorted, and exchanged the quiet jog-trot pace at which we had been proceeding, for a dancing, sidelong motion, which somewhat disturbed Coleman's equanimity, and elicited from him the expressions above recorded. The road at the same time becoming uneven and full of ruts, we agreed to turn our horses' heads, and quit it for the more tempting pathway afforded by the green-sward. No sooner, however, did Punch feel the change from the hard road to the soft elastic footing of the turf, than he proceeded to demonstrate his happiness by slightly elevating his heels and popping his head down between his forelegs, thereby jerking the rein loose in Coleman's hand; and, perceiving that his rider (who was fully employed in grasping the pommel of his saddle in order to preserve his seat) made no effort to check his vivacity, he indulged his high spirits still further by setting off at a brisk canter.

“Pull him in,” cried I, “you'll have him run away with you; pull at him.”

Whether my advice was acted upon or not I was unable to observe, as my whole attention was demanded by Mad Bess, who appeared at length resolved to justify the propriety of her appellation. Holding her in by means of the snaffle alone had been quite as much as I had been able to accomplish during the last ten minutes, and this escapade on the part of Punch brought the matter to a crisis. I must either allow her to follow him, i.e., to run away, or use the curb to prevent it. Seating myself, therefore, as firmly as I could, and gripping the saddle tightly with my knees, I took up the curb rein, which till now had been hanging loosely on the mare's neck, and gradually tightened it. This did not, for a moment, seem to produce any effect, but as soon as I drew the rein sufficiently tight to check her speed, she stopped short, and shook her head angrily. I attempted gently to urge her on—not a step except backwards would she stir—at length in despair I touched her slightly with the spur, and then “the fiend within her woke,” and proceeded to make up for lost time with a vengeance. The moment the mare felt the spur she reared until she stood perfectly erect, and fought the air with her forelegs. Upon this I slackened the rein, and, striking her over the ears with my riding-whip, brought her down again;—no sooner, however, had her forefeet touched the ground than she gave two or three violent plunges, which nearly succeeded in unseating me, jerked down her head so suddenly as to loosen the reins from my grasp, kicked viciously several times, and, seizing the cheek of the bit between her teeth so as to render it utterly useless (evidently an old trick of hers), sprang forward at a wild gallop. The pace at which we were going soon brought us alongside of Punch, who, having thoroughly mastered his rider, considered it highly improper that any steed should imagine itself able to pass him, and therefore proceeded to emulate the pace of Mad Bess. Thereupon a short but very spirited race ensued, the cob's pluck enabling him to keep neck and neck for a few yards; but the mare was going at racing speed, and the length of her stride soon began to tell; Punch, too, showed signs of having nearly had enough of it. I therefore shouted to Coleman as we were leaving them: “Keep his head up hill, and you'll be able to pull him in directly”. His answer was inaudible, but when I turned my head two or three minutes afterwards I was glad to see that he had followed my advice with complete success—Punch was standing still, about half a mile off, while his rider was apparently watching my course with looks of horror. All anxiety on his account being thus at an end, I proceeded to take as calm a view of my own situation as circumstances would allow, in order to decide on the best means of extricating myself therefrom. We had reached the top of the first range of hills I have described, and were now tearing at a fearful rate down the descent on the opposite side. It was clear that the mare could not keep up the pace at which she was going for any length of time: still she was in first-rate racing condition, not an ounce of superfluous flesh about her, and, though she must have gone more than two miles already, she appeared as fresh as when we started. I therefore cast my eyes around in search of some obstacle which might check her speed. The slope down which we were proceeding extended for about a mile before us, after which the ground again began to rise. In the valley between the two hills was a small piece of cultivated land, enclosed (as is usual in the district I am describing) within a low wall, built of flint-stones from the beach. Towards this I determined to guide the mare as well as I was able, in the hope that she would refuse the leap, in which case I imagined I might pull her in. The pace at which we were going soon brought us near the spot, when I was glad to perceive that the wall was a more formidable obstacle than I had at first imagined, being fully six feet high, with a ditch in front of it. I therefore selected a place where the ditch seemed widest, got her head up by sawing her mouth with the snaffle, and put her fairly at it. No sooner did she perceive the obstacles before her than, slightly moderating her pace, she appeared to collect herself, gathered her legs well under her, and, rushing forward, cleared wall, ditch, and at least seven feet of ground beyond, with a leap like a deer, alighting safely with me on her back on the opposite side, where she continued her course with unabated vigour.

We had crossed the field (a wheat stubble) ere I had recovered from my astonishment at finding myself safe, after such a leap as I had most assuredly never dreamt of taking. Fortunately there was a low gate on the farther side, towards which I guided the mare, for though I could not check, I was in some measure able to direct, her course. This time, however, she either did not see the impediment in her way, or despised it, as, without abating her speed, she literally rushed through the gate, snapping into shivers with her chest the upper bar, which was luckily rotten, and clearing the lower ones in her stride. The blow, and the splintered wood flying about her ears, appeared to frighten her afresh, and she tore up the opposite ascent, which was longer and steeper than the last, like a mad creature. I was glad to perceive, however, that the pace at which she had come, and the distance (which must have been several miles), were beginning to tell—her glossy coat was stained with sweat and dust, while her breath, drawn with short and laboured sobs, her heaving flanks, and the tremulous motion of her limbs, afforded convincing proofs that the struggle could not be protracted much longer. Still she continued to hold the bit between her teeth as firmly as though it were in a vice, rendering any attempt to pull her in utterly futile. We had now reached the crest of the hill, when I was not best pleased to perceive that the descent on the other side was much more precipitous than any I had yet met with. I endeavoured, therefore, to pull her head round, thinking it would be best to try and retrace our steps, but I soon found that it was useless to attempt it. The mare had now become wholly unmanageable; I could not guide her in the slightest decree; and, though she was evidently getting more and more exhausted, she still continued to gallop madly forwards, as though some demon had taken possession of her, and was urging her on to our common destruction. As we proceeded down the hill our speed increased from the force of gravitation, till we actually seemed to fly—the wind appeared to shriek as it rushed past my ears, while, from the rapidity with which we were moving, the ground seemed to glide from under us, till my head reeled so giddily that I was afraid I should fall from the saddle.

[ [!-- IMG --]

We had proceeded about half way down the descent when, on passing one or two stunted bushes which had concealed the ground beyond, I saw, oh, horror of horrors! what appeared to be the mouth of an old chalk-pit, stretching dark and unfathomable right across our path, about 300 yards before us. The mare perceives it when too late, attempts to stop, but from the impetus with which she is going is unable to do so. Another moment, and we shall be over the brink! With the energy of despair I lifted her with the rein with both hands, and drove the spurs madly into her flanks;—she rose to the leap, there was a bound! a sensation of flying through the air! a crash! and I found myself stretched in safety on the turf beyond, and Mad Bess lying, panting, but uninjured beside me.

To spring upon my feet, and seize the bridle of the mare, who had also by this time recovered her footing, was the work of a moment. I then proceeded to look around, in order to gain a more clear idea of the situation in which I was placed, in the hope of discovering the easiest method of extricating myself from it. Close behind me lay the chalk-pit, and, as I gazed down its rugged sides, overgrown with brambles and rank weeds, I shuddered to think of the probable fate from which I had been so almost miraculously preserved, and turned away with a heartfelt expression of thanksgiving to Him who had mercifully decreed that the thread of my young life should not be snapped in so sudden and fearful a manner. Straight before me the descent became almost suddenly precipitous, but a little to the right I perceived a sort of sheep-track, winding downwards round the side of the hill. It was a self-evident fact that this must lead somewhere, and, as all places were alike to me, so that they contained any human beings who were able and willing to direct me towards Helmstone, I determined to follow it. After walking about half a mile, Mad Bess (with her ears drooping, and her nose nearly touching the ground) following me as quietly as a dog, I was rejoiced by the sight of curling smoke, and, on turning a corner, I came suddenly upon a little village green, around which some half dozen cottages were scattered at irregular distances. I directed my steps towards one of these, before which a crazy sign, rendered by age and exposure to the weather as delightfully vague and unintelligible as though it had come fresh from the brush of Turner himself, hung picturesquely from the branch of an old oak.

The sound of horse's feet attracted the attention of an elderly man, who appeared to combine in his single person the offices of ostler, waiter, and boots, and who, as soon as he became aware of my necessities, proceeded to fulfil the duties of these various situations with the greatest alacrity. First (as of the most importance in his eyes) he rubbed down Mad Bess, and administered some refreshment to her in the shape of hay and water; then he brought me a glass of ale, declaring it would do me good (in which, by the way, he was not far from right). He then brushed from my coat certain stains which I had contracted in my fall, and finally told me my way to Helmstone. I now remounted Mad Bess, who, though much refreshed by the hay and water, still continued perfectly quiet and tractable; and, setting off at a moderate trot, reached the town, after riding about eight miles, without any further adventure, in rather less than an hour.

As I entered the street in which Snaffles' stables were situated I perceived Coleman and Lawless standing at the entrance of the yard, evidently awaiting my arrival.

When I got near them Coleman sprang eagerly forward to meet me, saying:—

“How jolly glad I am to see you safe again, old fellow! I was so frightened about you. How did you manage to stop her?”

“Why, Fairlegh, I had no idea you were such a rider,” exclaimed Lawless; “I made up my mind you would break your neck, and old Sam be minus a pupil, when I heard you were gone out on that mare. You have taken the devil out of her somehow, and no mistake; she's as quiet as a lamb,” added he, patting her.

“You were very near being right,” replied I; “she did her best to break my neck and her own too, I can assure you”

I then proceeded to relate my adventures, to which both Lawless and Coleman listened with great attention; the former interrupting me every now and then with various expressions of commendation, and when I had ended he shook me warmly by the hand, saying:—

“I give you great credit; you behaved in a very plucky manner all through; I didn't think you had it in you; 'pon my word, I didn't. I shall just tell Cumberland and Snaffles a bit of my mind, too. Here, Snaffles, you confounded old humbug, where are you?”

“Oh, don't say anything to him,” said I; “it's never worth while being angry with people of that kind; besides, Cumberland made him do it.”

“That does not signify; he knew the danger to which he was exposing you, perhaps better than Cumberland did. He had no business to do it, and I'll make him beg your pardon before we leave this yard. Here, you ostler fellow, where's your master?” shouted Lawless, as he turned into the yard, where I soon heard the loud tones of his voice engaged in angry colloquy with Snaffles, whose replies were inaudible.

In a short time the latter approached the spot where I was standing, and began a very long and humble apology, saying that he should never have thought of giving me the mare if he had not seen at a glance that I was a first-rate rider, and much more to the same purpose, when Lawless interrupted him with:—

“There, cut it short; Mr. Fairlegh does not want any more of your blarney; and mind, if anything of the sort occurs again, I shall hire my horses somewhere else, and take care to let all my friends know why I do so. Now, let's be off; it's getting near dinner-time.”

So saying, he turned to leave the yard, a movement which, as soon as I had found my friend James, returned his spurs, and given him the promised half-crown, I proceeded to imitate: and that ended the episode of Mad Bess.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER VI — LAWLESS GETS THOROUGHLY PUT OUT

...” What 'tis
To Have a stranger come—
It seems you know him not
No, sir! not I.”
—Southey.
“Either forbear... or resolve you
For more amazement: if you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed.”
—Winter's Tale.
“Since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his
forwardness.... You shall try but one fall.”
—As You Like It.

ON reaching home the door was opened by Thomas, who accosted us with:—

“Here's such a bit of fun, gentlemen! The new pupil's arrived, and ain't he a rum un, jest? Oh, I never!”

"Why, how do you mean? what's he like, then?” asked Lawless.

“Oh, he's very well to look at, only he's as tall as a life-guardsman; but he's sich a free and easy chap, and ain't he got a pretty good notion of making himself comfortable, too!—that's all. But come in, gents, you'll soon see what I mean. He chucked the flyman who brought him here half a guinea, and when I asked him if he did not want the change, for the fare was only half a crown, he merely said 'Pooh!' and told me not to talk, for it tired him.”

With our feelings of curiosity somewhat excited by this account we hastened into the pupils' room, anxious to behold the individual who had so greatly astonished Thomas.

Seated in Dr. Mildman's arm-chair, and with his legs resting upon two other chairs, so arranged as to form a temporary sofa, reclined a young man, apparently about eighteen, though his length of limb, and the almost herculean proportions of his chest and shoulders, seemed rather to belong to a more advanced age. He raised his head as we entered, disclosing a set of features which, in spite of an expression of languor and indifference, must have been pronounced unusually handsome. His complexion was a rich nut-brown; the high forehead, white as snow, contrasting well with the dark hue of his hair, which, in short clustering curls, harmonised well with the classical outline of his head, reminding one involuntarily of the young Antinous. The short curling upper-lip, and well-chiselled nostril, told a tale of pride and resolution, strongly at variance with the mild sleepy appearance of the large dark hazel eyes, to which the long silken lashes that shaded them imparted an almost feminine expression. He did not attempt to alter his position as we approached, but, merely turning his head, gazed at us steadfastly for a moment, and then observed in a slow, half-absent manner:—

“Oh, the other pupils, I suppose—how do you do, all of you?”

Lawless, who was foremost, was so much surprised, and so little pleased at this nonchalant style of address, that he made no reply, but turning on his heel proceeded to leave the room, in order to divest himself of his hunting costume, muttering as he went, “Cool enough that, by Jove, eh!”

The duty of doing the polite having thus devolved upon Coleman, he winked at me by way of preliminary, and, making a low bow in the true dancing-master style, replied as follows:—

“Your penetration has not erred, Mr. Oaklands; we are the other pupils; and in answer to your obliging inquiries, I have much pleasure in informing you that we are all in perfect health and very tolerable spirits; and now, sir, in return for your kind condescension, allow me, in the absence of my superiors, to express a hope that you are feeling pretty comfortable—ahem!”

Having thus delivered himself, Coleman drew up his figure to its utmost height, and, folding his arms with an air of pompous dignity, awaited an answer.

“Oh yes, I'm comfortable enough,” was the reply; “I always am; only I'm so done up, tired as a dog—the least thing fatigues me; I'm as weak as a rat! Don't they give you sofas here, Mr. What's-your-name?”

“My name is Norval—I mean Coleman; my father divides his time between feeding his flocks on the Grampian Hills, and fleecing his clients in Lincoln's Inn; though I must confess that ever since I can remember, he has dropped the shepherd, and stuck to the solicitor, finding it pays best, I suppose. Regarding the sofa, we have not one at present, but Dr. Mildman went to town this morning; I did not till this moment know why. But now I see it all—he was doubtless aware you would arrive to-day, and, finding he could not get a sufficiently comfortable sofa for you in Helmstone, he is gone to London on purpose to procure one. There is still time to write by the post, if there is any particular way in which you would like to have the stuffing arranged.”

This speech made Oaklands raise his head, and look Coleman so fixedly in the face, with such a clear, earnest, penetrating gaze, that it appeared as if he would read his very soul. Having apparently satisfied himself, he smiled slightly, resumed his former attitude, and observed in the same half-sleepy tone:—

“No, I'll leave all that to him; I am not particular. What time do you dine here?”

I replied (for the look I have described seemed to have had the wonderful effect of silencing Coleman), “At five o'clock”.

“Very good; and I believe there's a Mrs. Mildman, or some such person, is there not? I suppose one must dress. Will you be so kind as to tell the servant to bring some hot water, and to look out my things for me at a quarter before five? I hate to be obliged to hurry, it tires one so.”

Having said this, he took up a book which was lying by his side, and, murmuring something about “talking being so fatiguing,” soon became buried in its contents.

Whilst I was dressing for dinner Lawless came into my room, and told me that he had been speaking to Cumberland with regard to the way in which he had behaved to me about the mare, and that Cumberland professed himself exceedingly sorry that the affair had so nearly turned out a serious one, declaring he meant it quite as a joke, never expecting that when I saw the mare I should venture to mount her.

“So you see,” continued Lawless, “he merely wanted to have a good laugh at you—nothing more. It was a thoughtless thing to do, but not so bad as you had fancied it, by any means.”

“Well,” replied I, “as he says so, I am bound to believe him; but his manner certainly gave me the impression that he intended me to ride her. He went the right way to make me do so, at all events, by hinting that I was afraid.”

“Ah! he could not know that by intuition, you see,” said Lawless; “he thought, I daresay, as I did, that you were a mere molly-coddle, brought up at your mother's apron-string, and had not pluck enough in you to do anything sporting.”

“It's not worth saying anything more about,” replied I; “it will never happen again: I am very much obliged to you, though.”

“Oh, that's nothing,” said Lawless; “if Cumberland had really meant to break your neck, I should have fallen out with him; that would have been too much of a good thing: however, as it is it's all right.”

And so the conversation ended, though I felt far from satisfied in my own mind as to the innocence of Cumberland's intentions.

On reaching the drawing-room I found the whole party assembled with the exception of Mr. Henry Oaklands, who had not yet made his appearance. At the moment of my entrance Mrs. Mildman, who had not seen the new arrival, and who, like the rest of her sex, was somewhat curious, was examining Coleman (who stood bolt upright before her, with his hands behind him, looking like a boy saying his lesson) as to his manners and appearance.

“Very tall, and dark hair and large eyes,” continued Mrs. Mildman; “why, he must be very handsome.”

“He seems as if he were half-asleep,” observed I.

"Not always,” said Coleman; “did you see the look he gave me? he seemed wide-awake enough then; I thought he was going to eat me.”

“Dear me I why he must be quite a cannibal! besides, I don't think you would be at all nice to eat, Mr. Coleman,” said Mrs. Mildman, with a smile.

“Horrid nasty, I'm sure,” muttered Mullins, who was seated on the very edge of his chair, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable, as was his wont in anything like civilised society.

At this moment the door opened, and Oaklands entered. If one had doubted about his height before, when lying on the chairs, the question was set at rest the instant he was seen standing: he must have measured at least six feet two inches, though the extreme breadth of his chest and shoulders, and the graceful setting-on of his finely formed head, together with the perfect symmetry and proportion of his limbs, prevented his appearing too tall. He went through the ceremony of introduction with the greatest ease and self-possession; and though he infused rather more courtesy into his manner towards Mrs. Mildman than he had taken the trouble to bestow on us, his behaviour was still characterised by the same indolence and listlessness I had previously noticed, and which indeed seemed part and parcel of himself. Having bowed slightly to Cumberland and Lawless he seated himself very leisurely on the sofa by Mrs. Mildman's side, altering one of the pillows so as to make himself thoroughly comfortable as he did so. Having settled it to his satisfaction, he addressed Mrs. Mildman with:—

“What a very fatiguing day this has been; haven't you found it so?”

“No, I can't say I have,” was the reply; “I daresay it was warm travelling: I'm afraid, in that case, Dr. Mildman will not have a very pleasant journey—he's gone to town to-day.”

“Ah, so that short, stout young gentleman” (the first two adjectives he pronounced very slowly and distinctly) “told me.”

“Mr. Coleman,” insinuated Mrs. Mildman.

“Pleasant that,” whispered Coleman to me.

“Take care,” replied I, “he will hear you.”

“I'm afraid,” continued Oaklands, “the old gentleman will be quite knocked up. I wonder he does not make two days' journey of it.”

“Dr. Mildman is not so very old,” observed Mrs. Mildman, in rather an annoyed tone of voice.

"I really beg pardon, I scarcely know why I said it,” replied Oaklands, “only I somehow fancied all tutors were between sixty and seventy—very absurd of me. My father sent all kind of civil messages to the o—— to Dr. Mildman, only it is so much trouble to remember that sort of thing.”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the announcement of dinner. Oaklands (from whom I could not withdraw my eyes, so unlike anything I had ever met with before was he) was evidently preparing to hand Mrs. Mildman down to dinner, as soon as he could summon sufficient energy to move, but, perceiving Cumberland approach her for that purpose, he appeared to recollect himself, smiled slightly as if at what he had been about to do, and, taking me by the arm, said:—

“Come, Master Curlylocks, you shall be my lady, and a very pretty girl you would make, too, if you were properly bemuslined”; adding, as we went downstairs together, “You and I shall be great friends, I'm sure; I like your face particularly. What a lot of stairs there are in this house! they'll tire me to death.”

When we returned to the pupils' room after dinner Lawless found, lying on the table, the note Dr. Mildman had written in such a mysterious manner before he left home in the morning, and proceeded to open it forthwith. Scarcely had he glanced his eye over it, when he was seized with so violent a fit of laughter, that I expected every moment to see him fall out of his chair. As soon as he had in some measure recovered the power of speaking he exclaimed:—

“Here, listen to this! and tell me if it is not the very best thing you ever heard in your lives “. He then read as follows:—

“'It is not without much pain that I bring myself to write this note; but I feel that I should not be doing my duty towards your excellent father, if I were to allow such extreme misconduct on the part of his son to pass unreproved. I know not towards what scene of vulgar dissipation you might be directing your steps, but the simple fact (to which I was myself witness) of your leaving my house in the low disguise of a carter's smock-frock, affords in itself sufficient proof that your associates must belong to a class of persons utterly unfitted for the companionship of a gentleman. Let me hope this hint may be enough, and that conduct so thoroughly disgraceful in one brought up as you have been may not occur again. I presume I need scarcely say that, in the event of your disregarding my wishes upon this point, the only course left open to me would be to expel you, a measure to which it would deeply grieve me to be obliged to resort.'”

His voice was here drowned by a chorus of laughter from all present who were aware of the true state of the case, which lasted without interruption for several minutes. At length Lawless observed:—

“I'll tell you what, it will be a death-blow to Smithson; a Macintosh made by him to be taken for a smock-frock! he'll never recover it.”

“Mildman might well look like a thunder-cloud,” said Coleman, “if that was the notion he had got in his head; what a jolly lark, to be sure!”

“How do you mean to undeceive him?” inquired Cumberland.

“Oh, trust me for finding a way to do that,” replied Lawless; “'the low disguise of a carter's smock-frock,' indeed! What fun it would be if he were to meet my governor in town to-day, and tell him of my evil courses! why, the old boy would go into fits! I wonder what he means by his 'scenes of vulgar dissipation'? I daresay he fancies me playing all-fours with a beery coalheaver, and kissing his sooty-faced wife; or drinking alternate goes of gin-and-water with a dustman for the purpose of insinuating myself into the affections of Miss Cinderella Smut, his interesting sister. By Jove! it's as good as a play!”

More laughter followed Lawless's illustration of Dr. Mildman's note. The subject was discussed for some time, and a plan arranged for enlightening the Doctor as to the true character of the mysterious garment.

At length there was a pause, when I heard Coleman whisper to Lawless:—

“Thomas was pretty right in saying that new fellow knows how to make himself comfortable, at all events”.

“He's a precious deal too free and easy to please me,” muttered Lawless, in an undertone; “I shall take the liberty of seeing whether his self-possession cannot be disturbed a little. I have no notion of such airs. Here, Mullins!”

And laying hold of Mullins by the arm, he pulled him into a chair by his side, and proceeded to give him some instructions in a whisper. The subject of their remarks, Harry Oaklands, who had, on re-entering the room, taken possession of the three chairs near the window, was still reclining, book in hand, in the same indolent position, apparently enjoying the beauty of the autumnal sunset, without concerning himself in the slightest degree about anything which might be going on inside the room.

Lawless, whose proceedings I was watching with an anxious eye, having evidently succeeded, by a judicious mixture of bullying and cajollery, in persuading Mullins to assist him in whatever he was about to attempt, now drew a chair to the other side of the window, and seated himself exactly opposite to Oaklands.

“How tired riding makes a fellow! I declare I'm regularly baked, used completely up,” he observed, and then continued, glancing at Oaklands, “Not such a bad idea, that. Mullins, give us a chair; I don't see why elevating the extremities should not pay in my case, as well as in other people's.”

He then placed his legs across the chair which Mullins brought him, and, folding his arms so as exactly to imitate the attitude of his opposite neighbour, sat for some minutes gazing out of the window with a countenance of mock solemnity. Finding this did not produce any effect on Oaklands, who, having slightly raised his eyes when Lawless first seated himself, immediately cast them upon the book again, Lawless stretched himself, yawned, and once more addressed Mullins.

“Shocking bad sunset as ever I saw—it's no go staring at that. I must have a book—give me the Byron.”

To this Mullins replied that he believed Mr. Oaklands was reading it.

“Indeed! the book belongs to you, does it not?”

Mullins replied in the affirmative.

“Have you any objection to lend it to me?”

Mullins would be most happy to do so.

“Then ask the gentleman to give it to you—you have a right to do what you please with your own property, I imagine?”

It was very evident that this suggestion was not exactly agreeable to Mullins; and although his habitual fear of Lawless was so strong as completely to overpower any dread of what might be the possible consequences of his act, it was not without much hesitation that he approached Oaklands, and asked him for the book, as he wished to lend it to Lawless.

On hearing this Oaklands leisurely turned to the fly-leaf, and, having apparently satisfied himself, by the perusal of the name written thereon, that it really belonged to Mullins, handed it to him without a word. I fancied, however, from the stern expression of his mouth and a slight contraction of the brow, that he was not as insensible to their impertinence as he wished to appear.

Lawless, who had been sitting during this little scene with his eyes closed, as if asleep, now roused himself, and saying, “Oh, you have got it at last, have you?” began turning over the pages, reading aloud a line or two here and there, while he kept up a running commentary on the text as he did so:—

“Hum! ha! now let's see, here we are—the 'g-i-a-o-u-r,'—that's a nice word to talk about. What does g-i-a-o-u-r spell, Mullins? You don't know? what an ass you are, to be sure!—

'Fair clime, whose every season smiles
Benignant o'er those blessed isles'—

blessed isles, indeed; what stuff!—

''Tis Greece, but living Greece no more;'

that would do for a motto for the barbers to stick on their pots of bear's grease!—

'Clime of the unforgotten brave;'

unforgotten! yes, I should think so; how the deuce should they be forgotten, when one is bored with them morning, noon, and night, for everlasting, by old Sam, and all the other pastors and masters in the kingdom? Hang me, if I can read this trash; the only poetry that ever was written worth reading is 'Don Juan'.”

He then flung the book down, adding:—

“It's confoundedly cold, I think. Mullins, shut that window.”

This order involved more difficulties in its execution than might at first be imagined. Oaklands, after giving up the book, had slightly altered his position by drawing nearer the window and leaning his elbow on the sill, so that it was impossible to shut it without obliging him to move. Mullins saw this, and seemed for a moment inclined not to obey, but a look and a threatening gesture from Lawless again decided him; and with slow unwilling steps he approached the window, and laid his hand on it, for the purpose of shutting it. As he did so, Oaklands raised his head, and regarded him for a moment with a glance like lightning, his large eyes glaring in the twilight like those of some wild animal, while the red flush of anger rose to his brow, and we all expected to see him strike Mullins to the ground. Conquering himself, however, by a powerful effort of self-control, he folded his arms, and, turning from the window, suffered Mullins to close it without interruption. Still I could perceive, from the distended nostril and quivering lip, that his forbearance was almost exhausted.

“Ah, that's an improvement,” said Lawless; “I was getting uncommonly chilly. By the way, what an interesting virtue patience is; it is a curious fact in Natural History that some of the lower animals share it with us; for instance, there's nothing so patient as a jack-ass——”

“Except a pig,” put in Mullins; “they're uncommon—”

“Obstinate,” suggested Coleman.

“Oh, ah! it's obstinate I mean,” replied Mullins. “Well, you know donkeys are obstinate, like a pig; that's what I meant.”

“Don't be a fool,” said Lawless. “Deuce take these chairs, I cannot make myself comfortable anyhow—the fact is, I must have three, that's the proper number—give me another, Mullins.”

“I can't find one,” was the answer; “they are all in use.”

“Can't find one! nonsense,” said Lawless; “here, take one of these; the gentleman is asleep, and won't object, I daresay.”

When Mullins was shutting the window his head had been so turned as to prevent his observing the symptoms of anger in Oaklands, which had convinced me that he would not bear trifling with much longer. Presuming, therefore, from the success of his former attacks, that the new pupil was a person who might be insulted with impunity, and actuated by that general desire of retaliation, which is the certain effect bullying produces upon a mean disposition, Mullins proceeded, con amore, to fulfil Lawless's injunction. With a sudden snatch he withdrew the centre chair, on which Oaklands' legs mainly rested, so violently as nearly to throw them to the ground, a catastrophe which was finally consummated by Lawless giving the other chair a push with his foot, so that it was only by great exertion and quickness that Oaklands was able to save himself from falling.

This was the climax; forbearance merely human could endure no longer: Lawless had obtained his object of disturbing Harry Oaklands' self-possession, and was now to learn the consequences of his success. With a bound like that of an infuriated tiger, Oaklands leaped upon his feet, and, dashing Mullins into a corner with such force that he remained lying exactly where he fell, he sprang upon Lawless, seized him by the collar of his coat, and after a short but severe struggle dragged him to the window, which was about eight feet from the ground, threw it open, and taking him in his arms with as much ease as if he had been a child flung him out. He then returned to the corner in which, paralysed with fear, Mullins was still crouching, drew him to the spot from whence he had removed the chair, placed him there upon his hands and knees, and saying, in a stern voice, “If you dare to move till I tell you, I'll throw you out of the window too,” quietly resumed his former position, with his legs resting upon Mullins' back instead of a chair.

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As soon as Coleman and I had in some degree recovered from our surprise and consternation (for the anger of Oaklands once roused was a fearful thing to behold), we ran to the other window, just in time to see Lawless, who had alighted among some stunted shrubs, turn round and shake his fist at Oaklands (who merely smiled), ere he regained his feet, and rang the bell in order to gain admittance. A minute afterwards we heard him stride upstairs, enter his bedroom, and close the door with a most sonorous bang. Affairs remained in this position nearly a quarter of an hour, no one feeling inclined to be the first to speak. At length the silence was broken by Oaklands, who, addressing himself to Cumberland, said:—

“I am afraid this absurd piece of business has completely marred the harmony of the evening. Get up, Mr. Mullins,” he continued, removing his legs, and assisting him to rise; “I hope I did not hurt you just now.”

In reply to this Mullins grumbled out something intended as a negative, and, shambling across the room, placed himself in a corner, as far as possible from Oaklands, where he sat rubbing his knees, the very image of sulkiness and terror. Cumberland, who appeared during the whole course of the affair absorbed in a book, though, in fact, not a single word or look had escaped him, now came forward and apologised, in a quiet, gentlemanly manner (which, when he was inclined, no one could assume with greater success), for Lawless's impertinence, which had only, he said, met with its proper reward.

“You must excuse me, Mr. Cumberland, if I cannot agree with you,” replied Oaklands; “since I have had time to cool a little, I see the matter in quite a different light. Mr. Lawless was perfectly right; the carelessness of my manner must naturally have seemed as if I were purposely giving myself airs, but I can assure you such was not the case.”

He paused for a moment, and then continued, with a half-embarrassed smile:—

"The fact is, I am afraid that I have been spoiled at home; my mother died when I was a little child, and my dear father, having nobody else to care about, thought, I believe, that there was no one in the world equal to me, and that nothing was too good for me. Of course, all our servants and people have taken their tone from him, so that I have never had any one to say to me, 'Nay,' and am therefore not at all used to the sort of thing. I hope I do not often lose my temper as I have done this evening; but really Mr. Lawless appears quite an adept in the art of ingeniously tormenting.”

“I am afraid you must have found so much exertion very fatiguing,” observed Coleman, politely.

“A fair hit, Mr. Coleman,” replied Oaklands, laughing. “No! those are not the things that tire me, somehow; but in general I am very easily knocked up—I am indeed—most things are so much trouble, and I hate trouble; I suppose it is that I am not strong.”

“Wretchedly weak, I should say,” rejoined Coleman; “it struck me that you were so just now, when you chucked Lawless out of the window like a cat.”

“Be quiet, Freddy,” said Cumberland, reprovingly.

“Nay, don't stop him,” said Oaklands; “I delight in a joke beyond measure, when I have not the trouble of making it myself. But about this Mr. Lawless, I am exceedingly sorry that I handled him so roughly; would you mind going to tell him so, Mr. Cumberland, and explaining that I did not mean anything offensive by my manner?”

“Exactly, I'll make him understand the whole affair, and bring him down with me in five minutes,” said Cumberland, leaving the room as he spoke.

“What makes Cumberland so good-natured and amiable to-night?” whispered I to Coleman.

“Can't you tell?” was the reply. “Don't you see that Oaklands is a regular top-sawyer, a fish worth catching; and that by doing this, Cumberland places him under an obligation at first starting? Not a bad move to begin with, eh? Besides, if a regular quarrel between Lawless and Oaklands were to ensue, Cumberland would have to take one side or the other; and it would not exactly suit him to break with Lawless, he knows too much about him; besides,” added he, sinking his voice, “he owes him money, more than I should like to owe anybody a precious deal, I can tell you. Now, do you twig?”

“Yes,” said I, “I comprehend the matter more clearly, if that is what you mean by twigging; but how shocking it all is! why, Cumberland is quite a swindler—gambling, borrowing money he can't pay, and——”

“Hush!” interrupted Coleman, “here they come.”

Coleman was not mistaken: Cumberland had been successful in his embassy, and now entered the room, accompanied by Lawless, who looked rather crestfallen, somewhat angry, and particularly embarrassed and uncomfortable, which, as Coleman whispered to me, was not to be wondered at, considering how thoroughly he had been put out just before. Oaklands, however, appeared to see nothing of all this; but, rising from his seat as they entered, he approached Lawless, saying:—

“This has been a foolish piece of business, Mr. Lawless; I freely own that I am thoroughly ashamed of the part I have taken in it, and I can only apologise for the intemperate manner in which I behaved.”

The frank courtesy with which he said this was so irresistible, that Lawless was completely overcome, and, probably for the first time in his life, felt himself thoroughly in the wrong. Seizing Oaklands' hand, therefore, and shaking it heartily, he replied:—

“I'll tell you what it is, Oaklands—we don't Mr. each other here—you are a right good fellow—a regular brick, and no mistake; and as to your shoving me out of the window, you served me quite right for my abominable impertinence. I only wonder you did not do it ten minutes sooner, that's all; but you really ought to be careful what you do with those arms of yours; I was like a child in your grasp; you are as strong as a steam engine.”

“I can assure you I am not,” replied Oaklands; “they never let me do anything at home, for fear I should knock myself up.”

“You are more likely to knock other people down, I should say,” rejoined Lawless; “and, by the way, that reminds me—Mullins! come here, stupid, and beg Mr. Oaklands' pardon, and thank him for knocking you down.”

A sulky, half-muttered “shan't,” was the only reply.

“Nay, I don't want anything of that kind; I don't indeed, Lawless; pray leave him alone,” cried Oaklands eagerly.

But Lawless was not so easily quieted, and Oaklands, unwilling to risk the harmony so newly established between them, did not choose to interfere further; so Mullins was dragged across the room by the ears, and was forced by Lawless, who stood over him with the poker (which, he informed him, he was destined to eat red-hot if he became restive), to make Oaklands a long and formal apology, with a short form of thanksgiving appended, for the kindness and condescension he had evinced in knocking him down so nicely, of which oration he delivered himself with a very bad grace indeed.

“And all went merry as a marriage-bell,” until we were summoned to the drawing-room, where we were regaled with weak tea, thin bread and butter, and small conversation till ten o'clock, when Mrs. Mildman proceeded to read prayers, which, being a duty she was little accustomed to, and which consequently rendered her extremely nervous, she did not accomplish without having twice called King William, George, and suppressed our gracious Queen Adelaide altogether.

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CHAPTER VII — THE BOARD OF GREEN CLOTH

“What have we here—a man or a fish?”
—The Tempest.
'"The devil he baited a trap,
With billiard balls and a cue;
And he chose as marker,
An imp much darker
Than all the rest in hue.
And he put on his Sunday clothes,
And he played with saint and with sinner,
For he'd found out a way
To make the thing pay,
And when losing, He still was the winner!”
—Old Legend.

THE moment Dr. Mildman arrived at home the next day Lawless watched him into his study, and, as soon as he was safely lodged therein, proceeded, by the aid of sundry nails and loops previously placed there for the purpose, to hang his Macintosh right across the passage, so that no one could leave the study without running against it. He then ambushed himself near the open door of the pupils' room, where, unseen himself, he could observe the effect of his arrangements. Coleman and I, also taking a lively interest in the event, ensconced ourselves in a favourable position for seeing and hearing. After waiting till our small stock of patience was nearly exhausted, we were rewarded by hearing the study-door slowly open, followed by the tread of a well-known footstep in the passage. The next sound that reached our ears was a quick shuffling of feet upon the oil-cloth, as if the person advancing had “shyed” at some unexpected object; then came the muttered exclamation, “Bless my heart, what's this?” And immediately afterwards Dr. Mildman's face, wearing an expression of the most thorough perplexity and bewilderment, appeared cautiously peeping from behind the Macintosh. Having apparently satisfied himself that no enemy was concealed there, and he had nothing further to fear, but that the whole plot was centred as it were in the mysterious garment before him, he set himself seriously to work to examine it. First he pulled out his eye-glass and, stepping back a pace or two, took a general survey of the whole; he then approached it again, and taking hold of it in different places with his hand, examined it in detail so closely that it seemed as if he were trying to count the number of threads. Being apparently unwilling in so difficult an investigation to trust to the evidence of any one sense, he replaced his eye-glass in his waistcoat pocket, and began rubbing a portion of the skirt between his hands; the sense of touch failing, however, to throw any new light upon the subject, as a sort of forlorn hope, he applied his nose to it. The result of this was an indescribable exclamation, expressive of intense disgust, followed immediately by a violent sneeze; then came a long pause, as though he were considering of what possible use such a garment could be. At length a ray of light seemed to break in upon the darkness, and once more laying hands on the Macintosh he proceeded, after unhooking it from the nails on which it hung, slowly and deliberately to put it on, with the back part foremost, somewhat after the fashion of a child's pinafore. Having at length accomplished this difficult operation, he walked, or rather shuffled (for his petticoats interfered greatly with the free use of his limbs), up and down the hall, with a grave, not to say solemn, expression of countenance. Appearing perfectly satisfied after one or two turns that he had at last solved the enigma, he divested himself of the perplexing garment, hung it on a peg appropriated to great-coats, and approached the door of the pupils' room.

By the time he entered Lawless was seated at his desk studying Herodotus, while Coleman and I were deeply immersed in our respective Euclids.

After shaking hands with Oaklands, and addressing some good-natured remarks to each of us in turn, he went up to Lawless, and, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, said, with a half-smile:—

"I am afraid I have made rather an absurd mistake about that strange garment of yours, Lawless; I suppose it is some new kind of greatcoat, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, it is a sort of waterproof cloth, made with Indian rubber.”

“Indian rubber, is it? Well, I fancied so; it has not the nicest smell in the world. I certainly thought it was a smock-frock, though, when I saw you go out in it. Is not it rather awkward to walk in? I found it so when I tried it on just now, and buttoning behind does not seem to me at all a good plan.”

“No, sir, but it is meant to button in front; perhaps you put it on the back part foremost.”

“Hem!” said Dr. Mildman, trying to look as if he thought such a thing impossible, and failing—“it is a very singular article of dress altogether, but I am glad it was not a smock-frock you went out in. I hope,” continued he, turning to Oaklands, with an evident wish to change the conversation, “I hope they took good care of you when you arrived last night?”

This was turning the tables with a vengeance! Lawless became suddenly immersed in Herodotus again.

“Oh! the greatest,” was the reply; “I had so much attention paid me that I was almost upset by it. I was not quite overcome, though,” he continued, with a sly glance towards Lawless, “and Mrs. Mildman gave us some very nice tea, which soon restored me.”

“Well, I'm glad they managed to make you comfortable among them,” observed Dr. Mildman, turning over his papers and books, preparatory to beginning the morning's study.

“Hadn't you better ask him when he expects the sofa will be down?” suggested Coleman to Oaklands, in a whisper.

“No, you jackanapes,” was the reply, “and don't you make me laugh when that old gentleman is in the room, for there's nothing more fatiguing than the attempt to smother a laugh.”

Coleman's only answer to this, if answer it could be called, was a grimace, which had the desired effect of throwing Oaklands into a fit of laughter, which he found it very hard labour indeed to stifle; nor had his countenance quite recovered from the effects of his exertions, when he was summoned to the Doctor's table to undergo an examination similar to that which had appeared so formidable to me a few days before; and thus terminated the notable adventure of the carter's frock, though I observed that after a week or two had elapsed the Macintosh was handed over to Thomas, and Smithson was called upon to tax his inventive powers to furnish Lawless with a less questionably shaped garment of the same material.

A few days after this, as I was walking with Coleman, he suddenly exclaimed:—

“Well, of all the antediluvian affairs I ever beheld, the old fellow now coming towards us is the queerest; he looks like a fossil edition of Methuselah, dug up and modernised some hundred years ago at the very least. Holloa! he's going mad I believe; I hope he does not bite.”

The subject of these somewhat uncomplimentary remarks was a little old gentleman in a broad-brimmed white hat, turned up with green, and a black cloth spencer (an article much like a boy's jacket exaggerated), from beneath which protruded the very broad tails of a blue coat, with rather more than their proper complement of bright brass buttons, while drab gaiters and shorts completed the costume.

The moment, however, I beheld the countenance of the individual in question, I recognised the never-to-be-mistaken mole at the tip of the nose of my late coach companion to London. The recognition seemed mutual, for no sooner did he perceive me than he stopped short, and pointed straight at me with a stout silver-mounted bamboo which he held in his hand, uttering a sonorous “Umph!” as he did so; to which somewhat unusual mode of salutation may be attributed Coleman's doubts as to his sanity.

“Who'd ever have thought of meeting you at Helmstone, I should like to know?” exclaimed he in a tone of astonishment.

“I was going to say the same thing to you, sir,” replied I; “I came down here the very day on which we travelled together.”

“Umph! I came the next; well, and what are you doing now you are here? Schoolmaster lives here, I suppose—tutor, you call him, though, don't you?”

I informed him of my tutor's name and residence, when he continued:—

“Umph! I know him; very good man, too good to be plagued by a set of tiresome boys—men, though, you call yourselves, don't you? Umph! Is he a man too?” he inquired, pointing to Coleman.

“I've been a man these seventeen years, sir,” replied Coleman.

"Umph, a man seventeen years ago! a baby, more likely: what does he mean? what does he mean?”

I explained that he probably intended a pun upon his name, which was Coleman.

“A pun, Umph? he makes puns, does he? funny boy, funny boy, I daresay. How does the Doctor like that, though? Make puns to him, he'd punish you, Umph? Stupid things puns—made one myself then, though—just like me. Well, give the Doctor my compliments—Mr. Frampton's—I live at No. 10 Castle Street,—he knows me, and ask him to let you come and dine with me next week; bring funny boy too, if he likes to come;” and away he posted, muttering “Umph! plaguing myself about a pack of boys, when I might be quiet—just like me!”

We did not fail to deliver Mr. Frampton's message to Dr. Mildman on our return home, who willingly gave us the required permission, saying that he knew but little of the old gentleman personally, though he had resided for several years at Helmstone, but that he was universally respected, in spite of his eccentricities, and was reported to have spent great part of his life abroad. The next time I met my new friend he repeated his invitation to Coleman and myself, and, on the day appointed, gave us an excellent dinner, with quite as much wine as we knew what to do with; amused and interested us with sundry well-told anecdotes of adventures he had met with during his residence in foreign lands, and dismissed us at nine o'clock with a tip of a guinea each, and an injunction to come and see him again whenever we pleased.

For many succeeding weeks nothing of any particular moment occurred to interrupt the even tenor of the new course of life I had entered upon. The liking which Oaklands seemed to have taken to me at first sight soon ripened into a warm friendship, which continued daily to increase on my part, as the many noble and lovable qualities of his disposition appeared, one by one, from behind the veil of indolence which, till one knew him well, effectually concealed them. Coleman, though too volatile to make a real friend of, was a very agreeable companion, and, if it were ever possible to get him to be serious for a minute, showed that beneath the frivolity of his manner lay a basis of clear good sense and right feeling, which only required calling forth to render him a much higher character than he appeared at present. For the rest, I was alternately bullied and patronised by Lawless (though he never ventured on the former line of conduct when Oaklands was present), while Cumberland, outwardly professing great regard for me, never let slip an opportunity of showing me an ill-natured turn, when he could contrive to do so without committing himself openly.

A more intimate acquaintance with Mullins only served to place beyond a doubt the fact of his being a most unmitigated, and not over-amiable, fool. The word is a strong one, but I fear that, if I were to use a milder term, it would be at the expense of truth.

For my tutor I soon began to conceive the warmest feeling of regard and esteem; in fact, it was impossible to know him well, and not to love him. Simple as a child in everything relating to worldly matters, he united the deepest learning to the most elevated piety, while the thoroughly practical character of his religion, carried, as it was, into all the minor details of everyday life, imparted a gentleness and benignity to his manner which seemed to elevate him above the level of ordinary mortals. If he had a fault (I suppose, merely for the sake of proving him human, I must allow him one), it was a want of moral courage, which made it so disagreeable to him to find fault with any of us, that he would now and then allow evils to exist, which a little more firmness and decision might have prevented; but, had it not been for this, he would have been quite perfect, and perfection is a thing not to be met with in this life.

Cumberland, after the eventful evening on which he acted as peacemaker between Lawless and Oaklands, had persevered steadily in his endeavour to ingratiate himself with the latter; and, by taking advantage of his weak point, his indolence and dislike of trouble, had, at length, succeeded in making Oaklands believe him essential to his comfort. Thus, though there was not the smallest sympathy between them, a sort of alliance was established, which gave Cumberland exactly the opportunities he required for putting into execution certain schemes which he had formed. Of what these schemes consisted, and how far they succeeded, will appear in the course of this veracious history.

The winter months, after favouring us with rather more than our due allowance of frost and snow, had at length passed away, and March, having come in like a lion, appeared determined, after the fashion of Bottom the weaver, “to roar that it would do any man's heart good to hear him,” and to kick up a thorough dust ere he would condescend to go out like a lamb, albeit, in the latter state, he might have made a shilling per pound of himself at any market, had he felt suicidally inclined.

"This will never do,” said Oaklands to me, as, for the third time, we were obliged to turn round and cover our eyes, to avoid being blinded by the cloud of dust which a strong east wind was driving directly in our faces; “there is nothing in the world tires one like walking against a high wind. A quarter to three,” added he, taking out his watch. “I have an appointment at three o'clock. Will you walk with me? I must turn up here.”

I assented; and, turning a corner, we proceeded up a narrow street, where the houses, in a great measure, protected us from the wind. After walking some little distance in silence Oaklands again addressed me:—

“Frank, did you ever play at billiards?”

I replied in the negative.

“It's a game I've rather a liking for,” continued he; “we have a table at Heathfield, and my father and I often played when the weather was too bad to get out. I used to beat the old gentleman easily though at last, till I found out one day he did not half like it, so then I was obliged to make shocking mistakes, every now and then, to give him a chance of winning; anybody else would have found me out in a minute, for I am the worst hand in the world at playing the hypocrite, but my father is the most unsuspicious creature breathing. Oh! he is such a dear old man. You must come and stay with us, Frank, and learn to know him and love him—he'd delight in you—you are just the sort of fellow he likes.”

“There's nothing I should like better,” answered I, “if I can get leave from head-quarters; but why did you want to know if I played at billiards?”

“Oh, I have been playing a good deal lately with Cumberland, who seems very fond of the game, and I'm going to meet him at the rooms in F——Street to-day; so I thought, if you knew anything of the game, you might like to come with me.”

“Cumberland is a first-rate player, isn't he?” asked I.

“No, I do not think so: we play very evenly, I should say; but we are to have a regular match to-day, to decide which is the best player.”

“Do you play for money?”

“Just a trifle to give an interest to the game, nothing more,” replied Oaklands; “our match to-day is for a five-pound note.”

I must confess that I could not help feeling extremely uneasy at the information Oaklands had just given me. The recollection of what Coleman had said concerning some gaming affair in which Cumberland was supposed to have behaved dishonourably, combined with a sort of general notion, which seemed to prevail, that he was not exactly a safe person to have much to do with, might in some degree account for this; still I always felt a kind of instinctive dislike and mistrust of Cumberland, which led me to avoid him as much as possible on my own account. In the present instance, when the danger seemed to threaten my friend, this feeling assumed a vague character of fear; “and yet,” reasoned I with myself, “what is there to dread? Oaklands has plenty of money at his command; besides, he says they play pretty evenly, so that he must win nearly as often as Cumberland; then, he is older than I am, and of course must be better able to judge what is right or wrong for him to do.” However, remembering the old adage, that “lookers-on see most of the game,” I determined, for once, to accompany him; I therefore told him that, though I could not play myself, it would be an amusement to me to watch them, and that, if he had no objection, I would go with him, to which proposition he willingly agreed. As we turned into F——Street we were joined by Cumberland, who, as I fancied, did not seem best pleased at seeing me, nor did the scowl which passed across his brow, on hearing I was to accompany them, tend to lessen this impression. He did not, however, attempt to make any opposition to the plan, merely remarking that, as I did not play myself, he thought I should find it rather dull. After proceeding about half way down the street Cumberland stopped in front of a small cigar-shop, and, turning towards a private door, on which was a brass plate with the word “Billiards” engraved on it, knocked, and was admitted. Leading the way up a dark, narrow staircase, he opened a green baize door at the top, and ushered us into a tolerably large room, lighted by a sky-light, immediately under which stood the billiard-table. On one side was placed a rack, containing a formidable arrangement of cues, maces, etc., while at the farther end two small dials, with a brass hand in the centre for the purpose of marking the scores of the different players, were fixed against the wall. As we entered, two persons who were apparently performing certain intricate manoeuvres with the balls by way of practice immediately left off playing and came towards us. One of these, a little man, with small keen grey eyes, and a quick restless manner, which involuntarily reminded one of a hungry rat, rejoiced in the name of “Slipsey,” and proved to be the billiard-marker; his companion was a tall stout personage, with a very red face, rather handsome features, large white teeth, and a profusion of bushy whiskers, moustaches, and imperial of a dark-brown colour. His dress consisted of a blue military frock coat, which he wore open, to display a crimson plush waistcoat and thick gold watch-chain, while his costume was completed by a pair of black and white plaid trousers, made in the extreme of the fashion, with a broad stripe down the outside of the leg. This personage swaggered up to Cumberland, and, with a manner composed of impertinent familiarity and awkwardness, addressed him as follows:—

“How d'ye do, Mr. Cumberland? hope I see you well, sir. Terrible bad day, gentlemen, don't you think? dusty enough to pepper the devil, as we used to say in Spain, hey? Going to have a touch at the rolley-polleys, I suppose.”

“We shall be disturbing you, Captain Spicer,” said Cumberland, who, I thought, had tact enough to perceive that his friend's free and easy manner was the reverse of acceptable to Oaklands.

“Not at all, not at all,” was the reply; “it was so terrible unpleasant out of doors that, as I happened to be going by, I thought I'd look in to see if there was anything up; and as the table was lying idle I got knocking the balls about with little Slipsey here, just to keep one's hand in, you know.”

“Well, then, we had better begin at once,” said Cumberland, to which Oaklands assented rather coldly.

As he was pulling off his greatcoat he whispered to me, “If that man stays here long, I shall never be able to stand it: his familiarity is unbearable; there is nothing tires me so much as being obliged to be civil to that kind of people”.

“How is it to be?” said Cumberland, “whoever wins four games out of seven is the conqueror, wasn't that it?”

“Yes, I believe so,” was Oaklands' reply.

“A very sporting match, 'pon my life,” observed the Captain; “are the stakes high?”

“Oh no! a mere nothing: five, or ten pounds, did we say?” inquired Cumberland.

“Just as you like,” replied Oaklands, carelessly.

“Ten pounds, by all means, I should say; five pounds is so shocking small, don't you think? not worth playing for?” said the Captain.

“Ten let it be then,” said Cumberland; and after a few preliminaries they began playing.

I did not understand the game sufficiently to be able to give a detailed account of the various chances of the match, nor would it probably greatly interest the reader were I to do so. Suffice it, then, to state, that, as far as I could judge, Oaklands, disgusted by the vulgar impertinence of the Captain (if Captain he was), thought the whole thing a bore, and played carelessly. The consequence was, that Cumberland won the first two games. This put Oaklands upon his mettle, and he won the third and fourth; the fifth was hardly contested, Oaklands evidently playing as well as he was able, Cumberland also taking pains; but it struck me as singular that, in each game, his play seemed to depend upon that of his adversary. When Oaklands first began Cumberland certainly beat him, but not by many; and, as he became interested, and his play improved, so in the same ratio did Cumberland's keep pace with it. Of course, there might be nothing in this; the same causes that affected the one might influence the other; but the idea having once occurred to me, I determined to watch the proceedings still more closely, in order, if possible, to make up my mind on the point. After a very close contest Oaklands also won the fifth game; in the sixth he missed a difficult stroke, after which he played carelessly, apparently intending to reserve his strength for the final struggle, so that Cumberland won it easily. Each had now won three games, and on the event of the seventh depended the match. Again did Oaklands, who was evidently deeply interested, use his utmost skill, and his play, which certainly was very good, called forth frequent eulogiums from the Captain, who offered to bet unheard-of sums on the certainty of his winning (which, as there was no one in the room at all likely to accept his offer, was a very safe and innocent amusement), and again, pari passu, did Cumberland's skill keep pace with his. After playing neck and neck, till nearly the end of the game, Cumberland gained a slight advantage, which produced the following state of affairs:—It was Oaklands' turn to play, and the balls were placed in such a position, that by a brilliant stroke he might win the game, but it required great skill to do so. If he failed, the chances were so much in Cumberland's favour as to render his success almost a certainty. It was an anxious moment: for my own part, I felt as if I scarcely dared breathe, and could distinctly hear the throbbing of my own heart, while the Captain, after having most liberally offered to bet five hundred pounds to five pence that he did it, remained silent and motionless as a statue, watching the proceedings, with his eye-glass screwed after some mysterious fashion into the corner of his eye. And now, carefully and deliberately, Oaklands pointed his cue—his elbow was drawn back for the stroke—for the last time his eye appeared to measure and calculate the precise spot he must strike to produce the desired effect—when suddenly, and at the exact moment in which the cue struck the ball, a sonorous sneeze from the rat-like billiard-marker resounded through the room; as a necessary consequence, Oaklands gave a slight start and missed his stroke. The confusion that ensued can “better be imagined than described,” as the newspapers always say about the return from Epsom. With an exclamation of anger and disappointment Oaklands turned away from the table, while the Captain began storming at Slipsey, whom he declared himself ready to kick till all was blue, for the trifling remuneration of half a farthing. The marker himself apologised, with great contrition, for his delinquency, which he declared was quite involuntary, at the same time asserting that, to the best of his belief, the gentleman had made his stroke before he sneezed: this Oaklands denied, and appealed to Cumberland for his opinion. After trying in various ways to avoid giving a direct answer, and appealing in his turn to Captain Spicer (who was so intensely positive that the sneeze had preceded the stroke, that he was willing to back his opinion to any amount), Cumberland very unwillingly owned that, if he was forced to say what he thought, he believed Oaklands had made his stroke before the sneeze caused him to start, but that it was a near thing, and he might very possibly be mistaken. This was quite enough for Oaklands, who declared that he was perfectly satisfied, and begged Cumberland to play, which, with some apparent reluctance, he did, and, as was almost a matter of certainty, proved the conqueror.

“'Pon my life, in all my experience, I never knew a gentleman lose a match in such a tremendously unfortunate way,” observed the Captain. “I am certain that if you had not been flurried, Mr. Oaklands, sir, you could have done the trick as clean as a whistle. Allow me to place the balls as they were then—I know how they stood to a nicety—there, that's it to a demi-semi fraction; oblige me, sir, just as a personal favour, by trying the stroke once more.”

Thus invoked, Oaklands approached the table, and, without a moment's deliberation, struck the ball, and succeeded in doing with perfect ease the very thing which a minute before would have won him ten pounds.

"There! I was super-certain you could do it; the match was yours, sir, as safe as the bank, if that wretched little abortion there hadn't made that disgusting noise. Play him again, sir; play him again: Mr. Cumberland's a pretty player, a very pretty player; but you're too strong for him, Mr. Oaklands; it's my firm conviction you're too strong for him.”

“What do you say to giving me my revenge, Cumberland?” asked Oaklands.

“Oh! I can have no possible objection,” replied Cumberland, with the slightest imaginable assumption of superiority in his tone, which annoyed my ear, and which I felt sure would produce the same effect upon Oaklands. The next game Oaklands won; and they continued to play the rest of the afternoon with various success, and for what appeared to me very high stakes. I calculated that, by the time they left off, Oaklands must have lost more than thirty pounds; and yet, in spite of this, to a superficial observer he appeared to be the better player of the two: he certainly made the most brilliant strokes, but he also made blunders, and failed now and then; while Cumberland's score mounted up without one's exactly knowing how; he never seemed to be playing particularly well, and yet there was always something easy for him to do; while, when Oaklands had to play, the balls got into such awkward positions that it appeared as if they were leagued against him.

Besides this, many things concurred to strengthen me in my pre-conceived idea, that Cumberland was accommodating his play to that of Oaklands, whom, I felt certain, he could have beaten easily, if he had been so inclined. If this were really the case, the only conclusion one could come to was, that the whole thing was a regularly arranged plot: the object of which was to win as much as he could of Oaklands' money. The marker's sneeze too, occurring so very opportunely for Cumberland's interest; and the presence of the Captain, who, by his eulogiums on Oaklands' skill, had excited him to continue playing, while, by his observations and advice, he had endeavoured (whenever it was possible) to raise the amount of the stakes; all this favoured my view of the case. Still these were but suspicions; for I was utterly without proof: and could I on mere suspicion tell Oaklands that he was a dupe, and Cumberland a knave? No, this would never do; so I determined, as people generally do when they are at their wits' end, and can hit on nothing better, to wait and see what time would bring forth, and act according to circumstances.

Should any of my readers think such penetration unnatural in a boy of my age, brought up in a quiet country parsonage, let them remember that, though utterly ignorant of the ways of the world, I was what is called a quick, sharp boy; that I had been informed Cumberland was not a person to be trusted, nay, that he was known to have cheated some young man before; and that, moreover, my very unworldliness and ignorance increased my suspicions, inasmuch as it seemed to me that playing billiards, at a public table, for what I considered large sums of money, was neither more nor less than gambling; and gambling I viewed in the light of a patent twenty-devil-power man-trap, fresh baited (in the present case with a billiard cue and balls) by the claws of the Evil One himself; consequently, I was prepared to view everything that passed with the greatest mistrust; and, in such a frame of mind, I must have been blind not to have perceived something of what was going on.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER VIII — GOOD RESOLUTIONS

“Blest are those
Whose blood and judgement are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's linger
To sound what stop she please.”
—Hamlet.
“There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.”
—Naval Song.

AS we were preparing to take our departure I observed the Captain exchange glances with Cumberland, who turned to Oaklands, saying:—

“Don't wait for me; I have one or two places to call at in my way back, and I shall only make you late;—when you get home, give Thomas a hint to keep back dinner five minutes or so—old Mildman won't say anything about it, if he fancies it's the servant's fault.”

To this Oaklands replied, “that it was rather a shame, but he'd see what he could do for once”; and, with a very distant bow to the Captain, we left the room. As soon as we were in the street Oaklands accosted me with:—

“Well, Frank, what do you think of billiards?”

"Why,” replied I, after a moment's thought, “as to the game itself, it's a very pretty game, and when you can play well, I have no doubt a very interesting one; too much so, perhaps.”

“Too interesting! why, that's the beauty of it; almost every other game is a bore, and tires one, because one does not get sufficiently interested to forget the trouble of it; what can you mean by too interesting?”

“You won't be angry at what I am going to say, will you?” said I, looking up in his face.

“Angry with you, my dear boy! no fear of that; always say just what you think to me, and, if it happens to be disagreeable, why it can't be helped; I would rather hear a disagreeable truth from a friend any day, than have it left for some ill-natured person to bring out, when he wants to annoy me.”

“All I meant to say was this,” I replied; “it seems to me that you get so much excited by the game, that you go on playing longer, and for higher stakes, than you intended to do when you began,—surely,” continued I, “it cannot be right to lose such sums of money merely for amusement; is it not gambling?”

“I believe you are right, Frank,” replied Oaklands, after a short pause, during which he had apparently been revolving the matter in his mind; “when one comes to think seriously about it, it is a most unprofitable way of getting rid of one's money; you will scarcely credit it,” continued he, half-smiling, “but I declare to you I have been playing almost every day for the last two months.”

“So long as that?” interrupted I, aghast.

“There or thereabouts,” said Oaklands, laughing at the tone of horror in which I had spoken; “but I was going to say,” he continued, “that till this moment—looking upon it merely as an amusement, something to keep one from going to sleep over a newspaper in that vile reading-room—I have never taken the trouble to consider whether there was any right or wrong in the matter. I am very much obliged to you for the hint, Frank; I'll think it all over to-night, and see how much I owe Master Cumberland, and I'll tell you to-morrow what conclusion I have come to. I hate to do anything in a hurry—even to think; one must take time to do that well.”

We had now reached home, and, mindful of his promise, Oaklands begged Thomas to use his interest with the cook, for the purpose of postponing dinner for a few minutes, in order to give Cumberland a chance of being ready—to which Thomas replied:—

“Very well, sir, anything to oblige you, Mr. Oaklands,” muttering to himself as he went off, “wonder what that chap Cumberland is up to now; no good, I'll be bound”.

In another minute we heard his voice in the lower regions, exclaiming:—

“I say, cook, mustn't dish up for the next ten minutes; master ain't quite finished his next Sunday's sermon; he's got hitched just at thirdly and lastly, and mustn't be disturbed; not on no account”;—which produced from that functionary the following pathetic rejoinder:—

“Then, it's hall hup with the pigeon pie, for it will be burnt as black as my blessed shoe by that time!”

As I was descending the stairs, ready to go out, the next day, Oaklands called me into his room, and, closing the door, said:—

“Well, Fairlegh, I have thought over all you said yesterday,—made up my mind—and acted upon it”.

“Bravo!” replied I, “I am so glad, for, whenever you will but rouse yourself, you are sure to act more rightly and sensibly than anybody else; but what have you done now? Let me hear all about it.”

“Oh, nothing very wonderful,” answered Oaklands; “when I came to look at my pocket-book, I found I had lost, from first to last, above one hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Good gracious!” cried I, aghast at the magnitude of the sum; “what will you do?”

Oaklands smiled at my look of horror, and continued:—

“About one hundred pounds of this I still owe Cumberland, for, after my ready money was gone, I merely set down on paper all I won or lost, as he said I could pay him at any time, just as it suited me best; and I thought I would wait till I got my next quarter's allowance, pay him out of that, and be very economical ever after. Well, when I saw what the sums amounted to, I found this plan certainly would not answer, and that I was getting into a mess; so I made up my mind to put an end to the thing at once,—and sat down to write to my father, telling him I had been playing billiards every day for some time past with a friend,—of course I did not mention who,—and that, without being at all aware of it, my losses had mounted up till I owed him one hundred pounds. I mentioned at the same time that I had a pretty long bill at Smithson's; and then went on to say that I saw the folly, if not worse than folly, of what I had been doing; and that I applied to him, as the best friend I had in the world,—and I am sure he is too, Frank,—to save me from the consequences of my own imprudence.”

“I am very glad you did that; it was much the wisest thing,” interrupted I.

“As soon as I had written my letter,” continued Oaklands, “I went to Cumberland, and told him that I found I had been going on over fast,—that I owned he was too good a player for me,—and that I therefore did not mean to play any more—and would pay him as soon as I received my father's answer.”

“And what did he say to that?” inquired I.

“Why, he seemed surprised and a little annoyed, I fancied. He denied being the best player, and begged I would not think of paying him yet, saying that I had been unlucky of late, but that, if I would go on boldly, luck was sure to change, and that I should most likely win it all back again.”

“And you?”

“Oh! I told him that was the true spirit of gambling; that I did not choose to owe so much to any man as I owed him, and that pay him I would. Well then, he said, that if I did not like to trouble my father about such a trifle, and yet was determined to pay him, it could be very easily managed. I asked how? He hummed and ha'd, and at last said that Smithson would advance me the money in a minute—that I should only have to sign a receipt for it, and need not pay him for years—not till I was of age, and not then if I did not like—that no one would be any the wiser—and he was going on with more in the same style, when I stopped him, by answering very abruptly, that such an arrangement was not to my taste, and that I was not yet reduced be borrowing money of my tailor.”

“Quite right, I am so glad you told him that,” interposed I; “what did he say then?”

“Something about not intending to offend me, and its being a thing done every day.”

“By him perhaps,” said I, recollecting the scene I had witnessed soon after my arrival.

“Why! what do you mean?” said Oaklands.

“I'll tell you when you have done,” replied I; “but I want to know how all this ended.”

“There was not much more. He tried to persuade me to go again to-day, and play another match. I told him I was engaged to ride with you. Then he looked as if he was going to be angry. I waited to see, and he wasn't, and so we parted.”

"And what think you of Cumberland now?” inquired I. “I can't say I altogether like the way in which he has behaved about this,” replied Oaklands; “it certainly looks as if he would have had no objection to win as much as he could from me, for he must have known all along that he was the best player. It strikes me that I am well out of the mess, and I have to thank you for being so too, old fellow.”

“Nay, you have to thank your own energy and decision; I did nothing towards helping you out of your difficulties.”

“Indeed! if a man is walking over a precipice with his eyes shut, is it nothing to cause him to open them, in order that he may see the dangers into which the path he is following will lead him?”

“Ah! Harry, if you would but exert yourself, so as to keep your own eyes open——”

“What a wide-awake fellow you would be!” interposed Coleman, who, after having tapped twice, without succeeding in making himself heard (so engrossed were we by the conversation in which we were engaged), had in despair opened the door in time to overhear my last remark. “I say, gents, as Thomas calls us,” continued he, “what have you been doing to Cumberland to put him into such a charming temper?”

“Is he out of humour then?” inquired Oaklands. “I should say, rather,” replied Coleman, winking ironically; “he came into our room just now, looking as black as thunder, and, as I know he hates to be spoken to when he is in the sulks, I asked him if you were going to play billiards with him to-day.”

Harry and I exchanged glances, and Coleman continued:—

“He fixed his eyes upon me, and stared as if he would have felt greatly relieved by cutting my throat, and at last growled out, 'No; that you were going to ride with Fairlegh'; to which I replied, 'that it was quite delightful to see what great friends you had become'; whereupon he ground his teeth with rage, and told me 'to go to the devil for a prating fool'; so I answered, that I was not in want of such an article just at present, and had not time to go so far to-day, and then I came here instead. Oh, he's in no end of a rage, I know.”

“And your remarks would not tend to soothe him much either,” said I. “Oaklands has just been telling him he does not mean to play billiards again.”

“Phew!” whistled Coleman, “that was a lucky shot of mine; I fancied it must have been something about Oaklands and billiards that had gone wrong, when I saw how savage it made him. I like to rile Cumberland sometimes, because he's always so soft and silky; he seems afraid of getting into a good honest rage, lest he should let out something he does not want one to know. I hate such extreme caution; it always makes me think there must be something very wrong to be concealed, when people are so mighty particular.”

“You are not quite a fool after all, Freddy,” said Oaklands, encouragingly.

“Thank ye for nothing, Harry Longlegs,” replied Coleman,—skipping beyond the reach of Oaklands' arm. A few mornings after this conversation took place Oaklands, who was sitting in the recess of the window (from which he had ejected Lawless on the memorable evening of his arrival), called me to him, and asked in a low tone of voice whether I should mind calling at the billiard-rooms when I went out, and paying a month's subscription which he owed there. He added that he did not like going himself, for fear of meeting Cumberland or the Captain, as if they pressed him to play, and he refused (which he certainly should do), something disagreeable might occur, which it was quite as well to avoid. In this I quite agreed, and willingly undertook the commission. While we were talking Thomas came into the room with a couple of letters, one of which he gave to Oaklands, saying, it had just come by the post, while he handed the other to Cumberland, informing him that the gentleman who brought it was waiting for an answer. I fancied that Cumberland changed colour slightly when his eye fell upon the writing. After rapidly perusing the note, he crushed it in his hand, and flung it into the fire, saying:—

“My compliments to the gentleman, and I'll be with him at the time he mentions”.

“Well, this is kind of my father,” exclaimed Oaklands, looking up with a face beaming with pleasure; “after writing me the warmest and most affectionate letter possible, he sends me an order for three hundred pounds upon his banker, telling me always to apply to him when I want money, or get into difficulties of any kind; and that if I will promise him that this shall be the case, I need never be afraid of asking for too much, as he should be really annoyed were I to stint myself.”

“What a pattern for fathers!” exclaimed Coleman, rubbing his hands. “I only wish my old dad would test my obedience in that sort of way;—I'd take care I would not annoy him by asking for too little; he need not fret himself on that account. Ugh!” continued he, with a look of intense disgust, “it's quite dreadful to think what perverted ideas he has on the subject; he actually fancies it his business to spend his money as well as to make it; and as for sons, the less they have the better, lest they should get into extravagant habits, forsooth! I declare it's quite aggravating to think of the difference between people: a cheque for three hundred pounds from a father, who'll be annoyed if one does not always apply to him for money enough! Open the window there! I am getting faint!”

“Don't you think there's a little difference between sons as well as fathers, Master Fred, eh?” inquired Lawless. “I should say some sons might be safely trusted with three-hundred-pound cheques; while others are certain to waste two shillings, and misapply sixpence, out of every half-crown they may get hold of.”

“Sir, I scorn your insinuations; sir, you're no gentleman,” was the reply, producing (as was probably intended) an attack from Lawless, which Coleman avoided for some time by dodging round chairs and under tables. After the chase had lasted for several minutes Coleman, when on the point of being captured, contrived, by a master-stroke of policy, to substitute Mullins in his place, and the affair ended by that worthy being knocked down by Lawless, “for always choosing to interfere with everything,” and being kicked up again by Coleman, “for having prevented him from properly vindicating his wounded honour”.

“Who's going near the Post-office, and will put a letter in for me?” asked Oaklands.

“I am,” replied Cumberland; “I've got one of my own to put in also.”

“Don't forget it or lose it, for it's rather important,” added Oaklands; “but I need not caution you, you are not one of the harebrained sort; if it had been my friend Freddy, now——”

“I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Oaklands,” said Coleman, putting on an air of offended dignity, in which, though very much exaggerated, there was at the bottom the smallest possible spice of reality—a thing, by the way, one may often observe in people who have a very strong appreciation of the ridiculous, and who, however fond they may be of doing absurd things for the sake of being laughed at, do not approve of their buffooneries being taken for granted—“I'll tell you what it is, sir—you have formed a most mistaken estimate of my character; I beg to say that any affair I undertake is certain to be conducted in a very sedate and business-like manner. My prudence I consider unimpeachable; and as to steadiness, I flatter myself I go considerably ahead of the Archbishop of Canterbury in that article. If I hear you repeat such offensive remarks, I shall be under the painful necessity of elongating your already sufficiently prolonged proboscis.”

“Come and try,” said Oaklands, folding his arms with an air of defiance. Coleman, reckoning on his adversary's dislike of exertion, and trusting to his own extreme quickness and activity to effect his escape scot-free, made a feint of turning away as if to avoid the contest, and then, with a sudden spring, leaped upon Oaklands, and succeeded in just touching his nose. The latter was, however, upon his guard, and while, by seizing his outstretched arm with one hand, he prevented him from attaining his object, he caught him by the coat-collar with the other, and detained him prisoner.

“I've got you this time, at all events, Master Freddy; now what shall I do with you, to pay you off for all your impertinence?” said Oaklands, looking round the room in search of something suitable to his purpose. “I have it,” continued he, as his eyes encountered the bookcase, which was a large square-topped, old-fashioned affair, standing about eight feet high, and the upper part forming a sort of glass-fronted closet, in which the books were arranged on shelves. “Great men like you, who go ahead of archbishops and so on, should be seated in high places.” So saying he lifted Coleman in his arms, with as much ease as if he had been a kitten; and, stepping up on a chair which stood near, seated him on the top of the bookcase, with his head touching the ceiling, and his feet dangling about six feet from the ground.

“What a horrid shame!” said Coleman; “come help me down again, Harry, there's a good fellow.”

“I help you down!” rejoined Oaklands, “I've had trouble enough in putting you up, I think; I'm a great deal too much tired to help you down again.”

“Well, if you won't, there's nobody else can,” said Coleman, “unless they get a ladder, or a fire-escape—don't call me proud, gentlemen, if I look down upon you all, for I assure you it's quite involuntary on my part.”

“A decided case of 'up aloft': he looks quite the cherub, does he not?” said Lawless.

"They are making game of you, Coleman,” cried Mullins, grinning.

“I hope not,” was the reply, “for in that case I should be much too high to be pleasant.”

“They ought to keep you there for an hour longer for that vile pun,” said Cumberland. “Is your letter ready, Oaklands, for I must be going?”

“It is upstairs, I'll fetch it,” replied Oaklands, leaving the room.

“Well, as it seems I am here for life, I may as well make myself comfortable,” said Coleman, and, suiting the action to the word, he crossed his legs under him like a tailor, and folding his arms leaned his back against the wall, the picture of ease.

At this moment there was a gentle tap at the door; some one said “Come in,” and, without a word of preparation, Dr. Mildman entered the apartment. Our surprise and consternation at this apparition may easily be imagined. Cumberland and Lawless tried to carry it off by assuming an easy unembarrassed air, as if nothing particular was going on; I felt strongly disposed to laugh; while Mullins looked much more inclined to cry; but the expression of Coleman's face, affording a regular series of “dissolving views” of varied emotions, was the “gem” of the whole affair. The unconscious cause of all this excitement, whose back was turned towards the bookcase, walked quietly up to his usual seat, saying, as he did so:—

[ [!-- IMG --]

“Don't let me disturb you—I only came to look for my eye-glass, which I think I must have dropped”.

“I see it, sir,” said I, springing forward and picking it up; “how lucky none of us happened to tread on it and break it!”

“Thank you, Fairlegh, it is an old friend, and I should have been sorry to have any harm happen to it,” replied he, as he turned to leave the room, without having once raised his eyes from the ground. Coleman, who up to this moment had considered a discovery inevitable, gave me a sign to open the door, and, believing the danger over, was proceeding to relieve his feelings by making a hideous face at his retiring tutor, when the bookcase, affected no doubt by the additional weight placed upon it, suddenly gave a loud crack.

“Bless my heart,” said Dr. Mildman, looking up in alarm, “what's that? Gracious me!” continued he, starting back as his eyes encountered Coleman, “there's something alive up there! why it's—eh?” continued he, levelling his newly restored eye-glass at the object of his alarm; “yes, it certainly is Coleman; pray, sir, is it usually your 'custom of an afternoon,' as Shakspeare has it, to sit perched up there cross-legged, like a Chinese mandarin? It's a very singular taste.”

“Why, sir,” replied Coleman, for once completely taken aback, “you see I didn't—that is, I wasn't—I mean, if I hadn't—I shouldn't.”

“Hum,” resumed Dr. Mildman, with whom he was rather a favourite, and who, now that he had satisfied himself it was not some wild animal he had to deal with, was evidently amused by Coleman's embarrassment, “that sentence of yours is not particularly clear or explanatory; but,” continued he, as a new idea occurred to him, “how in the world did you get up there? you must have flown.”

“I didn't get up, I was—that is, he——” stammered

Coleman, remembering just in time that he could not explain without involving Oaklands.

“And how are you ever to get down again?” said Dr. Mildman.

“Has the pretty bird flown yet?” cried Oaklands, hastily entering the room; when, observing the addition the party had received during his absence, he started back, murmuring in an under tone, “The old gentleman, by Jove!” Quickly recovering himself, however, he sprang upon a chair, and, seizing Coleman in his arms, whisked him down with more haste than ceremony; and going up to Dr. Mildman said respectfully, “That was a bit of folly of mine, sir; I put him up there; I merely did it for a joke, and I hadn't an idea you would come in and find him”.

“Never mind,” replied Dr. Mildman, good-naturedly, “as you have contrived to get him down again safely there is no harm done;” adding as he left the room, “that young man is as strong as Hercules. I hope he'll never take it into his head to pop me up anywhere, for I am sure he could do it if he chose.”

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CHAPTER IX — A DENOUEMENT

“Play not for gain but sport; who plays for more
Than he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart.”
—Herbert.
“If you are so bold as to venture a blowing-up, look closely
to it! for the plot lies deadly deep... but of all things have
a care of putting it in your pocket,... and if you can shun
it, read it not;... consider well what you do, and look
to yourself,... for there is danger and jeopardy in it.”—
—Dr. Eachard.

IN the course of my walk that afternoon I called at the billiard-rooms in F—— Street, in order to pay Oaklands' subscription. On inquiring for Mr. Johnson, the proprietor, I was told that he was engaged at present, but that if I did not mind waiting for a few minutes, he would be able to attend to me. To this I agreed, and was shown into a small room downstairs, which, from its sanded floor, and a strong odour of stale tobacco which pervaded it, was apparently used as a smoking-room. It opened into what seemed to be a rather spacious apartment from which it was divided by a glass half-door, across the lower panes of which hung a green blind: this door, on my entrance, was standing slightly ajar. The day being cold, there was a bright fire burning on the hearth; near this I seated myself, and, seduced by its drowsy influence, fell into a kind of trance, in which, between sleeping and waking, my mind wandered away to a far different scene, among well-known forms and familiar faces that had been strangers to me now for many a long day. From this day-dream I was aroused by sounds, which, proceeding from the adjoining apartment, resolved themselves, as I became more thoroughly awake, into the voices of two persons apparently engaged in angry colloquy.

“I tell you,” said a gruff voice, which somehow seemed familiar to me—“I tell you it is the only chance for you; you must contrive to bring him here again, and that without loss of time.”

“Must I again repeat that the thing is impossible?” was the reply, in tones I knew but too well; “utterly impossible; when once his mind is made up, and he takes the trouble to exert himself, he is immovable; nothing can shake his determination.”

“And is this your boasted skill and management?” rejoined the first speaker; “how comes it, pray, that this overgrown child, who seemed the other day to be held as nicely in leading-strings as need be—this raw boy, whose hot-headedness, simplicity, and indolence rendered him as easy a pigeon to pluck as one could desire; how comes it, I say, that he has taken alarm in this sudden manner, so as to refuse to come here any more? you've bungled this matter most shamefully, sir, and must take the consequences.”

“That's just the point I cannot make out,” replied the second speaker, who, as the reader has probably discovered, was none other than Cumberland; “it's easy enough for you to lay it all to my mismanagement, Captain Spicer, but I tell you it is no such thing; did I not accommodate my play to his, always appearing to win by some accident, so that the fool actually believed himself the better player, while he was losing from twenty to thirty pounds a day? Didn't I excite him, and lead him on by a mixture of flattery and defiance, so that he often fancied he was persuading me to play against my will, and was so ready to bet that I might have won three times what I have of him, if you had not advised me to go on quietly, and by degrees? Did not you refuse when I wished you to take him in hand yourself, because you said I understood him best, and managed him admirably? No, I believe that detestable young Fairlegh is at the bottom of it: I observed him watching me with that calm, steadfast glance of his, that I hated him for from the first moment I saw him; I felt certain some mischief would arise from it.”

“Yes!” replied Spicer, “that was your fault too: why did you let the other bring him; every fool knows that lookers-on see most of the game.”

“I was afraid to say much against it, lest Oaklands should suspect anything,” rejoined Cumberland; “but I wish to Heaven I had now; I might have been sure no good would come from it—that boy is my evil genius.”

“I have no time for talking about geniuses, and such confounded stuff,” observed Spicer, angrily, “so now to business, Mr. Cumberland: you are aware you owe me two hundred pounds, I presume?”

Cumberland grumbled out an unwilling assent, to which he appended a muttered remark not exactly calculated to enhance the Captain's future comfort.

“Like a good-natured fool,” continued Spicer, “I agreed to wait for my money till you had done what you could with this Oaklands.”

“For which forbearance you were to receive fifty pounds extra, besides anything you could make out of him by private bets,” put in Cumberland.

“Of course I was not going to wait all that time for my money for nothing,” was the reply; “you have only as yet paid me fifty pounds, you tell me you can't persuade Oaklands to play again, so there's nothing more to be got from that quarter, consequently nothing more to wait for. I must trouble you, therefore, to pay me the two hundred pounds at once; for, to be plain with you, it won't do for me to remain here any longer—the air does not agree with my constitution.”

“And where on earth am I to get two hundred pounds at a minute's notice?” said Cumberland; “you are as well aware the thing is impossible as I am.”

“I am aware of this, sir,” replied the Captain with an oath, “that I'll have my money; ay, and this very day too, or I'll expose you—curse me if I don't. I know your uncle's address: yes! you may well turn pale, and gnaw your lip—other people can plot and scheme as well as yourself: if I'm not paid before I leave this place, and that will be by to-night's mail, your uncle shall be told that his nephew is an insolvent gambler; and the old tutor, the Rev. Dr. Mildman, shall have a hint that his head pupil is little better than a blackleg.”

“Now listen to me, Spicer,” said Cumberland quietly; “I know you might do what you have threatened, and that to me it would be neither more nor less than ruin, but—and this is the real question—pray what possible advantage (save calling people's attention to the share, a pretty large one, you have had in making me what I am) would it be to you?”

“To me, sir? eh! why, what do you mean, sir? your uncle is a man of honour, and, of course, as such would pay his nephew's debts for him, more particularly when he knows that if he refuses to do so that nephew will be sent to jail; yes, to jail, sir.”

“There; blustering is of no use with me, so you may save yourself that trouble, Captain,” replied Cumberland; “as to sending me to jail, that is absurd; you can't arrest a minor for debt, and I shall not be of age these two years. My uncle is, as you say, what is called a man of honour, but he is not one of those over-scrupulous fools who will pay any demand, however dishonest and unreasonable, rather than tarnish the family honour, forsooth! No! he will pay what the law compels him, and not a farthing more I leave you to decide whether the law is likely to be of much use to you in the present case. Now, listen to me; though you cannot obtain the money by the means you proposed, you can, as I said before, do me serious injury; therefore, if for no other reason but to stop your mouth, I would pay you the whole if I could, but I have not the power of doing so at present. What I propose then is this—Oaklands will pay me, in a day or two, one hundred pounds; this I will hand over to you at once, and will give you a written promise to pay you the rest in the course of the next six months; for before that time I must raise money somehow, even if I have to sell every farthing I expect to come into to the Jews, in order to do it.”

“Won't do,” was the reply; “the ready isn't enough; I must leave this country in a day or two, and I must have money to take with me; come, one hundred and fifty pounds down, and I'll let you off the other fifty.”

“It's impossible, I can get no other money yet, excepting the sum Oaklands is to pay me.”

“Yes! and how the devil am I to be sure he will pay you directly; I'm pretty certain the fool's hard up himself; he hasn't paid cash for a month past.”

“If that's all you're afraid of, I can soon convince you to the contrary; here's a letter to his father's banker, which I am going to put into the post directly, with a cheque for three hundred pounds in it; there, hold it up to the light, and you can see the figures yourself.”

“By Jove! so it is,” exclaimed Spicer: “I say, Cumberland,” he continued, and then the voices almost sunk into a whisper, so that I could not catch more than a word here and there, but by the tone I judged that the Captain was making some proposition, to which Cumberland refused to agree.

At length I heard the former say, “Fifty pounds down, and a receipt in full “.

Cumberland's reply was inaudible, but when the Captain spoke again I caught the following words: “Not the slightest risk, only you do as I say, and——”

At this moment the outer door of the room in which I was sitting opened, while the one communicating with the other apartment was violently slammed to from the farther side, and I heard no more.

The newcomer was a little slipshod girl in dirty curlpapers, who informed me that her master was sorry he could not see me that day as he was particularly engaged, but if I would do him the favour of calling to-morrow, at the same hour, he should be at leisure, etc. To this I answered something, I scarcely knew what, and, seizing my hat, rushed out at the front door, to the great astonishment of the curl-papered damsel, who cast an anxious glance at the pegs in the hall, ere she could convince herself that I had not departed with more hats and coats than legitimately belonged to me.

It was not until I had proceeded the length of two or three streets, that I could collect my ideas sufficiently to form anything like a just estimate of the extraordinary disclosures with which I had so unexpectedly become acquainted, and no sooner had I in some measure succeeded in so doing, than the puzzling question presented itself to me, what line of conduct it would be advisable to adopt, in consequence of what I had heard. I asked myself too, to begin with, what right I had to make any use of a private conversation, which accident alone had caused me to overhear? Would not people say I had behaved dishonourably in having listened to it at all? But then again, by preserving Cumberland's secret, and concealing his real character from Oaklands, should not I, as it were, become a party to any nefarious schemes he might contemplate for the future? Having failed in one instance in his attempt on Oaklands' purse, would he not (having, as I was now fully aware, such a strong necessity for money) devise some fresh plan, which might succeed in its object, were Oaklands still ignorant of the real character of the person he had to deal with? And in such case should not I be answerable for any mischief which might ensue? Nay, for aught I knew, some fresh villainy might be afloat even now; what plan could Spicer have been urging, which Cumberland seemed unwilling to adopt, if not something of this nature, and which might be prevented were Oaklands made aware of all the circumstances?

This last idea settled the business. I determined to reveal everything to Oaklands in confidence, and to be guided in my subsequent conduct by his opinion. Having once arrived at this conclusion, the next thing was to carry my intentions into effect with as little loss of time as possible. I consequently started off at speed in a homeward direction, and succeeded in reaching my destination in rather less than ten minutes, having, at various times in the course of my route, run against and knocked over no less than six little children, to the manifest discomposure and indignation of as many nursery-maids, who evidently regarded me as a commissioned agent of some modern Herod, performing my master's work zealously.

On arriving at home my impatience was doomed to be disappointed, for Oaklands, who had gone out soon after I did, was not yet returned. This delay, in the feverish state of anxiety and excitement in which I was, appeared to me intolerable; and, unable to sit still, I kept striding up and down the room, clenching my fists, and uttering exclamations of impatience and vexation; which unusual conduct on my part so astonished and alarmed the worthy Thomas that, after remaining in the room till he had exhausted every conceivable pretext for so doing, he boldly inquired whether “I did not feel myself ill, no how?” adding his hope, that “I had not been a-exhaling laughing gas, or any sich rumbustical wegitable?” after which he favoured me with an anecdote of “a young man as he know'd, as had done so, wot conducted hisself more like a hideotic fool than a sanatory Christian, ever after”. Perceiving at length that his attentions were rapidly reducing me to the same state of mind as that of his friend, he very considerately left me.

After half an hour of anxious expectation, in the course of which I must have walked at least a mile or two over Dr. Mildman's parlour carpet, Oaklands and Lawless returned together. I instantly called the former aside, and told him I wished to speak to him alone, as I had something of importance to communicate. To this he replied that it was very near dinner-time; but that, if I would come up to his room, I could talk to him while he dressed. As soon as we were safely closeted together I began my relation, but scarcely had I got beyond “You asked me to go to the billiard-rooms, you know “—when a hasty footstep was heard upon the stairs; some one knocked at the door, and immediately a voice, which I knew to be that of Cumberland, asked to be let in, “as he had something particular to say”.

“The plot thickens,” said Oaklands, as, without rising from his seat, he stretched out an immense length of arm, and opened the door.

“Hear what I have to say first,” cried I; but it was too late, and Cumberland entered, breathless, and with his usually sallow complexion flushed with exercise and excitement.

“The most unfortunate thing”—he began; and stopping to draw breath, he added, “I have run all the way from the post-office, as hard as my legs would carry me—but I was going to tell you—as I went down, I met Curtis of the —th, who told me their band was going to play in Park Square, and asked me to go with him to hear it; and I'm afraid that, as I stood in the crowd, my pocket must have been picked, for when I got to the post-office I found that my letter, my pocket handkerchief, and I am sorry to say your letter also, had disappeared—so, remembering you had told me your letter was of importance, I thought the best thing I could do was to come home as fast as I could, and tell you.”

“By Jove,” exclaimed Oaklands, “that's rather a bore though; there was my father's cheque for three hundred pounds in it; I suppose something ought to be done about it directly.”

“Write a note to stop the payment; and—let me see—as it is too late for the post now, if you will make a parcel of it, I'll run down and give it to the guard of the mail, begging him to deliver it himself as soon as he gets to town—the cheque can't be presented till to-morrow morning, so that will be all right.”

“What a head you have for business, to be sure!” said Oaklands; “but why should you have the trouble of taking it? I dare say Thomas will go with it when we have done dinner, or I can take it myself.”

“Nay,” replied Cumberland, “as I have contrived to lose your letter, the least I can do is to take the parcel; besides, I should like to speak to the guard myself, so as to be sure there's no mistake.”

While this was going on it may be imagined that my thoughts were not idle. When Cumberland mentioned the loss of the letter my suspicions that some nefarious scheme might be on foot began for the first time to resolve themselves into a tangible form, but when I perceived his anxiety to have the parcel entrusted to him, which was to prevent the payment of the cheque, the whole scheme, or something nearly approaching to it, flashed across me at once, and, without reflecting for a moment on what might be the consequences of doing so, I said:—

“If Oaklands will take my advice, he will not entrust you with anything else, till you can prove that you have really lost the letter, as you say you have done”.

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of us, it could scarcely have produced greater confusion than did this speech of mine. Oaklands sprang upon his feet, regarding me with the greatest surprise as he asked “if I knew what I was saying?” while Cumberland, in a voice hoarse from passion, inquired, “What the devil I meant by my insolence? what did I dare to insinuate he had done with the letter, if he had not lost it?”

"I insinuate nothing,” was my reply; “but I tell you plainly that I believe, and have good reason for believing, that you have not lost the letter, but given it to your gambling friend and accomplice, Captain Spicer, who, in return for it, is to give you a receipt in full for the two hundred pounds you owe him, and fifty pounds down.” On hearing this Cumberland turned as pale as ashes, and leaned on the back of a chair for support, while I continued, “You look surprised, Oaklands, as well you may; but when you hear what I have to tell, you will see that I do not make this accusation without having good grounds to go upon “.

“I shall not stay here,” said Cumberland, making an effort to recover himself, and turning towards the door, “I shall not remain here to be any further insulted; I wish you good-evening, Mr. Oaklands.”

“Not so fast,” said Oaklands, springing to the door, and locking it; “if all this be true, and Fairlegh would not have said so much unless he had strong facts to produce, you and I shall have an account to settle together, Mr. Cumberland; you will not leave this room till I know the rights of the affair. Now, Frank, let us hear how you learned all this.”

“Strangely enough,” replied I; and I then gave him an exact account of all that had passed at the billiard-rooms, repeating the conversation, word for word, as nearly as I could remember it, leaving Oaklands to draw his own inferences therefrom. During the whole of my recital Cumberland sat with his elbows resting on the table, and his face buried in his hands, without offering the slightest interruption, scarcely indeed appearing aware of what was going on, save once, when I mentioned the fact of the door between the two rooms being slightly open, when he muttered something about “what cursed folly!” When I had finished my account Oaklands turned towards Cumberland, and asked in a stern voice “what he had to say to this statement?” Receiving no answer, he continued: But it is useless, sir, to ask you: the truth of what Fairlegh has said is self-evident—the next question is, What is to be done about it?” He paused for a moment as if in thought, and then resumed: “In the position in which I now stand, forming one of Dr. Mildman's household, and placed by my father under his control, I scarcely consider myself a free agent. It seems to me, therefore, that my course is clear; it is evidently my duty to inform him of the whole affair, and afterwards to act as he may advise, Do you agree with me, Frank?”

"It is exactly what I should have proposed, had you not mentioned it first,” was my answer.

“For God's sake, Oaklands, don't,” exclaimed Cumberland, raising himself suddenly; “he will write to my uncle—I shall be expelled—my character lost—it will be utter ruin;—have pity upon me—I will get you back your money, I will indeed, only don't tell Mildman.”

“I have treated you up to the present time as a gentleman and a friend,” replied Oaklands; “you have proved yourself unworthy of either title, and deserve nothing at my hands but the strictest justice; no one could blame me were I to allow the law to take its course with you, as with any other swindler, but this I shall be most unwilling to do; nothing short of Dr. Mildman's declaring it to be my positive duty will prevail upon me. But our tutor ought to be informed of it, and shall: he is a good, kind-hearted man, and if his judgment should err at all, you may feel sure it will be on the side of mercy. Fairlegh, will you go down and ask Dr. Mildman if I can speak to him on a matter of importance, now, at once? you will find him in his study. Let me know when he is ready, and we will come down; for,” added he, turning to Cumberland, “I do not lose sight of you till this business is settled one way or other.”

When I had told my errand Dr. Mildman, who looked a good deal surprised and a little frightened, desired me (on receiving my assurance that the business would not do as well after dinner) to tell Oaklands to come to him immediately. To this Oaklands replied by desiring me to hold myself in readiness for a summons, as he should want me presently. Then, linking his arm within that of Cumberland, he half-led, half-forced, him out of the room. In another minute I heard the study-door close behind them.

“Now, Fairlegh,” said Dr. Mildman, when, in about a quarter of an hour's time, I had been sent for, “I wish you to repeat to me the conversation you overheard at the billiard-room, as nearly word for word as you can remember it.”

This I hastened to do; the Doctor listening with the most profound attention, and asking one or two questions on any point which did not at first appear quite clear to him. When I had concluded he resumed his inquiries by asking whether I had seen the parties who were speaking. To this I answered in the negative.

“But you imagined you recognised the voices?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Whose did you take them to be?”

"One I believed to be Cumberland's, the other that of a Captain Spicer, whom I had seen when I was there before.”

“How often have you been there?”

“Twice, sir; once about a week ago, and again to-day.”

“And have you the slightest moral doubt as to the fact of the persons you heard speaking being Cumberland and this Captain Spicer?”

“Not the slightest; I feel quite certain of it.”

“That is all clear and straightforward enough,” observed Dr. Mildman, turning to the culprit. “I am afraid the case is only too fully proved against you; have you anything to say which can at all establish your innocence?”

“It would be of no use if I were to do so,” said Cumberland, in a sullen manner; “it is all a matter of assertion; you choose to believe what they say, and if I were to deny it, you would not believe me without proof, and how can I prove a negative?”

“But do you deny it?” inquired Dr. Mildman, regarding him with a clear, scrutinising look. Cumberland attempted to speak, but, meeting Dr. Mildman's eye, was unable to get out a word, and turned away, concealing his face in his handkerchief.

“This is a sad piece of business,” said Dr. Mildman; “I suppose you mean to prosecute, Oaklands?”

“I shall be most unwilling to do so,” was the reply; “nor will I, sir, unless you consider it my positive duty; I would rather lose the money ten times over than bring such a disgrace upon Cumberland.”

“You are a kind-hearted fellow,” replied the Doctor; “it really is a very difficult case in which to know how to act. As a general principle, I am most averse to anything like hushing up evil.”

[ [!-- IMG --]

“For Heaven's sake have pity upon me, Dr. Mildman,” cried Cumberland, throwing himself on his knees before him; “I confess it all. I did allow Spicer to keep the cheque; he threatened to expose me, and I did it to escape detection; but promise you will not prosecute me, and I will tell you where he may be found, so that something may be done about it yet. I will pay anything you please. I shall come into money when I am of age, and I can make some arrangement. I don't care what I sacrifice, if I have to dig to earn my bread, only do not disgrace me publicly. Remember, I am very young, and oh! if you knew what it is to be tempted as I have been! Oaklands, Fairlegh, intercede for me; think how you should feel, either of you, if you were placed in my situation!”

“Get up, Mr. Cumberland,” observed Dr. Mildman, in a grave, impressive manner; “it is equally needless and unbecoming to kneel to man for forgiveness—learn to consider that position as a thing set apart and sacred to the service of One greater than the sons of men—One, whom you have indeed grievously offended, and to whom, in the solitude of your chamber, you will do well to kneel, and pray that He who died to save sinners may, in the fulness of His mercy, pardon you also.” He paused, and then resumed: “We must decide what steps had better be taken to recover your cheque, Oaklands; it is true we can send and stop the payment of it—but if you determine not to prosecute, for Cumberland's sake, you must let off this man Spicer also, in which case it would be advisable to prevent his presenting the cheque at all, as that might lead to inquiries which it would be difficult to evade. You said just now you knew where this bad man was to be found, Mr. Cumberland.”

“Yes, sir, if he is not at the billiard-rooms in F—— Street, his lodgings are at No. 14, Richmond Buildings,” said Cumberland.

“Ay, exactly,” replied Dr. Mildman; and, resting his head upon his hand, he remained for some minutes buried in thought. Having at length apparently made up his mind, he turned to Cumberland, and said: “Considering all the circumstances of the case, Mr. Cumberland, although I most strongly reprobate your conduct, which has grieved and surprised me more than I can express, I am unwilling to urge Oaklands to put the law in force against you, for more reasons than one. In the first place, I wish to spare your uncle the pain which such an exposure must occasion him; and secondly, I cannot but hope that at your age, so severe a lesson as this may work a permanent change in you, and that at some future period you may regain that standing among honourable men, which you have now so justly forfeited, and I am anxious that this should not be prevented by the stigma which a public examination must attach to your name for ever. I will therefore at once go with you to the abode of this man Spicer, calling on my way at the house of a legal friend of mine, whom I shall try to get to accompany us. I presume we shall have no great difficulty in procuring restitution of the stolen letter, when the culprit perceives that his schemes are found out, and that it is consequently valueless to him. Having succeeded in this, we shall endeavour to come to some equitable arrangement in regard to his claims on you—do you agree to this?” Cumberland bowed his head in token of assent, and Dr. Mildman continued:—

“And you, Oaklands, do you approve of this plan?” “It is like yourself, Doctor, the perfection of justice and kindness,” replied Oaklands, warmly.

“That is well,” resumed Dr. Mildman; “I have one more painful duty to perform, which may as well be done at once—you are aware, Mr. Cumberland, that I must expel you?”

“Will you not look over my fault this once?” entreated Cumberland; “believe me, I will never give you cause for complaint again.”

“No, sir,” was the reply; “in justice to your companions I cannot longer allow you to remain under the same roof with them: it is my duty to see that they associate only with persons fitted for the society of gentlemen, amongst whom, I am sorry to say, I can no longer class you. I shall myself accompany you to town to-morrow, and, if possible, see your uncle, to inform him of this unhappy affair. And now, sir, prepare to go with me to this Captain Spicer;—on our return you will oblige me by remaining in your room during the evening. Oaklands, will you ask Lawless to take my place at the dinner-table, and inform your companions that Cumberland has been engaged in an affair, of which I so strongly disapprove, that I have determined on expelling him, but that you are not at liberty to disclose the particulars? I need scarcely repeat this caution to you, Fairlegh; you have shown so much good sense and right feeling throughout the whole business that I am certain you will respect my wishes on this head.”

I murmured some words in assent, and so ended one of the most painful and distressing scenes it has ever been my fate to witness.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER X — THE BOATING PARTY

“Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm.”
—Gray's Bard.
“Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?”
—Henry IV.

THE dinner passed off heavily; every attempt to keep up a continued conversation failed entirely; and a general feeling of relief was experienced when the time arrived for us to retire to the pupils' room. Even here, however, the state of things was not much better. Lawless and the others having in vain attempted to learn more of the affair from Oaklands and myself than we felt at liberty to tell them, lounged over a book, or dozed by the fire; whilst we, unable to converse on the subject which alone engrossed our thoughts, and disinclined to do so upon any other, were fain to follow their example. About half-past eight Dr. Mildman and Cumberland returned, and, after dinner, which was served to them in the Doctor's study, Cumberland retired to his room, where he remained during the rest of the evening. Oaklands then received a summons from the Doctor, and, on his return, informed us that (as we had already heard) Cumberland was to be expelled. He added that Dr. Mildman intended to take him to town himself the next morning, as he was anxious to see Cumberland's uncle, who was also his guardian: he would probably, therefore, not return till the following day, in consequence of which we should have a whole holiday, and he trusted to us to spend it in a proper manner, which, as Coleman remarked, proved that he was of a very confiding disposition indeed, and no mistake.

When we went up to bed Oaklands beckoned me into his room, and, as soon as he had closed the door, gave me an account (having obtained Dr. Mildman's permission to do so) of the interview with Spicer. They found him, it seemed, at his lodgings, preparing for his departure. At first he took a very high tone, denied the whole thing, and was extremely blustering and impertinent; but on being confronted with Cumberland, and threatened by Dr. Mildman's legal friend with the terrors of the law, he became thoroughly crestfallen, restored the three-hundred-pound cheque, and consented, on the payment of fifty pounds, in addition to the fifty pounds he had already received, to give up all claims upon Cumberland, whereupon they paid him the money down, made him sign a paper to the above effect, and left him.

“And so, my dear Frank,” said Oaklands, “there is an end of that affair, and, if it only produces as much effect upon Cumberland as it has produced upon me, it will read him a lesson he will not forget for many a long day. I blame myself excessively,” he continued, “for my own share in this matter; if it had not been for my easy, careless way of going on, this scheme would never have been thought of—nay, I might, perhaps, have been able to rescue Cumberland from the hands of this sharper; but in this manner we neglect the opportunities afforded us of doing good, and—Frank,” he continued, with a sudden burst of energy, “I will cure myself of this abominable indolence.” He paused for some minutes in thought, and then added, “Well, I must not stand here raving at you any longer; it is getting very late: goodnight, old fellow! I shall be glad enough to tumble into bed, for I'm as tired as a dog: it really is astonishing how easily I am knocked up.”

The absurdity of this remark, following upon the resolution he had expressed with so much energy but a minute before, struck us both at the same instant, and occasioned a fit of laughter, which we did not check till we recollected with what dissonance any approach to mirth must strike the ear of the prisoner (for such he was in fact, if not in name) in the adjoining apartment.

“Now, sir; come, Mr. Fairlegh, you'll be late for breakfast,” were the first sounds that reached my understanding on the following morning: I say understanding, as I had heard, mixed up with my dreams, sundry noises produced by unclosing shutters, arranging water-jugs, etc., which appeared to my sleep-bewildered senses to have been going on for at least half an hour. My faculties not being sufficiently aroused to enable me to speak, Thomas continued, “You'll be late, Mr. Fairlegh”; then came an aside, “My wig, how he do sleep! I hope he ain't been a-taking lauddelum, or morpheus, or anything of a somnambulous natur. I wouldn't be master, always to have six boys a weighing on my mind, for all the wealth of the Ingies.—Mr. Fairlegh, I say!”

“There, don't make such a row,” replied I, jumping out of bed and making a dash at my clothes; “is it late?”

“Jest nine o'clock, sir; master and Mr. Cumberland's been gone these two hours. Shocking affair that, sir; it always gives me quite a turn when any of our gents is expelled: it's like being thrown out of place at a minute's warning, as I said to cook only this morning. 'Cook,' says I, 'life's a curious thing,' there's——”

“The breakfast bell ringing, by all that's unlucky,” exclaimed I; and downstairs I ran, with one arm in, and one out of my jacket, leaving Thomas to conclude his speculations on the mutability of human affairs as he best might, solus.

“How are we going to kill time to-day?” inquired Oaklands, as soon as we had done breakfast.

“We mustn't do anything to outrage the proprieties,” said Coleman; “remember we are on parole d'honneur.”

“On a fiddlestick,” interrupted Lawless; “let's all ride over to the Duke of York, at Bradford, shoot some pigeons, have a champagne breakfast, and be home again in time for the old woman's feed at five o'clock. I daresay I can pick up one or two fellows to go with us.”

“No,” said Oaklands, “that sort of thing won't do to-day. I quite agree with Freddy, we ought not to do anything to annoy the Doctor upon this occasion; come, Lawless, I'm sure you'll say so too, if you give it a moment's thought.”

“Well, he's a good old fellow in his way, I know, but what are we to be at then? something I must do, if it's only to keep me out of mischief.”

“It's a lovely day; let us hire a boat, and have a row,” suggested Coleman.

“That's not against the laws, is it?” asked Oaklands.

“Not a bit,” replied Coleman; “we used to go pulling about like bricks last summer, and Mildman rather approved of it than otherwise, and said it was a very healthy exercise.”

“Yes, that will do,” said Lawless; “I feel savage this morning, and a good pull will take it out of me as well as anything. Now, don't go wasting time; let's get ready, and be off;” and accordingly in less than half an hour we were prepared, and on our way to the beach.

“How are we going to do it?” inquired Lawless; “you'll take an oar, Oaklands?”

Oaklands replied in the affirmative.

“Can you row, Fairlegh?”

I answered that I could a little.

"That will do famously, then,” said Lawless; “we'll have a four-oar; Wilson has a capital little boat that will be just the thing; Freddy can steer, he's a very fair hand at it, and we four fellows will pull, so that we need not be bothered with a boatman. I do abominate those chaps, they are such a set of humbugs.”

No objection was made to this plan. Lawless succeeded in getting the boat he wished for; it was launched without any misadventure, and we took our places, and began pulling away merrily, with the wind (what little there was) and tide both in our favour.

The morning was beautiful: it was one of those enjoyable days, which sometimes occur in early spring, in which Nature, seeming to overleap at a bound the barrier between winter and summer, gives us a delightful foretaste of the good things she has in store for us. The clear bright sea, its surface just ruffled by a slight breeze from the south-west, sparkled in the sunshine, and fell in diamond showers from our oars as we raised them out of the water, while the calm serenity of the deep blue sky above us appeared, indeed, a fitting emblem of that heaven, in which “the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest”.

The peaceful beauty of the scene seemed to impress even the restless spirits of which our little party was composed, and, by common consent, we ceased rowing, and suffered the boat to drift with the tide, merely pulling a stroke now and then to keep her head in the right direction. After drifting for some twenty minutes or so in the manner I have described Lawless, who never could remain quiet long, dropped the blade of his oar into the water with a splash that made us all start, exclaiming as he did so:—

“Well, this may be very sentimental and romantic, and all that sort of thing, but it doesn't strike me as particularly entertaining. Why, you fellows were all asleep, I believe.”

“Heigho!” exclaimed Oaklands, rousing himself, with a deep sigh, “I was in such a delicious reverie; what a barbarian you are, Lawless! you seem utterly ignorant of the pleasures of the dolce-far-niente.”

“Dolce-far-devilskin!” was the reply, in tones of the greatest contempt. “I would not be as lazy as you are, Oaklands, for any money. You are fitter to lounge about in some old woman's drawing-room, than to handle an oar.” “Well, I don't know,” answered Oaklands, quietly, “but I think I can pull as long as you can.”

"You do, do you?” rejoined Lawless, “it will be odd to me, if you can. I don't think I was stroke-oar in the crack boat at Eton for a year, without knowing how to row a little; what do you say to having a try at once?”

“With all my heart,” replied Oaklands, divesting himself of his waistcoat, braces, and neckcloth—which latter article he braced tightly round his waist—an example speedily followed by Lawless, who exclaimed, as he completed his preparations:—

“Now, you young shavers, pull in your oars, and we'll give you a ride, all free, gratis, for nothing”.

Mullins and I hastened to comply with Lawless's directions, by placing the oars and seating ourselves so as not to interfere with the trim of the boat; while he and Oaklands, each taking a firm grasp of his oar, commenced pulling away in real earnest. They were more evenly matched than may be at first imagined, for Lawless, though much shorter than Oaklands, was very square-built and broad about the shoulders, and his arms, which were unusually long in proportion to his height, presented a remarkable development of muscle, while it was evident, from the manner in which he handled his oar, that he was the more practised rower of the two. The boat, urged by their powerful strokes, appeared to fly through the water, while cliff and headland (we were rowing along shore about half a mile from the beach) came in view and disappeared again like scenes in some moving panorama. We must now have proceeded some miles, yet still the rival champions continued their exertions with unabated energy and a degree of strength that seemed inexhaustible. Greatly interested in the event, I had at first watched the contending parties with anxious attention, but, perceiving that the efforts they were making did not produce any visible effects upon them, and that the struggle was likely to be a protracted one, I took advantage of the opportunity to open a letter from my sister, which I had received just as I was leaving the house. I was sorry to find, on perusing it, that my father had been suffering from an inflammatory attack, brought on by a cold which he had caught in returning from a visit to a sick parishioner, through a pouring rain. A postscript from my mother, however, added that I need not make myself in the least uneasy, as the apothecary assured her that my father was going on as well as possible, and would probably be quite restored in the course of a week or so. On observing the date of the letter I found I ought to have received it the day before. Arguing from this (on the “no-news-being-good-news” system) that I should have heard again if anything had gone wrong, I dismissed the subject from my mind, and was reading Fanny's account of a juvenile party she had been at in the neighbourhood, when my attention was roused by Coleman, who, laying his hand on my shoulder, said:

“Look out, Frank, it won't be long now before we shall see who's best man; the work's beginning to tell”.

Thus invoked, I raised my eyes, and perceived that a change had come over the aspect of affairs while I had been engaged with my letter. Oaklands and Lawless were still rowing with the greatest energy, but it appeared to me that their strokes were drawn with less and less vigour each succeeding time, while their flushed faces, and heavy breathing, proved that the severe labour they had undergone had not been without its effect. The only visible difference between them was, that Lawless, from his superior training, had not, as a jocky would say, “turned a hair,” while the perspiration hung in big drops upon the brow of Oaklands, and the knotted, swollen veins of his hands stood out like tightly strained cordage.

“Hold hard!” shouted Lawless. “I say, Harry,” he continued, as soon as they left off rowing, “how are you getting on?”

“I have been cooler in my life,” replied Oaklands, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

“Well, I think it's about a drawn battle,” said Lawless; “though I am free to confess, that if you were in proper training, I should be no match for you, even with the oar.”

“What made you stop just then?” inquired Oaklands; “I'm sure I could have kept on for a quarter of an hour longer, if not more.”

“So could I,” replied Lawless, “ay, or for half an hour, if I had been put to it; but I felt the work was beginning to tell, I saw you were getting used up, and I recollected that we should have to row back with the wind against us, which, as the breeze is freshening, will be no such easy matter; so I thought if we went on till we were both done up we should be in a regular fix.”

“It's lucky you remembered it,” said Oaklands; “I was so excited, I should have gone on pulling as long as I could have held an oar; we must be some distance from Helmstone by this time. Have you any idea whereabouts we are?”

“Let's have a look,” rejoined Lawless. “Yes, that tall cliff you see there is the Nag's Head, and in the little bay beyond stands the village of Fisherton. I vote we go ashore there, have some bread and cheese, and a draught of porter at the inn, and then we shall be able to pull back again twice as well.”

This proposal seemed to afford general satisfaction; Mullins and I resumed our oars, and, in less than half an hour, we were safely ensconced in the sanded parlour of the Dolphin, while the pretty bar-maid, upon whom also devolved the duties of waitress, hastened to place before us a smoking dish of eggs and bacon, which we had chosen in preference to red herrings—the only other dainty the Dolphin had to offer us—Coleman observing that a “hard roe” was the only part of a herring worth eating, and we had had that already, as we came along.

“I say, my dear, have you got any bottled porter?” inquired Lawless.

“Yes, sir, and very good it is,” replied the smiling damsel.

“That's a blessing,” observed Coleman, piously.

“Bring us up a lot of it, my beauty,” resumed Lawless, “and some pewter pots—porter's twice as good out of its own native pewter.”

Thus exhorted, the blooming waitress tripped off, and soon returned with a basket containing six bottles of porter.

“That's the time of day,” said Lawless; “now for a corkscrew, pretty one; here you are, Oaklands.”

“I must own that is capital, after such hard work as we have been doing,” observed Oaklands, as he emptied the pewter pot at a draught.

“I say, Mary,” asked Coleman, “what's gone of that young man that used to keep company along with you—that nice young chap, that had such insinivatin ways with him?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir; I've nothink to say to no young man whatsumever,” replied the damsel addressed, shaking her curls coquettishly.

“Ah!” sighed Coleman, “if I were but single now.”

“Why, you never mean to say you've got a wife already, such a very young gentleman as you are?”

“Not only that, but a small family with a large appetite,” continued Coleman, pathetically.

“Well, I never,” exclaimed the bar-maid, surprised, for once, out of her company manners; then, observing a smile, at her expense, going the round of the party, she added, “I see how it is; you are making fun of me, sir; oh, fie, you're a wicked young gentleman, I know you are.”

“Never mind him, my dear,” said Lawless, “but give me another bottle of porter.”

In converse such as this the meal and the half-dozen of porter were finished; in addition to which Lawless chose to have a glass of brandy-and-water and a cigar. Having been rendered unusually hungry by the sea air and the unaccustomed exercise of rowing, I had both eaten and drunk more than I was in the habit of doing, to which cause may be attributed my falling into a doze; an example which, I have every reason to believe, was followed by most of the others. I know not how long my nap had lasted, when I was aroused by hearing Coleman exclaim:—

“Why I think it rains! Lawless, wake up! I don't much like the look of the weather.”

“What's the row?” inquired Lawless, leisurely removing his legs from the table on which they had been resting, and walking to the window—a feat, by the way, he did not perform quite as steadily as usual. “By Jove!” he continued, “the wind's blowing great guns; we must look sharp, and be off—we shall have the sea getting up.”

Accordingly, the bill was rung for and paid; Mary received half a crown and a kiss from Lawless, and down we ran to the beach, where difficulties we were little prepared for awaited us.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER XI — BREAKERS AHEAD!

“Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
barren ground.... The wills above be done! but I would
fain die a dry death.”
“I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath
no drowning mark upon him.”—Tempest.

THE wind, which we had observed was rising when we landed, had increased during our stay at the inn, and was now blowing almost a gale from the south-west; whilst the sea, which we had left smooth as a lake, was rolling in and breaking on the beach in somewhat formidable waves.

“I tell you what,” said Coleman, as soon as he had observed the state of affairs, “I won't attempt to steer in such a sea as that; it requires great skill and judgment, besides a stronger hand than mine, to keep the boat's head right; if I were to let her turn her broadside to one of those waves, it would be a case of 'Found drowned' with some of us, before long.”

“What's to be done, then?” inquired Oaklands. “I am sure I can't do it: it's a thing I'm quite ignorant of; all my boating having been on the river.”

“Let's hire one of those amphibious beggars out there to steer for us,” proposed Lawless, pointing to a group of fishermen who were lounging round an old boat, not far from where we stood; “they're up to all the right dodges, you may depend. Here, my men! which of you will earn half a guinea by steering our boat for us to Helmstone?”

“I wouldn't, master, for ten times the money,” replied an old weather-beaten boatman, in a tarpaulin hat; “and if you'll take an old man's advice, gentlemen, you'll none of you venture out in that cockle-shell this afternoon; the wind's getting up every minute, and we shall have a rough night of it.”

“Nonsense,” replied Lawless; “I've often been out in worse weather than this. Are you, all of you, frightened by that old woman's croaking?” continued he, turning to the group of men.

“He's no old woman,” replied a sturdy fellow, in a rough pea-jacket; “he's been a better sailor than ever you'll be, and he's right now too,” he added. “It's as much as a man's life is worth to go to sea in that bit of a thing, with the waves running in as they do now—and with such a set of landlubbers as them for a crew,” he muttered, turning away.

“Suppose we try and get something to take us home by land,” suggested Oaklands; “and leave the boat for some of these good fellows to bring home, as soon as the weather will allow.”

“You'll have to walk, sir,” replied one of them, civilly; “I don't believe there's a cart or horse in the place; they all went inland this morning with fish, and won't return till to-morrow.”

“There, you hear that,” said Lawless, who had just drunk enough to render him captious and obstinate. “I'm not going to walk to please anybody's fancy; I see how it is,—I did not bid high enough. A couple of guineas for any one who will come with us,” added he.

“A couple of guineas is not to be got every day,” observed a sullen, downcast-looking man, who had not yet spoken; “and it is not much odds to me whether I sink or swim now; those custom-house sharks,” added he, with an oath, “look so close after one, that one can't do a stroke of work that will pay a fellow nowadays. Money down, and I'm your man, sir,” he added, turning to Lawless.

“That's the ticket,” said Lawless, handing him the money. “I'm glad to see one of you, at least, has got a little pluck about him. Come along.”

I could see that Oaklands did not at all approve of the plan, evidently considering we were running a foolish risk; but, as nothing short of a direct quarrel with Lawless could have prevented it, his habitual indolence and easy temper prevailed, and he remained silent. I felt much inclined to object, in which case I had little doubt the majority of the party would have supported me; but a boyish dread, lest my refusal should be attributed to cowardice, prevented my doing so. With the assistance of the by-standers we contrived to launch our little bark without further misadventure than a rather heavier sprinkling of salt water than was agreeable. Rowing in such a sea, however, proved much harder work than I, for one, had any idea of; we made scarcely any way against the waves, and I soon felt sure that it would be utterly impossible for us to reach Helmstone by any exertions we were capable of making. The weather too was becoming worse every minute: it rained heavily, and it was with the greatest difficulty we were able to prevent the crests of some of the larger waves from dashing into our boat; in fact, as it was, she was already half full of water, which poured in faster than Coleman (who was the only person not otherwise engaged) could bale it out.

“Upon my word, Lawless, it's madness to attempt to go on,” exclaimed Oaklands; “we are throwing away our lives for nothing.”

“It certainly looks rather queerish,” replied Lawless. “What do you say about it, my man?” he asked of the person whom he had engaged to steer us.

“I say,” replied the fellow in a surly tone, “that our only chance is to make for the beach at once, and we shall have better luck than we deserve, if we reach it alive.”

As he spoke a larger wave than usual broke against the bow of the boat, flinging in such a body of water that we felt her stagger under it, and I believed, for a moment, that we were about to sink. This decided the question; the boat's head was put about with some difficulty, and we were soon straining every nerve to reach the shore. As we neared the beach we perceived that even during the short time which had elapsed since we quitted it, the sea had become considerably rougher, and the line of surf now presented anything but an encouraging appearance. As we approached the breakers the steersman desired us to back with our oars till he saw a favourable opportunity; and the moment he gave us the signal to pull in as hard as we were able. After a short pause the signal was given, and we attempted to pull in as he had directed; but, in doing this, we did not act exactly in concert—Lawless taking his stroke too soon, while Mullins did not make his soon enough; consequently, we missed the precise moment, the boat turned broadside to the beach, a wave poured over us, and in another instant we were struggling in the breakers. For my own part, I succeeded in gaining my legs, only to be thrown off them again by the next wave, which hurried me along with it, and flung me on the shingle, when one of the group of fishermen who had witnessed the catastrophe ran in, and seizing me by the arm, in time to prevent my being washed back again by the under-tow, dragged me out of the reach of the waves.

On recovering my feet my first impulse was to look round for my companions. I at once perceived Lawless, Mullins, and Oaklands, who were apparently uninjured, though the latter held his hand pressed against his forehead, as if in pain; but Coleman was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Coleman?” exclaimed I.

“There is some one clinging to the boat still,” observed a by-stander.

I looked anxiously in the direction indicated, and perceived the boat floating bottom upwards, just beyond the line of breakers; while, clinging to the keel, was a figure which I instantly recognised to be that of Coleman. “Oh, save him, save him; he will be drowned!” cried I, in an agony of fear.

“Ten guineas for any one who will get him out!” shouted Lawless; but nobody seemed inclined to stir.

“Give me a rope,” cried I, seizing the end of a coil which one of the boatmen had over his shoulder, and tying it round my waist.

“What are you going to do?” asked Lawless.

While he spoke a large wave separated Coleman from the boat, and, as it poured its huge volume upon the beach, bore him along with it. With the swiftness of thought I sprang forward, and succeeded in throwing my arms round him, ere the next advancing wave dashed over us. And now my foresight in fastening the rope around me proved, under Providence, the means of saving both our lives. Though thrown to the ground by the force of the water I contrived to retain my grasp of Coleman, and we were hauled up and conveyed beyond the reach of the surf by the strong arms of those on shore, ere another wave could approach to claim its victims.

[ [!-- IMG --]

On recovering my consciousness (I had been partially stunned by the violence of my last fall) I found myself lying on the beach, with my head resting on the breast of Oaklands.

“My dear, dear Frank, thank God that you are safe!” exclaimed he, pressing me more closely to him.

“What of Coleman?” asked I, endeavouring to raise myself.

“They are taking him to the inn,” was the reply; “I will go and see if I can be of any use, now I know you are unhurt; but I could not leave you till I felt sure of that.”

“I fancied you seemed in pain just now,” said I.

“I struck my head against some part of the boat when she capsized,” returned Oaklands, “and the blow stunned me for a minute or two, so that I knew nothing of what was going on till I saw you rush into the water to save Coleman; that roused me effectually, and I helped them to pull you both out. Frank, you have saved his life.”

“If it is saved,” rejoined I. “Let us go and see how he is getting on; I think I can walk now, if you will let me lean upon your arm.”

With the assistance of Oaklands I contrived to reach the inn without much difficulty; indeed, by the time I got there (the walk having served in great measure to restore my circulation) I scarcely felt any ill effects from my late exertions. The inn presented a rare scene of confusion: people were hurrying in and out, the messenger sent for the doctor had just returned, breathless, to say he was not to be found; the fat landlady, in a state of the greatest excitement, was trotting about making impracticable suggestions, to which no one paid the slightest attention, while Coleman, still insensible, lay wrapped in blankets before a blazing fire in the parlour, with the pretty barmaid on her knees beside him sobbing piteously, as she chafed his temples with some strong essence.

“That's the time of day!” exclaimed Lawless, as his eye fell upon a printed card which the landlady had just thrust into his hand, headed, “The directions of the Humane Society for the restoration of persons apparently drowned”. “We shall have it now all right,” added he, and then read as follows: “The first observation we must make, which is most important, is, that rolling the body on a tub—”

“Bring a tub,” cried the landlady eagerly, and off started several of the by-standers to follow her injunctions—

“Is most injurious,” continued Lawless; “but holding up by the legs with the head downwards”—(a party of volunteers, commanded by the landlady, rushed forward to obtain possession of Coleman's legs)—“is certain death,” shouted Lawless, concluding the sentence.

While this was going on I had been rubbing Coleman's hands between my own, in the hope of restoring circulation; and now, to my extreme delight, I perceived a slight pulsation at the wrist; next came a deep sigh, followed by a tremulous motion of the limbs; and, before five minutes were over, he was sufficiently restored to sit up, and recognise those about him. After this, his recovery progressed with such rapidity that ere half an hour had elapsed he was able to listen with interest to Oaklands' account of the circumstances attending his rescue, when Lawless, hastily entering the room, exclaimed: “Here's a slice of good luck, at all events; there's a post-chaise just stopped, returning to Helmstone, and the boy agrees to take us all for a shilling a head, as soon as he has done watering his horses. How is Freddy getting on?—will he be able to go?”

“All right, old fellow,” replied Coleman. “Thanks to Fairlegh in the first instance, and a stiff glass of brandy-and-water in the second, 'Richard's himself again!'”

“Well, you've had a near shave for it this time, however,” said Lawless; “there is more truth than I was aware of in the old proverb, 'If you are born to be hanged, you will never be drowned'; though, if it had not been for Frank Fairlegh, you would not have lived to fulfil your destiny.”

In another ten minutes we were all packed in and about the post-chaise; Coleman, Oaklands, and myself occupying the interior, while Lawless and Mullins rode outside. The promise of an extra half-crown induced the driver to use his best speed. At a quarter before five we were within a stone's-throw of home; and if that day at dinner Mrs. Mildman observed the pale looks and jaded appearance of some of the party, I have every reason to believe she has remained up to the present hour in total ignorance as to their cause.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER XII — DEATH AND CHANGE

“The voice which I did more esteem
Than music on her sweetest key;
Those eyes which unto me did seem
More comfortable than the day;
Those now by me, as they have been,
Shall never more be heard or seen;
But what I once enjoyed in them,
Shall seem hereafter as a dream.
“All earthly comforts vanish thus;
So little hold of them have we;
That we from them, or they from us,
May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise
If present mercies we despise,
Or mind not how these may be made
A thankful use of what we had.”
—Wither.
“Up springs at every step to claim a tear
Some youthful friendship form'd and cherish'd here.”
—Rogers.
“Time flies away fast!
The while we never remember—
How soon our life here
Grows old with the year
That dies with the next December.”
—Herrick.

AS I was undressing that night Coleman came into my room, and grasping my hand with his own shook it warmly, saying: “I could not go to sleep, Frank, without coming to thank you for the noble way in which you risked your own life to save mine to-day. I laughed it off before Lawless and the rest of the fellows, for when I feel deeply, I hate to show it; but indeed,” (and the tears stood in his eyes while he spoke), “indeed I am not ungrateful.”

“My dear Freddy,” returned I, “do not suppose I thought you so for a moment; there, say no more about it; you would have done the same thing for me that I did for you, had our positions been reversed.”

“I am not so sure of that,” was his reply; “I should have wished to do so; but it is not every one who can act with such promptitude and decision in moments of danger.”

"There is one request I should like to make,” said I.

“What is it?” replied he quickly.

“Do not forget to thank Him, whose instrument I was, for having so mercifully preserved your life.”

A silent pressure of the hand was the only answer, and we parted for the night.

Owing, probably, to over-fatigue, it was some little time before I went to sleep. As I lay courting the fickle goddess (or god as the case may be, for, mythologically speaking, I believe Somnus was a he), I could not help contrasting my present feelings with those which I had experienced on the first night of my arrival. Then, overcome by the novelty of my situation, filled with a lively dread of my tutor, bullied and despised by my companions, and separated for what I deemed an interminable period from all who were dear to me, my position was far from an enviable one.. Now, how different was the aspect of affairs! With my tutor, who, from an object of dread, had become one of esteem and affection, I had every reason to believe myself a favourite; I was on terms of the closest friendship with those of my companions whose intimacy was best worth cultivating; while with the others I had gained a standing which would effectually prevent their ever venturing seriously to annoy me; and, above all, I had acquired that degree of self-confidence, without which one is alike impotent to choose the good or to refuse the evil. And it was with an honest pride that I reflected, that this improvement in my position was mainly owing to a steady adherence to those principles, which it had been the constant aim of my dear parents to instil into me from my childhood. I fell asleep at last, endeavouring to picture to myself the delight of relating my adventures on my return home; how my mother and sister would shudder over the dangers I had escaped, while my father would applaud the spirit which had carried me through them. The vision was a bright and happy one: would it ever be realised?

To our surprise, we learned the next morning that Dr. Mildman had arrived by the last coach the previous evening, having fortunately met with Cumberland's uncle at his house of business in town, and delivered his nephew into his safe custody without further loss of time. The breakfast passed over without the Doctor making any inquiry how we had amused ourselves during his absence, nor, as may easily be believed, did we volunteer information on the subject. On returning to the pupils' room I found a letter, in my sister's handwriting, lying on the table. With a feeling of dread for which I could not account, I hastened to peruse it. Alas! the contents only served to realise my worst apprehensions. My father's illness had suddenly assumed a most alarming character, inflammation having attacked the lungs with such violence that the most active measures had failed to subdue it, and the physician, whom my mother had summoned on the first appearance of danger, scarcely held out the slightest hope of his recovery. Under these circumstances my mother wished me to return home without loss of time, as my father, before he became delirious, had desired that I might be sent for, expressing himself most anxious to see me; and the letter concluded with a line in my mother's handwriting, exhorting me to make every exertion to reach home without delay, if I wished to find him alive. For a minute or two I sat with the letter still open in my hand, as if stunned by the intelligence I had received; then, recollecting that every instant was of importance, I sprang up, saying, “Where's Dr. Mildman? I must see him directly.”

“My dear Frank, is anything the matter? you are not ill?” inquired Oaklands anxiously.

“You have received some bad news, I am afraid,” said Coleman.

“My father is very ill, dying perhaps,” replied I, while the tears, which I in vain endeavoured to restrain, trickled down my cheeks. After giving way to my feelings for a minute or two, the necessity for action again flashed across me.

“What time is it now?” inquired I, drying my eyes.

“Just ten,” replied Oaklands, looking at his watch.

“There is a coach which starts at the half-hour, is there not?”

“Yes, the Highflyer, the best drag on the road,” returned Lawless; “takes you to town in five hours, and does the thing well too.”

“I must go by that then,” replied I.

“What can I do to help you?” asked Coleman.

“If you would put a few things into my bag for me, while I speak to the Doctor,” rejoined I.

“I will go and get a fly for you,” said Lawless, “and then I can pick out a nag that will move his pins a bit; that will save you ten minutes, and you have no time to lose.”

On acquainting Dr. Mildman with the sad intelligence I had received, and the necessity which existed for me to depart immediately, he at once gave me his permission to do so; and, after speaking kindly to me, and showing the deepest sympathy for my distress, said he would not detain me longer, as I must have preparations to make, but should like to see me the last thing before I started, and wish me good-bye.

I found, on reaching my own room, my carpet-bag already packed: Coleman and Thomas (whose honest face wore an expression of genuine commiseration) having exerted themselves to save me all trouble on that head. Nothing, therefore, remained for me to do, but to take leave of my fellow-pupils and Dr. Mildman. After shaking hands with Lawless and Mullins (the former assuring me, as he did so, that I was certain not to be late, for he had succeeded in securing a trap, with a very spicy little nag in it, which would have me there in no time) I hastened to take leave of my tutor. The kindhearted Doctor inquired whether I had sufficient money for my journey, and, begging me to write him word how I got home, shook me warmly by the hand, saying, as he did so, “God bless you, my boy! I trust you may find your father better; but if this should not be the case, remember whose hand it is inflicts the blow, and strive to say, 'Thy will be done'. We shall have you among us again soon, I hope; but should anything prevent your return, I wish you to know that I am perfectly satisfied with the progress you have made in your studies; and, in other respects, you have never given me a moment's uneasiness since you first entered my house. Once more, good-bye; and remember, if ever you should want a friend, you will find one in Samuel Mildman.”

The fly-horse proved itself deserving of Lawless's panegyric, and I arrived at the coach-office in time to secure a seat outside the Highflyer. After taking an affectionate leave of Oaklands and Coleman, who had accompanied me, I ascended to my place; the coachman mounted his box, exactly as the clock chimed the halfhour the horses sprang forward with a bound, and ere ten minutes had elapsed Helmstone lay at least a couple of miles behind us.

I accomplished my journey more quickly than I had deemed possible, and had the melancholy satisfaction of reaching home in time to receive my father's blessing. The powerful remedies to which they had been obliged to have recourse had produced their effect; the inflammation was subdued; but the struggle had been protracted too long, and his constitution, already enfeebled by a life of constant labour and self-denial, was unable to rally.

Having given me a solemn charge to cherish and protect my mother and sister, he commended us all to the care of Him who is emphatically termed “the God of the fatherless and widow”; and then, his only earthly care being ended, he prepared to meet Death, as those alone can do to whom “to die is gain”. When the last beam of the setting sun threw a golden tint around the spire of the little village church those lips which had so often breathed the words of prayer and praise within its sacred walls were mute for ever, and the gentle spirit which animated them had returned to God who gave it!

In regard to this portion of my career, but little more remains to be told. My father's income being chiefly derived from his church preferment, and his charities having been conducted on too liberal a scale to allow of his laying by money, the funds which remained at my mother's disposal after winding up his affairs, though enough to secure us from actual poverty, were not sufficient to allow of my continuing an inmate of an establishment so expensive as that of Dr. Mildman. On being informed of this change of circumstances the Doctor wrote to my mother in the kindest manner; speaking of me in terms of praise which I will not repeat, and inquiring what were her future views in regard to me; expressing his earnest desire to assist them to the utmost of his ability. At the same time I received letters from Oaklands and Coleman full of lamentations that I was not likely to return; and promising, in the warmth of their hearts, that their respective fathers should assist me in all ways, possible and impossible. Mr. Coleman, senior, in particular, was to do most unheard-of things for me; indeed, Freddy more than hinted that through his agency I might consider myself secure of the Attorney-Generalship, with a speedy prospect of becoming Lord Chancellor. I also found enclosed a very characteristic note from Lawless, wherein he stated, that if I really was likely to be obliged to earn my own living, he could put me up to a dodge, by which all the disagreeables of having so to do might be avoided. This infallible recipe proved to be a scheme for my turning stage-coachman! After citing numerous examples of gentlemen who had done so (amongst whom the name of a certain baronet stood forth in high pre-eminence), he wound up by desiring me to give the scheme my serious attention, and, if I agreed to it, to come and spend a month with him when he returned home at midsummer; by the end of which time he would engage to turn me out as finished a “Waggoner” as ever handled the ribbons.

To these letters I despatched suitable replies, thanking the writers for their kindness, but refusing to avail myself of their offers, at all events for the present; and I finished by expressing a hope, that, be my fate in life what it might, I should still preserve the regard and esteem of the friends whose affection I prized so highly.

For some months after my father's death I continued to live at the rectory; Mr. Dalton, the new incumbent, who had been his curate, and was unmarried, kindly allowing my mother to remain there till her plans for the future should be so far arranged as to enable her to determine in what part of the country it would be advisable for her to reside. It had been my father's wish and intention, when I should have attained a fit age, to send me to one of the universities: a wish my mother was most anxious to carry into effect. In order to accomplish this wish with her reduced means, it would have been necessary for her, not only to have practised the strictest economy, but also, in great measure, to have sacrificed my sister's education, as she would have been utterly unable to afford the advantage of masters. To this, of course, I would not consent; after much discussion, therefore, the idea of college was reluctantly given up, and, as a last resource, my mother applied to an uncle of hers, engaged in the West India trade, begging him to endeavour to procure for me a clerkship in some mercantile establishment. She received a very kind reply, saying that, although he considered me too young at present to be chained to a desk, he should advise me to apply myself diligently to the study of French and book-keeping; and ending by offering me a situation in his own counting-house when I should be eighteen. As my only alternative lay between accepting this offer (however little suited to my taste), or remaining a burden upon my mother, it may easily be imagined that I lost no time in signifying my desire to avail myself of his kindness; and, ere a couple of months had elapsed, I had plunged deeply into the mysteries of book-keeping, and could jabber French with tolerable fluency. I was still working away at “Double Entry,” and other horrors of a like nature, when one morning I received a large business-like letter, in an unknown hand, the contents of which astonished me not a little, as well they might; for they proved to be of a nature once more entirely to change my prospects in life. The epistle came from Messrs. Coutts, the bankers, and stated that they were commissioned to pay me the sum of four hundred pounds per annum, in quarterly payments, for the purpose of defraying my expenses at college; the only stipulations being, that the money should be used for the purpose specified, that I did not contract any debts whatsoever, and that I made no inquiries, direct or indirect, as to the source from which the sum proceeded. In the event of my complying with these conditions, the same allowance was to be continued to me till I should have taken my degree.

The immediate consequence of this most unexpected communication was, our devoting the greater part of a morning to vain speculations as to the possible source from which this liberal offer might have proceeded. After guessing every one we could think of, likely or unlikely, we ended, as is usual in such cases, by becoming decidedly more puzzled than when we began. The only person with whom I was acquainted, possessing both the will and the power to do such a thing, was Sir John Oaklands; but he had already, in the kindest manner, tried to persuade my mother to allow me to accompany Harry to Trinity College, Cambridge, begging to be permitted to defray the expenses of my so doing himself; an offer which she (not choosing to place herself under so heavy an obligation to a comparative stranger) had, with many expressions of gratitude, declined. After consulting with our friend Mr. Dalton, it was decided that I should signify to Messrs. Coutts my readiness to comply with the required conditions, begging them to convey my best thanks to my mysterious benefactor, and to inform him that it was my intention (subject to his approval) to enter my name at Trinity without loss of time. In answer to this I received the following laconic epistle:—

“Messrs. Coutts beg to inform Mr. Frank Fairlegh, that, in reply to his favour of the 21st ult., they are desired to state, that the sum of four hundred pounds per annum will be placed at his disposal whenever he applies for it”.

I now resumed my studies under the superintendence of Mr. Dalton, who had taken a good degree at Cambridge; and, alike delighted at my escape from the counting-house, and anxious to do credit to my benefactor's liberality, I determined to make the best use of my time, and worked con amore. In this manner the next year and a half passed away without anything worthy of remark occurring. I was happy to perceive a gradual improvement taking place in my mother's health and spirits, while Fanny was developing into a very pretty and agreeable girl.

Towards the expiration of this period Mr. Dalton saw fit to take unto himself a wife, a circumstance which induced my mother to accept the offer of a cottage belonging to Sir John Oaklands, which was suited to her limited means. It was situated within the park gates, about a mile from Heathfield Hall, and, though small, appeared well-built, and exceedingly pretty.

This was an arrangement of which I highly approved, as it enabled me to renew my intercourse with Harry, who, having left Dr. Mildman's, was spending a few months at home with his father previous to his matriculation at Trinity. I found him but little altered in any respect, save that he had become more manly-looking. For the rest, he was just as good-tempered, kind-hearted, and, alas! indolent as ever. He informed me that Lawless also was going to Cambridge, and that Coleman, when he learned what a party of us there would be, had been most anxious to accompany us; but his father, unfortunately, did not approve, and he was now articled to a solicitor, with a view to his succeeding eventually to his father's practice.

Time rolled on, and another three months beheld us duly installed in our rooms at Trinity, and dividing our time between reading (more or less, in accordance with our various idiosyncrasies), boating on the Cam, billiard-playing at Chesterton, et hoc genus omne.

Of the details of my college life I shall say but little, a piece of forbearance for which I consider myself entitled to the everlasting gratitude of my readers, who, if they have not had their curiosity on that subject more than satisfied by the interminable narrations of “Peter Priggins,” and his host of imitators, must indeed be insatiable. Suffice it then to say, that, having from the first determined, if possible, to obtain a good degree, I made a resolute stand against the advances of Lawless (who, in consequence of his father's having, for some reason best known to himself and the Premier, received a peerage, had now become an “honourable”) and the “rowing set,” amongst whom, by a sort of freemasonry of kindred souls, he had become enrolled immediately on his arrival. After several fruitless attempts to shake my determination, they pronounced me an incorrigible “sap,” and, leaving me to my own devices, proceeded to try their powers upon Oaklands. They met with but little success in this quarter, however; not that with him they had any indomitable love of study to contend with, but that “all that sort of thing was too much trouble; he really didn't believe there was a single fellow among the whole lot who had the slightest appreciation of the dolce far niente”. When, however, they found out that upon an emergency Harry could excel them all—whatever might be the nature of the feat to be performed—and that I could cross a country, pull an oar, or handle a bat with the best of them, they set us down as a pair of eccentric geniuses, and as such admitted us to a kind of honorary membership in their worshipful society; and thus, 'twixt work and play, the first two years of my residence at Cambridge passed happily enough.

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CHAPTER XIII — CATCHING A SHRIMP

“Give me that boy.”
—Shakspeare.
“I was there
From college, visiting the son.”
—Princess.
“To bring in, Heaven shield us, a lion among ladies, is a
most dreadful thing.”
—Shakspeare.

“A MIGHTY stupid chapter that last!” “True for you, A reader, but how was it to be avoided? It was necessary to give you that short summary of my proceedings, the better to enable you to understand all that is to follow, and so, don't you see?”

“Yes, that will do. Above all things, Master Frank, avoid being prosy; it is the worst fault an author can fall into.”

“Reader, you're very cross!”

It was towards the close of the long vacation that, one morning as I was sitting at breakfast with my mother and sister, a note was brought to me. On opening it, it proved to be from Coleman, whose father had lately taken a country-house near Hillingford, a small town about fifteen miles from Heathfield, where he was now about to give a grand ball to all the neighbourhood by way of house-warming. At this ball Freddy (with whom I had kept up a constant correspondence, though we had never met since I left Dr. Mildman's) was most anxious I should be present, and his letter was really a master-piece of persuasion: not only should I meet all the beauty and fashion of the county, but he had for some days past employed himself in paving the way for me with several of the most desirable young ladies of his acquaintance, who were now, as he assured me, actually pining to be introduced to me. Moreover, the Honourable George Lawless had promised to be there; so we were safe for fun of some sort, Lawless's tastes and habits being about as congenial to the atmosphere of a ball-room, as those of a bull to the interior of a china-shop.

[These manifold temptations, together with the desire of again meeting Freddy himself, proved irresistible, and I decided to go. Oaklands, who had received a similar invitation, was unluckily not able to accept it, as his father had fixed a shooting-party for that day, at which, and at the dinner that was to follow, Harry's presence was indispensable.

It was in the afternoon of a glorious September day that I set off on horseback for Hillingford. I had accompanied the sportsmen in the morning, and had walked just enough to excite without fatiguing myself; and now the elastic motion of the horse (a valuable hunter of Sir John's)—the influence of the fair scene around me, as I cantered over the smooth turf of Heathfield Park, and along the green lanes beyond it—the prospect of seeing again an old companion of my boyhood's days—all contributed to produce in me an exhilaration of spirits which seemed to raise me above the kleinigkeiten, the little, nesses (as the Germans so well express it) of this world, and to exalt me to some higher and nobler sphere. Out of this day-dream I was at length aroused by the clatter of horses' feet and the rattle of wheels in the lane behind me, while a man's voice, in tones not of the most gentle description, accosted me as follows: “Now then, sir, if you've got a licence to take up the whole road, I'll just trouble you to show it!” With a touch of the spur I caused my horse to bound on one side, and, as I did so, I turned to look at the speaker. Perched high in mid-air, upon some mysterious species of dog-cart, bearing a striking resemblance to the box of a mail-coach, which had contrived, by some private theory of development of its own, to dispense with its body, while it had enlarged its wheels to an almost incredible circumference; perched on the top of this remarkable machine, and enveloped in a white greatcoat undermined in every direction by strange and unexpected pockets, was none other than the Honourable George Lawless! The turn-out was drawn by a pair of thorough-breds, driven tandem, which were now (their irascible tempers being disturbed by the delay which my usurpation of the road had occasioned) relieving their feelings by executing a kind of hornpipe upon their hindlegs. The equipage was completed by a tiger, so small, that beyond a vague sensation of top-boots and a livery hat, one's senses failed to realise him.

“Why, Lawless!” exclaimed I; “you are determined to astonish the natives, with a vengeance: such a turnout as that has never been seen in these parts before, I'm certain.”

“Frank Fairlegh, by Jove! How are you, old fellow? Is it my trap you're talking about? what do you think of it? rather the thing, isn't it, eh?” I signified my approval, and Lawless continued, “Yes, it's been very much admired, I assure you;—quiet, mare! quiet!—not a bad sort of dodge to knock about in, eh?—What are you at, fool?—Tumble out, Shrimp, and hit Spiteful a lick on the nose—he's eating the mare's tail. Spicy tiger, Shrimp—did you ever hear how I picked him up?” I replied in the negative, and Lawless resumed:—

“I was down at Broadstairs, the beginning of the long —wretched place, but I went there for a boat-race with some more fellows; well, of course, because we wanted it to be fine, the weather turned sulky, and the boat-race had to be put off; so, to prevent ourselves from going melancholy mad, we hired a drag, and managed to get together a team, such as it was. The first day we went out they elected me waggoner, and a nice job I had of it; three of the horses had never been in harness before, and the fourth was a bolter. It was pretty near half an hour before we could get them to start; and, when they were off, I had enough to do to keep their heads out of the shop-windows. However, as soon as they began to get warm to their work, things improved, and we rattled along merrily. We were spinning away at about twelve miles an hour when, just as we were getting clear of the town, we came suddenly upon a covey of juvenile blackguards who were manufacturing dirt pies right in the centre of the road. As soon as I saw them I sung out to them to clear the course, but before they had time to cut away we were slap into the middle of them. Well, I thought it was to be a regular case of Herod, and that there would be at least half a dozen of them spifflicated, but they all managed to save their bacon, except Shrimp—one of the wheels went over him and broke him somewhere. Where was it, Shrimp?”

"Left arm, sir, if you please,” replied Shrimp in a shrill treble.

“Ay, so it was,” continued Lawless. “As soon as I could contrive to pull up I sent the groom back, with orders to find a doctor, get the boy repaired, and tell them to come to me at the hotel in the morning, and I'd pay for all damages. Accordingly, while I was eating my breakfast next morning, an amphibious old female in a blue pea-jacket was shown in to me, who stated she was Shrimp's mother. First, she was extremely lachrymose, and couldn't speak a word; then she got the steam up, and began slanging me till all was blue: I was 'an unchristian-like, hard-hearted, heathen Turk, so I was, and I'd been and spiled her sweet boy completely, so I had; such a boy as he was too, bless him; it was quite a sight to hear him say his Catechism; and as to reading his book, he'd beat the parson himself into fits at it'. Fortunately for me, she was a little touched in the wind, and, when she pulled up to take breath for a fresh start, I managed to cut in. 'I tell you what it is, old lady,' said I, 'there's no need for you to put yourself into a fury about it; misfortunes will happen in the best-regulated families, and it seems to me a boy more or less can make no great odds to any one—no fear of the breed becoming extinct just at present, if one may judge from appearances; however, as you seem to set a value upon this particular boy, I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll buy him of you, and then, if anything should go wrong with him, it will be my loss and not yours. I'll give you twenty pounds for him, and that's more than he would be worth if he was sound.' By Jove, the old girl brightened up in a moment, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, and said: 'Five pounds more, and it's a bargain'. And the end of it all was, the brat got well before I left the place; I paid the old woman her money, and brought Shrimp away with me, and it hasn't turned out such a bad spec either, for he makes a capital tiger; and now I've broken him in, I would not take twice the money for him. You'll be at old Coleman's hop to-night, I suppose; so bye! bye! for the present.”

Thus saying he drew the whip lightly across the leader's back, the horses sprang forward, and in another moment he was out of sight.

Half an hour's ride brought me within view of Elm Lodge, the house lately taken by Mr. Coleman, senior. As I rang at the bell a figure leaped out of one of the front windows, and came bounding across the lawn to meet me, and in another minute my hand was seized and my arm nearly shaken off by Coleman.

“Freddy, old boy!” “Frank, my dear old fellow!” were our mutual exclamations, as we once more shook hands with an energy which must have highly edified a pompous footman whom my ring had summoned. After the first excitement of our meeting had a little subsided we found time to examine each other more minutely, and note the changes a couple of years had wrought in us. Coleman was the first to speak.

“Why, Frank, how you are altered!” “If you were but decently civil, you would say 'improved' instead of 'altered,'” replied I; “but you'll never learn manners.”

“Oh, if you want compliments I'll soon get up a few, but it strikes me they are not required. A man with such a face and figure as yours soon finds out that he is a deucedly good-looking fellow. Why, how high do you stand?”

“About six feet without my boots,” replied I, laughing at Coleman, who kept turning me round, and examining me from top to toe, as if I had been some newly discovered animal.

“Well, you are a screamer, and no mistake,” exclaimed he at length. “Be merciful towards the young ladies tonight, or the floor will be so cumbered with the heaps of slain that we shall have no room to dance.”

“Never fear,” rejoined I, “the female breast is not so susceptible as you imagine; and I'll back your bright eyes and merry smile to do more execution than my long legs and broad shoulders any day.”

“No soft sawder, Master Frank, if you please; it's an article for which I've a particular distaste: people never make pretty speeches to one's face without laughing at one behind one's back afterwards by way of compensation.”

“Which rule of course applies to the remarks you have just been making about me,” returned I.

“You've caught me there fairly,” laughed Coleman; “but come along in, now, I want to introduce you to my mother and the governor; they are longing to see you after all I've told them about you, though I can't say you look much like the thin delicate youth I have described you.”

Mr. Coleman, who was a short, stout, red-faced old gentleman, with a bald head and a somewhat pompous manner, came forward and welcomed me warmly, saying all sorts of complimentary things to me in extremely high-flown and grandiloquent language, and referring to my having saved his son's life, in doing which, however, he quite won my heart by the evident pride and affection with which he spoke of Freddy. The lady of the house was a little, round, merry-looking woman, chiefly remarkable (as I soon discovered) for a peculiar mental obliquity, leading her always to think of the wrong thing at the wrong time, whereby she was perpetually becoming involved in grievous colloquial entanglements, and meeting with innumerable small personal accidents, at which no one laughed so heartily as herself.

About half-past nine that evening some of the guests began to arrive, amongst the foremost of whom was Lawless, most expensively got up for the occasion in a stock and waistcoat, which, as Coleman observed, required to be seen ere they could be believed in. As the arrivals succeeded each other more rapidly, and the rooms began to fill, Lawless took me by the arm and led me to a corner, whence, unnoticed ourselves, we could observe the whole scene.

“This will be a very full meet, Fairlegh,” he began; “I'm getting confoundedly nervous, I can tell you; I'm not used to this sort of affair, you know; I used always to shirk everything of the kind, but my Mater has got it into her head, since she's become 'My Lady,' that she must flare up and give balls, because 'ladies of rank always do so,' forsooth; and so she's taken me in hand, to try and polish me up into something like 'a man of fashion,' as she calls those confounded puppies one sees lounging about drawing-rooms. Well, as I didn't like to rile the old woman by refusing to do what she wanted, I went to a French mounseer, to teach me my paces; I've been in training above a month, so I thought I'd come here just as a sort of trial to see how I could go the pace.” “This is your debut, in fact,” returned I. “My how much?” was the reply. “Oh, I see, starting for the maiden stakes, for untried horses only—that sort of thing—eh? Yes, it's the first time I've been regularly entered; I hope I shan't bolt off the course; I feel uncommon shy at starting, I can assure you.”

“Oh, you'll do very well when you're once off; your partner will tell you if you are going to make any mistake,” replied I.

“My partner, eh? You mean one of those white-muslined young ladies, who is to run in double harness with me, I suppose?—that's another sell;—I shall be expected to talk to her, and I never know what to say to women; if one don't pay 'era compliments, and do a bit of the sentimental, they set you down as a brute directly. What an ass I was to come here! I wish it was bedtime!”

“Nonsense, man; never be afraid!” exclaimed Freddy, who had just joined us; “I'll pick you out a partner who's used to the thing, and will do all the talking herself, and be glad of the opportunity of giving her tongue a little exercise; and here comes the very girl, of all others—Di Clapperton.” Then turning towards a tall, showy-looking girl, who had just arrived, he addressed her with—“Delighted to see you, Miss Clapperton; a ball-room never appears to me properly arranged till it is graced by your presence: here's my friend, the Hon. George Lawless, dying to be introduced to you”.

“Pleasure—ar—dancing—with you, eh?” muttered the Hon. George, giving a little quick nod between each word, and getting very red in the face.

The young lady smiled a gracious assent, and saying, “I think they are forming a quadrille—shall we take our places?” marched him off in triumph.

“Frank, are you provided; or can I do anything for you?” inquired Coleman.

“Who is that interesting-looking girl, with dark hair?” asked I, in return.

“What, the she-male with the white camellia in her head, leaning on the arm of that old fellow with a cast-iron face? What a splendid pair of eyes she has got! I'll rind out her name, and get you introduced,” replied Coleman, disappearing in the crowd. In a minute or two he returned, and informed me that the young lady's name was Saville. “You've not made such a bad hit either,” continued he; “they tell me she's to be a great heiress, and old Ironsides there is her guardian. They say he keeps her shut up so close that nobody can see her; he would hardly let her come to-night, only he's under some business obligations to my governor, and he persuaded him to bring her, in order to give me a chance, I suppose.”

“What an expression of sadness there is in those deep blue eyes of hers! I am afraid she is not happy, poor thing!” said I, half thinking aloud.

“Why, you're getting quite romantic about it!” returned Coleman; “for my part, I think she looks rather jolly than otherwise;—see how she's laughing with my cousin Lucy; by Jove, how her face lights up when she smiles!—she's very decidedly pretty. Well, will you be introduced?—they are going to waltz.”

I signified my assent, and Coleman set off in search of his father to perform the ceremony, not having courage enough himself to face “old Stiff-back,” as he irreverently termed the young lady's guardian.

“I am sorry to refuse your young friend, Mr. Coleman,” was the reply to my introduction; “but Miss Saville never waltzes.”

“Come, don't be crabbed, Vernor; young people ought to enjoy themselves; recollect, we were young ourselves once!”

“If old Time had dealt as leniently by me as he seems to have done by you, Coleman, I should consider myself young yet,” replied Mr. Vernor. “I believe I have spoken my ward's wishes upon this point; but, if it would be more satisfactory to your friend to hear her decision from her own lips I can have no objection.—Clara, my dear, this gentleman, Mr. Fairlegh, does you the honour of wishing to waltz with you.”

Thus accosted, Miss Saville raised her eyes to my face for a moment, and, instantly casting them down again, coloured slightly, as she replied: “If Mr. Fairlegh will excuse me, I had rather not waltz”.

I could, of course, only bow in acquiescence, and was turning away, when old Mr. Coleman stopped me with:—

“There, wait a minute, Mr. Fairlegh; my little niece, Lucy Markham, will be only too glad to console you for your disappointment; she's never so happy as when she's waltzing”.

“If you are impertinent, uncle, I'll make you waltz with me till you're quite tired, by way of punishment!” replied his niece, as she accepted my proffered arm.

During a pause in the waltz I referred to the refusal just received, and asked my partner (a lively little brunette, with very white teeth and a bewitching smile) whether her friend Miss Saville were not somewhat of a prude?

“Poor dear Clara—a prude?—oh no!” was the reply. “You mean because she would not waltz, I suppose?”

I bowed my head in assent, and she continued:—

“I gave you credit for more penetration, Mr. Fairlegh; did you not see it was all that horrible Mr. Vernor, her guardian?—he chose her not to waltz; and she is too much afraid of him to dare to do anything he does not approve;—he would hardly let her come here to-night, only Uncle Coleman worried him into it”.

"She is exceedingly pretty,” remarked I; “there is something peculiar in the expression of those beautiful blue eyes which particularly pleases me; an earnest, trustful look, which—you will laugh at what I am going to say—which I have never seen before, except in the eyes of a dog!”

“Oh! I know so well what you mean,” replied my partner; “I have observed it often, but I never should have known how to express it. What a good idea!”

“May I ask whether you are very intimate with her? Is she an old friend of yours?”

“No, I never saw her till my uncle took this house; but Mr. Vernor sometimes brings her with him when he drives over on business, and she comes and sits with me while they are puzzling about their parchments. I like her so much; she seems as agreeable and good as she is pretty.”

“How is it,” asked I, “that my friend Freddy did not know her by sight even?—he had to inquire her name this evening.”

“Why, Frederick is generally obliged to be in town, you know; and I have observed that when he is down here Mr. Vernor never brings her with him.”

“He had better make a nun of her at once,” said I.

“Perhaps she won't be a nun!” said, or rather sang Lucy. And here we joined the waltzers again, and the conversation ended.

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CHAPTER XIV — THE BALL

“I could be pleased with any one,
Who entertained my sight with such gay shows
As men and women, moving here and there,
That coursing one another in their steps,
Have made their feet a tune.”
—Dryden.
“And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.”
“Come now, what... shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper and bed-time?”
—Midsummer Night's Dream.

“By Jove! this is hot work!” exclaimed Lawless, flinging himself down on a sofa so violently as to make an old lady, who occupied the farther end of it, jump to an extent which seriously disarranged an Anglo-Asiatic nondescript, believed in by her as a turban, wherewith she adorned her aged head. “If I have not been going the pace like a brick for the last two hours, it's a pity; what a girl that Di Clapperton is to step out!—splendid action she has, to be sure, and giving tongue all the time too. She's in first-rate training, 'pon my word: I thought she'd have sewn me up at one time—the pace was terrific. I must walk into old Coleman's champagne before I make a fresh start; when I've recovered my wind, and got a mouthful of hay and water, I'll have at her again, and dance till all's blue before I give in.”

“My dear fellow,” said I, “you must not dance all the evening with the same young lady; you'll have her brother call upon you the first thing to-morrow morning to know your intentions.”

“He shall very soon learn them as far as he is concerned, then,” replied Lawless, doubling his fist. “Let me have him to myself for a quiet twenty minutes, and I'll send him home with such a face on him that his nearest relations will be puzzled to recognise him for the next month to come at least. But what do you really mean?”

“That it's not etiquette to go on dancing with one young lady the whole evening; you must ask some one else.”

“Have all the bother to go over again, eh? what a treat! Well, we live and learn; it will require a few extra glasses of champagne to get the steam up to the necessary height, that's all. And there they are going down to supper; that's glorious!” and away he bounded to secure Miss Clapperton's arm, while I offered mine to the turbaned old lady, to compensate for her late alarm.

After supper the dancing was resumed with fresh energy, the champagne having produced its usual exhilarating effects upon the exhausted frames of the dancers. Notwithstanding my former repulse, I made a successful attempt to gain Miss Saville's hand for a quadrille, though I saw, or fancied I saw, the scowl on Mr. Vernor's sour countenance grow deeper as I led her away. My perseverance was not rewarded by any very interesting results, for my partner, who was either distressingly shy, or acting under constraint of some kind, made monosyllabic replies to every remark I addressed to her, and appeared relieved when the termination of the set enabled her to rejoin her grim protector.

“Of all the disagreeable faces I ever saw, Mr. Vernor's is the most repulsive,” said I to Coleman; “were I a believer in the power of the 'evil eye,' he is just the sort of looking person I should imagine would possess it. I am certain I have never met him before, and yet, strange to say, there is something which appears familiar to me in his expression, particularly when he frowns.”

“He is a savage-looking old Guy,” replied Freddy, “and bullies that sweet girl shockingly, I can see. I should feel the greatest satisfaction in punching his head for him, but I suppose it would be hardly the correct thing on so short an acquaintance, and in my father's house too; eh?”

“Not exactly,” replied I, turning away with a smile.

When Lawless made his appearance after supper it was evident by his flushed face, and a slight unsteadiness in his manner of walking, that he had carried his intentions with regard to the champagne into effect; and, heedless of my warning, he proceeded to lay violent siege to Miss Clapperton, to induce her to waltz with him. I was watching them with some little amusement, for the struggle in the young lady's mind between her sense of the proper, and her desire to waltz with an Honourable, was very apparent, when I was requested by Mrs. Coleman to go in search of a cloak appertaining to the turbaned old lady whom I had escorted down to supper, and who, being delicate in some way or other, required especial care in packing up. Owing to a trifling mistake of Mrs. Coleman's (who had described a red, worsted shawl as a blue cloth cloak, which mistake I had to discover and rectify) my mission detained me some minutes. As I re-entered the ball-room, shawl in hand, I was startled by the crash of something heavy falling, followed by a shriek from several of the ladies at the upper end of the room; and on hastening to the scene of action I soon perceived the cause of their alarm.

[ [!-- IMG --]

During my absence Lawless, having succeeded in overcoming Miss Clapperton's scruples, had recommenced waltzing with the greatest energy; but unfortunately, after going round the room once or twice, “the pace,” as he called it, becoming faster at every turn, the combined effects of the champagne and the unaccustomed exercise rendered him exceedingly giddy, and just before I entered the room he had fallen against a small table supporting a handsome China candelabrum, containing several wax lights, the overthrow of which had occasioned the grand crash which I heard. The cause of the shriek, however, still remained to be discovered, and a nearer approach instantly rendered it apparent. One of the wax candles, which had not been extinguished in its fall, had rolled against the ball-dress of Miss Saville, who happened to be seated next the table, and set it on fire. After making an ineffectual attempt to put it out with her hands, she became alarmed, and as I approached started wildly up, with the evident intention of rushing out of the room. Without a moment's hesitation I sprang forward, caught her in my arms, and, flinging the worsted shawl over her dress, which was just beginning to blaze, enveloped her in it, and, telling her if she only remained quiet she would be perfectly safe, laid her on the floor, while I continued to hold the thick shawl tightly down, till, to my very great delight, I succeeded in extinguishing the flames.

By this time several gentlemen had gathered round us, eager with their advice and offers of assistance. Having satisfied myself that the danger was entirely over I raised Miss Saville from the ground, and, making way through the crowd, half led, half carried her to the nearest sofa. After placing her carefully upon it I left her to the care of Mrs. Coleman and Lucy Markham, while I sought out the turbaned old lady whose shawl I had so unceremoniously made use of, and succeeded in making my peace with her, though, I believe, in her own secret breast, she considered Miss Saville's safety dearly purchased at the expense of her favourite whittle. As I approached the sofa again, the following words, in the harsh tones of Mr. Vernor's voice, met my ear:—

“I have ascertained our carriage is here; as soon, therefore, as you feel strong enough to walk, Clara, my dear, I should advise your accompanying me home; quiet and rest are the best remedies after such an alarm as this”.

“I am quite ready, sir,” was the reply, in a faint tone of voice.

“Nay, wait a few minutes longer,” said Lucy Markham kindly; “you are trembling from head to foot even yet.”

“Indeed I am quite strong; I have no doubt I can walk now,” replied Miss Saville, attempting to rise, but sinking back again almost immediately from faintness.

“Can I be of any assistance?” inquired I, coming forward.

“I am obliged to you for the trouble you have already taken, sir,” answered Mr. Vernor coldly, “but will not add to it. Miss Saville will be able to proceed with the assistance of my arm in a few minutes.”

After a short pause the young lady again announced her readiness to depart; and, having shaken hands with Mrs. Coleman and Lucy Markham, turned to leave the room, leaning on Mr. Vernor's arm. As I was standing near the door I stepped forward to hold it open for them, Mr. Vernor acknowledging my civility by the slightest imaginable motion of the head. Miss Saville, as she approached me, paused for a moment, as if about to speak, but, apparently relinquishing her intention, merely bowed, and passed on.

“Well, if it's in that sort of way fashionable individuals demonstrate their gratitude for having their lives saved, I must say I don't admire it,” exclaimed Coleman, who had witnessed the cool behaviour of Mr. Vernor and his ward; “it may be very genteel, but, were I in your place, I should consider it unsatisfactory in the extreme, and allow the next inflammable young lady who might happen to attract a spark in my presence to consume as she pleased, without interfering; and peace be to her ashes!”

“It was most fortunate that I happened to have that thick shawl in my hand,” said I; “in another minute her whole dress would have been in a blaze, and it would have been next to impossible to save her. What courage and self-command she showed! she never attempted to move after I threw the shawl around her, till I told her all danger was over.”

“Very grand, all that sort of thing,” returned Freddy; “but for my own part I should like to see a little more feeling. I've no taste for your 'marble maidens'; they always put me in mind of Lot's wife.”

“Eh! Mrs. Lot?” interrupted Lawless, coming up to us: “why was she like me? do you give it up? Because she got into a pretty pickle—there's a riddle for you. I say, I made a nice mess of it just now, didn't I? that's what comes of going to these confounded balls. The fact was,” he continued, sinking his voice, “the filly bolted with me; she took uncommon kindly to the champagne at supper; in consequence, she was so fresh when we started that I couldn't hold her; she kept pushing on faster and faster, till at last she was fairly off with me; we did very well as long as we stuck to the open country, but at last we contrived to get among some very awkward fences; the first stiff bit of timber we came to she made a rush at, and down we came, gate—I mean table, candlestick, and all, a regular smash; and to make matters worse, one of the candles set the other young woman's petticoat alight.”

“In fact, after a very severe run, you were nearly being in at the death,” suggested Coleman.

"By Jove, it was nothing to laugh at, though!” remarked Lawless; “she'd have been regularly cooked, if Prank Fairlegh hadn't put her out when he did, and I should have been tried for 'Unjustifiable Girl-icide,' or 'Maliciously setting fire to a marriageable female,' or some such thing; and I daresay the young woman wasn't insured anywhere: I should have got into a pretty mess; it would have been a worse job than breaking Shrimp.”

“Frederick, look here!” cried Lucy Markham, who was passing the place where we stood; “see how Mr. Fairlegh's sleeve is scorched; surely,” she continued, turning to me, “your arm must be injured.”

“It begins to feel rather painful,” replied I; “but I daresay it's nothing to signify.”

“Come to my room,” exclaimed Freddy anxiously; “why did you not mention it before?”

“Really I scarcely felt it in the excitement of the moment,” returned I; “it can't be of any consequence.”

On removing the coat-sleeve, however, a somewhat considerable burn was apparent, extending about half way from the wrist to the elbow, and which, the moment it was exposed to the air, became excessively painful.

Fortunately, among the guests who had not yet taken their departure was the surgeon of the neighbourhood, who was speedily summoned, and who, after having applied the proper remedies, recommended me to carry my arm in a sling for a few days, at the end of which time, he assured me, it would cause me little inconvenience.

As it was, by great good luck, my left arm which was injured, I submitted to this mandate with tolerable resignation, and returned to the drawing-room to be pitied by the tongues of the old, and the bright eyes of the young ladies, to an extent which (as at that time of day I was somewhat addicted to the vice of shyness) was more flattering than agreeable.

It was between two and three o'clock when Lawless and I prepared to take our departure for the inn at which we were to sleep. Being a lovely night Coleman volunteered to accompany us for the sake of the walk, telling the servants not to sit up for him, as he had a latch-key in his pocket—an article, regarding the possession of which a constant civil war was carried on between his mother and himself, wherein by dint of sundry well-contrived stratagems, and deeply laid schemes, he invariably gained the victory.

“I tell you what,” said Lawless, “the row and bother, and the whole kick-up altogether, has made me alarmingly hungry; the only decent bit of chicken I managed to lay hands on at supper Di Clapperton ate: precious twist that girl has, to be sure; even after all the ground she's been over to-night, going a topping pace the whole time too, she wasn't a bit off her feed; didn't she walk into the ham sandwiches—that's all! I'd rather keep her for a week than a fortnight, I can tell you; she'd eat her head off in a month, and no mistake. Here, waiter,” he continued, “have you got anything to eat in the house?”

“Yes, sir, splendid barrel of oysters down by coach last night; capital brown stout, sir—real Guinness's!”

“That's it, my man,” was the rejoinder; “trot 'em out, by all means. Freddy, old boy,” he continued, “come along in with us, and have some.”

“Well, I don't mind astonishing the natives for once in a way,” replied Freddy; “but it's dreadfully debauched, eating oysters and drinking porter at this time of day or night, whichever you are pleased to call it; you'll ruin my morals.”

“The devil fly away with your morals, and he won't be overloaded either,” was the polite rejoinder; and in we all went together. The oysters and porter soon made their appearance, and had ample justice done them; then, as a matter of course, spirits and water and cigars were produced, “just to prevent the oysters from disagreeing with us”; and we sat talking over old times, and relating various adventures which had occurred to us since, without troubling our heads about the flight of minutes. At length Coleman, pulling out his watch, exclaimed: “Past four o'clock, by the powers! I must be getting to bed—I've got a lease to draw to-morrow, and my head won't be over-clear as it is.”

“Nonsense,” replied Lawless; “bed's all a popular delusion; we can't be better off than we are—sit still.” But on Coleman's persisting in his wish to depart, Lawless continued: “Well, take another glass, and then Frank and I will walk home with you, and see you safe, for it's my belief that you're getting 'screwed.,' or you'd never think of going to bed”. Freddy and I exchanged glances, for if any of our party were in the condition expressed by the mysterious word “screwed,” it certainly was Lawless himself. After sitting some little time longer, we once more sallied forth, with the avowed intention of seeing Coleman home.

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER XV — RINGING THE CURFEW

“If the bell have any sides the clapper will find 'em.”—
—Ben Jonson.
“——ringing changes all our bells hath marr'd,
Jangled they have and jarr'd
So long, they're out of tune, and out of frame;
They seem not now the same.
Put them in frame anew, and once begin
To tune them so, that they may chime all in.”
—Herbert.
“Great then are the mysteries of bell-ringing: and this may
be said in its praise, that of all devices which men have sought
out for obtaining distinction by making a noise in the world, it
is the most harmless.”
—The Doctor.

AS we proceeded through the town Lawless, despite our endeavours to restrain him, chose to vent his superabundant spirits by performing sundry feats at the expense of the public, which, had the police regulations of the place been properly attended to, would have assuredly gained us a sojourn in the watch-house. We had just prevailed upon him to move on, after singing “We won't go home till morning” under the windows of “the Misses Properprim's Seminary for Young Ladies,” when a little shrivelled old man, in a sort of watchman's white greatcoat, bearing a horn lantern in his hand, brushed past us, and preceded us down the street at a shuffling trot.

“Holloa!” cried Lawless, “who's that old picture of ugliness? Look what a pace the beggar's cutting along at! what on earth's he up to?”

“That's the sexton and bell-ringer,” returned Coleman; “they keep up the old custom at Hillingford of ringing the curfew at daybreak, and he's going about it now, I suppose.”

“What jolly fun!” said Lawless; “come on, and let's see how the old cock does it; “and, suiting the action to the word, off he started in pursuit.

“We'd better follow him,” said I; “he'll be getting into some mischief or other, depend upon it.”

After running a short distance down the street, on turning a corner we found Lawless standing under a small arched door-way leading into a curious old battlemented tower, which did not form part of any church or other building of the same date as itself, but stood alone, showing, as it reared its time-worn head high above the more modern dwellings of which the street was composed, like some giant relic of the days of old. This tower contained a peal of bells, the fame of which was great in that part of the country, and of which the townspeople were justly proud.

“All right!” cried Lawless; “the old scarecrow ran in here like a lamp-lighter, as soon he saw me bowling after him, and has left the key in the lock; so I shall take the liberty of exploring a little; I've a strong though undeveloped taste for architectural antiquities. Twopence more, and up goes the donkey! come along!”

So saying, he flung open the door, and disappeared up some steps leading to the interior of the tower, and, after a moment's hesitation, Coleman and I followed him.

“Don't be alarmed, old boy!” observed Lawless, patting the sexton (who looked frightened out of his wits at our intrusion) so forcibly on the back as to set him coughing violently; “we're not come to murder you for the sake of your lantern.”

“This gentleman,” said Coleman, who by the cunning twinkle of his eye was evidently becoming possessed by the spirit of mischief, “has been sent down by the Venerable Society of Antiquaries to ascertain whether the old custom of ringing the Curfew is properly performed here. He is, in fact, no other than the Noble President of the Society himself. That gentleman (pointing to me) is the Vice-President, and I, who have the honour of addressing you, am the unworthy Secretary.”

“That's it, Daddy,” resumed Lawless, coolly taking up the lantern, and lighting a cigar; “that's the precise state of the poll, I mean case; so now go to work, and mind you do the trick properly.”

Thus adjured, the old man, who appeared completely bewildered by all that was going on, mechanically took hold of a rope, and began slowly and at stated intervals tolling one of the bells.

“Where are your assistants, my good man?” inquired Coleman after a short pause.—The only answer was a stare of vacant surprise, and Coleman continued, “Why, you don't mean to say you only ring one bell, to be sure? oh, this is all wrong:—what do you say, Mr. President?”

“Wrong?” replied Lawless, removing the cigar from his mouth and puffing a cloud of smoke into the sexton's face, “I should just think it was, most particularly and confoundedly wrong. I'll tell you what it is, old death's-head and cross-bones; things can't be allowed to go on in this manner. Reform, sir, is wanting, 'the bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the bill'. I mean to get into Parliament some day, Fairlegh, when I am tired of knocking about, you know—but that wasn't exactly what I was going to say.”

“Suppose we show him the proper way to do it, Mr. President!” suggested Freddy, catching hold of the rope of one of the bells.

“Off she goes,” cried Lawless, seizing another.

“Gentlemen, good gentlemen, don't ring the bells, pray,” implored the old man, “you'll raise the whole town; they are never rung in that way without there's a fire, or a flood, or the riot act read, or something of that dreadful natur the matter.”

But his expostulations were vain. Lawless had already begun ringing his bell in a manner which threatened to stun us all; and Coleman saying to me, “Come, Frank, we're regularly in for it, so you may as well take a rope and do the thing handsomely while we are about it; it would be horridly shabby of you to desert us now,” I hastened to follow his example.

Now it must be known that when I arrived at the inn, before supper, owing probably to a combination of the fatigue of the day, the excitement of the evening and the pain of my arm, I felt somewhat faint and exhausted, and should have greatly preferred going at once quietly to bed; but, as I was aware that by so doing I should break up the party I resolved to keep up as well as I could, and say nothing about it. Finding myself refreshed by the bottled porter, I repeated the dose several times, and the remedy continuing to prove efficacious, without giving the thing a thought, I drank more deeply than was my wont, and was a good deal surprised, when I rose to accompany the others, to discover that my legs were slightly unsteady, and my head not so clear as usual. Still I had been far from approving the proceedings of my companions, and had any one told me, when I entered the tower, that I was going to ring all the good people of Hillingford out of their beds in a fright, I should indignantly have repelled the accusation. Now, however, owing to the way in which Coleman had requested my assistance, it appeared to my bewildered senses that I should be meanly deserting my friends the moment they had got into difficulties, if I were to refuse; but when he used the word “shabby,” it settled the business, and, seizing a rope with my uninjured hand, I began pulling away vigorously.

"Now, then, you wretched old beggar,” shouted Lawless, “don't stand there winking and blinking like an owl; pull away like bricks, or I'll break your neck for you; go to work, I say!” and the miserable sexton, with a mute gesture of despair, resuming his occupation, a peal of four bells was soon ringing bravely out over hill and dale, and making “night horrible” to the startled inhabitants of Hillingford.

After the lapse of a few minutes a distant shout was heard; then a confused noise of people running and calling to each other in the streets reached our ears; and lastly the sound of several persons rapidly approaching the bell-tower became audible.

“We're in for a scrimmage now, I expect,” said Lawless, leisurely turning up his sleeves.

“Not a bit of it,” replied Freddy; “only leave it to me, and you'll see. All you fellows have got to do is to hold your tongues, and keep on ringing away till your arms ache; trust me to manage the thing all right. Lawless, keep your eye on ancient Methuselah there, and if he offers to say a word just knock him head over heels by accident, will you?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Lawless, shaking his fists significantly at the sexton.

At this moment a short fat man with a very red face (who we afterwards learned was no less a person than the mayor of Hillingford in his public, and a mighty tallow-chandler in his private, capacity) appeared, attired in a night-cap and greatcoat, and bearing the rest of his wardrobe under his arm, followed by several of the townspeople, all in a singular state of undress, and with the liveliest alarm depicted on their countenances. The worthy mayor was so much out of breath by his unwonted exertions that some seconds elapsed before he could utter a word, and in the meantime we continued ringing as though our lives depended upon it. At length he contrived to gasp out a hurried inquiry (hardly audible amidst the clanging of the bells) as to what was the matter. To this Coleman replied by pointing with one hand to a kind of loop-hole, of which there were several for the purpose of supplying light and air to the interior of the tower, while with the other hand he continued ringing away more lustily than before.

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the mayor, raising himself on tiptoe, and stretching his short neck in a vain endeavour to peep through the loop-hole, “it must be a fire in West Street!”

Two or three of the by-standers immediately rushed into the street, calling out, “A fire in West Street! send for the engines”.

At this moment Freddy caught the eye of a tall, gaunt-looking man in a top-boot and plush breeches, but without coat or waistcoat, and wearing a gold-laced cocked hat on his head, hind part before, from beneath which peeped out a white cotton night-cap. Having succeeded in attracting the attention of this worthy, who in his proper person supported the dignity of parish beadle, Coleman repeated the same stratagem he had so successfully practised upon the mayor, save that in this instance he pointed to a loop-hole in a completely opposite direction to the one he had indicated previously. The beadle immediately ran out, muttering ere he did so, “I was certain sure as they was all wrong”.—In another minute we heard him shouting, “It's in Middle Street, I tell you, there's a fire in Middle Street!”

[ [!-- IMG --]

Coleman now turned to the mayor, who, having somewhat recovered his breath, was evidently preparing to question the sexton as to the particulars of the affair, and exclaimed in a tone of deep feeling, “I am surprised to see a person of your high station standing idle at a moment like this! take a rope, sir, and lend a hand to assist us, if you be a man”.

“To be sure, to be sure,” was the reply, “anything for the good of the town,” and, grasping an unoccupied rope, he began pulling away with all his might.

The hubbub and confusion now became something unparalleled—people without number kept running in and out of the tower, giving and receiving all kinds of contradictory orders; volunteers had been found to assist us, and the whole peal of eight bells was clashing and clanging away above the tumult, and spreading the alarm farther and wider; men on horseback were arriving from the country eager to render assistance; women were screaming, dogs barking, children crying; and, to crown the whole, a violent and angry debate was being carried on by the more influential members of the crowd as to the quarter in which the supposed conflagration was raging—one party loudly declaring it was in Middle Street, while the other as vehemently protested it was in West Street.

The confusion had apparently attained its highest pitch, and the noise was perfectly deafening, when suddenly a shout was raised, “The engines! clear the way for the engines!” and in another moment the scampering of the crowd in all directions, the sound of horses' feet galloping, and the rattle of wheels, announced their approach. While all this was going on Coleman had contrived silently and unperceived to substitute two of the by-standers in my place and his own, so that Lawless was the only one of our party actually engaged in ringing. Seizing the moment, therefore, when the shout of “The engines!” had attracted the attention of the loiterers, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Now's our time, come along,” and, joining a party who were going out, we reached the door of the bell-tower unobserved.

The scene which presented itself to our view as we gained the open street would require the pencil of a Wilkie, or the pen of a Dickens, to describe. The street widened in front of the bell-tower, so as to make a kind of square. In the centre of the space thus formed stood the fire-engine drawn by four post-horses, the post-boys sitting erect in their saddles, ready to dash forward the moment the firemen (who in their green coats faced with red, and shining leather helmets, imparted a somewhat military character to the scene) should succeed in ascertaining the place at which their assistance was required. The crowd, which had opened to admit the passage of the engine, immediately closed round it again in an apparently impenetrable phalanx, the individual members of which afforded as singular a variety of costume as can well be imagined, extending from the simple shirt of propriety to the decorated uniforms of the fire-brigade. As every one who had an opinion to give was bawling it out at the very top of his voice, whilst those who had none contented themselves by shouting vague sentences devoid of particular meaning of any kind, the noise and tumult were such as beggared description. There was one short, stout, red-faced little fellow (for I succeeded in catching sight of him at last) with a mouth of such fearful dimensions that when it was open the upper half of his head appeared a mere lid, whose intellects being still partially under the dominion of sleep, evidently imagined himself at the Election, which had taken place a short time previously, and continued strenuously vociferating the name of his favourite candidate, though the cry of “Judkins for ever!” did not tend greatly to elucidate matters. Suddenly, and at the very height of the confusion, the bells ceased ringing, and for a moment, as if influenced by some supernatural power, the crowd to a man became silent.

Frank Fairlegh: Scenes from the Life of a Private Pupil

FRANK FAIRLEGH

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL
BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY

WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
A NEW EDITION METHUEN & CO. LONDON 1904

This Issue is founded on the First Edition,
published by A. Hall, Virtue, & Co., in the year 1850.

Contents

List of Illustrations

FRANK FAIRLEGH

OR

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER I — ALL RIGHT! OFF WE GO!

CHAPTER II — LOSS AND GAIN

CHAPTER III — COLD-WATER CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE

CHAPTER IV — WHEREIN IS COMMENCED THE ADVENTURE OF THE MACINTOSH, AND OTHER MATTERS

CHAPTER V — MAD BESS

CHAPTER VI — LAWLESS GETS THOROUGHLY PUT OUT

CHAPTER VII — THE BOARD OF GREEN CLOTH

CHAPTER VIII — GOOD RESOLUTIONS

CHAPTER IX — A DENOUEMENT

CHAPTER X — THE BOATING PARTY

CHAPTER XI — BREAKERS AHEAD!

CHAPTER XII — DEATH AND CHANGE

CHAPTER XIII — CATCHING A SHRIMP

CHAPTER XIV — THE BALL

CHAPTER XV — RINGING THE CURFEW

Frank Fairlegh: Scenes from the Life of a Private Pupil

FRANK FAIRLEGH

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPILBY FRANK E. SMEDLEY

WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANKA NEW EDITION METHUEN & CO. LONDON 1904

This Issue is founded on the First Edition,published by A. Hall, Virtue, & Co., in the year 1850.

Contents

List of Illustrations

FRANK FAIRLEGH

OR

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

CHAPTER I — ALL RIGHT! OFF WE GO!

CHAPTER II — LOSS AND GAIN

CHAPTER III — COLD-WATER CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE

CHAPTER IV — WHEREIN IS COMMENCED THE ADVENTURE OF THE MACINTOSH, AND OTHER MATTERS

CHAPTER V — MAD BESS

CHAPTER VI — LAWLESS GETS THOROUGHLY PUT OUT

CHAPTER VII — THE BOARD OF GREEN CLOTH

CHAPTER VIII — GOOD RESOLUTIONS

CHAPTER IX — A DENOUEMENT

CHAPTER X — THE BOATING PARTY

CHAPTER XI — BREAKERS AHEAD!

CHAPTER XII — DEATH AND CHANGE

CHAPTER XIII — CATCHING A SHRIMP

CHAPTER XIV — THE BALL

CHAPTER XV — RINGING THE CURFEW

SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL
BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY

WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
A NEW EDITION METHUEN & CO. LONDON 1904

This Issue is founded on the First Edition,
published by A. Hall, Virtue, & Co., in the year 1850.