Act 3.

Mrs Jellybags.

Oh dear!—this is a very long morning. I feel such suspense—such anxiety; and poor Sergeant-major O’Callaghan is quite in a perspiration! He is drinking and smoking down in the kitchen to pass away the time, and if the lawyer don’t come soon, the dear man will be quite fuddled. He talks of buying a farm in the country. Well, we shall see; but if the Sergeant thinks that he will make ducks and drakes of my money, he is mistaken. I have not been three times a widow for nothing—I will have it all settled upon myself; that must and shall be, or else—no Sergeant O’Callaghan for me!

Enter Clementina.

So, here you are, Miss. We’ll wait till the will is read, and then we shall see who is mistress here.

Clem. I am as anxious as you, Mrs Jellybags. You may have wheedled my poor uncle to make up the will in your favour; if so, depend upon it, I shall expect nothing from your hands.

Jel. I should rather think not, Miss. If I recollect right, you threw the carminative mixture in my face.

Clem. And made you blush for the first time in your life.

Jel. I shall not blush to slam the door in your face.

Clem. Rather than be indebted to you, I would beg my bread from door to door.

Jel. I expect that you very soon will.

Enter Edward.

Edw. My dearest Clementina, I have come to support you on this trying occasion.

Jel. And ascertain how matters stand, before you decide upon marrying, I presume, Mr Edward.

Edw. Madam, I am above all pecuniary considerations.

Jel. So everybody says, when they think themselves sure of money.

Edw. You judge of others by yourself.

Jel. Perhaps I do—I certainly do expect to be rewarded for my long and faithful services.

Clem. Do not waste words upon her, my dear.—You have my solemn promise; nothing shall change my feeling towards you.

Jel. That may be; but did it never occur to you, Miss, that the gentleman’s feelings might alter?

Edw. Detestable wretch!

(Hands Clementina to a chair on the right, and sits by her. Enter Nephews John, Thomas, William, and James, all with white pocket-handkerchiefs in their hands—they take their seats two right and two left.)

Jel. (aside.) Here they all come, like crows that smell carrion. How odious is the selfishness of this world! But here is Mr Gumarabic. How do you do, Sir? (Curtsies with a grave air.)

Gum. Very well, I thank you, Mrs Jellybags. Can’t say the—same of all my patients. Just happened to pass by—thought I would step in and hear the will read—odd, that I should pop in at the time—very odd. Pray, may I ask, my dear Mrs Jellybags, were you present at the making of the will?

Jel. No, my dear sir; my nerves would not permit me.

Gum. Nerves!—odd, very odd! Then you don’t know how things are settled?

Jel. No more than the man in the moon, my dear sir.

Gum. Man in the moon!—odd comparison that from a woman!—very odd! Hope my chance won’t prove all moonshine.

Jel. I should think not, my dear sir; but here comes Mr Seedy, and we shall know all about it.

(Enter Mr Seedy—Mrs Jellybags, all courtesy, waves her hand to a chair in the centre, with a table before it. Mr Seedy sits down, pulls the will out of his pocket, lays it on the table, takes out his snuff-box, takes a pinch, then his handkerchief, blows his nose, snuffs the candles, takes his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, puts them on, breaks the seals, and bows to the company: Mrs Jellybags has taken her seat on the left next to him, and Dr Gumarabic by her side. Mrs Jellybags sobs very loud, with her handkerchief to her face.)

Seedy. Silence, if you please.

(Mrs Jellybags stops sobbing immediately.)

Edw. (putting his arm round Clementina’s waist.) My dearest Clementina!

(Mr Seedy hems twice, and then reads,—)

“The last Will and Testament of Christopher Cadaverous, Gentleman, of Copse horton, in the County of Cumberland.

“I, Christopher Cadaverous, being at this time in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament.

“First, I pray that I may be forgiven all my manifold sins and wickedness, and I do beg forgiveness of all those whom I may have injured unintentionally or otherwise; and at the same time do pardon all those who may have done me wrong, even to John Jones, the turnpike man, who unjustly made me pay the threepenny toll twice over on Easter last, when I went up to receive my dividends.

“My property, personal and real, I devise to my two friends, Solomon Lazarus, residing at Number 3, Lower Thames-street, and Hezekiah Flint, residing at Number 16, Lothbury, to have and to hold for the following uses and purposes:—

“First, to my dearly beloved niece, Clementina Montagu, I leave the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds, three and a half per cent consols, for her sole use and benefit, to be made over to her, both principal and interest, on the day of her marriage.” (Edward withdraws his arm from Clementina’s waist—turns half round from her, and falls back in his chair with a pish!)

“To my nephew, Thomas Montagu, I leave the sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shilling and sixpence—having deducted the other sixpence to avoid the legacy duty.”

(Thomas turns from the lawyer with his face to the front of the stage; crossing his legs.)

“To my nephew, John Montagu, I leave also the sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence.”

(John turns away in the same manner.)

“To my nephew, once removed, James Stirling, I leave the sum of five pounds to purchase a suit of mourning.”

(James turns away as the others.)

“To my nephew, once removed, William Stirling, I leave the sum of five pounds to purchase a suit of mourning.”

(William turns away as the others.)

“To my kind and affectionate housekeeper, Mrs Martha Jellybags—”

(Mrs Jellybags sobs loudly, and cries “Oh dear! Oh dear!”)

Mr Seedy. Silence, if you please. (Reads.)

“In return for all her attention to me during my illness, and her ten years’ service, I leave the whole of my—”

(Mr Seedy having come to the bottom of the page lays down the will, takes out his snuff-box, takes a pinch, blows his nose, snuffs the candles, and proceeds.)

“I leave the whole of my wardrobe, for her entire use and disposal; and also my silver watch with my key and seal hanging to it.

“And having thus provided for—”

(Mrs Jellybags, who has been listening attentively, interrupts Mr Seedy in great agitation.)

Jel. Will you be pleased to read that part over again?

Seedy. Certainly, ma’am. “I leave the whole of my wardrobe, and also my silver watch, with the key and seal hanging to it.”

(Mrs Jellybags screams, and falls back in a swoon on her chair—no one assists her.)

“And having thus provided for all my relations, I do hereby devise the rest of my property to the said Solomon Lazarus and Hezekiah Flint, to have and to hold for the building and endowment of an hospital for diseases of the heart, lights, liver, and spleen, as set off by the provisions in the schedule annexed to my will as part and codicil to it.”

Seedy. Would the relations like me to read the provisions?

Omnes. No! no! no!

(Mr Seedy is about to fold up the papers.)

Gum. I beg your pardon, sir, but is there no other codicil?

Seedy. I beg your pardon, Mr Gumarabic, I recollect now there is one relative to you.

Gum. (nods his head.) I thought so.

(Seedy reads.)

“And whereas I consider that my apothecary, Mr Haustus Gumarabic, hath sent in much unnecessary physic, during my long illness—it is my earnest request that my executors will not fail to tax his bill.”

Gum. (rises and comes forward.) Tax my bill!—well that is odd, very odd! I may as well go and look after my patients. (Exit.)

(James and William come forward.)

James. I say, Bill, how are you off for a suit of mourning?

Will. Thanky for nothing, Jem. If the old gentleman don’t go to heaven until I put it on, he will be in a very bad way. Come along, it’s no use staying here.

(John and Thomas come forward.)

John. I say, Tom, how are you off for nineteen pounds nineteen and six? Heh!

Thos. Let’s toss and see which shall have both legacies. Here goes—heads or tails?

John. Woman for ever.

Thos. You’ve won, so there’s an end of not only my expectations but realities. Come along, Mrs Jellybags must be anxious to look over her wardrobe.

John. Yes, and also the silver watch and the key and seal hanging to it. Good bye, Jemmy! Ha! ha!

(Exeunt, laughing.)

Clem. For shame, John. (Turns to Edward.) My dear Edward, do not appear so downcast. I acknowledge that I am myself much mortified and disappointed—but we must submit to circumstances. What did I tell you before this will was read?—that nothing could alter my feelings towards you, did I not?

Edw. (with indifference.) Yes.

Clem. Why then annoy yourself, my dear Edward?

Edw. The confounded old junks!

Clem. Nay, Edward, recollect that he is dead—I can forgive him.

Edw. But I won’t. Has he not dashed my cup of bliss to the ground? Heavens! what delightful anticipations I had formed of possessing you and competence—all gone!

Clem. All gone, dear Edward?

(Mrs Jellybags, who has been sitting very still, takes her handkerchief from her eyes and listens.)

Edw. Yes, gone!—gone for ever! Do you imagine, my ever dear Clementina, that I would be so base, so cruel, so regardless of you and your welfare, to entrap you into marriage with only one hundred and fifty pounds! No, no!—judge me better. I sacrifice myself—my happiness—all for you!—banish myself from your dear presence, and retire to pass the remainder of my existence in misery and regret, maddened with the feeling that some happier mortal will obtain that dear hand, and will rejoice in the possession of those charms which I had too fondly, too credulously, imagined as certain to be mine.

(Takes out his handkerchief and covers his face; Clementina also puts her handkerchief to her face and weeps. Mrs Jellybags nods her head ironically.)

Clem. Edward!

Edw. My dear, dear Clementina!

Clem. You won’t have me?

Edw. My honour forbids it. If you knew my feelings—how this poor heart is racked!

Clem. Don’t leave me, Edward. Did you not say that for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, you would be mine, till death did us part?

Edw. Did I!

Clem. You know you did, Edward.

Edw. It’s astonishing how much nonsense we talk when in love. My dearest Clementina, let us be rational. We are almost without a sixpence. There is an old adage, that when poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window. Shall I then make you miserable! No! no! Hear me, Clementina. I will be generous. I now absolve you from all your vows. You are free. Should the time ever come that prosperity shine upon me, and I find that I have sufficient for both of us of that dross which I despise, then will I return, and, should my Clementina not have entered into any other engagement, throw my fortune and my person at her feet. Till then, dearest Clementina, farewell!

Clem. (sinking into a chair sobbing.) Cruel Edward! Oh, my heart will break!

Edw. I can bear it myself no longer. Farewell! farewell! (Exit.)

Jel. (coming forward.) Well, this is some comfort.—(To Clementina.) Did I not tell you, Miss, that if you did not change your mind, others might?

Clem. Leave me, leave me.

Jel. No, I shan’t; I have as good a right here as you, at all events. I shall stay, Miss.

Clem. (rising.) Stay then—but I shall not. Oh, Edward! Edward! (Exit, weeping.)

Jel. (alone.) Well, I really thought I should have burst—to be forced not to allow people to suppose that I cared, when I should like to tear the old wretch out of his coffin to beat him. His wardrobe! If people knew his wardrobe as well as I do, who have been patching at it these last ten years—not a shirt or a stocking that would fetch sixpence! And as for his other garments, why a Jew would hardly put them into his bag! (Crying.) Oh dear! oh dear! After all, I’m just like Miss Clementina; for Sergeant O’Callaghan, when he knows all this, will as surely walk off without beat of drum, as did Mr Edward—and that too with all the money I have lent him. Oh these men! these men!—whether they are living or dying there is nothing in them but treachery and disappointment! When they pretend to be in love, they only are trying for your money; and even when they make their wills, they leave to those behind them nothing but ill-will.

(Exit, crying, off the stage as the curtain falls.)

Chapter Forty Four.

The Sky-Blue Domino.

It was a flue autumnal evening; I had been walking with a friend until dusk on the Piazza Grande, or principal square in the town of Lucca. We had been conversing of England, our own country, from which I had then banished myself for nearly four years, having taken up my residence in Italy to fortify a weak constitution, and having remained there long after it was requisite for my health from an attachment to its pure sky, and the dolce far niente which so wins upon you in that luxurious climate. We had communicated to each other the contents of our respective letters arrived by the last mail; had talked over politics, great men, acquaintances, friends and kindred; and, tired of conversation, had both sank into a pleasing reverie as we watched the stars twinkling above us, when my friend rose hastily and bid me good night.

“Where are you going, Albert?” inquired I.

“I had nearly forgotten I had an appointment this evening. I promised to meet somebody at the Marquesa di Cesto’s masquerade.”

“Pshaw! are you not tired of these things?” replied I; “that eternal round of black masks and dominos of all colours; heavy harlequins, fools and clowns by nature wearing their proper dresses there, and only in masquerade when out of it; nuns who have no holiness in their ideas, friars without a spice of religion, ugly Venuses, Dianas without chastity, and Hebes as old as your grandmother.”

“All very true, Herbert, and life itself is masquerade enough; but the fact is, that I have an appointment: it is of importance, and I must not fail.”

“Well, I wish you more amusement than I have generally extracted from these burlesque meetings,” replied I. “Adieu, and may you be successful!” And Albert hastened away.

I remained another half hour reclining on the bench, and then returned to my lodgings. My servant Antonio lighted the candle and withdrew. On the table lay a note; it was an invitation from the Marquesa. I threw it on one side and took up a book, one that required reflection and deep examination; but the rattling of the wheels of the carriages as they whirled along past my window would not permit me to command my attention. I threw down the book; and taking a chair at the window, watched the carriages full of masks as they rolled past, apparently so eager in the pursuit of pleasure. I was in a cynical humour. What fools, thought I, and yet what numbers will be there; there will be an immense crowd; and what can be the assignation which Albert said was of such consequence? Such was my reflection for the next ten minutes, during which at least fifty carriages and other vehicles had passed in review before me.

And then I thought of the princely fortune of the Marquesa, the splendid palazzo at which the masquerade was given, and the brilliant scene which would take place.

“The Grand Duke is to be there, and everybody of distinction in Lucca. I have a great mind to go myself.”

A few minutes more elapsed. I felt that I was lonely, and I made up my mind that I would go. I turned from the window and rang the bell.

“Antonio, see if you can procure me a domino, a dark-coloured one if possible; and tell Carlo to bring the carriage round as soon as he can.”

Antonio departed, and was away so long that the carriage was at the door previous to his return.

“Signor, I am sorry, very, very sorry; but I have run to every shop in Lucca, and there is nothing left but a sky-blue domino, which I have brought with me.”

“Sky-blue! why, there will not be two sky-blue dominos in the whole masquerade: I might as well tell my name at once, I shall be so conspicuous.”

“You are as well hidden under a sky-blue domino as a black one, Signor, if you choose to keep your own secrets,” observed Antonio.

“Very true,” replied I, “give me my mask.”

Enshrouding myself in the sky-blue domino, I went down the stairs, threw myself into the carriage, and directed Carlo to drive to the palazzo of the Marquesa.

In half an hour we arrived at the entrance-gates of the Marquesa’s superb country seat. From these gates to the palazzo, a sweep of several hundred yards, the avenue though which the driver passed was loaded with variegated lamps, hanging in graceful festoons from branch to branch; and the notes of music from the vast entrance-hall of the palazzo floated through the still air. When I arrived at the area in front of the flight of marble steps which formed the entrance of the palazzo, I was astonished at the magnificence, the good taste, and the total disregard of expense which were exhibited. The palazzo itself appeared like the fabric built of diamonds and precious stones by the genii who obeyed the ring and lamp of Aladdin, so completely was its marble front hidden with a mass of many-coloured lamps, the reflection from whose galaxy of light rendered it bright as day for nearly one hundred yards around; various mottoes and transparencies were arranged in the walks nearest to the palazzo; and then all was dark, rendered still darker from the contrast with the flood of light which poured to a certain distance from the scene of festivity. Groups of characters and dominos were walking to and fro in every direction; most of them retracing their steps when they arrived at the sombre walks and alleys, some few pairs only continuing their route where no listeners were to be expected.

This is an animating scene, thought I, as the carriage stopped, and I am not sorry that I have made one of the party. As soon as I had descended, I walked up the flight of marble steps which led to the spacious hall in which the major part of the company were collected. The music had, for a moment, ceased to play; and finding that the perfume of the exotics which decorated the hall was too powerful, I was again descending the steps, when my hand was seized and warmly pressed by one in a violet-coloured domino.

“I am so glad that you are come; we were afraid that you would not. I will see you again directly,” said the domino; and it then fell back into the crowd and disappeared.

It immediately occurred to me that it was my friend Albert who spoke to me. “Very odd,” thought I, “that he should have found me out!” And again I fell into the absurdity of imagining that because I had put on a conspicuous domino, I was sure to be recognised. “What can he want with me? We must be in some difficulty, some unexpected one, that is certain.” Such were my reflections as I slowly descended the steps, occasionally pausing for a moment on one, as I was lost in conjecture, when I was again arrested by a slight slap on the shoulder. I looked round: it was a female; and although she wore her half-mask, it was evident that she was young, and I felt convinced that she was beautiful.

“Not a word,” whispered she, putting her finger to her lip; “follow me.” Of course I followed: who could resist such a challenge?

“You are late,” said the incognito, when we had walked so far away from the palazzo as to be out of hearing of the crowd.

“I did not make up my mind to come until an hour ago,” replied I.

“I was so afraid that you would not come. Albert was sure that you would, he was right. He told me just now that he had spoken to you.”

“What! was that Albert in the rose-coloured domino?”

“Yes; but I dare not stay now—my father will be looking for me. Albert is keeping him in conversation. In half an hour he will speak to you again. Has he explained to you what has occurred?”

“Not one word.”

“If he has not had time—and I doubt if he will have, as he must attend to the preparations—I will write a few lines, if I can, and explain, or at least tell you what to do; but I am so harassed, so frightened! We do indeed require your assistance. Adieu!” So saying, the fair unknown tripped hastily away.

“What the deuce is all this?” muttered I, as I watched her retreating figure. “Albert said that he had an appointment, but he did not make me his confidant. It appears that something which has occurred this night occasions him to require my assistance. Well, I will not fail him.”

For about half an hour I sauntered up and down between the lines of orange-trees which were dressed up with variegated lamps, and shed their powerful fragrance in the air: I ruminated upon what might be my friend’s intentions, and what might be the result of an intrigue carried on in a country where the stiletto follows Love so close through all the mazes of his labyrinth, when I was again accosted by the violet-coloured domino.

“Hist!” whispered he, looking carefully round as he thrust a paper into my hand; “read this after I leave you. In one hour from this be you on this spot. Are you armed?”

“No,” replied I; “but Albert—”

“You may not need it; but nevertheless take this,—I cannot wait.” So saying, he put a stiletto into my hand, and again made a hasty retreat.

It had been my intention to have asked Albert what was his plan, and further why he did not speak English instead of Italian, as he would have been less liable to be understood if overheard by eavesdroppers; but a little reflection told me that he was right in speaking Italian, as the English language overheard would have betrayed him, or at least have identified him as a foreigner.

“A very mysterious affair this!” thought I; “but, however, this paper will, I presume, explain the business. That there is a danger in it is evident, or he would not have given me this weapon;” and I turned the stiletto once or twice to the light of the lamp next to me, examining its blade, when, looking up, I perceived a black domino standing before me.

“It is sharp enough, I warrant,” said the domino; “you have but to strike home. I have been waiting for you in the next walk, which I thought was to be our rendezvous. Here is a paper which you will fasten to his dress. I will contrive that he shall be here in an hour hence by a pretended message. After his death you will put this packet into his bosom;—you understand. Fail not: remember the one thousand sequins; and here is my ring, which I will redeem as soon as your work is done. The others will soon be here. The pass-word is ‘Milano.’ But I must not be seen here. Why a sky-blue domino? it is too conspicuous for escape;” and as I received from him the packet and ring, the black domino retreated through the orange grove which encircled us.

I was lost in amazement: there I stood with my hands full—two papers, a packet, a stiletto, and a diamond ring!

“Well,” thought I, “this time I am most assuredly taken for somebody else—for a bravo I am not. There is some foul work going on, which perhaps I may prevent.”

“But why a sky-blue domino?” said he.

I may well ask the same question. “Why the deuce did I come here in a sky-blue domino, or any domino at all?”

I put the ring on my finger, the stiletto and packet in my bosom, and then hastened away to the garden on the other side of the palazzo, that I might read the mysterious communication put into my hands by my friend Albert; and as I walked on, my love for admiration led me away so as to find myself pleased with the mystery and danger attending upon the affair; and feeling secure, now that I had a stiletto in my bosom for my defence, I resolved that I would go right through it until the whole affair should be unravelled.

I walked on till I had gained the last lamp on the other side of the palazzo. I held up to its light the mysterious paper: it was in Italian, and in a woman’s handwriting.

“We have determined upon flight, as we cannot hope for safety here, surrounded as we are by stilettoes on every side. We feel sure of pardon as soon as the papers which Albert received by this day’s mail, and which he will entrust to you when you meet again, are placed in my father’s hands. We must have your assistance in removing our treasure. Our horses are all ready, and a few hours will put us in safety; but we must look to you for following us in your carriage, and conveying for me what would prove so great an incumbrance to our necessary speed. When Albert sees you again, he will be able to tell you where it is deposited. Follow us quick, and you will always have the gratitude of—

“Viola.

“PS. I write in great haste, as I cannot leave my father’s side for a moment without his seeking for me.”

“What can all this mean? Albert told me of no papers by this day’s mail. Viola! I never heard him mention such a name. He said to me, ‘Read this, and all will be explained.’ I’ll be hanged if I am not as much in the dark as ever! Follow them in my carriage with the treasure—never says where! I presume he is about to run off with some rich heiress. Confound this sky-blue domino! Here I am with two papers, a packet, a stiletto, and a ring; I am to receive another packet, and am to convey treasure. Well, it must solve itself—I will back to my post; but first let me see what is in this paper which I am to affix upon the man’s dress after I have killed him.” I held it up to the light, and read, in capital letters, “The reward of a traitor!” “Short and pithy,” muttered I, as I replaced it in my pocket: “now I’ll back to the place of assignation, for the hour must be nearly expired.”

As I retraced my steps, I again reverted to the communication of Viola—“Surrounded as we are by stilettoes on every side!” Why, surely Albert cannot be the person that I am required by the black domino to despatch; and yet it may be so—and others are to join me here before the hour is passed. A thought struck me: whoever the party might be whose life was to be taken, whether Albert or another, I could save him.

My reverie was again broken by a tap on the shoulder.

“Am I right? What is the pass-word?”

“Milano!” replied I, in a whisper.

“All’s right, then—Giacomo and Tomaso are close by—I will fetch them.”

The man turned away, and in a minute re-appeared with two others, bending as they forced their way under the orange-trees.

“Here we all are, Felippo,” whispered the first. “He is to be here in a few minutes.”

“Hush!” replied I, in a whisper, and holding up to them the brilliant ring which sparkled on my finger.

“Ah, Signor, I cry your mercy,” replied the man, in a low voice; “I thought it was Felippo.”

“Not so loud,” replied I, still in a whisper. “All is discovered, and Felippo is arrested. You must away immediately. You shall hear from me to-morrow.”

“Corpo di Bacco! Where, Signor? at the old place?”

“Yes away—now, and save yourselves.”

In a few seconds the desperate men disappeared among the trees, and I was left alone.

“Slaves of the Ring, you have done my bidding at all events, this time,” thought I, and I looked at the ring more attentively. It was a splendid solitaire diamond, worth many hundred crowns. “Will you ever find your way back to our lawful owner?” was the question in my mind when Albert made his appearance in his violet-coloured domino.

“’Twas imprudent of you to send me the paper by the black domino,” said he, hastily. “Did I not tell you that I would be here in an hour? We have not a moment to spare. Follow me quickly, and be silent.”

I followed—the paper which Albert referred to needed no explanation; it was, indeed, the only part of the whole affair which I comprehended. He led the way to about three hundred yards of the path through the wood.

“There,” said he, “in that narrow avenue, you will find my faithful negro with his charge. He will not deliver it up without you show him this ring.” And Albert put a ring upon my finger.

“But, Albert,”—my mind misgave me—Albert never had a faithful negro to my knowledge; it must be some other person who had mistaken me for his friend,—“I am afraid,” continued I—

“Afraid!—let me not hear you say that. You never yet knew fear,” said he, interrupting me. “What have you to fear between this and Pisa? Your own horses will take you there in three hours. But here’s the packet, which you must deliver yourself. Now that you know where the negro is, return to the palazzo, deliver it into his own hands, requesting his immediate perusal. After that do not wait a moment, but hasten here to your charge. While the Grand Duke is reading it I will escape with Viola.”

“I really cannot understand all this,” said I, taking the packet.

“All will be explained when we meet at Pisa. Away, now; to the Grand Duke—I will go to the negro and prepare him for your coming.”

“But allow me—”

“Not a word more, if you love me,” replied the violet-coloured domino, who, I was now convinced, was not Albert; it was not his voice—there was a mystery and a mistake; but I had become so implicated that I felt I could not retreat without sacrificing the parties, whoever they might be.

“Well,” said I, as I turned back to the palazzo, “I must go on now; for, as a gentleman and man of honour, I cannot refuse. I will give the packet to the Grand Duke, and I will also convey his treasure to Pisa, Confound this sky-blue domino!”

As I returned to the palazzo, I was accosted by the black domino.

“Milano!” replied I.

“Is all right, Felippo?” said he, in a whisper.

“All is right, Signor,” was my answer.

“Where is he?”

I pointed with my finger to a clump of orange-trees.

“And the paper and packet?”

I nodded my head.

“Then you had better away—I will see you to-morrow.”

“At the old place, Signor?”

“Yes,” replied the black domino, cutting into a cross-path, and disappearing.

I arrived at the palazzo, mounted the steps, forced my way through the crowd, and perceived the Grand Duke in an inner saloon, the lady who had accosted me leaning on his arm. It then occurred to me that the Grand Duke had an only daughter, whose name was Viola. I entered the saloon, which was not crowded, and walking boldly up to the Grand Duke, presented the packet, requesting that his Highness would give it his immediate attention. I then bowed, and hastened away, once more passed through the thronged hall, and gained the marble steps of the palazzo.

“Have you given it?” said a low voice close to me.

“I have,” replied I; “but, Signor—”

“Not a word, Carlo: hasten to the wood, if you love me.” And the violet-coloured domino forced his way into the crown which filled the hall.

“Now for my journey to Pisa,” said I. “Here I am, implicated in high treason, perhaps, in consequence of my putting on a sky-blue domino. Well, there’s no help for it.”

In a few minutes I had gained the narrow avenue, and having pursued it about fifty yards, perceived the glaring eyes of the crouched negro. By the starlight, I could just distinguish that he had a basket, or something like one, before him.

“What do you come for, Signor?” said the negro, rising on his feet.

“For what has been placed under your charge; here is the ring of your master.”

The negro put his fingers to the ring and felt it, that he might recognise it by its size and shape.

“Here it is, Signor,” said he, lifting up the basket gently, and putting it into my arms. It was not heavy, although somewhat cumbrous from its size.

“Hark! Signor, there is confusion in the palazzo. You must be quick, and I must not be seen with you.” And away darted the negro like lightning through the bushes.

I also hastened away with the basket (contents unknown), for it appeared to me that affairs were coming to a crisis. I heard people running different ways, and voices approaching me. When I emerged from the narrow avenue, I perceived several figures coming down the dark walk at a rapid pace, and, seized with a sort of panic, I took to my heels. I soon found that they were in pursuit, and I increased my speed. In the gloom of the night, I unfortunately tripped over a stone, and fell with the basket to the ground; and then the screams from within informed me that the treasure intrusted to my safe keeping was a child. Fearful that it was hurt, and forgetting, for the time, the danger of being captured, I opened the lid, and examined its limbs, while I tried to pacify it; and while I was sitting down in my sky-blue domino, thus occupied in hushing a baby, I was seized by both shoulders, and found myself a prisoner.

“What is the meaning of this rudeness, Signors?” said I, hardly knowing what to say.

“You are arrested by order of the Grand Duke,” was the reply.

“I am arrested!—why?—I am an Englishman!”

“That makes no difference; the orders are to arrest all found in the garden in sky-blue dominos.”

“Confound the sky-blue domino!” thought I, for the twentieth time at least. “Well, Signora, I will attend you; but first let me try to pacify this poor frightened infant.”

“Strange that he should be found running away with a child at the same time that the Lady Viola has disappeared!” observed one of my captors.

“You are right, Signora,” replied I; “it is very strange; and what is more strange is, that I can no more explain it than you can. I am now ready to accompany you. Oblige me by one of you carrying the basket while I take care of the infant.”

In a few minutes we had arrived at the palazzo. I had retained my mask, and I was conducted through the crowd into the saloon into which I had previously entered when I delivered the packet to the Grand Duke.

“There he is! there he is!” was buzzed through the crowd in the hall. “Holy Virgin! he has a child in his arms! Bambino bellissimo!” Such were the exclamations of wonder and surprise as they made a lane for my passage, and I was in the presence of the Grand Duke, who appeared to be in a state of great excitement.

“It is the same person!” exclaimed the Duke. “Confess! are you not the party who put a packet into my hands about a quarter of an hour since?”

“I am the person, your Highness,” replied I, as I patted and soothed the frightened child.

“Who gave it you?”

“May it please your Highness, I do not know.”

“What child is that?”

“May it please your Highness, I do not know.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Out of that basket, your Highness.”

“Who gave you the basket?”

“May it please your Highness, I do not know.”

“You are trifling with me. Let him be searched.”

“May it please your Highness, I will save them that trouble, if one of the ladies will take the infant. I have received a great many presents this evening, all of which I will have the honour of displaying before your Highness.”

One of the ladies held out her arms to the infant, who immediately bent from mine toward her, naturally clinging to the other sex as its friend in distress.

“In the first place, your Highness, I have this evening received this ring,” taking off my finger the one given by the party in a violet-coloured domino, and presenting it to him.

“And from whom?” said his Highness, instantly recognising the ring.

“May it please your Highness, I do not know. I have also received another ring, your Highness,” continued I, taking off the ring given me by the black domino.

“And who gave you this?” interrogated the Duke, again evidently recognising it.

“May it please your Highness, I do not know. Also, this stiletto, but from whom, I must again repeat, I do not know. Also, this packet, with directions to put it into a dead man’s bosom.”

“And you are, I presume, equally ignorant of the party who gave it to you?”

“Equally so, your Highness; as ignorant as I am of the party who desired me to present you with the other packet which I delivered. Here is also a paper I was desired to pin upon a man’s clothes after I had assassinated him.”

“Indeed!—and to this, also, you plead total ignorance?”

“I have but one answer to give to all, your Highness, which is, I do not know.”

“Perhaps, Sir, you do not know your own name or profession,” observed his Highness, with a sneer.

“Yes, your Highness,” replied I, taking off my mask, “that I do know. I am an Englishman, and, I trust, a gentleman, and a man of honour. My name is Herbert; and I have more than once had the honour to be a guest at your Highness’s entertainments.”

“Signor, I recognise you,” replied the Grand Duke. “Let the room be cleared—I must speak with this gentleman alone.”

When the company had quitted the saloon, I entered into a minute detail of the events of the evening, to which his Highness paid the greatest attention; and when I had finished, the whole mystery was unravelled to me by him, and with which I will now satisfy the curiosity of my readers.

The Grand Duke had one daughter, by name Viola, whom he had wished to marry to Rodolph, Count of Istria; but Viola had met with Albert, Marquis of Salerno, and a mutual attachment had ensued. Although the Grand Duke would not force his daughter’s wishes and oblige her to marry Count Rodolph, at the same time he would not consent to her espousals with the Marquis Albert. Count Rodolph had discovered the intimacy between Viola and the Marquis of Salerno, and had made more than one unsuccessful attempt to get rid of his rival by assassination. After some time, a private marriage with the marquis had been consented to by Viola; and a year afterwards the Lady Viola retired to the country, and without the knowledge, or even suspicions, of her father, had given birth to a male child, which had been passed off as the offspring of one of the ladies of the court who was married, and to whom the secret had been confided.

At this period the secret societies, especially the Carbonari, had become formidable in Italy, and all the crowned heads and reigning princes were using every exertion to suppress them. Count Rodolph was at the head of these societies, having joined them to increase his power, and to have at his disposal the means of getting rid of his rival. Of this the Marquis of Salerno had received intimation, and for some time had been trying to obtain proof against the count; for he knew that if once it was proved, Count Rodolph would never be again permitted to appear in the state of Lucca. On the other hand, Count Rodolph had been making every arrangement to get rid of his rival, and had determined that it should be effected at this masquerade.

The Marquis of Salerno had notice given him of this intention, and also had on that morning obtained the proof against Count Rodolph, which he was now determined to forward to the Grand Duke; but, aware that his assassination by the Carbonari was to be attempted, and also that the wrath of the Grand Duke would be excessive when he was informed of their private marriage, he resolved to fly with his wife to Pisa, trusting that the proofs of Count Rodolph being connected with the Carbonari, and a little time, would soften down the Grand Duke’s anger. The marquis had arranged that he should escape from the Duke’s dominions on the night of the masquerade, as it would be much easier for his wife to accompany him from thence than from the Grand Duke’s palace, which was well guarded; but it was necessary that they should travel on horseback, and they could not take their child with them. Viola would not consent that it should be left behind; and on this emergency he had written to his friend, the Count d’Ossore, to come to their assistance at the masquerade, and, that they might recognise him, to wear a sky-blue domino, a colour but seldom put on. The Count d’Ossore had that morning left his town mansion on a hunting excursion, and did not receive the letter, of which the Marquis and Viola were ignorant. Such was the state of affairs at the time that I put on the sky-blue domino to go to the masquerade.

My first meeting with the marquis in his violet-coloured domino is easily understood: being in a sky-blue domino I was mistaken for the Count d’Ossore. I was myself led into the mistake by the Marquis Albert having the same Christian name as my English friend. The second meeting with the Count Rodolph, in the black domino, was accidental. The next walk had been appointed as the place of meeting with the Carbonari Felippo and his companions; but Count Rodolph, perceiving me examining my stiletto by the light of the lamp, presumed that I was Felippo, and that I had mistaken the one path for the other which had been agreed upon. The papers given to me by Count Rodolph were Carbonari papers, which were to be hid in the marquis’s bosom after he had been assassinated, to make it appear that he had belonged I to that society, and by the paper affixed to his clothes, that he had been murdered by the agents of the society for having betrayed them. The papers which the marquis had requested me to give to the Grand Duke were the proofs of Count Rodolph’s belonging to the secret society; and with the papers was enclosed a letter to the Grand Duke, in which they I acknowledged their secret union. And now, I believe, the reader will comprehend the whole of this mysterious affair.

After all had been explained, I ventured to ask his Highness if he would permit me to fulfil my promise of taking the child to its mother, as I considered it a point of honour that I should keep my engagement, the more so, as the delay would occasion the greatest distress to his daughter; and I ventured to add, that I trusted his Highness would pardon what could not now be remedied, and that I should have the satisfaction of being the bearer of such pleasing intelligence to his daughter and the marquis.

The Grand Duke paced the room for a minute, and then replied, “Signor Herbert, I feel so disgusted with the treachery and baseness of Count Rodolph, that I hardly need observe, if my daughter were free he never should espouse her; indeed, he will have immediate orders to quit the state. You have been instrumental in preserving the life of the Marquis of Salerno, who is my son-in-law, and as matters now stand, I am indebted to you. Your dismissal of the bravoes, by means of the count’s ring, was a masterly stroke. You shall have the pleasure of taking my forgiveness to my daughter and her husband; but as for the child, it may as well remain here. Tell Viola I retain it as a hostage for the quick return of its mother.”

I took my leave of his Highness, and hastened to Pisa, where I soon found out the retreat of the marquis and his wife. I sent up my name, requesting immediate admittance, as having a message from the Grand Duke. I found them in great distress. The Count d’Ossore had returned late on the night of the masquerade, found the letter, hastened to the Marquesa de Cesto’s, and had arrived just after the elopement had been discovered. He immediately followed them to Pisa, when an explanation took place, and they discovered that they had been communicating with some unknown person, by whom they had, in all probability, been betrayed.

It would be difficult to portray their astonishment and joy when I entered into a detail of what had occurred, and wound up with the message from the Grand Duke; and I hardly need add, now that I wind up my story, that the proofs of gratitude I received from the marquis and his wife, during my subsequent residence in Italy, left me no occasion to repent that I had gone to the masquerade of the Marquesa de Cesto, in a Sky-Blue Domino.

The End.

Chapter Forty Five.

Modern Town Houses.

I have often thought, when you consider the difference of comfort between houses built from sixty to a hundred years back, in comparison with the modern edifices, that the cry of the magician in “Aladdin,” had he called out “new houses,” instead of “new lamps,” for old ones, would not have appeared so very absurd. It was my good fortune, for the major part of my life, to occupy an ancient house, built, I believe, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. My father lived in it before I was in existence: I was born in it, and it was bequeathed to me. It has since been my misfortune to have lived three years in one of the modern-built houses; and although I have had my share of the ills to which we all are heir, I must date my real unhappiness from the first month after I took possession. With your permission, I will enter into my history, as it may prove a warning to others, who will not remember the old proverb of “Let well alone.”

I am a married man, with six children; my three eldest are daughters, and have now quitted a school, near Portman-Square, to which my wife insisted upon my sending them, as it was renowned for finishing young ladies. Until their return to domiciliate themselves under my roof, I never heard a complaint of my house, which was situated at Brompton. It was large, airy, and comfortable, with excellent shrubberies, and a few acres of land; and I possessed every comfort and even luxury which could be rationally required, my wife and daughters having their carriage, and in every respect my establishment being that of a gentleman.

I had not, however, taken my daughters from school more than two months, before I was told that we were “living out of the world,” although not a mile and a half from Hyde Park Corner; and, to my surprise, my wife joined in the cry; it was always from morn to night, “We might do this but, we cannot do this because, we are quite out of the world.” It was too far to dine out in town; too far for people to come and dine with us; too far to go to the play, or the opera; too far to drive in the park; too far even to walk in Kensington Gardens. I remonstrated, that we had managed to dine out, to receive visitors, and to enjoy all other amusements very well for a considerable number of years, and that it did not appear to me that Brompton had walked away from London, on the contrary, that London was making rapid advances towards Brompton; but it would not do,—all day the phrase rang in my ears, “out of the world,” until I almost began to wish that I was out too. But it is no use having the best of an argument when opposed to women. I had my choice, either to give up my house, and take another in London, or to give up my peace. With an unwilling sigh, I at last consented to leave a place dear to me, from long association and many reminiscences; and it was arranged that Brompton Hall was to be let, or sold, and that we were to look out immediately for a house in some of the squares in the metropolis. If my wife and daughters found that the distance from London was too far for other purposes, at all events it was not too far for house-hunting. They were at it incessantly week after week; and, at last, they fixed upon one in the neighbourhood of Belgrave-Square, which, as they repeated, possessed all the cheerfulness and fresh air of the country, all the advantages of a town residence. The next day I was to be dragged to see it, and give my opinion; at the same time, from the commendations bestowed upon it previous to my going, I felt assured that I was expected to give their opinion, and not my own.

The next day, accordingly, we repaired thither, setting off immediately after breakfast, to meet the surveyor and builder, who was to be on the spot. The house in question was one of a row just building, or built, whitened outside, in imitation of stone. It was Number 2. Number 1 was finished; but the windows still stained with the drippings of the whitewash and colouring. Number 2, the one in question, was complete; and, as the builder asserted, ready for immediate occupation. Number 3 was not so far advanced. As for the others, they were at present nothing but carcasses, without even the front steps built to them; and you entered them by a drawbridge of planks.

The builder stood at the front door, and bowed most respectfully. “Why,” observed I, looking at the piles of mortar, lime, and bricks, standing about in all directions, “we shall be smothered with dust and lime for the next two years.”

“Don’t be alarmed, sir,” replied the builder; “every house in the row will be finished before the winter. We really cannot attend to the applications for them.”

We entered the house.

“Is not the entrance handsome?” observed my wife; “so neat and clean.”

To this I had not a reply to make; it certainly did look neat and clean.

We went into the dining-room. “What a nice room,” exclaimed my eldest daughter. “How many can we dine in this room?”

“Um!” replied I; “about twelve, I suppose, comfortably.”

“Dear me!” observed the builder; “you have no notion of the size of the house; rooms are so deceiving, unfurnished. You may sit down twenty with ease; I’ll appeal to the lady. Don’t you think so, ma’am?”

“Yes, I do,” replied my wife.

After that we went over the drawing-rooms, bed-rooms, and attics.

Every bed-room was apportioned by my wife and daughters, and the others were allotted to the servants; and that in the presence of the builder, who took good note of all that passed.

The kitchen was admired; so were the pantry, scullery, coal-hole, dust-hole, etcetera; all so nice and clean; so compact; and, as the builder observed, not a nail to drive anywhere.

“Well, my dear, what do you think now? isn’t it a charming house?” said my wife, as we re-ascended into the dining-parlour.

“It’s a very nice house, my dear; but still it requires a little consideration,” replied I.

“Consideration, my dear?” replied my wife; “what! now that you have gone over it?”

“I am afraid that I cannot give you very long, sir,” observed the builder; “there are two other parties after the house, and I am to give them an answer by two o’clock.”

“Mr Smithers told me the same yesterday,” whispered my wife.

“What did you say the rent was, Mr Smithers?”

“Only 200 pounds per annum.”

“Any ground-rent?”

“Only 27 pounds 10 shillings.”

“And the taxes?”

“Oh, they will be a mere trifle.”

“The rent appears to me to be very high.”

“High, my dear sir! consider the situation, the advantages. We can’t build them fast enough at that price. But of course, sir, you best know,” replied he, carelessly walking towards the window.

“Take it; my dear,” said my wife.

“You must take it, papa.”

“Pray take it, papa.”

“Mr Whats-your-name, I beg your pardon—”

“Smithers, sir,” said the builder, turning round.

“Pray, Mr Smithers, what term of lease do you let at?”

“Seven, fourteen, or twenty-one, at the option of either party, sir.”

“I should have no objection to take it for three years.”

“Three years, my dear sir!—that would be doing yourself an injustice. You would lose half the value of your fixtures provided you left—and then the furniture. Depend upon it, sir, if you once get into it, you will never wish to leave it.”

“That may or not be,” replied I; “but I will not take it for more than three years. The town-air may not agree with me; and if, as you say, people are so anxious to take the houses, of course it can make no difference to you.”

“I’m afraid, sir, that for so short a time—”

“I will not take it for longer,” replied I, rising up, glad of an excuse to be off.

“Oh, papa!”

“My dear Mr B—.”

“On that point,” replied I, “I will not be overruled. I will not take a lease for more than three years, with the right of continuing, if I please.”

The builder perceived that I was in earnest.

“Well, sir,” replied he, “I hardly know what to say; but rather than disappoint the ladies, I will accept you as a tenant for three years certain.”

“Confound the fellow!” thought I; but I was pinned, and there was an end of the matter. Mr Smithers pulled out paper and ink; two letters of agreement were written upon a small deal table, covered with blotches of various coloured paints; and the affair was thus concluded.

We got into the carriage and drove home, my wife and daughters in ecstasies, and I obliged to appear very well satisfied, that I might not damp their spirits; yet I must say that although the house appeared a very nice house, I had my forebodings.

“At all events,” thought I, “the lease is only for three years;” and thus I consoled myself.

The next day the whole house was in commotion. I believe my wife and daughters were up at daybreak. When I went into the breakfast room, I discovered that the pictures had been taken down, although there was no chance of their being hung up for many weeks at least, and every thing was in preparation for packing up. After breakfast my wife set off for town to order carpets and curtains, and did not come home till six o’clock, very tired with the fatigues of the day. She had also brought the measure of every grate, to ascertain what fenders would suit; the measure of the bed-rooms and attics, to remodel the carpets; for it was proposed that Brompton Hall should be disposed of, the new occupier taking at a valuation what furniture might be left. To this I appeared to consent; but was resolved in my own mind that, if taken, it should only be for the same term of years as my new lease. I will pass over a month of hurry, bustle, and confusion; at the end of which I found myself in our new habitation. It was completely furnished, with the exception of the drawing-room carpet, which had not been laid down, but was still in a roll tied up with packthread in the middle of the room. The cause of this I soon understood from my wife. It was always the custom, she said, to give a house-warming upon entering a new house, and she therefore proposed giving a little dance. To this, as it would please her and my daughters, I raised no objection.

I have always observed, that what is proposed as a little dance invariably ends in a great one; for from the time of proposing till the cards are about, it increases like a snowball; but that arises, perhaps, from the extreme difficulty of knowing when to draw the line between friends and acquaintances. I have also observed that when your wife and daughters intend such a thing, they always obtain permission for the ball first, and then tack on the supper afterwards; commencing with a mere stand-up affair,—sandwiches, cakes, and refreshments,—and ending with a regular sit-down affair, with Gunter presiding over all. The music from two fiddles and a piano also swells into Collinet’s band, verifying the old adage, “In for a penny, in for a pound.” But to all this I gave my consent; I could afford it well, and I liked to please my wife and daughters. The ball was given, and this house-warming ended in house-breaking; for just before the supper-quadrille, as it was termed, when about twenty-four young ladies and gentlemen were going the grand ronde, a loud noise below, with exclamations and shrieks, was heard, and soon afterwards the whole staircase was smothered with dust.

“What is the matter?” cried my wife, who had passed to the landing-place on the stairs before me.

“Ma’am,” said one of Mr Gunter’s men, shaking the lappets of his blue coat, which were covered with white dust, “the whole ceiling of the dining-room has come down!”

“Ceiling come down!” screamed my wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied our own servant; “and the supper and supper-tables are all smashed flat with the weight on it.”

Here was a catastrophe. My wife hastened down, and I followed. Sure enough the weight of mortar had crushed all beneath it—all was chaos and confusion. Jellies, blancmanges, pâtés, cold roasts, creams, trifles,—all in one mass of ruin, mixed up with lime, horse-hair, plaster of Paris, and stucco. It wore all the appearance of a Swiss avalanche in miniature.

“Good heavens, how dreadful!” exclaimed my wife.

“How much more so if there had been people in the room,” replied I.

“What could be the cause of it!” exclaimed my wife.

“These new houses, sir, won’t bear dancing in,” observed Mr Gunter’s head man.

“So it appears,” replied I.

This unfortunate accident was the occasion of the party breaking up: they knew that there was no chance of supper, which they had looked forward to; so they put on their shawls and departed, leaving us to clear up the wreck at our leisure. In fact, as my daughters declared, it quite spoiled the ball as well as the supper.

The next morning I sent for Mr Smithers, who made his appearance, and showed him what had taken place.

“Dear me, I’m very sorry; but you had too many people above stairs—that is very clear.”

“Very clear, indeed, Mr Smithers. We had a ball last night.”

“A ball, sir! Oh, then no wonder.”

“No wonder! What! do you mean to say that balls are not to be given?”

“Why, really, sir, we do not build private houses for ball-rooms—we could not, sir; the price of timber just now is enormous, and the additional strength required would never pay us.”

“What then! do you mean to say that there are no balls to be given in London?”

“Oh no, sir!—certainly not; but you must be aware that few people do. Even our aristocracy hire Willis’s rooms for their balls. Some of the old houses, indeed, such as Devonshire House, may do for such a thing.”

“But, Mr Smithers, I expect you will make this ceiling good.”

“Much obliged to you, sir, for giving me the preference—I will do it as reasonable as anybody,” replied Mr Smithers, bowing. “I will order my workmen directly—they are only next door.”

For a fortnight we were condemned to dine in the back dining-room; and after that Mr Smithers sent in a bill which cost me more than the ball and supper.

So soon as all was right again, I determined that I would hang up my pictures; for I had been accustomed to look at them for years, and I missed them. I sent for a carpenter, and gave him directions.

“I have the middle now, sir, exactly,” said the man, standing on the high steps; “but,” continued he, tapping with his hammer, “I can’t find wood.”

“Can’t find wood!”

“No, sir,” replied the man, tapping as far as he could reach from right to left; “nothing to nail to, sir. But there never is no wood in these new-built houses.”

“Confound your new houses!” exclaimed I.

“Well, it is very provoking, my dear!” exclaimed my wife.

“I suppose that their new houses are not built for pictures any more than for balls,” replied I; and I sighed. “What must be done?”

“I think, sir, if you were to order brass rods to be fixed from one corner to the other, we might find means to fasten them,” observed the carpenter; “but there’s no wood, that’s certain.”

“What the devil is the house built of then?” exclaimed I.

“All lath and plaster, sir,” replied the man, tapping right and left.

At a heavy expense I procured the rods, and at last the pictures were hung up.

The next annoyance that we had was a very bad smell, which we found to proceed from the drains; and the bricklayers were sent for. All the drains were choked, it appeared, from their being so very narrow; and after having up the whole basement, at the expense of 40 pounds, that nuisance was abated.

We now had two months’ repose, and I was in hopes that things would go on more comfortably; but one day I overheard a conversation between my wife and daughters, as I passed by the door of the room, which I must candidly acknowledge gave me satisfaction.

“It’s really very awkward, mamma—one don’t know where to put anything: there’s not a cupboard or stow-hole in the whole house—not even a store-room.”

“Well, it is so, my dear; I wonder we did not observe it when we looked over it. What a nice set of cupboards we had at Brompton Hall.”

“Oh! yes—I wish we had them here, mamma. Couldn’t we have some built?”

“I don’t like to speak to your papa about it, my dear; he has already been put to such expense, what with the ceiling and the drains.”

“Then don’t, mamma; papa is really very good-natured.”

The equinoxes now came on, and we had several gales of wind, with heavy rain—the slates blew off and rattled up and down all night, while the wind howled round the corner of the square. The next morning complaints from all the attic residents; one’s bed was wetted quite through with the water dropping through the ceiling—another had been obliged to put a basin on the floor to catch the leak—all declared that the roof was like a sieve. Sent again for Mr Smithers, and made a complaint.

“This time, Mr Smithers,” said I, with the lease in my hand, “I believe you will acknowledge these are landlord’s repairs.”

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” exclaimed Mr Smithers; “I shall desire one of my men to look to it immediately; but the fact is, with such heavy gales, the slates must be expected to move a little. Duchesses and countesses are very light, and the wind gets underneath them.”

“Duchesses and countesses very light!” exclaimed my wife; “what do you mean?”

“It’s the term we give to slates, madam,” replied he; “we cannot put on a heavy roof with a brick-and-a-half wall. It would not support one.”

“Brick-and-a-half wall!” exclaimed I;—“surely, Mr Smithers, that’s not quite safe with a house so high.”

“Not quite safe, my dear sir, if it were a single house; but,” added he, “in a row, one house supports another.”

“Thank Heaven,” thought I, “I have but a three-years’ lease, and six months are gone already.”

But the annoyances up to this period were internal; we now had to experience the external nuisances attending a modern-built house.

“Number 1 is taken, papa, and they are getting the furniture in,” said my eldest daughter one day; “I hope we shall have nice neighbours. And William told Mary that Mr Smithers told him, when he met him in the street, that he was now going to fit up Number 3 as fast as he could.”

The report was true, as we found from the report of the carpenters’ hammers for the next three or four weeks. We could not obtain a moment’s sleep except in the early part of the night, or a minute’s repose to our ears during the day. The sound appeared as if it was in our house instead of next door; and it commenced at six o’clock in the morning, and lasted till seven in the evening. I was hammered to death; and, unfortunately, there was a constant succession of rain, which prevented me going out to avoid it. I had nothing to do but to watch my pictures, as they jumped from the wall with the thumps of the hammers. At last Number 3 was floored, wainscotted, and glazed, and we had a week’s repose.

By this time Number 1 was furnished, and the parties who had taken it came in. They were a gouty old gentleman, and his wife, who, report said, had once been his cook. My daughters’ hopes of pleasant neighbours were disappointed. Before they had been in a week, we found ourselves at issue: the old gentleman’s bed was close to the partition-wall, and in the dead of the night we could distinctly hear his groans and also his execrations and exclamations, when the fit came on him. My wife and daughters declared that it was quite horrible, and that they could not sleep for them.

Upon the eighth day there came a note:— “Mrs Whortleback’s compliments to Mr and Mrs —, and begs that the young people will not play on the piany, as Mr Whortleback is very ill with the gout.”

Now, my daughters were proficients on the piano, and practised a great deal. This note was anything but satisfactory: to play when the old gentleman was ill would be barbarous,—not to play was to deprive ourselves of our greatest pleasure.

“Oh dear! how very disagreeable,” cried my daughters.

“Yes, my dear; but if we can hear his groans, it’s no wonder that he can hear the piano and harp: recollect the wall is only a brick and a half thick.”

“I wonder music don’t soothe him,” observed the eldest.

Music is a mockery to a man in agony. A man who has been broken on the wheel would not have his last hours soothed by the finest orchestra. After a week, during which we sent every day to inquire after Mr Whortleback’s health, we ventured to resume the piano and harp; upon which the old gentleman became testy, and sent for a man with a trumpet, placing him in the balcony, and desiring him to play as much out of tune as possible whenever the harp and piano sounded a note. Thus were we at open hostility with our only neighbour; and, as we were certain if my daughters touched their instruments, to have the trumpet blowing discord for an hour or two either that day or the next, at last the piano was unopened, and the harp remained in its case. Before the year closed, Number 3 became tenanted; and here we had a new annoyance. It was occupied by a large family; and there were four young ladies who were learning music. We now had our annoyance: it was strum, strum, all day long; one sister up, another down; and every one knows what a bore the first lessons in music are to those who are compelled to hear them. They could just manage to play a tune, and that eternal tune was ringing in our ears from morning to night. We could not send our compliments, or blow a trumpet. We were forced to submit to it. The nursery also being against the partition wall, we had the squalls and noise of the children on the one side, added to groans and execrations of the old gentleman on the other.

However, custom reconciled us to everything, and the first vexation gradually wore off. Yet I could not help observing that when I was supposed not to be in hearing, the chief conversation of my wife, when her friends called upon her, consisted of a description of all the nuisances and annoyances that we suffered; and I felt assured that she and my daughters were as anxious to return to Brompton Hall as I was. In fact, the advantages which they had anticipated by their town residence were not realised. In our situation, we were as far off from most of our friends, and still farther from some than we were before, and we had no longer the same amusements to offer them. At our former short distance from town, access was more easy to those who did not keep a carriage, that is, the young men; and those were the parties who, of course, my wife and daughters cared for most. It was very agreeable to come down with their portmanteaus,—enjoy the fresh air and green lanes of the country for an afternoon,—dine, sleep, and breakfast, and return the next morning by conveyances which passed us every quarter of an hour; but to dine with us in — Square, when the expense of a hackney-coach there and back was no trifle, and to return at eleven o’clock at night, was not at all agreeable. We found that we had not so much society, nor were we half so much courted, as at Brompton Hall. This was the bitterest blow of all, and my wife and daughters would look out of the windows and sigh; often a whole day passed without one friend or acquaintance dropping in to relieve its monotony.

We continued to reside there, nevertheless, for I had made up my mind that the three years would be well spent if they cured my wife and daughters of their town mania; and although anxious, as I am sure they were, to return, I never broached the matter, for I was determined that the cure should be radical. Numbers 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8, were finished the next year, and, by the persuasions of Mr Smithers, were taken by different parties in the spring. And now we had another nuisance. Nothing but eternal rings at the bell. The man-servant grumbled, and was behind with his work; and when scolded, replied that there was no time for any thing, that when cleaning his knives and plate the bell was rung, and he was obliged to wash himself, throw on his jacket, and go up to answer the front door; that the bell was not rung for us, but to find out where some new-comer lived, and to ascertain this they always rang at the house which appeared the longest inhabited. There was no end to the ringing for some months, and we had three servants who absolutely refused to stay in so bad a place. We had also to contend with letters and notes in the same way, brought to us at haphazard: “Does Mr So-and-so live here?”—“No, he does not.”—“Then pray where does he?” This was interminable, and not five minutes in the day passed without the door-bell being rung. For the sake of not changing my servants I was at last put to the expense of an extra boy for no other purpose but to answer the constant applications at the door. At last we had remained there for two years and nine months, and then my wife would occasionally put the question whether I intended to renew the lease; and I naturally replied that I did not like change.

Then she went upon another tack; observed that Clara did not appear well for some time, and that she thought that she required country air; but, in this, I did not choose to agree with her.

One day I came home, and, rubbing my hands as if pleased, said, “Well, at last I’ve an offer for Brompton Villa for a term of seven years,—a very fair offer and good tenants,—so that will now be off my hands.”

My wife looked mortified, and my daughters held down their heads.

“Have you let it, papa?” said one of my daughters, timidly.

“No, not yet; but I am to give an answer to-morrow morning.”

“It requires consideration, my dear,” replied my wife.

“Requires consideration!” said I. “Why, my dear, the parties have seen the house, and I have been trying to let it these three years. I recollect when I took this house I said it required consideration, but you would not allow any such thing.”

“I’m sure I wish we had,” said Clara.

“And so do I.”

“The fact is, my dear,” said my wife, coming round to the back of my chair, and putting her arms round my neck, “we all wish to go back to Brompton.”

“Yes, yes, papa,” added my daughters, embracing me on each side.

“You will allow, then, that I was right in not taking a lease for more than three years.”

“Yes: how lucky you were so positive!”

“Well, then, if that is the case, we will unfurnish this house, and, as soon as you please, go back to Brompton Hall.”

I hardly need observe that we took possession of our old abode with delight, and that I have had no more applications for a change of residence, or have again heard the phrase that we were living “out of the world.”

Chapter Forty Six.

The Way To Be Happy.

Cut your coat according to your cloth, is an old maxim and a wise one; and if people will only square their ideas according to their circumstances, how much happier might we all be! If we only would come down a peg or two in our notions, in accordance with our waning fortunes, happiness would be always within our reach. It is not what we have, or what we have not, which adds or subtracts from our felicity. It is the longing for more than we have, the envying of those who possess that more, and the wish to appear in the world of more consequence than we really are, which destroy our peace of mind, and eventually lead to ruin.

I never witnessed a man submitting to circumstances with good humour and good sense, so remarkably as in my friend Alexander Willemott. When I first met him, since our school days, it was at the close of the war: he had been a large contractor with Government for army clothing and accoutrements, and was said to have realised an immense fortune, although his accounts were not yet settled. Indeed it was said that they were so vast, that it would employ the time of six clerks, for two years, to examine them, previous to the balance sheet being struck. As I observed, he had been at school with me, and, on my return from the East Indies, I called upon him to renew our old acquaintance, and congratulate him upon his success.

“My dear Reynolds, I am delighted to see you. You must come down to Belem Castle; Mrs Willemott will receive you with pleasure, I’m sure. You shall see my two girls.”

I consented. The chaise stopped at a splendid mansion, and I was ushered in by a crowd of liveried servants. Every thing was on the most sumptuous and magnificent scale. Having paid my respects to the lady of the house, I retired to dress, as dinner was nearly ready, it being then half-past seven o’clock. It was eight before we sat down. To an observation that I made, expressing a hope that I had not occasioned the dinner being put off, Willemott replied, “On the contrary, my dear Reynolds, we never sit down until about this hour. How people can dine at four or five o’clock, I cannot conceive. I could not touch a mouthful.”

The dinner was excellent, and I paid the encomiums which were its due.

“Do not be afraid, my dear fellow—my cook is an artiste extraordinaire—a regular Cordon Bleu. You may eat any thing without fear of indigestion. How people can live upon the English cookery of the present day, I cannot conceive. I seldom dine out, for fear of being poisoned. Depend upon it, a good cook lengthens your days, and no price is too great to insure one.”

When the ladies retired, being alone, we entered into friendly conversation. I expressed my admiration of his daughters, who certainly were very handsome and elegant girls.

“Very true; they are more than passable,” replied he. “We have had many offers, but not such as come up to my expectations. Baronets are cheap now-a-days, and Irish lords are nothings; I hope to settle them comfortably. We shall see. Try this claret; you will find it excellent, not a headache in a hogshead of it. How people can drink port, I cannot imagine.”

The next morning he proposed that I should rattle round the park with him. I acceded, and we set off in a handsome open carriage, with four greys, ridden by postilions at a rapid pace. As we were whirling along, he observed, “In town we must of course drive but a pair, but in the country I never go out without four horses. There is a spring in four horses which is delightful; it makes your spirits elastic, and you feel that the poor animals are not at hard labour. Rather than not drive four, I would prefer to stay at home.”

Our ride was very pleasant, and in such amusements passed away one of the most pleasant weeks that I ever remembered. Willemott was not the least altered—he was as friendly, as sincere, as open-hearted, as when a boy at school. I left him, pleased with his prosperity, and acknowledging that he was well deserving of it, although his ideas had assumed such a scale of magnificence.

I went to India when my leave expired, and was absent about four years. On my return, I inquired after my friend Willemott, and was told that his circumstances and expectations had been greatly altered. From many causes, such as a change in the Government, a demand for economy, and the wording of his contracts having been differently rendered from what Willemott had supposed their meaning to be, large items had been struck out of his balance sheet, and, instead of being a millionaire, he was now a gentleman with a handsome property. Belem Castle had been sold, and he now lived at Richmond, as hospitable as ever, and was considered a great addition to the neighbourhood. I took the earliest opportunity of going down to see him.

“Oh, my dear Reynolds, this is really kind of you to come without invitation. Your room is ready, and bed well aired, for it was slept in three nights ago. Come—Mrs Willemott will be delighted to see you.”

I found the girls still unmarried, but they were yet young. The whole family appeared as contented and happy, and as friendly, as before. We sat down to dinner at six o’clock; the footman and coachman attended. The dinner was good, but not by the artiste extraordinaire. I praised everything.

“Yes,” replied he, “she is a very good cook; she unites the solidity of the English with the delicacy of the French fare; and, altogether, I think it a decided improvement. Jane is quite a treasure.” After dinner, he observed, “Of course you know I have sold Belem Castle, and reduced my establishment. Government have not treated me fairly, but I am at the mercy of Commissioners, and a body of men will do that which, as individuals, they would be ashamed of. The fact is, the odium is borne by no one in particular, and it is only the sense of shame which keeps us honest, I am afraid. However, here you see me, with a comfortable fortune, and always happy to see my friends, especially my old schoolfellow. Will you take port or claret; the port is very fine, and so is the claret. By the by, do you know—I’ll let you into a family secret; Louisa is to be married to a Colonel Willer—an excellent match! It has made us all happy.”

The next day we drove out, not in an open carriage as before, but in a chariot and with a pair of horses.

“These are handsome horses,” observed I.

“Yes,” replied he, “I am fond of good horses; and, as I only keep a pair, I have the best. There is a certain degree of pretension in four horses, I do not much like—it appears as if you wished to overtop your neighbours.”

I spent a few very pleasant days, and then quitted his hospitable roof. A severe cold, caught that winter, induced me to take the advice of the physicians, and proceed to the South of France, where I remained two years. On my return, I was informed that Willemott had speculated, and had been unlucky on the Stock Exchange; that he had left Richmond, and was now living at Clapham. The next day I met him near the Exchange.

“Reynolds, I am happy to see you. Thompson told me that you had come back. If not better engaged, come down to see me; I will drive you down at four o’clock, if that will suit.”

It suited me very well, and, at four o’clock, I met him according to appointment at a livery stables over the Iron Bridge. His vehicle was ordered out, it was a phaeton drawn by two long-tailed ponies—altogether a very neat concern. We set off at a rapid pace.

“They step out well, don’t they? We shall be down in plenty of time to put on a pair of shoes by five o’clock, which is our dinner-time. Late dinners don’t agree with me—they produce indigestion. Of course, you know that Louisa has a little boy.”

I did not; but congratulated him.

“Yes, and has now gone out to India with her husband. Mary is also engaged to be married—a very good match—a Mr Rivers, in the law. He has been called to the bar this year, and promises well. They will be a little pinched at first, but we must see what we can do for them.”

We stopped at a neat row of houses, I forget the name, and, as we drove up, the servant, the only man-servant, came out, and took the ponies round to the stable, while the maid received my luggage, and one or two paper-bags, containing a few extras for the occasion. I was met with the same warmth as usual by Mrs Willemott. The house was small, but very neat; the remnants of former grandeur appeared here and there, in one or two little articles, favourites of the lady. We sat down at five o’clock to a plain dinner, and were attended by the footman, who had rubbed down the ponies and pulled on his livery.

“A good plain cook is the best thing, after all,” observed Willemott. “Your fine cooks won’t condescend to roast and boil. Will you take some of this sirloin, the under-cut is excellent. My dear, give Mr Reynolds some Yorkshire pudding.”

When we were left alone after dinner, Willemott told me, very unconcernedly, of his losses.

“It was my own fault,” said he; “I wished to make up a little sum for the girls, and risking what they would have had, I left them almost pennyless. However, we can always command a bottle of port and a beef-steak, and what more in this world can you have? Will you take port or white?—I have no claret to offer you.”

We finished our port, but I could perceive no difference in Willemott. He was just as happy and as cheerful as ever. He drove me to town the next day. During our drive, he observed, “I like ponies, they are so little trouble; and I prefer them to driving one horse in this vehicle, as I can put my wife and daughters into it. It’s selfish to keep a carriage for yourself alone, and one horse in a four-wheeled double chaise appears like an imposition upon the poor animal.”

I went to Scotland, and remained about a year. On my return, I found that my friend Willemott had again shifted his quarters. He was at Brighton; and having nothing better to do, I put myself in the “Times,” and arrived at the Bedford Hotel. It was not until after some inquiry, that I could find out his address. At last I obtained it, in a respectable but not fashionable part of this overgrown town. Willemott received me just as before.

“I have no spare bed to offer you, but you must breakfast and dine with us every day. Our house is small, but it’s very comfortable, and Brighton is a very convenient place. You know Mary is married. A good place in the courts was for sale, and my wife and I agreed to purchase it for Rivers. It has reduced us a little, but they are very comfortable. I have retired from business altogether; in fact, as my daughters are both married, and we have enough to live upon, what can we wish for more? Brighton is very gay, and always healthy; and, as for carriage and horses, they are no use here—there are flies at every corner of the streets.”

I accepted his invitation to dinner. A parlour-maid waited, but everything, although very plain, was clean and comfortable.

“I have still a bottle of wine for a friend, Reynolds,” said Willemott, after dinner; “but, for my part, I prefer whisky-toddy—it agrees with me better. Here’s to the health of my two girls, God bless them, and success to them in life!”

“My dear Willemott,” said I, “I take the liberty of an old friend, but I am so astonished at your philosophy, that I cannot help it. When I call to mind Belem Castle, your large establishment, your luxuries, your French cook, and your stud of cattle, I wonder at your contented state of mind under such a change of circumstances.”

“I almost wonder myself, my dear fellow,” replied he. “I never could have believed, at that time, that I could live happily under such a change of circumstances; but the fact is, that, although I have been a contractor, I have a good conscience; then, my wife is an excellent woman, and provided she sees me and her daughters happy, thinks nothing about herself; and, further, I have made it a rule, as I have been going down hill, to find reasons why I should be thankful, and not discontented. Depend upon it, Reynolds, it is not a loss of fortune which will affect your happiness, as long as you have peace and love at home.”

I took my leave of Willemott and his wife, with respect as well as regard; convinced that there was no pretended indifference to worldly advantages; that it was not, that the grapes were sour, but that he had learned the whole art of happiness, by being contented with what he had, and by “cutting his coat according to his cloth.”

Chapter Forty Seven.

How to Write a Fashionable Novel.

(Scene—Chamber in Lincoln’s Inn. Arthur Ansard at a briefless table, tête-à-tête with his wig on a block. A casts a disconsolate look upon his companion, and soliloquises.)

Yes, there you stand, “partner of my toils, my feelings, and my fame.” We do not suit, for we never gained a suit together. Well, what with reporting for the bar, writing for the Annuals and the Pocket-books, I shall be able to meet all demands, except those of my tailor; and, as his bill is most characteristically long, I think I shall be able to make it stretch over till next term, by which time I hope to fulfil my engagements with Mr C, who has given me an order for a fashionable novel, written by a “nobleman.” But how I, who was never inside of an aristocratical mansion in my life, whose whole idea of Court is comprised in the Court of King’s Bench, am to complete my engagement, I know no more than my companion opposite, who looks so placidly stupid under my venerable wig. As far as the street door, the footman and carriage, and the porter, are concerned, I can manage well enough; but as to what occurs within doors I am quite abroad. I shall never get through the first chapter; yet that tailor’s bill must be paid. (Knocking outside.) Come in, I pray.

Enter Barnstaple.

B. Merry Christmas to you, Arthur.

A. Sit down, my dear fellow; but don’t mock me with merry Christmas. He emigrated long ago. Answer me seriously: do you think it possible for a man to describe what he never saw?

B (putting his stick up to his chin.) Why, ’tis possible; but I would not answer for the description being quite correct.

A. But suppose the parties who read it have never seen the thing described?

B. Why then it won’t signify whether the description be correct or not.

A. You have taken a load off my mind; but still I am not quite at ease. I have engaged to furnish C with a fashionable novel.

B. What do you mean to imply by a fashionable novel?

A. I really can hardly tell. His stipulations were, that it was to be a “fashionable novel in three volumes, each volume not less than three hundred pages.”

B. That is to say, that you are to assist him in imposing on the public.

A. Something very like it, I’m afraid; as it is further agreed that it is to be puffed as coming from a highly talented nobleman.

B. You should not do it, Ansard.

A. So conscience tells me, but my tailor’s bill says Yes; and that is a thing out of all conscience. Only look here.

Displays a long bill.

B. Why, I must acknowledge, Ansard, that there is some excuse. One needs must, when the devil drives; but you are capable of better things.

A. I certainly don’t feel great capability in this instance. But what can I do? The man will have nothing else—he says the public will read nothing else.

B. That is to say, that because one talented author astonished the public by style and merits peculiarly his own, and established, as it were, a school for neophites, his popularity is to be injured by contemptible imitators. It is sufficient to drive a man mad, to find that the tinsel of others, if to be purchased more cheaply, is to be pawned upon the public instead of his gold; and more annoying still, that the majority of the public cannot appreciate the difference between the metal and the alloy. Do you know, Ansard, that by getting up this work, you really injure the popularity of a man of great talent?

A. Will he pay my tailor’s bill!

B. No; I dare say he has enough to do to pay his own. What does your tailor say?

A. He is a staunch reformer, and on March the 1st he declares that he will have the bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the bill—carried to my credit. Mr C, on the 10th of February, also expects the novel, the whole novel, and nothing but the novel, and that must be a fashionable novel. Look here, Barnstaple. (Shows his tailor’s bill).

B. I see how it is. He “pays your poverty, and not your will.”

A. And, by your leave, I thus must pay my bill (bowing).

B. Well, well, I can help you: nothing more difficult than to write a good novel, and nothing more easy than to write a bad one. If I were not above the temptation, I could pen you a dozen of the latter every ordinary year, and thirteen, perhaps, in the bissextile. So banish that Christmas cloud from your brow; leave off nibbling your pen at the wrong end, and clap a fresh nib to the right one. I have an hour to spare.

A. I thank you: that spare hour of yours may save me many a spare day. I’m all attention—proceed.

B. The first point to be considered is the tempus, or time; the next the locus, or place; and lastly the dramatis personae and thus, chapter upon chapter, will you build a novel.

A. Build!

B. Yes, build; you have had your dimensions given, the interior is left to your own decoration. First, as to the opening. Suppose we introduce the hero in his dressing-room. We have something of the kind in Pelham; and if we can’t copy his merits, we must his peculiarities. Besides, it always is effective: a dressing-room or boudoir of supposed great people, is admitting the vulgar into the arcana, which they delight in.

A. Nothing can be better.

B. Then, as to time; as the hero is still in bed, suppose we say four o’clock in the afternoon?

A. In the morning, you mean.

B. No; the afternoon. I grant you that fashionable young men in real life get up much about the same time as other people; but in a fashionable novel your real exclusive never rises early. The very idea makes the tradesman’s wife lift up her eyes. So begin. “It was about thirty-three minutes after four, post meridian—.”