i015t'I shan't spoil it; and I will have it in my own hands.'After shutting up the basket they left the room, and in the adjoining passage they found a poor girl waiting with a smallparcel in her hand. 'What's your business?' said the maid. 'I have brought home the lace, madam, that was bespoke for the young lady.' 'Oh, you have, have you, at last?' said Bell; 'and pray why didn't you bring it sooner?' The girl was going to answer, but the maid interrupted her, saying, 'Come, come, none of your excuses; you are a little idle, good-for-nothing thing, to disappoint Miss Bell upon her birthday. But now you have brought it, let us look at it!'The little girl gave the lace without reply, and the maid desired her to go about her business, and not to expect to be paid; for that her mistress could not see anybody,becauseshe was in a room full of company.'May I call again, madam, this afternoon?' said the child, timidly.'Lord bless my stars!' replied the maid, 'what makes people so poor, Iwonders! I wish mistress would buy her lace at the warehouse, as I told her, and not of these folks. Call again! yes, to be sure. I believe you'd call, call, call twenty times for twopence.'However ungraciously the permission to call again was granted, it was received with gratitude. The little girl departed with a cheerful countenance, and Bell teased her maid till she got her to sew the long-wished-for lace upon her cuffs.Unfortunate Bell!—All dinner time passed, and people were so hungry, so busy, or so stupid, that not an eye observed her favourite piece of finery. Till at length she was no longer able to conceal her impatience, and turning to Laura, who sat next to her, she said, 'You have no lace upon your cuffs. Look how beautiful mine is!—is not it? Don't you wish your mamma could afford to give some like it? But you can't get any if she would, for this was made on purpose for me on my birthday, and nobody can get a bit more anywhere, if they would give the world for it.' 'But cannot the person who made it,' said Laura, 'make any more like it?' 'No, no, no!' cried Bell; for she had already learned, either from her maid or her mother, the mean pride which values things not for being really pretty or useful, but for being such as nobody else can procure. 'Nobody can get any like it, I say,' repeated Bell; 'nobody in all London can make it but one person, and that person will never make a bit for anybody but me, I am sure. Mamma won't let her, if I ask her not.' 'Very well,' said Laura coolly, 'I donot want any of it; you need not be so violent: I assure you that I don't want any of it.' 'Yes, but you do, though,' said Bell, more angrily. 'No, indeed,' said Laura, smiling. 'You do, in the bottom of your heart; but you say you don't to plague me, I know,' cried Bell, swelling with disappointed vanity. 'It is pretty for all that, and it cost a great deal of money too, and nobody shall have any like it, if they cried their eyes out.'Laura received this declaration in silence—Rosamond smiled; and at her smile the ill-suppressed rage of the spoiled child burst forth into the seventh and loudest fit of crying which had yet been heard on her birthday.'What's the matter, my pet?' cried her mother; 'come to me and tell me what's the matter.' Bell ran roaring to her mother; but no otherwise explained the cause of her sorrow than by tearing the fine lace with frantic gestures from her cuffs, and throwing the fragments into her mother's lap. 'Oh! the lace, child!—are you mad?' said her mother, catching hold of both her hands. 'Your beautiful lace, my dear love—do you know how much it cost?' 'I don't care how much it cost—it is not beautiful, and I'll have none of it,' replied Bell, sobbing; 'for it is not beautiful.' 'But it is beautiful,' retorted her mother; 'I chose the pattern myself. Who has put it into your head, child, to dislike it? Was it Nancy?' 'No, not Nancy, butthem, mamma,' said Bell, pointing to Laura and Rosamond. 'Oh, fie! don'tpoint,' said her mother, putting down her stubborn finger; 'nor saythem, like Nancy; I am sure you misunderstood. Miss Laura, I am sure, did not mean any such thing.' 'No, madam; and I did not say any such thing, that I recollect,' said Laura, gently. 'Oh no, indeed!' cried Rosamond, warmly, rising in her sister's defence.No defence or explanation, however, was to be heard, for everybody had now gathered round Bell, to dry her tears, and to comfort her for the mischief she had done to her own cuffs. They succeeded so well, that in about a quarter of an hour the young lady's eyes and the reddened arches over her eyebrows came to their natural colour; and the business being thus happily hushed up, the mother, as a reward to her daughter for her good humour, begged that Rosamond would now be so good as to produce her 'charming present.'Rosamond, followed by all the company, amongst whom, to her great joy, was her godmother, proceeded to the dressing-room. 'Now I am sure,' thought she, 'Bell will be surprised, and my godmother will see she was right about my generosity.'The doors of the wardrobe were opened with due ceremony, and the filigree basket appeared in all its glory. 'Well, this is a charming present, indeed!' said the godmother, who was one of the company; 'myRosamond knows how to make presents.' And as she spoke, she took hold of the basket, to lift it down to the admiring audience. Scarcely had she touched it, when, lo! the basket fell to the ground, and only the handle remained in her hand. All eyes were fixed upon the wreck. Exclamations of sorrow were heard in various tones; and 'Who can have done this?' was all that Rosamond could say. Bell stood in sullen silence, which she obstinately preserved in the midst of the inquiries that were made about the disaster.At length the servants were summoned, and amongst them Nancy, Miss Bell's maid and governess. She affected much surprise when she saw what had befallen the basket, and declared that she knew nothing of the matter, but that she had seen her mistress in the morning put it quite safe into the wardrobe; and that, for her part, she had never touched it, or thought of touching it, in her born days. 'Nor Miss Bell, neither, ma'am,—I can answer for her; for she never knew of its being there, because I never so much as mentioned it to her, that there was such a thing in the house, because I knew Miss Rosamond wanted to surprise her with the secret; so I never mentioned a sentence of it—did I, Miss Bell?'Bell, putting on the deceitful look which her maid had taught her, answered boldly, 'No'; but she had hold of Rosamond's hand, and at the instant she uttered this falsehood she squeezed it terribly. 'Why do you squeeze my hand so?' said Rosamond, in a low voice; 'what are you afraid of?' 'Afraid of!' cried Bell, turning angrily; 'I'm not afraid of anything—I've nothing to be afraid about.' 'Nay, I did not say you had,' whispered Rosamond; 'but only if you did by accident—you know what I mean—I should not be angry if you did—only say so.' 'I say I did not!' cried Bell furiously. 'Mamma, mamma! Nancy! my cousin Rosamond won't believe me! That's very hard. It's very rude, and I won't bear it—I won't.' 'Don't be angry, love. Don't,' said themaid. 'Nobody suspects you, darling,' said her mother; 'but she has too much sensibility. Don't cry, love; nobody suspected you.' 'But you know,' continued she, turning to the maid, 'somebody must have done this, and I must know how it was done. Miss Rosamond's charming present must not be spoiled in this way, in my house, without my taking proper notice of it. I assure you I am very angry about it, Rosamond.'Rosamond did not rejoice in her anger, and had nearly made a sad mistake by speaking aloud her thoughts—'I was very foolish——' she began and stopped.'Ma'am,' cried the maid, suddenly, 'I'll venture to say I know who did it.' 'Who?' said every one, eagerly. 'Who?' said Bell, trembling. 'Why, miss, don't you recollect that little girl with the lace, that we saw peeping about in the passage? I'm sure she must have done it; for here she was by herself half an hour or more, and not another creature has been in mistress's dressing-room, to my certain knowledge, since morning. Those sort of people have so much curiosity. I'm sure she must have been meddling with it,' added the maid.'Oh yes, that's the thing,' said the mistress, decidedly. 'Well, Miss Rosamond, for your comfort she shall never come into my house again.' 'Oh, that would not comfort me at all,' said Rosamond; 'besides, we are not sure that she did it, and if——' A single knock at the door was heard at this instant. It was the little girl, who came to be paid for her lace. 'Call her in,' said the lady of the house; 'let us see her directly.'The maid, who was afraid that the girl's innocence would appear if she were produced, hesitated; but upon her mistress repeating her commands, she was forced to obey. The girl came in with a look of simplicity; but when she saw a room full of company she was a little abashed. Rosamond and Laura looked at her and one another with surprise, for it was the same little girl whom they had seen weaving lace. 'Is not it she?' whispered Rosamond to her sister. 'Yes, it is; but hush,' said Laura, 'she does not know us. Don't say a word, let us hear what she will say.'Laura got behind the rest of the company as she spoke, so that the little girl could not see her.'Vastly well!' said Bell's mother; 'I am waiting to see how long you will have the assurance to stand there with that innocent look. Did you ever see that basket before?' 'Yes, ma'am,' said the girl. 'Yes, ma'am!' cried the maid; 'and what else do you know about it? You had better confess it at once, and mistress, perhaps, will say no more about it.' 'Yes, do confess it,' added Bell, earnestly. 'Confess what, madam?' said the little girl; 'I never touched the basket, madam.' 'You nevertouchedit; but you confess,' interrupted Bell's mother, 'that youdid seeit before. And, pray, how came you to see it? You must have opened my wardrobe.' 'No, indeed, ma'am,' said the little girl; 'but I was waiting in the passage, ma'am, and this door was partly open; and looking at the maid, you know, I could not help seeing it.' 'Why, how could you see through the doors of my wardrobe?' rejoined the lady.The maid, frightened, pulled the little girl by the sleeve.'Answer me,' said the lady, 'where did you see this basket?' Another stronger pull. 'I saw it, madam, in her hands,' looking at the maid; 'and——' 'Well, and what became of it afterwards?' 'Ma'am'—hesitating—'miss pulled, and by accident—I believe, I saw, ma'am—miss, you know what I saw.' 'I do not know—I do not know; and if I did, you had no business there; and mamma won't believe you, I am sure.' Everybody else, however, did believe; and their eyes were fixed upon Bell in a manner which made her feel rather ashamed. 'What do you all look at me so for? Why do you all look so? And am I to be put to shame on my birthday?' cried she, bursting into a roar of passion; 'and all for this nasty thing!' added she, pushing away the remains of the basket, and looking angrily at Rosamond. 'Bell! Bell! oh, fie! fie!—Now Iamashamed of you; that's quite rude to your cousin,' said her mother, who was more shocked at her daughter's want of politeness than at her falsehood. 'Take her away, Nancy, till she has done crying,' added she to the maid, who accordingly carried off her pupil.Rosamond, during this scene, especially at the moment when her present was pushed away with such disdain, had been making reflections upon the nature of true generosity. A smile from her father, who stood by, a silent spectator of the catastrophe of the filigree basket, gave rise to these reflections; norwere they entirely dissipated by the condolence of the rest of the company, nor even by the praises of her godmother, who, for the purpose of condoling with her, said, 'Well, my dear Rosamond, I admire your generous spirit. You know I prophesied that your half-guinea would be gone the soonest. Did I not, Laura?' said she, appealing, in a sarcastic tone, to where she thought Laura was. 'Where is Laura? I don't see her.' Laura came forward. 'You are tooprudentto throw away your money like your sister. Your half-guinea, I'll answer for it, is snug in your pocket—is it not?' 'No, madam,' answered she, in a low voice.But low as the voice of Laura was, the poor little lace-girl heard it; and now, for the first time, fixing her eyes upon Laura, recollected her benefactress. 'Oh, that's the young lady!' she exclaimed, in a tone of joyful gratitude, 'the good, good young lady who gave me the half-guinea, and would not stay to be thanked for it; but Iwillthank her now.''The half-guinea, Laura!' said her godmother. 'What is all this?' 'I'll tell you, madam, if you please,' said the little girl.It was not in expectation of being praised for it that Laura had been generous, and therefore everybody was really touched with the history of the weaving-pillow; and whilst they praised, felt a certain degree of respect, which is not always felt by those who pour forth eulogiums.Respectis not an improper word, even applied to a child of Laura's age; for let the age or situation of the person be what it may, they command respect who deserve it.'Ah, madam!' said Rosamond to her godmother, 'now you see—you see she isnota little miser. I'm sure that's better than wasting half a guinea upon a filigree basket; is it not, ma'am?' said she, with an eagerness which showed that she had forgotten all her own misfortunes in sympathy with her sister. 'This is beingreally generous, father, is it not?''Yes, Rosamond,' said her father, and he kissed her; 'thisisbeing really generous. It is not only by giving away money that we can show generosity; it is by giving up to others anything that we like ourselves; and therefore,' added he, smiling, 'it is really generous of you to give your sister the thing you like best of all others.''The thing I like the best of all others, father,' said Rosamond, half pleased, half vexed. 'What is that, I wonder? You don't meanpraise, do you, sir?' 'Nay, you must decide that yourself, Rosamond.' 'Why, sir,' said she, ingenuously, 'perhaps itwasoncethe thing I liked best; but the pleasure I have just felt makes me like something else much better.'ETON MONTEM[Extracted from the 'Courier' of May 1799.]'Yesterdaythis triennial ceremony took place, with which the public are too well acquainted to require a particular description. A collection, calledSalt, is taken from the public, which forms a purse, to support the Captain of the School in his studies at Cambridge. This collection is made by the Scholars, dressed in fancy dresses, all round the country.'At eleven o'clock, the youths being assembled in their habiliments at the College, the Royal Family set off from the Castle to see them, and, after walking round the Courtyard, they proceeded to Salt Hill in the following order:—'His Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the Earl of Uxbridge.'Their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland, Earl Morton, and General Gwynne, all on horseback, dressed in the Windsor uniform, except the Prince of Wales, who wore a suit of dark blue, and a brown surtout over.'Then followed the Scholars, preceded by the Marechal Serjeant, the Musicians of the Staffordshire Band, and Mr. Ford, Captain of the Seminary, the Serjeant-Major, Serjeants, Colonels, Corporals, Musicians, Ensign, Lieutenant, Steward, Salt-Bearers, Polemen, and Runners.'The cavalcade was brought up by Her Majesty and her amiable daughters in two carriages, and a numerous company of equestrians and pedestrians, all eager to behold their Sovereign and his family. Among the former, Lady Lade was foremost in the throng; only two others dared venture their persons on horseback in such a multitude.'The King and Royal Family were stopped on Eton Bridge by Messrs. Young and Mansfield, the Salt-Bearers, to whom their Majesties delivered their customary donation of fifty guineas each.'At Salt Hill, His Majesty, with his usual affability, took upon himself to arrange the procession round the Royal carriages; and even when the horses were taken off, with the assistance of the Duke ofKent, fastened the traces round the pole of the coaches, to prevent any inconvenience.'An exceeding heavy shower of rain coming on, the Prince took leave, and went to the "Windmill Inn" till it subsided. The King and his attendants weathered it out in their greatcoats.'After the young gentlemen walked round the carriage, Ensign Vince and the Salt-Bearers proceeded to the summit of the hill; but the wind being boisterous, he could not exhibit his dexterity in displaying his flag, and the space being too small before the carriages, from the concourse of spectators, the King kindly acquiesced in not having it displayed under such inconvenience.'Their Majesties and the Princesses then returned home, the King occasionally stopping to converse with the Dean of Windsor, the Earl of Harrington, and other noblemen.'The Scholars partook of an elegant dinner at the "Windmill Inn," and in the evening walked on Windsor Terrace.'Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland, after taking leave of their Majesties, set off for town, and honoured the Opera House with their presence in the evening.'The profit arising from the Salt collected, according to account, amounted to £800.'The Stadtholder, the Duke of Gordon, Lord and Lady Melbourne, Viscount Brome, and a numerous train of fashionable nobility were present.'The following is an account of their dresses, made as usual, very handsomely, by Mrs. Snow, milliner, of Windsor:—'Mr. Ford, Captain, with eight Gentlemen to attend him as servitors.'Mr. Sarjeant, Marechal.'Mr. Bradith, Colonel.'Mr. Plumtree, Lieutenant.'Mr. Vince, Ensign.'Mr. Young, College Salt-Bearer; white and gold dress, rich satin bag, covered with gold netting.'Mr. Mansfield, Oppidin, white, purple, and orange dress, trimmed with silver; rich satin bag, purple and silver: each carrying elegant poles, with gold and silver cord.'Mr. Keity, yellow and black velvet; helmet trimmed with silver.'Mr. Bartelot, plain mantle and sandals, Scotch bonnet, a very Douglas.'Mr. Knapp, flesh-colour and blue; Spanish hat and feathers.'Mr. Ripley, rose-colour; helmet.'Mr. Islip (being in mourning), a scarf; helmet, black velvet; and white satin.'Mr. Tomkins, violet and silver; helmet.'Mr. Thackery, lilac and silver; Roman cap.'Mr. Drury, mazarin blue; fancy cap.'Mr. Davis, slate-colour and straw.'Mr. Routh, pink and silver; Spanish hat.'Mr. Curtis, purple; fancy cap.'Mr. Lloyd, blue; ditto.'At the conclusion of the ceremony the Royal Family returned to Windsor, and the boys were all sumptuously entertained at the tavern at Salt Hill. About six in the evening all the boys returned in the order of procession, and, marching round the great square of Eton, were dismissed. The Captain then paid his respects to the Royal Family, at the Queen's Lodge, Windsor, previously to his departure for King's College, Cambridge, to defray which expense the produce of the Montem was presented to him.'The day concluded by a brilliant promenade of beauty, rank, and fashion on Windsor Terrace, enlivened by the performance of several bands of music.'The origin of the procession is from the custom by which the Manor was held.'The custom of hunting the Ram belonged to Eton College, as well as the custom of Salt; but it was discontinued by Dr. Cook, late Dean of Ely. Now this custom we know to have been entered on the register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, in Normandy, as one belonging to the Manor of East or Great Wrotham, in Norfolk, given by Ralph de Toni to the Abbey of Bee, and was as follows:—When the harvest was finished, the tenants were to have half an acre of barley, and a ram let loose; and if they caught him he was their own to make merry with, but if he escaped from them he was the Lord's. The Etonians, in order to secure the ram, houghed him in the Irish fashion, and then attacked him with great clubs. The cruelty of this proceeding brought it into disuse, and now it exists no longer.—See Register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, folio 58.'After the dissolution of the alien priories, in 1414, by the Parliament of Leicester, they remained in the Crown till Henry VI., who gave Wrotham Manor to Eton College; and if the Eton Fellows would search, they would perhaps find the Manor in their possession, that was held by the custom of Salt.'MenAlderman Bursal, Father of young Bursal.Lord John,}Talbot,}Wheeler,} Young Gentlemen of Eton, from 17 to 19 years of age.Bursal,}Rory O'Ryan}Mr. Newington, Landlord of the Inn at Salt Hill.Farmer Hearty.A Waiter and crowd of Eton Lads.WomenThe Marchioness of Piercefield, Mother of Lord John.Lady Violetta—her Daughter, a Child of six or seven years old.Mrs. Talbot.Louisa Talbot, her Daughter.Miss Bursal, Daughter to the Alderman.Mrs. Newington, Landlady of the Inn at Salt Hill.Sally, a Chambermaid.Patty, a Country Girl.Pipe and Tabor, and Dance of Peasants.ACT THE FIRSTSCENE IThe Bar of the 'Windmill Inn' at Salt HillMr.andMrs. Newington,the Landlord and LandladyLandlady.'Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that's enough. Say no more about it; 'tis an unpossibility in thenaturof things. (She ranges jellies, etc., in the Bar.) And pray, do you take your great old-fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries.Landlord(takes his tankard and drinks). Anything for a quiet life. If it is an unpossibility, I've no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can't see the great unpossibility, wife.Landlady.Wife, indeed!—wife!—wife! wife every minute.Landlord.Heyday! Why, what a plague would you have me call you? The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady.Landlady.To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should. I've turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after meMrs. Landlady!Mrs. Landlady!But 'tis all your ill manners.Landlord.Ill manners! Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you?Landlady.Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington.Landlord(drinks). Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (shrugs).Landlady.Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being calledLandlord. You look it, and become it very proper.Landlord.Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but every one to their mind, as you, wife, don't fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady.Landlady.To be sure I don't. Why, when folks hear the old-fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o' this fashion? Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady.Landlord.Very true, indeed, wife—Mrs. Newington, I mean—I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady and the civil-spoken young lady there above have them there rooms for another day.Landlady.Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman and that civil-spoken young lady. Fair words cost nothing; and I've a notion that's the cause they are so plenty with the young lady. Neither o' them, I take it, by what they've ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk that one need be sopetticularabout them.Landlord.Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can't deny that.Landlady.But, bless my stars! what signifies talking? Don't you know, as well as I do, Mr. Newington, that to-morrow is Eton Montem, and that if we had twenty times as many rooms and as many more to the back of them, it would not be one too many for all the company we've a right to expect, and those the highest quality of the land? Nay, what do I talk of to-morrow? isn't my Lady Piercefield and suite expected? and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal's to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil-spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon. So, Mr. Newington, if you don't think proper to go up and inform the ladies above that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I mustspeakmyself, though 'tis a thing I never do when I can help it.Landlord(aside). She not like to speak! (Aloud.) Mydear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old-fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can't make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me. So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington.Landlady.And so I will, Mr. Newington. Help ye! Civilities and rarities are out o' season for them that can't pay for them in this world; and very proper.(Exit Landlady.)Landlord.And very proper! Ha! who comes yonder? The Eton chap who wheedled me into lending him my best hunter last year, and was the ruination of him; but that must be paid for, wheedle or no wheedle; and, for the matter of wheedling, I'd stake this here Mr. Wheeler, that is making up to me, do you see, against e'er a boy, or hobbledehoy, in all Eton, London, or Christendom, let the other be who he will.EnterWheeler.Wheeler.A fine day, Mr. Newington.Landlord.A fine day, Mr. Wheeler.Wheel.And I hope, foryoursake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to-morrow. It will be a pretty penny in your pocket! Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies,etc.) so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them. And here's the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope.Landlord.Not empty, I hope. Here's to you, Mr. Wheeler.Wheel.Mr.Wheeler!—CaptainWheeler, if you please.Landlord.You, Captain Wheeler!—Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn't Mr. Talbot come afore you?Wheel.Not at all; we came on the same day. Some say I came first; some say Talbot. So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads—most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to-morrow, and a pretty deal ofsalt8I reckon I shall pocket. Why, the collection at the last Montem, theysay, came to a plump thousand! No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge—hey?Landlord.And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford, 'twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts.Wheel.Debts! Oh, time enough for that. I've a little account with you in horses, I know; but that's between you and me, you know—mum.Landlord.Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler. Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can't afford to be mum. So you'll take no offence if I speak; and as you'll set off to-morrow, as soon as the Montem's over, you'll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to-day, as we've no other time.Wheel.No time so proper, certainly. Where's the little account?—I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it. I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you. But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot—do you understand? to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day, 'twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay. I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends.Landlord.So I perceive.Wheel.I'll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington.(He swallows down a jelly or two—Landlord is going.)EnterTalbot.Talbot.Hallo, Landlord! where are you making off so fast? Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself.Wheel.(aside). Talbot!—I wish I was a hundred miles off.Landlord.You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot. A good morning to you, sir; I'm glad to see you—very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot.Talb.Then shake hands, my honest landlord.(Talbot, in shaking hands with him, puts a purse into the Landlord's hands.)Landlord.What's here? Guineas?Talb.The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won't pay, I must—that's all. Good morning.Wheel.(aside.) What a fool!(Landlord, as Talbot is going catches hold of his coat.)i016t'Then shake hands, my honest landlord.'Landlord.Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won't do!Talb.Won't it? Well, then, my watch must go.Landlord.Nay, nay! but you are in such a hurry to pay—you won't hear a man. Half this is enough for your share o' the mischief, in all conscience. Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day.Wheel.But Bursal's my witness——Talb.Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man's conscience is always his best witness, or his worst. Landlord, take your money, and no more words.Wheel.This is very genteel of you, Talbot. I always thought you would do the genteel thing, as I knew you to be so generous and considerate.Talb.Don't waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time. Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them. They won't go down withme. Good morning to you. I give you notice, I'm going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads? I may be captain yet, Wheeler. Have a care! Is my horse ready there?Landlord.Mr. Talbot's horse, there! Mr. Talbot's horse, I say.Talbot sings.He carries weight—he rides a race—'Tis for a thousand pound!(Exit Talbot.)Wheel.And, dear me! I shall be left behind. A horse for me, pray; a horse for Mr. Wheeler!(Exit Wheeler.)Landlord(calls very loud). Mr. Talbot's horse! Hang the hostler! I'll saddle him myself.(Exit Landlord.)SCENE IIA Dining-room in the Inn at Salt HillMrs. TalbotandLouisaLouisa(laughing). With what an air Mrs. Landlady made her exit!Mrs. Talbot.When I was young, they say, I was proud; but I am humble enough now: these petty mortifications do not vex me.Louisa.It is well my brother was gone before Mrs. Landlady made herentrée; for if he had heard her rude speech, he would at least have given her the retort courteous.Mrs. Talb.Now tell me honestly, my Louisa——You were, a few days ago, at Bursal House. Since you have left it and have felt something of the difference that is made in this world between splendour and no splendour, you have never regretted that you did not stay there, and that you did not bear more patiently with Miss Bursal's little airs?Louisa.Never for a moment. At first Miss Bursal paid me a vast deal of attention; but, for what reason I know not, she suddenly changed her manner, grew first strangely cold, then condescendingly familiar, and at last downright rude. I could not guess the cause of these variations.Mrs. Talb.(aside). I guess the cause too well.Louisa.But as I perceived the lady was out of tune, I was in haste to leave her. I should make a very bad, and, I am sure, a miserable toad eater. I had much rather, if I were obliged to choose, earn my own bread, than live as toad eater with anybody.Mrs. Talb.Fine talking, dear Louisa!Louisa.Don't you believe me to be in earnest, mother? To be sure, you cannot know what I would do, unless I were put to the trial.Mrs. Talb.Nor you either, my dear.(She sighs, and is silent.)Louisa(takes her mother's hand). What is the matter, dear mother? You used to say that seeing my brother alwaysmade you feel ten years younger; yet even while he was here, you had, in spite of all your efforts to conceal them, those sudden fits of sadness.Mrs. Talb.The Montem—is not it to-morrow? Ay, but my boy is not sure of being captain.Louisa.No; there is one Wheeler, who, as he says, is most likely to be chosen captain. He has taken prodigious pains to flatter and win over many to his interest. My brother does not so much care about it; he is not avaricious.Mrs. Talb.I love your generous spirit and his! but, alas! my dear, people may live to want, and wish for money, without being avaricious. I would not say a word to Talbot; full of spirits as he was this morning, I would not say a word to him, till after the Montem, of what has happened.Louisa.And what has happened, dear mother? Sit down,—you tremble.Mrs. Talb.(sits down and puts a letter into Louisa's hand). Read that, love. A messenger brought me that from town a few hours ago.Louisa(reads). 'By an express from Portsmouth, we hear theBombay CastleEast Indiaman is lost, with all your fortune on board.'All!I hope there is something left for you to live upon.Mrs. Talb.About £150 a year for us all.Louisa.That is enough, is it not, for you?Mrs. Talb.For me, love? I am an old woman, and want but little in this world, and shall be soon out of it.Louisa(kneels down beside her). Do not speak so, dearest mother.Mrs. Talb.Enough for me, love! Yes, enough, and too much for me. I am not thinking of myself.Louisa.Then, as to my brother, he has such abilities, and such industry, he will make a fortune at the bar for himself, most certainly.Mrs. Talb.But his education is not completed. How shall we provide him with money at Cambridge?Louisa.This Montem. The last time the captain had eight hundred, the time before a thousand, pounds. Oh, I hope—I fear! Now, indeed, I know that, without being avaricious, we may want, and wish for money.(Landlady's voice heard behind the scenes.)Landlady.Waiter!—Miss Bursal's curricle, and Mr. Bursal'svis-à-vis. Run! see that the Dolphin's empty. I say run!—run!Mrs. Talb.I will rest for a few moments upon the sofa, in this bedchamber, before we set off.Louisa(goes to open the door). They have bolted or locked it. How unlucky!(She turns the key, and tries to unlock the door.)EnterWaiter.Waiter.Ladies, I'm sorry—Miss Bursal and Mr. Bursal are come—just coming upstairs.Mrs. Talb.Then, will you be so good, sir, as to unlock this door?(Waiter tries to unlock the door.)Waiter.It must be bolted on the inside. Chambermaid! Sally! Are you within there? Unbolt this door.Mr. Bursal's voice behind the scenes.Let me have a basin of good soup directly.Waiter.I'll go round and have the door unbolted immediately, ladies.(Exit Waiter.)EnterMiss Bursal,in a riding dress, and with a long whip.Miss Bursal.Those creatures, the ponies, have a'most pulled my 'andoff. Who'avewe'ere? Ha! Mrs. Talbot! Louisa,'oware ye? I'm so vastly glad to see you; but I'm so shocked to'earof the loss of theBombay Castle. Mrs. Talbot, you look but poorly; but this Montem will put everybody in spirits. I'eareverybody's to be'ere; and my brother tells me, 'twill be the finest ever seen atHEton. Louisa, my dear, I'm sorry I've not a seat for you in my curricle for to-morrow; but I've promised Lady Betty; so, you know, 'tis impossible for me.Louisa.Certainly; and it would be impossible for me to leave my mother at present.Chambermaid(opens the bedchamber door). The room's ready now, ladies.Mrs. Talb.Miss Bursal, we intrude upon you no longer.Miss Burs.Nay, why do you decamp, Mrs. Talbot? I'ada thousand things to say to you, Louisa; but am so tired and so annoyed——(Seats herself. Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, and Chambermaid.)i017tEnter Miss Bursal, in a riding dress.EnterMr. Bursal,with a basin of soup in his hand.Mr. Burs.Well, thank my stars theAirly Castleis safe in the Downs.Miss Burs.Mr. Bursal, can you inform me why Joe, my groom, does not make his appearance?Mr. Burs.(eating and speaking). Yes, that I can, child; because he is with his'orses, where he ought to be. 'Tis fit they should be looked after well; for they cost me a pretty penny—more than their heads are worth, and yours into the bargain; but I was resolved, as we were to come to this Montem, to come in style.Miss Burs.In style, to be sure; for all the world's to be here—the King, the Prince of Whales, and Duke o' York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash! Dash! dash! will be the word to-morrow!—(playing with her whip).Mr. Burs.(aside). Dash! dash! ay, just like her brother. He'll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he's her age. Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money. As Jack Bursal says, what's money for, if it e'nt to make a figure? (Aloud.) There's your brother Jack, now. The extravagant dog! he'll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem. Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John's the son of a marchioness.Miss Burs.Oh, that makes no difference nowadays. I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem. The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield. What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows. I've a notion she'll drop them, when she hears of the loss of theBombay Castle.Enter aWaiter,with a note.Waiter.A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir.Miss B.Charming woman! Is she here, pray, sir?Waiter.Just come. Yes, ma'am.(Exit Waiter.)Miss B.Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it?Mr. B.(reads). 'Business of importance to communicate——' Hum! what can it be?—(going).Miss B.(aside). Perhaps some match to propose for me!(Aloud.) Mr. Bursal, pray before you go to her ladyship, do send myoomanto me to make mepresentable.(Exit Miss Bursal at one door.)Mr. B.(at the opposite door). 'Business of importance!' Hum! I'm glad I'm prepared with a good basin of soup. There's no doing business well upon an empty stomach. Perhaps the business is to lend cash; and I've no great stomach for that. But it will be an honour, to be sure.(Exit.)SCENE IIILandlady's ParlourLandlady—Mr.Finsbury,a man-milliner, with bandboxes—a fancy cap, or helmet, with feathers, in the Landlady's hand—a satin bag, covered with gold netting, in the man-milliner's hand—a mantle hanging over his arm. A rough-looking Farmer is sitting with his back towards them, eating bread and cheese, and reading a newspaper.Landlady.Well, this, to be sure, will be the best-dressed Montem that ever was seen at Eton; and you Lon'on gentlemen have the most fashionablest notions; and this is the most elegantest fancy cap——Finsbury.Why, as you observe, ma'm, that is the most elegant fancy cap of them all. That is Mr. Hector Hogmorton's fancy cap, ma'm; and here, ma'm, is Mr. Saul's rich satin bag, covered with gold net. He is college salt-bearer, I understand, and has a prodigious superb white and gold dress. But, in my humble opinion, ma'm, the marshal's white and purple and orange fancy-dress, trimmed with silver, will bear the bell; though, indeed, I shouldn't say that,—for the colonel's and lieutenant's, and ensign's, are beautiful in the extreme. And, to be sure, nothing could be better imagined than Mr. Marlborough's lilac and silver, with a Roman cap. And it must be allowed that nothing in nature can have a better effect than Mr. Drake's flesh-colour and blue, with this Spanish hat, ma'm, you see.(The Farmer looks over his shoulder from time to time during this speech, with contempt.)Farmer(reads the newspaper). French fleet at sea—Hum!Landlady.O gemini: Mr. Drake's Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing! Mr. Finsbury, I protest——Finsb.Why,ma'm, I knew a lady of your taste couldn't but approve of it. My own invention entirely, ma'm. But it's nothing to the captain's cap, ma'm. Indeed, ma'm, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress. To be sure, his sandals were my suggestion; but the mantle he has the entire credit of, to do him justice; and when you see it, ma'm, you will be really surprised; for (for contrast and elegance, and richness, and lightness, and propriety, and effect, and costume) you've never yet seen anything at all to be compared to Captain Wheeler's mantle, ma'm.Farmer(to the Landlady). Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men's clothes?Landlady(aside to Farmer). Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush! This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man-milliner.Farm.The great man-milliner! This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England.Finsb.(packing up bandboxes). Well, ma'm, I'm glad I have your approbation. It has ever been my study to please the ladies.Farm.(throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat). And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays?Finsb.(taking off the mantle). Sir, with your leave—I ask pardon—but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands——Farm.'Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man.Finsb.Man!Farm.I ask pardon—man-milliner, I mean.EnterLandlord.Landlord.Why, wife!Landlady.Wife!Landlord.I ask pardon—Mrs. Newington I mean. Do you know who them ladies are that you have been and turned out of the Dolphin?Landlady(alarmed). Not I, indeed. Who are they, pray? Why, if they are quality it's no fault of mine. It is their own fault for coming, like scrubs, without four horses. Why, ifquality will travel the road this way, incognito, how can they expect to be known and treated as quality? 'Tis no fault of mine. Why didn't you find out sooner who they were, Mr. Newington? What else in the 'versal world have you to do, but to go basking about in the yards and places with your tankard in your hand, from morning till night? What have you else to ruminate, all day long, but to find out who's who, I say?Farm.Clapper! clapper! clapper! like my mill in a high wind, landlord. Clapper! clapper! clapper!—enough to stun a body.Landlord.That is not used to it; but use is all, they say.Landlady.Will you answer me, Mr. Newington? Who are the grandees that were in the Dolphin?—and what's becomeonthem?Landlord.Grandees was your own word, wife. They be not to call grandees; but I reckon you'd be sorry not to treat 'em civil, when I tell you their name is Talbot, mother and sister to our young Talbot of Eton; he that paid me so handsome for the hunter this very morning.Landlady.Mercy! is that all? What a combustion for nothing in life!Finsb.For nothing in life, as you say, ma'm; that is, nothing in high life, I'm sure, ma'm; nay, I dare a'most venture to swear. Would you believe it, Mr. Talbot is one of the few young gentlemen of Eton that has not bespoke from me a fancy-dress for this grand Montem?Landlady.There, Mr. Newington; there's your Talbot for you! and there's your grandees! Oh, trust me, I know your scrubs at first sight.Landlord.Scrubs, I don't, nor can't, nor won't call them that pay their debts honestly. Scrubs, I don't, nor won't, nor can't call them that behave as handsome as young Mr. Talbot did here to me this morning about the hunter. A scrub he is not, wife. Fancy-dress or no fancy-dress, Mr. Finsbury, this young gentleman is no scrub.Finsb.Dear me! 'Twas not I saidscrub. Did I say scrub?Farm.No matter if you did.Finsb.No matter, certainly; and yet it is a matter; for I'm confident I wouldn't for the world leave it in any one's powerto say that I said—that I called—any young gentleman of Eton ascrub! Why, you know, sir, it might breed a riot!Farm.And a pretty figure you'd make in a riot!Landlady.Pray let me hear nothing about riots in my house.Farm.Nor about scrubs.Finsb.But I beg leave to explain, gentlemen. All I ventured to remark or suggest was, that as there was some talk of Mr. Talbot's being captain to-morrow, I didn't conceive how he could well appear without any dress. That was all, upon my word and honour. A good morning to you, gentlemen; it is time for me to be off. Mrs. Newington, you were so obliging as to promise to accommodate me with a return chaise as far as Eton.(Finsbury bows and exit.)Farm.A good day to you and your bandboxes. There's a fellow for you now! Ha! ha! ha!—A man-milliner, forsooth!Landlord.Mrs. Talbot's coming—stand back.Landlady.Lord! why does Bob show them through this way?EnterMrs. Talbot,leaning onLouisa;Waiter showing the way.Landlady.You are going on, I suppose, ma'am?Waiter(aside to Landlord). Not if she could help it; but there's no beds, since Mr. Bursal and Miss Bursal's come.Landlord.I say nothing, for it is vain to say more. But isn't it a pity she can't stay for the Montem, poor old lady! Her son—as good and fine a lad as ever you saw—they say, has a chance, too, of being captain. She may never live to see another such a sight.(As Mrs. Talbot walks slowly on, the Farmer puts himself across her way, so as to stop her short.)Farm.No offence, madam, I hope; but I have a good snug farmhouse, not far off hand; and if so be you'd be so good to take a night's lodging, you and the young lady with you, you'd have a hearty welcome. That's all I can say; and you'd make my wife very happy; for she's a good woman, to say nothing of myself.Landlord.If I may be so bold to put in my word, madam, you'd have as good beds, and be as well lodged, with Farmer Hearty, as in e'er a house at Salt Hill.Mrs. Talb.I am very much obliged——Farm.Oh, say nothing o' that, madam. I am sure I shall be as much obliged if you do come. Do, miss, speak for me.Louisa.Pray, dear mother——Farm.She will. (Calls behind the scenes.) Here, waiter! hostler! driver! what's your name? drive the chaise up here to the door, smart, close. Lean on my arm, madam, and we'll have you in and home in a whiff.(Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, Farmer, Landlord, and Waiter.)Landlady(sola). What a noise and a rout this farmer man makes! and my husband, with his great broad face, bowing, as great a nincompoop as t'other. The folks are all bewitched with the old woman, I verily believe. (Aloud.) A good morning to you, ladies.ACT THE SECONDSCENE IA field near Eton College;—several boys crossing backwards and forwards in the background. In front,Talbot, Wheeler, Lord JohnandBursal.Talbot.Fair play, Wheeler! Have at 'em, my boy! There they stand, fair game! There's Bursal there, with hisdeadforty-five votes at command; and Lord John with his—how many live friends?Lord John(coolly). Sir, I have fifty-six friends, I believe.Talb.Fifty-six friends, his lordship believes—Wheeler inclusive no doubt.Lord J.That's as hereafter may be.Wheeler.Hereafter! Oh, fie, mylud! You know your own Wheeler has, from the first minute he ever saw you, been your fast friend.Talb.Your fast friend from the first minute he ever saw you, my lord! That's well hit, Wheeler; stick to that; stick fast. Fifty-six friends, Wheelerinclusive, hey, my lord! hey, mylud!Lord J.Talbotexclusive, I find, contrary to my expectations.Talb.Ay, contrary to your expectations, you find that Talbot is not a dog that will lick the dust: but then there's enough of the true spaniel breed to be had for whistling for; hey, Wheeler?Bursal(aside to Wheeler). A pretty electioneerer. So much the better for you, Wheeler. Why, unless he bought a vote, he'd never win one, if he talked from this to the day of judgment.Wheeler(aside to Bursal). And as he has no money to buy votes—he! he! he!—we are safe enough.Talb.That's well done, Wheeler; fight the by-battle there with Bursal, now you are sure of the main with Lord John.Lord J.Sure! I never made Mr. Wheeler any promise yet.Wheel.Oh, I ask no promise from his lordship; we are upon honour: I trust entirely to his lordship's good nature and generosity, and to his regard for his own family; I having the honour, though distantly, to be related.Lord J.Related! How, Wheeler?Wheel.Connected, I mean, which is next door, as I may say, to being related. Related slipped out by mistake; I beg pardon, my Lord John.Lord J.Related!—a strange mistake, Wheeler.Talb.Overshot yourself, Wheeler; overshot yourself, by all that's awkward. And yet, till now, I always took you for 'a dead-shot at a yellow-hammer.'9Wheel.(taking Bursal by the arm). Bursal, a word with you. (Aside to Bursal.) What a lump of family pride that Lord John is.Talb.Keep out of my hearing, Wheeler, lest I should spoil sport. But never fear: you'll please Bursal sooner than I shall. I can't, for the soul of me, bring myself to say that Bursal's not purse-proud, and you can. Give you joy.Burs.A choice electioneerer!—ha! ha! ha!Wheel.(faintly). He! he! he!—a choice electioneerer, as you say.(Exeunt Wheeler and Bursal; manent Lord J. and Talbot.)Lord J.There was a time, Talbot——Talb.There was a time, my lord—to save trouble and a long explanation—there was a time when you liked Talbots better than spaniels; you understand me?Lord J.I have found it very difficult to understand you of late, Mr. Talbot.Talb.Yes, because you have used other people's understandings instead of your own. Be yourself, my lord. See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you'll find me still, what I've been these seven years; not your under-strapper, your hanger-on, your flatterer, but your friend! If you choose to have me for a friend, here's my hand. I am your friend, and you'll not find a better.Lord J.(giving his hand). You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night.Talb.What? for I don't keep a register of my sayings. Oh, it was something about gaming—Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a passion—I forget what I said. But, whatever it was, I'm sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said.Lord J.But you laugh at me sometimes to my face.Talb.Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back?Lord J.But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at. Listen to me, and don't fumble in your pockets while I'm talking to you.Talb.I'm fumbling for—oh, here it is. Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what's droll enough, it wasatyour back I laughed. Here's a caricature I drew of you—I really am sorry I did it; but 'tis best to show it to you myself.Lord J.(aside). It is all I can do to forgive this. (After a pause, he tears the paper.) I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this. Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer.Talb.Oh, hang it! I forgot my election, and your fifty-six friends.EnterRory O'Ryan.Rory(claps Talbot on the back). Fifty-six friends, have you, Talbot? Say seven—fifty-seven, I mean; for I'll lay you a wager, you've forgot me; and that's a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse-comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than poor little Rory O'Ryan. And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman. Now that same wild Irishman has as much gratitude in him as any tame Englishman of them all. But don't let's be talking sintimint; for, for my share I'd not give a bogberry a bushel for sintimint, when I could get anything better.Lord J.And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?Rory.Phoo! don't be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my lard) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (Turns to Talbot.) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoarse? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice—(sucks an orange). I am athoroughgoingfriend, at any rate.Talb.Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and athoroughgoingfriend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violentthoroughgoingwork.Rory.Never fear! never fear, man!—a warmfrindand a bitter enemy, that's my maxim.Talb.Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.Rory.Oh, never fear me! I'm as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst theytinkI'mtinkingof nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as—now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if youplase.Talb.I do please.Rory.I call it Rory's song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody—o' the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put 'em in orlave'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts,wise-a-weeto you, my littlefrind. So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations.Talbot and Lord John.Let's have it; let's have it without further preface.Rory sings.
i015t'I shan't spoil it; and I will have it in my own hands.'
'I shan't spoil it; and I will have it in my own hands.'
After shutting up the basket they left the room, and in the adjoining passage they found a poor girl waiting with a smallparcel in her hand. 'What's your business?' said the maid. 'I have brought home the lace, madam, that was bespoke for the young lady.' 'Oh, you have, have you, at last?' said Bell; 'and pray why didn't you bring it sooner?' The girl was going to answer, but the maid interrupted her, saying, 'Come, come, none of your excuses; you are a little idle, good-for-nothing thing, to disappoint Miss Bell upon her birthday. But now you have brought it, let us look at it!'
The little girl gave the lace without reply, and the maid desired her to go about her business, and not to expect to be paid; for that her mistress could not see anybody,becauseshe was in a room full of company.
'May I call again, madam, this afternoon?' said the child, timidly.
'Lord bless my stars!' replied the maid, 'what makes people so poor, Iwonders! I wish mistress would buy her lace at the warehouse, as I told her, and not of these folks. Call again! yes, to be sure. I believe you'd call, call, call twenty times for twopence.'
However ungraciously the permission to call again was granted, it was received with gratitude. The little girl departed with a cheerful countenance, and Bell teased her maid till she got her to sew the long-wished-for lace upon her cuffs.
Unfortunate Bell!—All dinner time passed, and people were so hungry, so busy, or so stupid, that not an eye observed her favourite piece of finery. Till at length she was no longer able to conceal her impatience, and turning to Laura, who sat next to her, she said, 'You have no lace upon your cuffs. Look how beautiful mine is!—is not it? Don't you wish your mamma could afford to give some like it? But you can't get any if she would, for this was made on purpose for me on my birthday, and nobody can get a bit more anywhere, if they would give the world for it.' 'But cannot the person who made it,' said Laura, 'make any more like it?' 'No, no, no!' cried Bell; for she had already learned, either from her maid or her mother, the mean pride which values things not for being really pretty or useful, but for being such as nobody else can procure. 'Nobody can get any like it, I say,' repeated Bell; 'nobody in all London can make it but one person, and that person will never make a bit for anybody but me, I am sure. Mamma won't let her, if I ask her not.' 'Very well,' said Laura coolly, 'I donot want any of it; you need not be so violent: I assure you that I don't want any of it.' 'Yes, but you do, though,' said Bell, more angrily. 'No, indeed,' said Laura, smiling. 'You do, in the bottom of your heart; but you say you don't to plague me, I know,' cried Bell, swelling with disappointed vanity. 'It is pretty for all that, and it cost a great deal of money too, and nobody shall have any like it, if they cried their eyes out.'
Laura received this declaration in silence—Rosamond smiled; and at her smile the ill-suppressed rage of the spoiled child burst forth into the seventh and loudest fit of crying which had yet been heard on her birthday.
'What's the matter, my pet?' cried her mother; 'come to me and tell me what's the matter.' Bell ran roaring to her mother; but no otherwise explained the cause of her sorrow than by tearing the fine lace with frantic gestures from her cuffs, and throwing the fragments into her mother's lap. 'Oh! the lace, child!—are you mad?' said her mother, catching hold of both her hands. 'Your beautiful lace, my dear love—do you know how much it cost?' 'I don't care how much it cost—it is not beautiful, and I'll have none of it,' replied Bell, sobbing; 'for it is not beautiful.' 'But it is beautiful,' retorted her mother; 'I chose the pattern myself. Who has put it into your head, child, to dislike it? Was it Nancy?' 'No, not Nancy, butthem, mamma,' said Bell, pointing to Laura and Rosamond. 'Oh, fie! don'tpoint,' said her mother, putting down her stubborn finger; 'nor saythem, like Nancy; I am sure you misunderstood. Miss Laura, I am sure, did not mean any such thing.' 'No, madam; and I did not say any such thing, that I recollect,' said Laura, gently. 'Oh no, indeed!' cried Rosamond, warmly, rising in her sister's defence.
No defence or explanation, however, was to be heard, for everybody had now gathered round Bell, to dry her tears, and to comfort her for the mischief she had done to her own cuffs. They succeeded so well, that in about a quarter of an hour the young lady's eyes and the reddened arches over her eyebrows came to their natural colour; and the business being thus happily hushed up, the mother, as a reward to her daughter for her good humour, begged that Rosamond would now be so good as to produce her 'charming present.'
Rosamond, followed by all the company, amongst whom, to her great joy, was her godmother, proceeded to the dressing-room. 'Now I am sure,' thought she, 'Bell will be surprised, and my godmother will see she was right about my generosity.'
The doors of the wardrobe were opened with due ceremony, and the filigree basket appeared in all its glory. 'Well, this is a charming present, indeed!' said the godmother, who was one of the company; 'myRosamond knows how to make presents.' And as she spoke, she took hold of the basket, to lift it down to the admiring audience. Scarcely had she touched it, when, lo! the basket fell to the ground, and only the handle remained in her hand. All eyes were fixed upon the wreck. Exclamations of sorrow were heard in various tones; and 'Who can have done this?' was all that Rosamond could say. Bell stood in sullen silence, which she obstinately preserved in the midst of the inquiries that were made about the disaster.
At length the servants were summoned, and amongst them Nancy, Miss Bell's maid and governess. She affected much surprise when she saw what had befallen the basket, and declared that she knew nothing of the matter, but that she had seen her mistress in the morning put it quite safe into the wardrobe; and that, for her part, she had never touched it, or thought of touching it, in her born days. 'Nor Miss Bell, neither, ma'am,—I can answer for her; for she never knew of its being there, because I never so much as mentioned it to her, that there was such a thing in the house, because I knew Miss Rosamond wanted to surprise her with the secret; so I never mentioned a sentence of it—did I, Miss Bell?'
Bell, putting on the deceitful look which her maid had taught her, answered boldly, 'No'; but she had hold of Rosamond's hand, and at the instant she uttered this falsehood she squeezed it terribly. 'Why do you squeeze my hand so?' said Rosamond, in a low voice; 'what are you afraid of?' 'Afraid of!' cried Bell, turning angrily; 'I'm not afraid of anything—I've nothing to be afraid about.' 'Nay, I did not say you had,' whispered Rosamond; 'but only if you did by accident—you know what I mean—I should not be angry if you did—only say so.' 'I say I did not!' cried Bell furiously. 'Mamma, mamma! Nancy! my cousin Rosamond won't believe me! That's very hard. It's very rude, and I won't bear it—I won't.' 'Don't be angry, love. Don't,' said themaid. 'Nobody suspects you, darling,' said her mother; 'but she has too much sensibility. Don't cry, love; nobody suspected you.' 'But you know,' continued she, turning to the maid, 'somebody must have done this, and I must know how it was done. Miss Rosamond's charming present must not be spoiled in this way, in my house, without my taking proper notice of it. I assure you I am very angry about it, Rosamond.'
Rosamond did not rejoice in her anger, and had nearly made a sad mistake by speaking aloud her thoughts—'I was very foolish——' she began and stopped.
'Ma'am,' cried the maid, suddenly, 'I'll venture to say I know who did it.' 'Who?' said every one, eagerly. 'Who?' said Bell, trembling. 'Why, miss, don't you recollect that little girl with the lace, that we saw peeping about in the passage? I'm sure she must have done it; for here she was by herself half an hour or more, and not another creature has been in mistress's dressing-room, to my certain knowledge, since morning. Those sort of people have so much curiosity. I'm sure she must have been meddling with it,' added the maid.
'Oh yes, that's the thing,' said the mistress, decidedly. 'Well, Miss Rosamond, for your comfort she shall never come into my house again.' 'Oh, that would not comfort me at all,' said Rosamond; 'besides, we are not sure that she did it, and if——' A single knock at the door was heard at this instant. It was the little girl, who came to be paid for her lace. 'Call her in,' said the lady of the house; 'let us see her directly.'
The maid, who was afraid that the girl's innocence would appear if she were produced, hesitated; but upon her mistress repeating her commands, she was forced to obey. The girl came in with a look of simplicity; but when she saw a room full of company she was a little abashed. Rosamond and Laura looked at her and one another with surprise, for it was the same little girl whom they had seen weaving lace. 'Is not it she?' whispered Rosamond to her sister. 'Yes, it is; but hush,' said Laura, 'she does not know us. Don't say a word, let us hear what she will say.'
Laura got behind the rest of the company as she spoke, so that the little girl could not see her.
'Vastly well!' said Bell's mother; 'I am waiting to see how long you will have the assurance to stand there with that innocent look. Did you ever see that basket before?' 'Yes, ma'am,' said the girl. 'Yes, ma'am!' cried the maid; 'and what else do you know about it? You had better confess it at once, and mistress, perhaps, will say no more about it.' 'Yes, do confess it,' added Bell, earnestly. 'Confess what, madam?' said the little girl; 'I never touched the basket, madam.' 'You nevertouchedit; but you confess,' interrupted Bell's mother, 'that youdid seeit before. And, pray, how came you to see it? You must have opened my wardrobe.' 'No, indeed, ma'am,' said the little girl; 'but I was waiting in the passage, ma'am, and this door was partly open; and looking at the maid, you know, I could not help seeing it.' 'Why, how could you see through the doors of my wardrobe?' rejoined the lady.
The maid, frightened, pulled the little girl by the sleeve.
'Answer me,' said the lady, 'where did you see this basket?' Another stronger pull. 'I saw it, madam, in her hands,' looking at the maid; 'and——' 'Well, and what became of it afterwards?' 'Ma'am'—hesitating—'miss pulled, and by accident—I believe, I saw, ma'am—miss, you know what I saw.' 'I do not know—I do not know; and if I did, you had no business there; and mamma won't believe you, I am sure.' Everybody else, however, did believe; and their eyes were fixed upon Bell in a manner which made her feel rather ashamed. 'What do you all look at me so for? Why do you all look so? And am I to be put to shame on my birthday?' cried she, bursting into a roar of passion; 'and all for this nasty thing!' added she, pushing away the remains of the basket, and looking angrily at Rosamond. 'Bell! Bell! oh, fie! fie!—Now Iamashamed of you; that's quite rude to your cousin,' said her mother, who was more shocked at her daughter's want of politeness than at her falsehood. 'Take her away, Nancy, till she has done crying,' added she to the maid, who accordingly carried off her pupil.
Rosamond, during this scene, especially at the moment when her present was pushed away with such disdain, had been making reflections upon the nature of true generosity. A smile from her father, who stood by, a silent spectator of the catastrophe of the filigree basket, gave rise to these reflections; norwere they entirely dissipated by the condolence of the rest of the company, nor even by the praises of her godmother, who, for the purpose of condoling with her, said, 'Well, my dear Rosamond, I admire your generous spirit. You know I prophesied that your half-guinea would be gone the soonest. Did I not, Laura?' said she, appealing, in a sarcastic tone, to where she thought Laura was. 'Where is Laura? I don't see her.' Laura came forward. 'You are tooprudentto throw away your money like your sister. Your half-guinea, I'll answer for it, is snug in your pocket—is it not?' 'No, madam,' answered she, in a low voice.
But low as the voice of Laura was, the poor little lace-girl heard it; and now, for the first time, fixing her eyes upon Laura, recollected her benefactress. 'Oh, that's the young lady!' she exclaimed, in a tone of joyful gratitude, 'the good, good young lady who gave me the half-guinea, and would not stay to be thanked for it; but Iwillthank her now.'
'The half-guinea, Laura!' said her godmother. 'What is all this?' 'I'll tell you, madam, if you please,' said the little girl.
It was not in expectation of being praised for it that Laura had been generous, and therefore everybody was really touched with the history of the weaving-pillow; and whilst they praised, felt a certain degree of respect, which is not always felt by those who pour forth eulogiums.Respectis not an improper word, even applied to a child of Laura's age; for let the age or situation of the person be what it may, they command respect who deserve it.
'Ah, madam!' said Rosamond to her godmother, 'now you see—you see she isnota little miser. I'm sure that's better than wasting half a guinea upon a filigree basket; is it not, ma'am?' said she, with an eagerness which showed that she had forgotten all her own misfortunes in sympathy with her sister. 'This is beingreally generous, father, is it not?'
'Yes, Rosamond,' said her father, and he kissed her; 'thisisbeing really generous. It is not only by giving away money that we can show generosity; it is by giving up to others anything that we like ourselves; and therefore,' added he, smiling, 'it is really generous of you to give your sister the thing you like best of all others.'
'The thing I like the best of all others, father,' said Rosamond, half pleased, half vexed. 'What is that, I wonder? You don't meanpraise, do you, sir?' 'Nay, you must decide that yourself, Rosamond.' 'Why, sir,' said she, ingenuously, 'perhaps itwasoncethe thing I liked best; but the pleasure I have just felt makes me like something else much better.'
'Yesterdaythis triennial ceremony took place, with which the public are too well acquainted to require a particular description. A collection, calledSalt, is taken from the public, which forms a purse, to support the Captain of the School in his studies at Cambridge. This collection is made by the Scholars, dressed in fancy dresses, all round the country.
'At eleven o'clock, the youths being assembled in their habiliments at the College, the Royal Family set off from the Castle to see them, and, after walking round the Courtyard, they proceeded to Salt Hill in the following order:—
'His Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the Earl of Uxbridge.
'Their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland, Earl Morton, and General Gwynne, all on horseback, dressed in the Windsor uniform, except the Prince of Wales, who wore a suit of dark blue, and a brown surtout over.
'Then followed the Scholars, preceded by the Marechal Serjeant, the Musicians of the Staffordshire Band, and Mr. Ford, Captain of the Seminary, the Serjeant-Major, Serjeants, Colonels, Corporals, Musicians, Ensign, Lieutenant, Steward, Salt-Bearers, Polemen, and Runners.
'The cavalcade was brought up by Her Majesty and her amiable daughters in two carriages, and a numerous company of equestrians and pedestrians, all eager to behold their Sovereign and his family. Among the former, Lady Lade was foremost in the throng; only two others dared venture their persons on horseback in such a multitude.
'The King and Royal Family were stopped on Eton Bridge by Messrs. Young and Mansfield, the Salt-Bearers, to whom their Majesties delivered their customary donation of fifty guineas each.
'At Salt Hill, His Majesty, with his usual affability, took upon himself to arrange the procession round the Royal carriages; and even when the horses were taken off, with the assistance of the Duke ofKent, fastened the traces round the pole of the coaches, to prevent any inconvenience.
'An exceeding heavy shower of rain coming on, the Prince took leave, and went to the "Windmill Inn" till it subsided. The King and his attendants weathered it out in their greatcoats.
'After the young gentlemen walked round the carriage, Ensign Vince and the Salt-Bearers proceeded to the summit of the hill; but the wind being boisterous, he could not exhibit his dexterity in displaying his flag, and the space being too small before the carriages, from the concourse of spectators, the King kindly acquiesced in not having it displayed under such inconvenience.
'Their Majesties and the Princesses then returned home, the King occasionally stopping to converse with the Dean of Windsor, the Earl of Harrington, and other noblemen.
'The Scholars partook of an elegant dinner at the "Windmill Inn," and in the evening walked on Windsor Terrace.
'Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland, after taking leave of their Majesties, set off for town, and honoured the Opera House with their presence in the evening.
'The profit arising from the Salt collected, according to account, amounted to £800.
'The Stadtholder, the Duke of Gordon, Lord and Lady Melbourne, Viscount Brome, and a numerous train of fashionable nobility were present.
'The following is an account of their dresses, made as usual, very handsomely, by Mrs. Snow, milliner, of Windsor:—
'Mr. Ford, Captain, with eight Gentlemen to attend him as servitors.'Mr. Sarjeant, Marechal.'Mr. Bradith, Colonel.'Mr. Plumtree, Lieutenant.'Mr. Vince, Ensign.'Mr. Young, College Salt-Bearer; white and gold dress, rich satin bag, covered with gold netting.'Mr. Mansfield, Oppidin, white, purple, and orange dress, trimmed with silver; rich satin bag, purple and silver: each carrying elegant poles, with gold and silver cord.'Mr. Keity, yellow and black velvet; helmet trimmed with silver.'Mr. Bartelot, plain mantle and sandals, Scotch bonnet, a very Douglas.'Mr. Knapp, flesh-colour and blue; Spanish hat and feathers.'Mr. Ripley, rose-colour; helmet.'Mr. Islip (being in mourning), a scarf; helmet, black velvet; and white satin.'Mr. Tomkins, violet and silver; helmet.'Mr. Thackery, lilac and silver; Roman cap.'Mr. Drury, mazarin blue; fancy cap.'Mr. Davis, slate-colour and straw.'Mr. Routh, pink and silver; Spanish hat.'Mr. Curtis, purple; fancy cap.'Mr. Lloyd, blue; ditto.
'At the conclusion of the ceremony the Royal Family returned to Windsor, and the boys were all sumptuously entertained at the tavern at Salt Hill. About six in the evening all the boys returned in the order of procession, and, marching round the great square of Eton, were dismissed. The Captain then paid his respects to the Royal Family, at the Queen's Lodge, Windsor, previously to his departure for King's College, Cambridge, to defray which expense the produce of the Montem was presented to him.
'The day concluded by a brilliant promenade of beauty, rank, and fashion on Windsor Terrace, enlivened by the performance of several bands of music.
'The origin of the procession is from the custom by which the Manor was held.
'The custom of hunting the Ram belonged to Eton College, as well as the custom of Salt; but it was discontinued by Dr. Cook, late Dean of Ely. Now this custom we know to have been entered on the register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, in Normandy, as one belonging to the Manor of East or Great Wrotham, in Norfolk, given by Ralph de Toni to the Abbey of Bee, and was as follows:—When the harvest was finished, the tenants were to have half an acre of barley, and a ram let loose; and if they caught him he was their own to make merry with, but if he escaped from them he was the Lord's. The Etonians, in order to secure the ram, houghed him in the Irish fashion, and then attacked him with great clubs. The cruelty of this proceeding brought it into disuse, and now it exists no longer.—See Register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, folio 58.
'After the dissolution of the alien priories, in 1414, by the Parliament of Leicester, they remained in the Crown till Henry VI., who gave Wrotham Manor to Eton College; and if the Eton Fellows would search, they would perhaps find the Manor in their possession, that was held by the custom of Salt.'
Men
Alderman Bursal, Father of young Bursal.
Lord John,}Talbot,}Wheeler,} Young Gentlemen of Eton, from 17 to 19 years of age.Bursal,}Rory O'Ryan}
Mr. Newington, Landlord of the Inn at Salt Hill.Farmer Hearty.A Waiter and crowd of Eton Lads.
Women
The Marchioness of Piercefield, Mother of Lord John.Lady Violetta—her Daughter, a Child of six or seven years old.Mrs. Talbot.Louisa Talbot, her Daughter.Miss Bursal, Daughter to the Alderman.Mrs. Newington, Landlady of the Inn at Salt Hill.Sally, a Chambermaid.Patty, a Country Girl.
Pipe and Tabor, and Dance of Peasants.
The Bar of the 'Windmill Inn' at Salt Hill
Mr.andMrs. Newington,the Landlord and Landlady
Landlady.'Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that's enough. Say no more about it; 'tis an unpossibility in thenaturof things. (She ranges jellies, etc., in the Bar.) And pray, do you take your great old-fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries.
Landlord(takes his tankard and drinks). Anything for a quiet life. If it is an unpossibility, I've no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can't see the great unpossibility, wife.
Landlady.Wife, indeed!—wife!—wife! wife every minute.
Landlord.Heyday! Why, what a plague would you have me call you? The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady.To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should. I've turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after meMrs. Landlady!Mrs. Landlady!But 'tis all your ill manners.
Landlord.Ill manners! Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you?
Landlady.Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington.
Landlord(drinks). Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (shrugs).
Landlady.Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being calledLandlord. You look it, and become it very proper.
Landlord.Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but every one to their mind, as you, wife, don't fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady.To be sure I don't. Why, when folks hear the old-fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o' this fashion? Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady.
Landlord.Very true, indeed, wife—Mrs. Newington, I mean—I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady and the civil-spoken young lady there above have them there rooms for another day.
Landlady.Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman and that civil-spoken young lady. Fair words cost nothing; and I've a notion that's the cause they are so plenty with the young lady. Neither o' them, I take it, by what they've ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk that one need be sopetticularabout them.
Landlord.Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can't deny that.
Landlady.But, bless my stars! what signifies talking? Don't you know, as well as I do, Mr. Newington, that to-morrow is Eton Montem, and that if we had twenty times as many rooms and as many more to the back of them, it would not be one too many for all the company we've a right to expect, and those the highest quality of the land? Nay, what do I talk of to-morrow? isn't my Lady Piercefield and suite expected? and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal's to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil-spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon. So, Mr. Newington, if you don't think proper to go up and inform the ladies above that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I mustspeakmyself, though 'tis a thing I never do when I can help it.
Landlord(aside). She not like to speak! (Aloud.) Mydear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old-fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can't make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me. So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington.
Landlady.And so I will, Mr. Newington. Help ye! Civilities and rarities are out o' season for them that can't pay for them in this world; and very proper.
(Exit Landlady.)
Landlord.And very proper! Ha! who comes yonder? The Eton chap who wheedled me into lending him my best hunter last year, and was the ruination of him; but that must be paid for, wheedle or no wheedle; and, for the matter of wheedling, I'd stake this here Mr. Wheeler, that is making up to me, do you see, against e'er a boy, or hobbledehoy, in all Eton, London, or Christendom, let the other be who he will.
EnterWheeler.
Wheeler.A fine day, Mr. Newington.
Landlord.A fine day, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel.And I hope, foryoursake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to-morrow. It will be a pretty penny in your pocket! Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies,etc.) so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them. And here's the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope.
Landlord.Not empty, I hope. Here's to you, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel.Mr.Wheeler!—CaptainWheeler, if you please.
Landlord.You, Captain Wheeler!—Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn't Mr. Talbot come afore you?
Wheel.Not at all; we came on the same day. Some say I came first; some say Talbot. So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads—most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to-morrow, and a pretty deal ofsalt8I reckon I shall pocket. Why, the collection at the last Montem, theysay, came to a plump thousand! No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge—hey?
Landlord.And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford, 'twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts.
Wheel.Debts! Oh, time enough for that. I've a little account with you in horses, I know; but that's between you and me, you know—mum.
Landlord.Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler. Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can't afford to be mum. So you'll take no offence if I speak; and as you'll set off to-morrow, as soon as the Montem's over, you'll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to-day, as we've no other time.
Wheel.No time so proper, certainly. Where's the little account?—I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it. I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you. But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot—do you understand? to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day, 'twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay. I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends.
Landlord.So I perceive.
Wheel.I'll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington.
(He swallows down a jelly or two—Landlord is going.)
EnterTalbot.
Talbot.Hallo, Landlord! where are you making off so fast? Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself.
Wheel.(aside). Talbot!—I wish I was a hundred miles off.
Landlord.You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot. A good morning to you, sir; I'm glad to see you—very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot.
Talb.Then shake hands, my honest landlord.
(Talbot, in shaking hands with him, puts a purse into the Landlord's hands.)
Landlord.What's here? Guineas?
Talb.The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won't pay, I must—that's all. Good morning.
Wheel.(aside.) What a fool!
(Landlord, as Talbot is going catches hold of his coat.)
i016t'Then shake hands, my honest landlord.'
'Then shake hands, my honest landlord.'
Landlord.Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won't do!
Talb.Won't it? Well, then, my watch must go.
Landlord.Nay, nay! but you are in such a hurry to pay—you won't hear a man. Half this is enough for your share o' the mischief, in all conscience. Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day.
Wheel.But Bursal's my witness——
Talb.Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man's conscience is always his best witness, or his worst. Landlord, take your money, and no more words.
Wheel.This is very genteel of you, Talbot. I always thought you would do the genteel thing, as I knew you to be so generous and considerate.
Talb.Don't waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time. Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them. They won't go down withme. Good morning to you. I give you notice, I'm going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads? I may be captain yet, Wheeler. Have a care! Is my horse ready there?
Landlord.Mr. Talbot's horse, there! Mr. Talbot's horse, I say.
Talbot sings.
He carries weight—he rides a race—'Tis for a thousand pound!
He carries weight—he rides a race—'Tis for a thousand pound!
(Exit Talbot.)
Wheel.And, dear me! I shall be left behind. A horse for me, pray; a horse for Mr. Wheeler!
(Exit Wheeler.)
Landlord(calls very loud). Mr. Talbot's horse! Hang the hostler! I'll saddle him myself.
(Exit Landlord.)
A Dining-room in the Inn at Salt Hill
Mrs. TalbotandLouisa
Louisa(laughing). With what an air Mrs. Landlady made her exit!
Mrs. Talbot.When I was young, they say, I was proud; but I am humble enough now: these petty mortifications do not vex me.
Louisa.It is well my brother was gone before Mrs. Landlady made herentrée; for if he had heard her rude speech, he would at least have given her the retort courteous.
Mrs. Talb.Now tell me honestly, my Louisa——You were, a few days ago, at Bursal House. Since you have left it and have felt something of the difference that is made in this world between splendour and no splendour, you have never regretted that you did not stay there, and that you did not bear more patiently with Miss Bursal's little airs?
Louisa.Never for a moment. At first Miss Bursal paid me a vast deal of attention; but, for what reason I know not, she suddenly changed her manner, grew first strangely cold, then condescendingly familiar, and at last downright rude. I could not guess the cause of these variations.
Mrs. Talb.(aside). I guess the cause too well.
Louisa.But as I perceived the lady was out of tune, I was in haste to leave her. I should make a very bad, and, I am sure, a miserable toad eater. I had much rather, if I were obliged to choose, earn my own bread, than live as toad eater with anybody.
Mrs. Talb.Fine talking, dear Louisa!
Louisa.Don't you believe me to be in earnest, mother? To be sure, you cannot know what I would do, unless I were put to the trial.
Mrs. Talb.Nor you either, my dear.
(She sighs, and is silent.)
Louisa(takes her mother's hand). What is the matter, dear mother? You used to say that seeing my brother alwaysmade you feel ten years younger; yet even while he was here, you had, in spite of all your efforts to conceal them, those sudden fits of sadness.
Mrs. Talb.The Montem—is not it to-morrow? Ay, but my boy is not sure of being captain.
Louisa.No; there is one Wheeler, who, as he says, is most likely to be chosen captain. He has taken prodigious pains to flatter and win over many to his interest. My brother does not so much care about it; he is not avaricious.
Mrs. Talb.I love your generous spirit and his! but, alas! my dear, people may live to want, and wish for money, without being avaricious. I would not say a word to Talbot; full of spirits as he was this morning, I would not say a word to him, till after the Montem, of what has happened.
Louisa.And what has happened, dear mother? Sit down,—you tremble.
Mrs. Talb.(sits down and puts a letter into Louisa's hand). Read that, love. A messenger brought me that from town a few hours ago.
Louisa(reads). 'By an express from Portsmouth, we hear theBombay CastleEast Indiaman is lost, with all your fortune on board.'All!I hope there is something left for you to live upon.
Mrs. Talb.About £150 a year for us all.
Louisa.That is enough, is it not, for you?
Mrs. Talb.For me, love? I am an old woman, and want but little in this world, and shall be soon out of it.
Louisa(kneels down beside her). Do not speak so, dearest mother.
Mrs. Talb.Enough for me, love! Yes, enough, and too much for me. I am not thinking of myself.
Louisa.Then, as to my brother, he has such abilities, and such industry, he will make a fortune at the bar for himself, most certainly.
Mrs. Talb.But his education is not completed. How shall we provide him with money at Cambridge?
Louisa.This Montem. The last time the captain had eight hundred, the time before a thousand, pounds. Oh, I hope—I fear! Now, indeed, I know that, without being avaricious, we may want, and wish for money.
(Landlady's voice heard behind the scenes.)
Landlady.Waiter!—Miss Bursal's curricle, and Mr. Bursal'svis-à-vis. Run! see that the Dolphin's empty. I say run!—run!
Mrs. Talb.I will rest for a few moments upon the sofa, in this bedchamber, before we set off.
Louisa(goes to open the door). They have bolted or locked it. How unlucky!
(She turns the key, and tries to unlock the door.)
EnterWaiter.
Waiter.Ladies, I'm sorry—Miss Bursal and Mr. Bursal are come—just coming upstairs.
Mrs. Talb.Then, will you be so good, sir, as to unlock this door?
(Waiter tries to unlock the door.)
Waiter.It must be bolted on the inside. Chambermaid! Sally! Are you within there? Unbolt this door.
Mr. Bursal's voice behind the scenes.Let me have a basin of good soup directly.
Waiter.I'll go round and have the door unbolted immediately, ladies.
(Exit Waiter.)
EnterMiss Bursal,in a riding dress, and with a long whip.
Miss Bursal.Those creatures, the ponies, have a'most pulled my 'andoff. Who'avewe'ere? Ha! Mrs. Talbot! Louisa,'oware ye? I'm so vastly glad to see you; but I'm so shocked to'earof the loss of theBombay Castle. Mrs. Talbot, you look but poorly; but this Montem will put everybody in spirits. I'eareverybody's to be'ere; and my brother tells me, 'twill be the finest ever seen atHEton. Louisa, my dear, I'm sorry I've not a seat for you in my curricle for to-morrow; but I've promised Lady Betty; so, you know, 'tis impossible for me.
Louisa.Certainly; and it would be impossible for me to leave my mother at present.
Chambermaid(opens the bedchamber door). The room's ready now, ladies.
Mrs. Talb.Miss Bursal, we intrude upon you no longer.
Miss Burs.Nay, why do you decamp, Mrs. Talbot? I'ada thousand things to say to you, Louisa; but am so tired and so annoyed——
(Seats herself. Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, and Chambermaid.)
i017tEnter Miss Bursal, in a riding dress.
Enter Miss Bursal, in a riding dress.
EnterMr. Bursal,with a basin of soup in his hand.
Mr. Burs.Well, thank my stars theAirly Castleis safe in the Downs.
Miss Burs.Mr. Bursal, can you inform me why Joe, my groom, does not make his appearance?
Mr. Burs.(eating and speaking). Yes, that I can, child; because he is with his'orses, where he ought to be. 'Tis fit they should be looked after well; for they cost me a pretty penny—more than their heads are worth, and yours into the bargain; but I was resolved, as we were to come to this Montem, to come in style.
Miss Burs.In style, to be sure; for all the world's to be here—the King, the Prince of Whales, and Duke o' York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash! Dash! dash! will be the word to-morrow!—(playing with her whip).
Mr. Burs.(aside). Dash! dash! ay, just like her brother. He'll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he's her age. Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money. As Jack Bursal says, what's money for, if it e'nt to make a figure? (Aloud.) There's your brother Jack, now. The extravagant dog! he'll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem. Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John's the son of a marchioness.
Miss Burs.Oh, that makes no difference nowadays. I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem. The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield. What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows. I've a notion she'll drop them, when she hears of the loss of theBombay Castle.
Enter aWaiter,with a note.
Waiter.A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir.
Miss B.Charming woman! Is she here, pray, sir?
Waiter.Just come. Yes, ma'am.
(Exit Waiter.)
Miss B.Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it?
Mr. B.(reads). 'Business of importance to communicate——' Hum! what can it be?—(going).
Miss B.(aside). Perhaps some match to propose for me!(Aloud.) Mr. Bursal, pray before you go to her ladyship, do send myoomanto me to make mepresentable.
(Exit Miss Bursal at one door.)
Mr. B.(at the opposite door). 'Business of importance!' Hum! I'm glad I'm prepared with a good basin of soup. There's no doing business well upon an empty stomach. Perhaps the business is to lend cash; and I've no great stomach for that. But it will be an honour, to be sure.
(Exit.)
Landlady's Parlour
Landlady—Mr.Finsbury,a man-milliner, with bandboxes—a fancy cap, or helmet, with feathers, in the Landlady's hand—a satin bag, covered with gold netting, in the man-milliner's hand—a mantle hanging over his arm. A rough-looking Farmer is sitting with his back towards them, eating bread and cheese, and reading a newspaper.
Landlady.Well, this, to be sure, will be the best-dressed Montem that ever was seen at Eton; and you Lon'on gentlemen have the most fashionablest notions; and this is the most elegantest fancy cap——
Finsbury.Why, as you observe, ma'm, that is the most elegant fancy cap of them all. That is Mr. Hector Hogmorton's fancy cap, ma'm; and here, ma'm, is Mr. Saul's rich satin bag, covered with gold net. He is college salt-bearer, I understand, and has a prodigious superb white and gold dress. But, in my humble opinion, ma'm, the marshal's white and purple and orange fancy-dress, trimmed with silver, will bear the bell; though, indeed, I shouldn't say that,—for the colonel's and lieutenant's, and ensign's, are beautiful in the extreme. And, to be sure, nothing could be better imagined than Mr. Marlborough's lilac and silver, with a Roman cap. And it must be allowed that nothing in nature can have a better effect than Mr. Drake's flesh-colour and blue, with this Spanish hat, ma'm, you see.
(The Farmer looks over his shoulder from time to time during this speech, with contempt.)
Farmer(reads the newspaper). French fleet at sea—Hum!
Landlady.O gemini: Mr. Drake's Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing! Mr. Finsbury, I protest——
Finsb.Why,ma'm, I knew a lady of your taste couldn't but approve of it. My own invention entirely, ma'm. But it's nothing to the captain's cap, ma'm. Indeed, ma'm, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress. To be sure, his sandals were my suggestion; but the mantle he has the entire credit of, to do him justice; and when you see it, ma'm, you will be really surprised; for (for contrast and elegance, and richness, and lightness, and propriety, and effect, and costume) you've never yet seen anything at all to be compared to Captain Wheeler's mantle, ma'm.
Farmer(to the Landlady). Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men's clothes?
Landlady(aside to Farmer). Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush! This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man-milliner.
Farm.The great man-milliner! This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England.
Finsb.(packing up bandboxes). Well, ma'm, I'm glad I have your approbation. It has ever been my study to please the ladies.
Farm.(throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat). And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays?
Finsb.(taking off the mantle). Sir, with your leave—I ask pardon—but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands——
Farm.'Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man.
Finsb.Man!
Farm.I ask pardon—man-milliner, I mean.
EnterLandlord.
Landlord.Why, wife!
Landlady.Wife!
Landlord.I ask pardon—Mrs. Newington I mean. Do you know who them ladies are that you have been and turned out of the Dolphin?
Landlady(alarmed). Not I, indeed. Who are they, pray? Why, if they are quality it's no fault of mine. It is their own fault for coming, like scrubs, without four horses. Why, ifquality will travel the road this way, incognito, how can they expect to be known and treated as quality? 'Tis no fault of mine. Why didn't you find out sooner who they were, Mr. Newington? What else in the 'versal world have you to do, but to go basking about in the yards and places with your tankard in your hand, from morning till night? What have you else to ruminate, all day long, but to find out who's who, I say?
Farm.Clapper! clapper! clapper! like my mill in a high wind, landlord. Clapper! clapper! clapper!—enough to stun a body.
Landlord.That is not used to it; but use is all, they say.
Landlady.Will you answer me, Mr. Newington? Who are the grandees that were in the Dolphin?—and what's becomeonthem?
Landlord.Grandees was your own word, wife. They be not to call grandees; but I reckon you'd be sorry not to treat 'em civil, when I tell you their name is Talbot, mother and sister to our young Talbot of Eton; he that paid me so handsome for the hunter this very morning.
Landlady.Mercy! is that all? What a combustion for nothing in life!
Finsb.For nothing in life, as you say, ma'm; that is, nothing in high life, I'm sure, ma'm; nay, I dare a'most venture to swear. Would you believe it, Mr. Talbot is one of the few young gentlemen of Eton that has not bespoke from me a fancy-dress for this grand Montem?
Landlady.There, Mr. Newington; there's your Talbot for you! and there's your grandees! Oh, trust me, I know your scrubs at first sight.
Landlord.Scrubs, I don't, nor can't, nor won't call them that pay their debts honestly. Scrubs, I don't, nor won't, nor can't call them that behave as handsome as young Mr. Talbot did here to me this morning about the hunter. A scrub he is not, wife. Fancy-dress or no fancy-dress, Mr. Finsbury, this young gentleman is no scrub.
Finsb.Dear me! 'Twas not I saidscrub. Did I say scrub?
Farm.No matter if you did.
Finsb.No matter, certainly; and yet it is a matter; for I'm confident I wouldn't for the world leave it in any one's powerto say that I said—that I called—any young gentleman of Eton ascrub! Why, you know, sir, it might breed a riot!
Farm.And a pretty figure you'd make in a riot!
Landlady.Pray let me hear nothing about riots in my house.
Farm.Nor about scrubs.
Finsb.But I beg leave to explain, gentlemen. All I ventured to remark or suggest was, that as there was some talk of Mr. Talbot's being captain to-morrow, I didn't conceive how he could well appear without any dress. That was all, upon my word and honour. A good morning to you, gentlemen; it is time for me to be off. Mrs. Newington, you were so obliging as to promise to accommodate me with a return chaise as far as Eton.
(Finsbury bows and exit.)
Farm.A good day to you and your bandboxes. There's a fellow for you now! Ha! ha! ha!—A man-milliner, forsooth!
Landlord.Mrs. Talbot's coming—stand back.
Landlady.Lord! why does Bob show them through this way?
EnterMrs. Talbot,leaning onLouisa;Waiter showing the way.
Landlady.You are going on, I suppose, ma'am?
Waiter(aside to Landlord). Not if she could help it; but there's no beds, since Mr. Bursal and Miss Bursal's come.
Landlord.I say nothing, for it is vain to say more. But isn't it a pity she can't stay for the Montem, poor old lady! Her son—as good and fine a lad as ever you saw—they say, has a chance, too, of being captain. She may never live to see another such a sight.
(As Mrs. Talbot walks slowly on, the Farmer puts himself across her way, so as to stop her short.)
Farm.No offence, madam, I hope; but I have a good snug farmhouse, not far off hand; and if so be you'd be so good to take a night's lodging, you and the young lady with you, you'd have a hearty welcome. That's all I can say; and you'd make my wife very happy; for she's a good woman, to say nothing of myself.
Landlord.If I may be so bold to put in my word, madam, you'd have as good beds, and be as well lodged, with Farmer Hearty, as in e'er a house at Salt Hill.
Mrs. Talb.I am very much obliged——
Farm.Oh, say nothing o' that, madam. I am sure I shall be as much obliged if you do come. Do, miss, speak for me.
Louisa.Pray, dear mother——
Farm.She will. (Calls behind the scenes.) Here, waiter! hostler! driver! what's your name? drive the chaise up here to the door, smart, close. Lean on my arm, madam, and we'll have you in and home in a whiff.
(Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, Farmer, Landlord, and Waiter.)
Landlady(sola). What a noise and a rout this farmer man makes! and my husband, with his great broad face, bowing, as great a nincompoop as t'other. The folks are all bewitched with the old woman, I verily believe. (Aloud.) A good morning to you, ladies.
A field near Eton College;—several boys crossing backwards and forwards in the background. In front,Talbot, Wheeler, Lord JohnandBursal.
Talbot.Fair play, Wheeler! Have at 'em, my boy! There they stand, fair game! There's Bursal there, with hisdeadforty-five votes at command; and Lord John with his—how many live friends?
Lord John(coolly). Sir, I have fifty-six friends, I believe.
Talb.Fifty-six friends, his lordship believes—Wheeler inclusive no doubt.
Lord J.That's as hereafter may be.
Wheeler.Hereafter! Oh, fie, mylud! You know your own Wheeler has, from the first minute he ever saw you, been your fast friend.
Talb.Your fast friend from the first minute he ever saw you, my lord! That's well hit, Wheeler; stick to that; stick fast. Fifty-six friends, Wheelerinclusive, hey, my lord! hey, mylud!
Lord J.Talbotexclusive, I find, contrary to my expectations.
Talb.Ay, contrary to your expectations, you find that Talbot is not a dog that will lick the dust: but then there's enough of the true spaniel breed to be had for whistling for; hey, Wheeler?
Bursal(aside to Wheeler). A pretty electioneerer. So much the better for you, Wheeler. Why, unless he bought a vote, he'd never win one, if he talked from this to the day of judgment.
Wheeler(aside to Bursal). And as he has no money to buy votes—he! he! he!—we are safe enough.
Talb.That's well done, Wheeler; fight the by-battle there with Bursal, now you are sure of the main with Lord John.
Lord J.Sure! I never made Mr. Wheeler any promise yet.
Wheel.Oh, I ask no promise from his lordship; we are upon honour: I trust entirely to his lordship's good nature and generosity, and to his regard for his own family; I having the honour, though distantly, to be related.
Lord J.Related! How, Wheeler?
Wheel.Connected, I mean, which is next door, as I may say, to being related. Related slipped out by mistake; I beg pardon, my Lord John.
Lord J.Related!—a strange mistake, Wheeler.
Talb.Overshot yourself, Wheeler; overshot yourself, by all that's awkward. And yet, till now, I always took you for 'a dead-shot at a yellow-hammer.'9
Wheel.(taking Bursal by the arm). Bursal, a word with you. (Aside to Bursal.) What a lump of family pride that Lord John is.
Talb.Keep out of my hearing, Wheeler, lest I should spoil sport. But never fear: you'll please Bursal sooner than I shall. I can't, for the soul of me, bring myself to say that Bursal's not purse-proud, and you can. Give you joy.
Burs.A choice electioneerer!—ha! ha! ha!
Wheel.(faintly). He! he! he!—a choice electioneerer, as you say.
(Exeunt Wheeler and Bursal; manent Lord J. and Talbot.)
Lord J.There was a time, Talbot——
Talb.There was a time, my lord—to save trouble and a long explanation—there was a time when you liked Talbots better than spaniels; you understand me?
Lord J.I have found it very difficult to understand you of late, Mr. Talbot.
Talb.Yes, because you have used other people's understandings instead of your own. Be yourself, my lord. See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you'll find me still, what I've been these seven years; not your under-strapper, your hanger-on, your flatterer, but your friend! If you choose to have me for a friend, here's my hand. I am your friend, and you'll not find a better.
Lord J.(giving his hand). You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night.
Talb.What? for I don't keep a register of my sayings. Oh, it was something about gaming—Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a passion—I forget what I said. But, whatever it was, I'm sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said.
Lord J.But you laugh at me sometimes to my face.
Talb.Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back?
Lord J.But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at. Listen to me, and don't fumble in your pockets while I'm talking to you.
Talb.I'm fumbling for—oh, here it is. Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what's droll enough, it wasatyour back I laughed. Here's a caricature I drew of you—I really am sorry I did it; but 'tis best to show it to you myself.
Lord J.(aside). It is all I can do to forgive this. (After a pause, he tears the paper.) I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this. Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer.
Talb.Oh, hang it! I forgot my election, and your fifty-six friends.
EnterRory O'Ryan.
Rory(claps Talbot on the back). Fifty-six friends, have you, Talbot? Say seven—fifty-seven, I mean; for I'll lay you a wager, you've forgot me; and that's a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse-comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than poor little Rory O'Ryan. And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman. Now that same wild Irishman has as much gratitude in him as any tame Englishman of them all. But don't let's be talking sintimint; for, for my share I'd not give a bogberry a bushel for sintimint, when I could get anything better.
Lord J.And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?
Rory.Phoo! don't be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my lard) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (Turns to Talbot.) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoarse? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice—(sucks an orange). I am athoroughgoingfriend, at any rate.
Talb.Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and athoroughgoingfriend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violentthoroughgoingwork.
Rory.Never fear! never fear, man!—a warmfrindand a bitter enemy, that's my maxim.
Talb.Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.
Rory.Oh, never fear me! I'm as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst theytinkI'mtinkingof nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as—now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if youplase.
Talb.I do please.
Rory.I call it Rory's song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody—o' the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put 'em in orlave'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts,wise-a-weeto you, my littlefrind. So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations.
Talbot and Lord John.Let's have it; let's have it without further preface.
Rory sings.