Works

AKTHril MEETS WITH AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

— Pendentn*, I'o/ /

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE

THACKERAY

Pendennis

Part I

FIFTY-SIX PHOTOGRAVURES AND

ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL

DRAWINGS BY THACKERAY,

FREDERICK WALKER, R.A.,

GEORGE DU MAURIER,

FRANK DICKSEE, R.A.,

RICHARD DOYLE,

ETC.

P. F. COLLIER & SON
Publishers New York

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PACK

I. Shows how First Love may interrupt Breakfast, . 1
II. A Pedigree and other Family Matters, ... 8

III. In which Pendennis appears as a very Young Man

indeed, 28

IV. Mrs. Haller, 44

V. Mrs. Haller at Home, 55

VI. Contains both Love and "War, . . . .72

VII. In which the Major makes his Appearance, . . 86
VIII. In which Pen is kept waiting at the Door, while

the Reader is informed who little Laura was, . 96
IX. In which the Major opens the Campaign, . . Ill

X. Facing the Enemy, 120

XI. Negotiation, 128

XII. In which a Shooting-match is proposed, . . 139

XIII. A Crisis, . .150

XIV. In which Miss Fotheringay makes a new Engage-

ment, 161

XV. The Happy Village, .170

XVI. Which Concludes the First Part of this History, . 183

XVII. Alma Mater, 204

XVIII. Pendennis of Boniface, 216

XIX. Rake'sJProgress, 233

XX. Flight after Defeat, 243

XXI. Prodigal's Return, 253

XXII. New Faces, 265

XXIII. A Little Innocent, 286

XXIV. Contains both Love and Jealousy, .... 298
XXV. A House full of Visitors, 310

XXVI. Contains some Ball-practising, . . . .328
XXVII. Which is both Quarrelsome and Sentimental, . . 339

XXVIII. Babylon, 857

XXIX. The Knights of the Temple, 873

i— Thackeray, Vol.3

iv CONTENTS.

CHXPTKB PAG*

XXX. Old and New Acquaintances 384

XXXI. In which the Printer's Devil comes to the Door, . 400
XXXII. Which is Passed in the Neighbourhood of Ludgate

Hill 416

XXXIII. In which the History still hovers about Fleet Street, 429

XXXIV. A Dinner in the Row, 487

XXXV. The Pall Mall Gazette, 451

XXXVI. Where Pen appears in Town and Country, . . 459

XXXVII. In which the Sylph reappears 478

XXXVIII. In which Colonel Altamont appears and disappears, 489

PKEFACE.

IP this kind of composition, of which the two years'
product is now laid before the public, fail in art, as it con-
stantly does and must, it at least has the advantage of a
certain truth and honesty, which a work more elaborate
might lose. In his constant communication with the
reader, the writer is forced into frankness of expression,
and to speak out his own mind and feelings as they urge
him. Many a slip of the pen and the printer, many a word
spoken in haste, he sees and would recall as he looks over
his volume. It is a sort of confidential talk between
writer and reader, which must often be dull, must often
flag. In the course of his volubility, the perpetual speaker
must of necessity lay bare his own weaknesses, vanities,
peculiarities. And as we judge of a man's character, after
long frequenting his society, not by one speech, or by one
mood or opinion, or by one day's talk, but by the tenor of
his general bearing and conversation ; so of a writer, who
delivers himself up to you perforce unreservedly, you say,
Is he honest? Does he tell the truth in the main? Does
he seem actuated by a desire to find out and speak it? Is
he a quack, who shams sentiment, or mouths for effect?
Does he seek popularity by claptraps or other arts? I can
no more ignore good fortune than any other chance which
has befallen me. I have found many thousands more
readers than I ever looked for. I have no right to say to
these, You shall not find fault with my art, or fall asleep
over my pages ; but I ask you to believe that this person
writing strives to tell the truth. If there is not that, there
is nothing.

Perhaps the lovers of " excitement " may care to know,
that this book began with a very precise plan, which was

vi PREFACE.

entirely put aside. Ladies and gentlemen, you were to
have been treated, and the writer's and the publishers'
pocket benefited, by the recital of the most active horrors.
What more exciting than a ruffian (with many admirable
virtues) in St. Giles's visited constantly by a young lady
from Belgravia? What more stirring than the contrasts
of society? the mixture of slang and fashionable language?
the escapes, the battles, the murders? Nay, up to nine
o'clock this very morning, my poor friend, Colonel Alta-
mont, was doomed to execution, and the author only re-
lented when his victim was actually at the window.

The " exciting " plan was laid aside (with a very honour-
able forbearance on the part of the publishers) because, on
attempting it, I found that I failed from want of experi-
ence of my subject ; and never having been intimate with
any convict in my life, and the manners of ruffians and
gaol-birds being quite unfamiliar to me, the idea of enter-
ing into competition with M. Eugene Sue was abandoned.
To describe a real rascal, you must make him so horrible
that he would be too hideous to show; and unless the
painter paints him fairly, I hold he has no right to show
him at all.

Even the gentlemen of our age — this is an attempt to
describe one of them, no better nor worse than most edu-
cated men — even these we cannot show as they are, with
the notorious foibles and selfishness of their lives and their
education. Since the author of Tom Jones was buried, no
writer of fiction among us has been permitted to depict to
his utmost power a MAN. We must drape him, and give
him a certain conventional simper. Society will not toler-
ate the Natural in our Art. Many ladies have remon-
strated and subscribers left me, because in the course of
the story, I described a young man resisting and affected
by temptation. My object was to say, that he had the
passions to feel, and the manliness and generosity to over-
come them. You will not hear — it is best to know it —
what moves in the real world, what passes in society, in

PREFACE. vu

the clubs, colleges, mess-rooms, — what is the life and talk
of your sons. A little more frankness than is customary
has been attempted in this story ; with no bad desire on the
writer's part, it is hoped, and with no ill consequence to
any reader. If truth is not always pleasant ; at any rate
truth is best, from whatever chair — from those whence
graver writers or thinkers argue, as from that at which
the story-teller sits as he concludes his labour, and bids his
kind reader farewell.

KENSINGTON: Nov. 26, 1850.

PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER I.

SHOWS HOW FIRST LOVE MAY INTERRUPT BREAK-
PAST.

ONE fine morning in the full London season, Major
Arthur Pendennis came over from his lodgings, according
to his custom, to breakfast at a certain Club in Pall Mall,
of which he was a chief ornament. At a quarter past ten
the Major invariably made his appearance in the best
blacked boots in all London, with a checked morning cravat
that never was rumpled until dinner time, a buff waistcoat
which bore the crown of his sovereign on the buttons, and
linen so spotless that Mr. Brummel himself asked the
name of his laundress, and would probably have employed
her had not misfortunes compelled that great man to fly
the country. Pendennis's coat, his white gloves, his whis-
kers, his very cane, were perfect of their kind as specimens
of the costume of a military man en retraite. At a distance,
or seeing his back merely, you would have taken him to be
not more than thirty years old : it was only by a nearer
inspection that you saw the factitious nature of his rich
brown hair, and that there were a few crow's-feet round
about the somewhat faded eyes of his handsome mot-
tled face. His nose was of the Wellington pattern. His
hands and wristbands were beautifully long and white.
On the latter he wore handsome gold buttons given to
him by his Royal Highness the Duke of York, and on the
others more than one elegant ring, the chief and largest

2 PENDENNIS.

of them being emblazoned with the famous arms of Pen-
dennis.

He always took possession of the same table in the same
corner of the room, from which nobody ever now thought
of ousting him. One or two mad wags and wild fellows
had, in former days, endeavoured to deprive him of this
place; but there was a quiet dignity in the Major's man-
ner as he took his seat at the next table, and surveyed the
interlopers, which rendered it impossible for any man to
sit and breakfast tinder his eye; and that table — by the
fire, and yet near the window — became his own. His let-
ters were laid out there in expectation of his arrival, and
many was the young fellow about town who looked with
wonder at the number of those, notes, and at the seals and
franks which they bore. If there was any question about
etiquette, society, who was married to whom, of what age
such and such a duke was, Pendennis was the man to whom
every one appealed. Marchionesses used to drive up to
the Club, and leave notes for him, or fetch him out. He
was perfectly affable. The young men liked to walk with
him in the Park or down Pall Mall ; for he touched his
hat to everybody, and every other man he met was a
lord.

The Major sate down at his accustomed table then, and
while the waiters went to bring him his toast and his hot
newspaper, he surveyed his letters through his gold double
eye-glass, and examined one pretty note after another, and
laid them by in order. There were large solemn dinner
cards, suggestive of three courses and heavy conversation ;
there were neat little confidential notes, conveying female
entreaties ; there was a note on thick official paper from
the Marquis of Steyne, telling him to come to Richmond
to a little party at the Star and Garter; and another from
the Bishop of Baling and Mrs. Trail, requesting the honour
of Major Pendennis' s company at Ealing House, all of
which letters Pendennis read gracefully, and with the more
satisfaction, because Glowry, the Scotch surgeon, break-
fasting opposite to him, was looking on, and hating

PENDENNIS. 3

for having so many invitations, which nobody ever sent to
Glowry.

These perused, the Major took out his pocket-book to
see on what days he was disengaged, and which of these
many hospitable calls he could afford to accept or de-
cline.

He threw over Cutler, the East India Director, in Baker
Street, in order to dine with Lord Steyne and the little
French party at the Star and Garter — the Bishop he ac-
cepted, because, though the dinner was slow, he liked to
dine with bishops — and so went through his list and dis-
posed of them according to his fancy or interest. Then he
took his breakfast and looked over the paper, the gazette,
the births and deaths, and the fashionable intelligence, to
see that his name was down among the guests at my Lord
So-and-so's f§te, and in the intervals of these occupations
carried on cheerful conversation with his acquaintances
about the room.

Among the letters which formed Major Pendennis's
budget for that morning there was only one unread, and
which lay solitary and apart from all the fashionable Lon-
don letters, with a country post-mark and a homely seal.
The superscription was in a pretty delicate female hand,
marked " immediate " by the fair writer ; yet the Major
had, for reasons of his own, neglected up to the present
moment his humble rural petitioner, who to be sure could
hardly hope to get a hearing among so many grand folks
who attended his levee. The fact was, this was a letter
from a female relative of Pendennis, and while the grandees
of her brother's acquaintance were received and got their
interview, aand drove off, as it were, the patient country
letter remained for a long time waiting for an audience in
the antechamber, under the slop-basin.

At last it came to be this letter's turn, and the Major
broke a seal with " Fairoaks " engraved upon it, and " Clav-
ering St. Mary's " for a post-mark. It was a double letter,
and the Major commenced perusing the envelope before he
attacked the inner epistle.

4 PENDENNIB.

" Is it a letter from another Jook ? " growled Mr. Glowry,
inwardly. " Pendennis would not be leaving that to the
last, I'm thinking."

" My dear Major Pendennis," the letter ran, " I beg and
implore you to come to me immediately " — very likely,
thought Pendennis, and Steyne's dinner to-day — "I am in
the greatest grief and perplexity. My dearest boy, who
has been hitherto everything the fondest mother could
wish, is grieving me dreadfully. He has formed — I can.
hardly write it — a passion, an infatuation," — the Major
grinned — " for an actress who has been performing here.
She is at least twelve years older than Arthur — who will
not be eighteen till next February — and the wretched boy
insists upon marrying her."

"Hay! What's making Pendennis swear now? " — Mr.
Glowry asked of himself, for rage and wonder were con-
centrated in the Major's open mouth, as he read this as-
tounding announcement.

"Do, my dear friend," the grief -stricken lady went on,
"come to me instantly on the receipt of this; and, aa
Arthur's guardian, entreat, command, the wretched child
to give up this most deplorable resolution. " And, after
more entreaties to the above effect, the writer concluded
by signing herself the Major's " unhappy affectionate sister,
Helen Pendennis."

"Fairoaks, Tuesday " — the Major concluded, reading the
last words of the letter — " A d — d pretty business at Fair-
oaks, Tuesday ; now let us see what the boy has to say ; "
and he took the other letter, which was written in a great
floundering boy's hand, and sealed with the large signet of
the Pendennises, even larger than the Major's own, and
with supplementary wax sputtered all round the seal, in
token of the writer's tremulousness and agitation.

The epistle ran thus —

"Fairoaks, Monday, Midnight.
"My DEAR UNCLE,

" In informing you of my engagement with Miss Costi-

PENDENNIS. 5

gan, daughter of J. Chesterfield Costigan Esq., of Costi-
ganstown, but, perhaps, better known to you under her
professional name of Miss Fotheringay, of the Theatres
Royal Drury Lane and Crow Street, and of the Norwich
and Welsh Circuit, I ani aware that I make an announce-
ment which cannot, according to the present prejudices of
society at least, be welcome to my family. My dearest
mother, on whom, God knows, I would wish to inflict no
needless pain, is deeply moved and grieved, I am sorry to
say, by the intelligence which I have this night conveyed
to her. I beseech you, my dear Sir, to come down and
reason with her and console her. Although obliged by
poverty to earn an honourable maintenance by the exercise
of her splendid talents, Miss Costigan' s family is as ancient
and noble as our own. When our ancestor, Ralph Pen-
dennis, landed with Richard II. in Ireland, my Emily's
forefathers were kings of that country. I have the infor-
mation from Mr. Costigan, who, like yourself, is a military
man.

"It is in vain I have attempted to argue with my dear
mother, and prove to her that a young lady of irreproach-
able character and lineage, endowed with the most splen-
did gifts of beauty and genius, who devotes herself to the
exercise of one of the noblest professions, for the sacred
purpose of maintaining her family, is a being whom, we
should all love and reverence, rather than avoid; — my poor
mother has prejudices which it is impossible for my logic
to overcome, and refuses to welcome to her arms one who
is disposed to be her most affectionate daughter through
life.

" Although Miss Costigan is some years older than my-
self, that circumstance does not operate as a barrier to my
affection, and I am sure will not influence its duration.
A love like mine, Sir, I feel, is contracted once and for
ever. As I never had dreamed of love until I saw her —
I feel now that I shall die without ever knowing another
passion. It is the fate of my life ; and having loved once,
I should despise myself, and b« unworthy of my name as a

6 PENDENNI8.

gentleman, if I hesitated to abide by niy passion : if I did
not give all -where I felt all, and endow the woman who
loves me fondly with my whole heart and my whole for-
tune.

"I press for a speedy marriage with my Emily — for
why, in truth, should it be delayed? A delay implies a
doubt, which I east from me as unworthy. It is impossi-
ble that my sentiments can change towards Emily — that at
any age she can be anything but the sole object of my
love. Why, then, wait? I entreat you, my dear Uncle,
to come down and reconcile my dear mother to our union,
and I address you as a man of the world, qui mores homi-
num multorum vidit et urbes, who will not feel any of the
weak scruples and fears which agitate a lady who has
scarcely ever left her village.

" Pray, come down to us immediately. I am quite con-
fident that — apart from considerations of fortune — you will
admire and approve of my Emily.

"Your affectionate Nephew,

"ARTHUR PENDENNIS, JR."

When the Major had concluded the perusal of this let-
ter, his countenance assumed an expression of such rage
and horror that Glowry, the surgeon, felt in his pocket for
his lancet, which he always carried in his card-case, and
thought his respected friend was going into a fit. The
intelligence was indeed sufficient to agitate Pendennis.
The head of the Pendennises going to marry an actress
more than ten years his senior — the headstrong boy about
to plunge into matrimony. " The mother has spoiled the
young rascal," groaned the Major inwardly, "with her
cursed sentimentality and romantic rubbish. My nephew
marry a tragedy queen ! Gracious mercy, people will laugh
at me so that I shall not dare show my head ! " And he
thought with an inexpressible pang that he must give up
Lord Steyne's dinner at Richmond, and must lose his
rest and pass the night in an abominable tight mail-coach,
instead of taking pleasure, as he had promised himself*

PENDENNIS. 7

in some of the most agreeable and select society in Eng-
land.

He quitted his breakfast- table for the adjoining writing-
room, and there ruefully wrote off refusals to the Marquis,
the Earl, the Bishop, and all his entertainers; and he
ordered his servant to take places in the mail-coach for
that evening, of course charging the sum which he dis-
bursed for the seats to the account of the widow and the
young scapegrace of whom he was guardian.

8 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER II.

A PEDIGREE AND OTHER FAMILY MATTERS.

EARLY in the Regency of George the Magnificent, there
lived in a small town in the west of England, called Clav-
errng, a gentleman whose name was Pendennis. There
were those alive who remembered having seen his name
painted on a board, which was surmounted by a gilt pestle
and mortar over the door of a very humble little shop in
the city of Bath, where Mr. Pendennis exercised the pro-
fession of apothecary and surgeon ; and where he not only
attended gentlemen in their sick-rooms, and ladies at the
most interesting periods of their lives, but would conde-
scend to sell a brown-paper plaster to a farmer's wife
across the counter, — or to vend tooth-brushes, hair-powder,
and London perfumery.

And yet that little apothecary who sold a stray customer
a pennyworth of salts, or a more fragrant cake of Windsor
soap, was a gentleman of good education, and of as old a
family as any in the whole county of Somerset. He had a
Cornish pedigree which carried the Pendennises up to the
time of the Druids, — and who knows how much farther
back? They had intermarried with the Normans at a very
late period of their family existence, and they were related
to all the great families of Wales and Brittany. Penden-
nis had had a piece of University education, too, and
might have pursued that career with honour, but in his
second year at Oxbridge his father died insolvent, and poor
Pen was obliged to betake himself to the pestle and apron.
He always detested the trade, and it was only necessity,
and the offer of his mother's brother, a London apothecary
of low family, into which Pendennis' s father had demeaned
himself by marrying, that forced John Pendennis into so
odious a calling.

PENDENNIS. 9

He quickly after his apprenticeship parted from the
coarse-minded practitioner his relative, and set up for him-
self at Bath with his modest medical ensign. He had for
some time a hard struggle with poverty ; and it was all he
could do to keep the shop in decent repair, and his bed-
ridden mother in comfort : but Lady Bibstone happening
to be passing to the Kooms with an intoxicated Irish chair-
man who bumped her lady ship up against Pen's very door-
post, and drove his chair-pole through the handsomest
pink-bottle in the surgeon's window, alighted screaming
from her vehicle, and was accommodated with a chair in
Mr. Pendennis's shop, where she was brought round with
cinnamon and sal- volatile.

Mr. Pendennis's manners were so uncommonly gentle-
manlike and soothing that her ladyship, the wife of Sir
Pepin Ribstone, of Codlingbury, in the county of Somer-
set, Bart., appointed her preserver, as she called him,
apothecary to her person and family, which was very large.
Master Eibstone coming home for the Christmas holidays
from Eton, over-ate himself and had a fever, in which Mr.
Pendennis treated him with the greatest skill and tender-
ness. In a word, he got the good graces of the Codling-
bury family, and from that day began to prosper. The
good company of Bath patronised him, and amongst the
ladies especially he was beloved and admired. First his
humble little shop became a smart one : then he discarded
the selling of tooth-brushes and perfumery : then he shut
up the shop altogether, and only had a little surgery at-
tended by a genteel young man : then he had a gig with a
man to drive him ; and, before her exit from this world, his
poor old mother had the happiness of seeing from her bed-
room window, to which her chair was rolled, her beloved
John step into a close carriage of his own, a one-horse car-
riage it is true, but with the arms of the family of Penden-
nis handsomely emblazoned on the panels. " What would
Arthur say now? " she asked, speaking of a younger son of
hers — " who never so much as once came to see my dearest
Johnny through all the time of his poverty and struggles! "

10 PENDENNIS.

"Captain Pendennis is with his regiment in India,
mother," Mr. Pendennis remarked, " and, if you please, I
wish you would not call me Johnny before the young man
— before Mr. Parkins."

Presently the day came when she ceased to call her son
by any title of endearment or affection ; and his house was
very lonely without that kind though querulous voice. He
had his night-bell altered and placed in the room in which
the good old lady had grumbled for many a long year, and
he slept in the great large bed there. He was upwards of
f orty years old when these events befell : before the war
was over; before George the Magnificent came to the
throne ; before this history indeed : but what is a gentle-
man without his pedigree? Pendennis, by this time, had
his handsomely framed and glazed, and hanging up in his
drawing-room between the pictures of Codlingbury house
in Somersetshire, and St. Boniface's College, Oxbridge,
where he had passed the brief and happy days of his early
manhood. As for the pedigree, he had taken it out of a
trunk, as Sterne's officer called for his sword, now that he
was a gentleman and could show it.

About the time of Mrs. Pendennis's demise, another of
her son's patients likewise died at. Bath ; that virtuous old
woman, old Lady Pontypool, daughter of Reginald twelfth
Earl of Bareacres, and by consequence great-grand-aunt to
the present Earl, and widow of John second Lord Ponty-
pool, and likewise of the Reverend Jonas Wales, of the
Armageddon Chapel, Clifton. For the last five years of
her life her ladyship had been attended by Miss Helen
Thistlewood, a very distant relative of the noble house of
Bareacres, before mentioned, and daughter of Lieutenant
R. Thistlewood, R.N., killed at the battle of Copenhagen.
Under Lady Pontypool' s roof Miss Thistlewood found a
shelter : the Doctor, who paid his visits to my Lady Ponty-
pool at least twice a day, could not but remark the angelic
sweetness and kindness with which the young lady bore
her elderly relative's ill-temper; and it was as they were
going in the fourth mourning coach to attend her lady-

PENDENNIS. 11

ship's venerated remains to Bath Abbey, where they now
repose, that he looked at her sweet pale face and resolved
upon putting a certain question to her, the very nature of
which made his pulse beat ninety, at least.

He was older than she by more than twenty years, and
at no time the most ardent of men. Perhaps he had had
a love affair in early life which he had to strangle — per-
haps all early love affairs ought to be strangled or drowned,
like so many blind kittens : well, at three -an d-forty he was
a collected quiet little gentleman in black stockings with a
bald head, and a few days after the ceremony he called to
see her, and, as he felt her pulse, he kept hold of her hand
in his, and asked her where she was going to live now that
the Pontypool family had come down upon the property,
which was being nailed into boxes, and packed into ham-
pers, and swaddled up with haybands, and buried in straw,
and locked under three keys in green-baize plate-chests,
and carted away under the eyes of poor Miss Helen, — he
asked her where she was going to live finally.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she said she did not know.
She had a little money. The old lady had left her a thou-
sand pounds, indeed ; and she would go into a boarding-
hoiise or into a school : in fine, she did not know where.

Then Pendennis, looking into her pale face, and keeping
hold of her cold little hand, asked her if she would come
and live with him? He was old compared to — to so bloom-
ing a young lady as Miss Thistlewood (Pendennis was of
the grave old complimentary school of gentlemen and
apothecaries), but he was of good birth, and, he flattered
himself, of good principles and temper. His prospects
were good, and daily mending. He was alone in the
world, and had need of a kind and constant companion,
whom it would be the study of his life to make happy ; in
a word, he recited to her a little speech, which he had
composed that morning in bed, and rehearsed and per-
fected in his carriage, as he was coming to wait upon the
young lady.

Perhaps if he had had an early love-passage, she too

12 PENDENNIS.

had one day hoped for a different lot than to be wedded to
a little gentleman who rapped his teeth and smiled arti-
ficially, who was laboriously polite to the butler as he slid
upstairs into the drawing-room, and profusely civil to the
lady's-maid, who waited at the bed-room door; for whom
her old patroness used to ring as for a servant, and who
came with even more eagerness ; perhaps she would have
chosen a different man — but she knew, on the other hand,
how worthy Pendennis was, how prudent, how honourable ;
how good he had been to his mother, and constant in his
care of her; and the upshot of this interview was, that
she, blushing very much, made Pendennis an extremely
low curtsey, and asked leave to — to consider his very kind
proposal.

They were married in the dull Bath season, which was
the height of the season in London. And Pendennis hav-
ing previously, through a professional friend, M.R.C.S.,
secured lodgings in Holies Street, Cavendish Square, took
his wife thither in a chaise and pair ; conducted her to the
theatres, the Parks, and the Chapel Royal; showed her
the folks going to a Drawing-room, and, in a word, gave
her all the pleasures of the town. He likewise left cards
upon Lord Pontypool, upon the Eight Honourable the
Earl of Bareacres, and upon Sir Pepin and Lady Ribstone,
his earliest and kindest patrons. Bareacres took no notice
of the cards. Pontypool called, admired Mrs. Pendennis,
and said Lady Pontypool would come and see her, which
her ladyship did, per proxy of John her footman, who
brought her card, and an invitation to a concert five weeks
off. Pendennis was back in his little one-horse carriage,
dispensing draughts and pills at that time : but the Rib-
stones asked him and Mrs. Pendennis to an entertain-
ment, of which Mr. Pendennis talked to the last day of his
life.

The secret ambition of Mr. Pendennis had always been
to be a gentleman. It takes much time and careful saving
for a provincial doctor, whose gains are not very large, to
lay by enough money wherewith to purchase a house and

PENDENNIS. 13

land: but besides our friend's own frugality and prudence,
fortune aided him considerably in his endeavour, and
brought him to the point which he so panted to attain.
He laid out some money very advantageously in the pur-
chase of a house and small estate close upon the village of
Clavering before mentioned. A lucky purchase which he
had made of shares in a copper-mine added very consider-
ably to his wealth, and he realised with great prudence
while this mine was still at its full vogue. Finally, he
sold his business, at Bath, to Mr. Parkins, for a hand-
some sum of ready money, and for an annuity to be
paid to him during a certain number of years after he
had for ever retired from the handling of the mortar and
pestle.

Arthur Pendennis, his son, was eight years old at the
time of this event, so that it is no wonder that the lad,
who left Bath and the surgery so young, should forget the
existence of such a place almost entirely, and that his
father's hands had ever been dirtied by the compounding
of odious pills, or the preparation of filthy plasters. The
old man never spoke about the shop himself, never alluded
to it ; called in the medical practitioner of Clavering to
attend his family ; sunk the black breeches and stockings
altogether ; attended market and sessions, and wore a bot-
tle-green coat and brass buttons with drab gaiters, just as
if he had been an English gentleman all his life. He used to
stand at his lodge-gate, and see the coaches come in, and
bow gravely to the guards and coachmen as they touched
their hats and drove by. It was he who founded the Clav-
ering Book Club: and set up the Samaritan Soup and
Blanket Society. It was he who brought the mail, which
used to run through Cacklefield before, away from that
village and through Clavering. At church he was equally
active as a vestryman and a worshipper. At market every
Thursday, he went from pen to stall ; looked at samples of
oats, and munched corn ; felt beasts, punched geese in the
breast, and weighed them with a knowing air; and did
business with the farmers at the Clavering Arms, as well

14 PENDENNIS.

as the oldest frequenter of that house of call. It was now
his shame, as it formerly was his pride, to be called doctor,
and those who wished to please him always gave him the
title of Squire.

Heaven knows where they came from, but a whole
range of Pendennis portraits presently hung round the
Doctor's oak dining-room; Lelys and Vandykes he vowed
all the portraits to be, and when questioned as to the his-
tory of the originals, would vaguely say they were " ances-
tors of his. " His little boy believed in them to their full-
est extent, and Koger Pendennis of Agincourt, Arthur
Pendennis of Crecy, General Pendennis of Blenheim and
Oudenarde, were as real and actual beings for this young
gentleman as — whom shall we say? — as Robinson Crusoe,
or Peter Wilkins, or the Seven Champions of Christendom,
whose histories were in his library.

Pendennis' s fortune, which was not above eight hundred
pounds a year, did not, with the best economy and man-
agement, permit of his living with the great folks of the
county ; but he had a decent comfortable society of the
second sort. If they were not the roses, they lived near
the roses, as it were, and had a good deal of the odour of
genteel life. They had out their plate, and dined each
other round in the moonlight nights twice a year, coming
a dozen miles to these festivals ; and besides the county,
the Pendennises had the society of the town of Clavering,
as much as, nay, more than they liked : for Mrs. Pybus
was always poking about Helen's conservatories, and in-
tercepting the operation of her soup-tickets and coal-clubs :
Captain Glanders (H. P., 60th Dragoon Guards), was for
ever swaggering about the Squire's stables and gardens,
and endeavouring to enlist him in his quarrels with the
Vicar, with the Postmaster, with the Reverend F. Wapshot
of Clavering Grammar School, for overflogging his son,
Anglesea Glanders, — with all the village in fine. And
Pendennis and his wife often blessed themselves, that their
house of Fairoaks was nearly a mile out of Clavering, or
their premises would never have been free from the prying

PENDENNIS. 15

eyes and prattle of one or other of the male and female
inhabitants there.

Fairoaks lawn comes down to the little river Brawl, and
on the other side were the plantations and woods (as much
as were left to them) of Clavering Park, Sir Francis Clav-
ering, Bart. The park was let out in pasture and fed
down by sheep and cattle when the Pendennises came first
to live at Fairoaks. Shutters were up in the house; a
splendid freestone palace, with great stairs, statues, and
porticos, whereof you may see a picture in the " Beauties
of England and Wales. " Sir Richard Clavering, Sir Fran-
cis's grandfather, had commenced the ruin of the family
by the building of this palace : his successor had achieved
the ruin by living in it. The present Sir Francis was
abroad somewhere; nor could anybody be found rich
enough to rent that enormous mansion, through the de-
serted rooms, mouldy clanking halls, and dismal galleries
of which, Arthur Pendennis many a time walked trembling
when he was a boy. At sunset, from the lawn of Fair-
oaks, there was a pretty sight ; it and the opposite park of
Clavering were in the habit of putting on a rich golden
tinge, which became them both wonderfully. The upper
windows of the great house flamed so as to make your eyes
wink ; the little river ran off noisily westward, and was
lost in a sombre wood, behind which the towers of the old
abbey church of Clavering (whereby that town is called
Clavering St. Mary's to the present day) rose up in purple
splendour. Little Arthur's figure and his mother's cast
long blue shadows over the grass : and he would repeat in
a low voice (for a scene of great natural beauty always
moved the boy, who inherited this sensibility from his
mother) certain lines beginning, " These are thy glorious
works, Parent of Good; Almighty! thine this universal
frame," greatly to Mrs. Pendennis' s delight. Such walks
and conversation generally ended in a profusion of filial
and maternal embraces : for to love and to pray were the
main occupations of this dear woman's life; and I have
often heard Pendennis say in ^his wild way, that he felt

16 PENDENNIS.

that he was sure of going to heaven, for his mother never
could be happy there without him.

As for John Pendennis, as the father of the family, and
that sort of thing, everybody had the greatest respect for
him : and his orders were obeyed like those of the Medes
and Persians. His hat was as well brushed, perhaps, as
that of any man in this empire. His meals were served at
the same minute every day, and woe to those who came
late, as little Pen, a disorderly little rascal, sometimes did.
Prayers were recited, his letters were read, his business
dispatched, his stables and garden inspected, his hen-
houses and kennel, his barn and pigstye visited, always
at regular hours. After dinner he always had a nap with
the Globe newspaper on his knee, and his yellow bandanna
handkerchief on his face (Major Pendennis sent the yellow
handkerchiefs from India, and his brother had helped in
the purchase of his majority, so that they were good friends
now). And so, as his dinner took place at six o'clock to a
minute, and the sunset business alluded to may be sup-
posed to have occurred at about half -past seven, it is prob-
able that he did not much care for the view in front of his
lawn windows, or take any share in the poetry and caresses
which were taking place there.

They seldom occurred in his presence. However frisky
they were before, mother and child were hushed and quiet
when Mr. Pendennis walked into the drawing-room, his
newspaper under his arm. . . . And here, while little Pen,
buried in a great chair, read all the books of which he
could lay hold, the Squire perused his own articles in the
"Gardener's Gazette," or took a solemn hand at picquet
with Mrs. Pendennis, or an occasional friend from the
village.

Pendennis usually took care that at least one of his
grand dinners should take place when his brother, the
Major, who, on the return of his regiment from India and
New South Wales, had sold out and gone upon half -pay,
came to pay his biennial visit to Fairoaks. " My brother,

PENDENNIS. 17

Major Pendennis," was a constant theme of the retired
Doctor's conversation. All the family delighted in my
brother the Major. He was the link which bound them to
the great world of London, and the fashion. He always
brought down the last news of the nobility, and spoke of
such with soldier-like respect and decorum. He would
say, " My Lord Bareacres . has been good enough to invite
me to Bareacres for the pheasant shooting," or, "My Lord
Steyne is so kind as to wish for my presence at Stillbrook
for the Easter holidays ; " and you may be sure the where-
abouts of my brother the Major was carefully made known
by worthy Mr. Pendennis to his friends at the Clavering
Reading-room, at Justice-meetings, or at the County-town.
Their carriages would come from ten miles round to call
upon Major Pendennis in his visits to Fairoaks ; the fame
of his fashion as a man about town was established
throughout the county. There was a talk of his marrying
Miss Hunkle, of Lilybank, old Hunkle the Attorney's
daughter, with at least fifteen hundred a year to her for-
tune ; but my brother the Major declined. " As a bachelor,"
he said, "nobody cares how poor I am. I have the hap-
piness to live with people who are so highly placed in the
world, that a few hundreds of thousands a year more or
less can make no difference in the estimation in which
they are pleased to hold me. Miss Hunkle, though a most
respectable lady, is not in possession of either the birth or
the manners which would entitle her to be received into
the spheres in which I have the honour to move. I shall
live and die an old bachelor, John : and your worthy friend,
Miss Hunkle, I have no doubt, will find some more worthy
object of her affection, than a worn-out old soldier on half-
pay." Time showed the correctness of the surmise ; Miss
Huukle married a young French nobleman, and is now at
this moment living at Lilybank, under the title of Baroness
de Carambole, having been separated from her wild young
scapegrace of a Baron very shortly after their union.

The Major had a sincere liking and regard for his sister-
in-law, whom, he pronounced, and with perfect truth, to

18 PENDENNIS.

be as fine a lady as any in England. Indeed, Mrs. Pen-
dennis's tranqnil beauty, her natural sweetness and kind-
ness, and that simplicity and dignity which a perfect pur-
ity and innocence are sure to bestow upon a handsome
woman, rendered her quite worthy of her brother's praises.
I think it is not national prejudice which makes me believe
that a high-bred English lady is the most complete of all
Heaven's subjects in this world. In whom else do you see
so much grace, and so much virtue ; so much faith, and so
much tenderness ; with such a perfect refinement and chas-
tity? And by high-bred ladies I don't mean duchesses and
countesses. Be they ever so high in station, they can be
but ladies, and no more. But almost every man who lives
in the world has the happiness, let us hope, of counting a
few such persons amongst his circle of acquaintance —
women in whose angelical natures there is something awful,
as well as beautiful, to contemplate; at whose feet the
wildest and fiercest of us must fall down and humble our-
selves, in admiration of that adorable purity which never
seems to do or to think wrong.

Arthur Pendennis had the good fortune to have such a
mother. During his childhood and youth, the boy thought
of her as little less than an angel — a supernatural being,
all wisdom, love, and beauty. When her husband drove
her into the county-town, to the assize balls or concerts, he
would step into the assembly with his wife on his arm,
and look the great folks in the face, as much as to say,
"Look at that, my Lord; can any of you show me a
woman like that ? " She enraged some country ladies with
three times her money, by a sort of desperate perfection
which they found in her. Miss Pybus said she was cold
and haughty ; Miss Pierce, that she was too proud for her
station; Mrs. Wapshot, as a doctor of divinity's lady,
would have the pas of her, who was only the wife of a
medical practitioner. In the meanwhile, this lady moved
through the world quite regardless of all the comments that
were made in her praise or disfavour. She did not seem
to know that she was admired or hated for being so perfect;

PENDENNIS. 19

but carried on calmly through life, saying her prayers,
loving her family, helping her neighbours, and doing her
duty.

That even a woman should be faultless, however, is an
arrangement not permitted by nature, which . assigns to us
mental defects, as it awards to us headaches, illnesses, or
death : without which the scheme of the world could not
be carried on, — nay, some of the best qualities of mankind
could not be brought into exercise. As pain produces or
elicits fortitude and endurance: difficulty, perseverance;
poverty, industry and ingenuity ; danger, courage and what
not ; so the very virtues, on the other hand, will generate
some vices: and, in fine, Mrs. Pendennis had that vice
which Miss Pybus and Miss Pierce discovered in her,
namely, that of pride ; which did not vest itself so much
in her own person, as in that of her family. She spoke
about Mr. Pendennis (a worthy little gentleman enough,
but there are others as good as he) with an awful reverence,
as if he had been the Pope of Eome on his throne, and she
a cardinal kneeling at his feet, and giving him incense.
The Major she held to be a sort of Bayard among Majors:
and as for her son Arthur she worshipped that youth with
an ardour which the young scapegrace accepted almost as
coolly as the statue of the Saint in St. Peter's receives
the rapturous osculations which the faithful deliver on his
toe.

This unfortunate superstition and idol-worship of this
good woman was the cause of a great deal of the misfor-
tune which befel the young gentleman who is the hero of
this history, and deserves therefore to be mentioned at the
outset of his story.

Arthur Pendennis' s schoolfellows at the Grey Friars
School state that, as a boy, he was in no ways remarkable
either as a fluuce or as a scholar. He never read to im-
prove himself out of school-hours, but, on the contrary,
devoured all the novels, plays, and poetry, on which he
could lay his hands. He never was flogged, but it was a
wonder how he escaped the whipping-post. When he had

2 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

20 PENDENNIS.

money he spent it royally in tarts for himself and his
friends ; he has been known to disburse nine and sixpence
out of ten shillings awarded to him in a single day. When
he had no funds he went on tick. When he could get no
credit he went without, and was almost as happy. He
has been known to take a thrashing for a crony without
saying a word ; but a blow, ever so slight, from a friend,
would make him roar. To fighting he was averse from his
earliest youth, as indeed to physic, the Greek Grammar, or
any other exertion, and would engage in none of them, ex-
cept at the last extremity. He seldom if ever told lies,
and never bullied little boys. Those masters or seniors
•who were kind to him, he loved with boyish ardour. And
though the Doctor, when he did not know his Horace, or
could not construe his Greek play, said that that boy Pen-
dennis was a disgrace to the school, a candidate for ruin in
this world, and perdition in the next; a profligate who
would most likely bring his venerable father to ruin and
his mother to a dishonoured grave, and the like — yet as the
Doctor made use of these compliments to most of the boys
in the place (which has not turned out an unusual number
of felons and pickpockets), little Pen, at first uneasy and
terrified by these charges, became gradually accustomed to
hear them; and he has not, in fact, either murdered his
parents, or committed any act worthy of transportation or
hanging up to the present day.

There were many of the upper boys, among the Cister-
cians with whom Pendennis was educated, who assumed all
the privileges of men long before they quitted that semi-
nary. Many of them, for example, smoked cigars — and
some had already begun the practice of inebriation. One
had fought a duel with an Ensign in a marching regiment
in consequence of a row at the theatre — another actually
kept a buggy and horse at a livery stable in CoVent Garden,
and might be seen driving any Sunday in Hyde Park with
a groom with squared arms and armorial buttons by his
side. Many of the seniors were in love, and showed each
other in confidence poems addressed to, or letters and locks

PENDENNIS. 21

of hair received from, young ladies — but Pen, a modest
and timid youth, rather envied these than imitated them as
yet. He had not got beyond the theory as yet — the prac-
tice of life was all to come. And by the way, ye tender
mothers and sober fathers of Christian families, a prodig-
ious thing that theory of life is as orally learned at a great
public school. Why, if you could hear those boys of four-
teen who blush before mothers and sneak off in silence in
the presence of their daughters, talking among each other
— it would be the woman's turn to blush then. Before he
was twelve years old little Pen had heard talk enough to
make him quite awfully wise upon certain points — and so,
Madam, has your pretty little rosy-cheeked son, who is
coming home from school for the ensuing holidays. I don't
say that the boy is lost, or that the innocence has left him
which he had from "Heaven, which is our home," but that
the shades of the prison-house are closing very fast over
him, and that we are helping as much as possible to cor-
rupt him.

Well — Pen had just made his public appearance in a
coat with a tail, or cauda-virilis, and was looking most
anxiously in his little study -glass to see if his whiskers
were growing, like those of more fortunate youths, his com-
panions ; and, instead of the treble voice with which he
used to speak and sing (for his singing voice was a very
sweet one, and he used when little to be made to perform
"Home, sweet Home," "My pretty Page," and a French
song or two which his mother had taught him, and other
ballads for the delectation of the senior boys), had sud-
denly plunged into a deep bass diversified by a squeak,
which set master and scholars laughing — he was about six-
teen years old in a word, when he was suddenly called
away from his academic studies.

It was at the close of the forenoon school, and Pen had
been unnoticed all the previous part of the morning till
now, when the Doctor put him on to construe in a Greek
play. He did not know a word of it, though little Timmins,
his form-fellow, was prompting him with all his might.

22 PENDENNIS.

Pen had made a sad blunder or two — when the awful chief
broke out upon him.

"Pendennis, sir," he said, "your idleness is incorrigible
and your stupidity .beyond example. You are a disgrace
to your school, and to your family, and I have no doubt
will prove so in after-life to your country. If that vice,
sir, which is described to us as the root of all evil, be really
what moralists have represented (and I have no doubt of
the correctness of their opinion), for what a prodigious
quantity of future crime and wickedness are you, unhappy
boy, laying the seed ! Miserable trifler ! A boy who con-
strues d £ and, instead of 3 e but, at sixteen years of age, is
guilty not merely of folly, and ignorance, and dulness in-
conceivable, but of crime, of deadly crime, of filial ingrat-
itude, which I tremble to contemplate. A boy, sir, who
does not learn his Greek play cheats the parent who spends
money for his education. A boy who cheats his parent is
not very far from robbing or forging upon his neighbour.
A man who forges on his neighbour pays the penalty of
his crime at the gallows. And it is not such a one that I
pity (for he will be deservedly cut off) ; but his maddened
and heart-broken parents, who are driven to a premature
grave by his crimes, or, if they live, drag on a wretched
and dishonoured old age. Go on, sir, and I warn you that
the very next mistake that you make shall subject you to
the punishment of the rod. Who's that laughing? What
ill-conditioned boy is there that dares to laugh? " shouted
the Doctor.

Indeed, while the master was making this oration, there
was a general titter behind him in the school-room. The
orator had his back to the door of this ancient apartment,
which was open, and a gentleman who was quite familiar
with the place, for both Major Arthur and Mr. John Pen-
dennis had been at the school, was asking the fifth -form
boy who sat by the door for Pendennis. The lad grinning
pointed to the culprit against whom the Doctor was pour-
ing out the thunders of his just wrath — Major Pendennis
could not help laughing. He remembered having stood

PENDENNIB. 23

under that very pillar where Pen the younger now stood,
and having been assaulted by the Doctor's predecessor years
and years ago. The intelligence was " passed round " that
it was Pendennis's uncle in an instant, and a hundred
young faces wondering and giggling, between terror and
laughter, turned now to the new comer and then to the
awful Doctor.

The Major asked the fifth-form boy to carry his card up
to the Doctor, which the lad did with an arch look. Major
Pendennis had written on the card, " I must take A. P.
home; his father is very ill."

As the Doctor received the card, and stopped his harangue
with rather a scared look, the laughter of the boys, half
constrained until then, burst out in a general shout.
" Silence ! " roared out the Doctor stamping with his foot.
Pen looked up and saw who was his deliverer ; the Major
beckoned to him gravely, and tumbling down his books,
Pen went across.

The Doctor took out his watch. It was two minutes to
one. " We will take the Juvenal at afternoon school," he
said, nodding to the Captain, and all the boys understand-
ing the signal gathered up their books and poured out of
the hall.

Young Pen saw by his uncle's face that something
had happened at home. " Is there anything the matter
with — my mother?" he said. He could hardly speak,
though, for emotion, and the tears which were ready to
start.

"No," said the Major, "but your father's very ill. Go
and pack your trunk directly ; I have got a post-chaise at
the gate."

Pen went off quickly to his boarding-house to do as his
uncle bade him; and the Doctor, now left alone in the
school-room, came out to shake hands with his old school-
fellow. You would not have thought it was the same man.
As Cinderella at a particular hour became, from a blazing
and magnificent princess, quite an ordinary little maid, in
a grey petticoat, so, as the clock struck one, all the thun-

24 PENDENNIS.

dering majesty and awful wrath of the schoolmaster disap-
peared.

"There is nothing serious, I hope," said the Doctor.
" It is a pity to take the boy otherwise. He is a good boy,
rather idle and unenergetic, but an honest gentlemanlike
little fellow, though I can't get him to construe as I wish.
Won't you come in and have some luncheon? My wife
will be very happy to see you."

But Major Pendennis declined the luncheon. He said
his brother was very ill, had had a fit the day before, and
it was a great question if they should see him alive.

" There's no other son, is there? " said the Doctor. The
Major answered "No."

" And there's a good eh — a good eh — property I believe? "
asked the other in an off-hand way.

" H'm — so so," said the Major. Whereupon this colloquy
came to an end. And Arthur Pendennis got into a post-
chaise with his uncle, never to come back to school any more.

As the chaise drove through Clavering, the ostler stand-
ing whistling under the archway of the Clavering Arms,
winked to the postilion ominously, as much as to say all
was over. The gardener's wife came and opened the lodge-
gates, and let the travellers through with a silent shake of
the head. All the blinds were down at Fairoaks — the face
of the old footman was as blank when he let them in.
Arthur's face was white, too, with terror more than with
grief. Whatever of warmth and love the deceased man
might have had, and he adored his wife and loved and ad-
mired his son ,vith all his heart, he had shut them up
within himself ; nor had the boy been ever able to penetrate
that frigid outward barrier. But Arthur had been his
father's pride and glory through life, and his name the
last which John Pendennis had tried to articulate whilst
he lay with hi.: wife's hand clasping his own cold and
clammy palm, as the flickering spirit went out into the
darkness of death, and life and the world passed away
from him.

The little girl, whose face had peered for a moment

PENDENNIS. 25

under the blinds as the chaise came up, opened the door
from the stairs into the hall, and taking Arthur's hand
silently as he stooped down to kiss her, led him upstairs to
his mother. Old John opened the dining-room for the
Major. The room was darkened with the blinds down,
and surrounded by all the gloomy pictures of the Penden-
nises. He drank a glass of wine. The bottle had been
opened for the Squire four days before. His hat was
brushed, and laid on the hall table : his newspapers, and
his letter bag, with John Pendennis, Esquire, Fairoaks,
engraved upon the brass plate, were there in waiting. The
doctor and the lawyer from Clavering, who had seen the
chaise pass through, came up in a gig half an hour after
the Major's arrival, and entered by the back door. The
former gave a detailed account of the seizure and demise
of Mr. Pendenuis, enlarged on his virtues and the estima-
tion in which the neighbourhood held him ; on what a loss
he would be to the magistrates' bench, the County Hospi-
tal, &c. Mrs. Pendennis bore up wonderfully, he said, es-
pecially since Master Arthur's arrival. The lawyer stayed
and dined with Major Pendennis, and they talked business
all the evening. The Major was his brother's executor,
and joint guardian to the boy with Mrs. Pendennis. Every-
thing was left unreservedly to her, except in case of a sec-
ond marriage, — an occasion which might offer itself in the
case of so young and handsome a woman, Mr. Tatharn gal-
lantly said, when different provisions were enacted by the
deceased. The Major would of course take entire super-
intendence of everything upon this most impressive and
melancholy occasion. Aware of this authority, old John
the footman, when he brought Major Pendennis the candle
to go to bed, followed afterwards with the plate-basket;
and the next morning brought him the key of the hall
clock — the Squire always used to wind it up of a Thurs-
day, John said. Mrs. Pendennis' s maid brought him mes-
sages from her mistress. She confirmed the doctor's re-
port, of the comfort which Master Arthur's arrival had
caused to his mother.

26 PENDENNIS.

What passed between that lady and the boy is not of im-
port. A veil should be thrown over those sacred emotions
of love and grief. The maternal passion is a sacred mys-
tery to me. What one sees symbolized in the Roman
churches in the image of the Virgin Mother with a bosom
bleeding with love, I think one may witness (and admire
the Almighty bounty for) every day. I saw a Jewish
lady, only yesterday, with a child at her knee, and from
whose face towards the child there shone a sweetness so
angelical, that it seemed to form a sort of glory round
both. I protest I could have knelt before her, too, and
adored in her the Divine beneficence in endowing us with
the maternal storge, which began with our race and sancti-
fies the history of mankind.

As for Arthur Pendennis, after that awful shock which
the sight of his dead father must have produced on him,
and the pity and feeling which such an event no doubt oc-
casioned, I am not sure that in the very moment of the
grief, as he embraced his- mother, and tenderly consoled
her, and promised to love her for ever, there was not
springing up hi his breast a sort of secret triumph and ex-
ultation. He was the chief now and lord. He was Pen-
dennis; and all round about him were his servants and
handmaids. "You'll never send me away," little Laura
said, tripping by him, and holding his hand. " You won't
send me to school, will you, Arthur? "

Arthur kissed her and patted her head. No, she
shouldn't go to school. As for going himself, that was
quite out of the question. He had determined that that
part of his life should not be renewed. In the midst of
the general grief, and the corpse still lying above, he had
leisure to conclude that he would have it all holidays for
the future, that he wouldn't get up till he liked, or stand
the bullying of the Doctor any more, and had made a hun-
dred of such day dreams and resolves for the future. How
one's thoughts will travel! and how quickly our wishes
beget them ! When he with Laura in his hand went into
the kitchen on his way to the dog-kennel, the fowl-houses,

PENDENNIS. 27

and other his favourite haunts, all the servants there as-
sembled in great silence with their friends, and the labour-
ing men and their wives, and Sally Potter who went with
the post-bag to Clavering, and the baker's man from Clav-
ering — all there assembled and drinking beer on the melan-
choly occasion — rose up on his entrance and bowed or curt-
seyed to him. They never used to do so last holidays, he
felt at once and with indescribable pleasure. The cook
cried out, " 0 Lord," and whispered, " How Master Arthur
do grow ! " Thomas, the groom, in the act of drinking,
put down the jug alarmed before his master. Thomas's
master felt the honour keenly. He went through and
looked at the pointers. As Flora put her nose up to his
waistcoat, and Ponto, yelling with pleasure, hurtled at his
chain, Pen patronised the dogs, and said, " Poo Ponto, poo
Flora," in his most condescending manner. And then he
went and looked at Laura's hens, and at the pigs, and at
the orchard, and at the dairy; perhaps he blushed to think
that it was only last holidays he had in a manner robbed
the great apple-tree, and been scolded by the dairymaid
for taking cream.

They buried John Pendennis, Esquire, "formerly an
eminent medical practitioner at Bath, and subsequently an
able magistrate, a benevolent landlord, and a benefactor to
many charities and public institutions in this neighbour-
hood and country," with one of the most handsome funerals
that had been seen since Sir Roger Clavering was buried
here, the clerk said, in the abbey church of Clavering St.
Mary's. A fair marble slab, from which the above in-
scription is copied, was erected over the Fairoaks' pew in
the church. On it you may see the Pendennis coat of arms
and crest, an eagle looking towards the sun, with the motto
"nee tenui pennd," to the present day. Doctor Portman
alluded to the deceased most handsomely and affectingly,
as "our dear departed friend," in his sermon next Sunday;
and Arthur Pendennis reigned in his stead.

28 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH PENDENNIS APPEARS AS A VERY YOUNG
MAN INDEED.

ARTHUR was about sixteen years old, we have said, when
he began to reign ; in person, he had what his friends would
call a dumpy, but his mamma styled a neat little figure.
His hair was of a healthy brown colour which looks like
gold in the sunshine, his face was round, rosy, freckled,
and good-humoured, his whiskers were decidedly of a red-
dish hue ; in fact, without being a beauty, he had such a
frank, good-natured kind face, and laughed so merrily at
you out of his honest blue eyes, that no wonder Mrs. Pen-
dennis thought him the pride of the whole country. Be-
tween the ages of sixteen and eighteen he rose from five
feet six to five feet eight inches in height, at which alti-
tude he paused. But his mother wondered at it. He was
three inches taller than his father. Was it possible that
any man could grow to be three inches taller than Mr*
Pendennis?

You may be certain he never went back to school ; the
discipline of the establishment did not suit him, and he
liked being at home much better. The question of his return
was debated, and his uncle was for his going back. The
Doctor wrote his opinion that it was most important for
Arthur's success in after-life that he should know a Greek
play thoroughly, but Pen adroitly managed to hint to hia
mother what a dangerous place Grey Friars was, and what
sad wild fellows some of the chaps there were, and the
timid soul, taking alarm at once, acceded to his desire to
stay at home.

Then Pen's uncle offered to use his influence with Hia
Royal Highness the Comniander-in-Chief , who was pleased
to be very kind to him, and proposed to get Pen a commis-

PENDENNIS. 29

sion in the Foot Guards. Pen's heart leaped at this: he
had been to hear the band at St. James's play on a Sunday,
when he went out to his uncle. He had seen Tom Rick-
etts, of the fourth form, who used to wear a jacket and
trowsers so ludicrously tight, that the elder boys could not
forbear using him in the quality of a butt or " cockshy " —
he had seen this very Eicketts arrayed in crimson and
gold, with an immense bear-skin cap on his head, stagger-
ing under the colours of the regiment. Tom had recog-
nised him and gave him a patronising nod. Tom, a little
wretch whom he had cut over the back with a hockey-stick
last quarter — and there he was in the centre of the square,
rallying round the flag of his country, surrounded by bay-
onets, crossbelts, and scarlet, the band blowing trumpets
and banging cymbals — talking familiarly to immense war-
riors with tufts to their chins and Waterloo medals. What
would not Pen have given to enter such a service?

But Helen Pendennis, when this point was proposed to
her by her son, put on a face full of terror and alarm.
She said " she did not quarrel with others who thought dif-
ferently, but that in her opinion a Christian had no right
to make the army a profession. Mr. Pendennis never,
never would have permitted his son to be a soldier. Fi-
nally, she should be very unhappy if he thought of it."
Now Pen would have as soon cut off his nose and ears as
deliberately, and of aforethought malice, made his mother
unhappy ; and, as he was of such a generous disposition
that he would give away anything to any one, he instantly
made a present of his visionary red coat and epaulettes to
his mother.

She thought him the noblest creature in the world. But
Major Pendennis, when the offer of the commission was
acknowledged and refused, wrote back a curt and some-
what angry letter to the widow, and thought his nephew
was rather a spooney.

He was contented, however, when he saw the boy's per-
formances out hunting at Christmas, when the Major came
down as usual to Fairoaks. Pen had a very good mare,

30 PENDENNIS.

aad rode her with uncommon pluck and grace. He took
his fences with great coolness and judgment. He wrote to
the chaps at school about his top-boots, and his feats across
country. He began to think seriously of a scarlet coat :
and his mother must own that she thought it would be-
come him remarkably well ; though, of course, she passed
hours of anguish during his absence, and daily expected to
see him. brought home on a shutter.

With these amusements, in rather too great plenty, it
must not be assumed that Pen neglected his studies alto-
gether. He had a natural taste for reading every possible
kind of book which did not fall into his school-course. It
was only when they forced his head into the waters of
knowledge that he refused to drink. He devoured all the
books at home, from Inchbald's Theatre to White's Far-
riery; he ransacked the neighbouring book-cases. He
found at Clavering an old cargo of French novels, which
he read with all his might; and he would sit for hours
perched up on the topmost bar of Doctor Portman' s library
steps with a folio on his knees, whether it were Hakluyt's
Travels, Hobbes's Leviathan, Augustini Opera, or Chau-
cer's Poems. He and the Vicar were very good friends,
and from his Reverence, Pen learned that honest taste for
port wine which distinguished him through life. And as
for Mrs. Portman, who was not in the least jealous,
though her Doctor avowed himself in love with Mrs. Pen-
dennis, whom he pronounced to be by far the finest lady
in the country — all her grief was, as she looked up fondly
at Pen perched on the book-ladder, that her daughter,
Minny, was too old for him — as indeed she was — Miss
Maria Portman being at that period only two years younger
than Pen's mother, and weighing as much as Pen and Mrs.
Pendennis together.

Are these details insipid? Look back, good friend, at
your own youth, and ask how was that? I like to think
of a well-nurtured boy, brave and gentle, warm-hearted
and loving, and looking the world in the face with kind
honest eyes. What bright colours it wore then, and how

PENDENNIS. 31

you enjoyed it! A man has not many years of such time!
He does not know them whilst they are with him. It is
only when they are passed long away that he remembers
how dear and happy they were.

Mr. Smirke, Dr.. Portman's curate, was engaged, at a
liberal salary, to walk or ride over from Clavering and pass
several hours daily with the young gentleman. Smirke
was a man perfectly faultless at a tea-table, wore a curl on
his fair forehead, and tied his neck-cloth with a melancholy
grace. He was a decent scholar and mathematician, and
taught Pen as much as the lad was ever disposed to learn,
which was not much. For Pen had soon taken the meas-
ure of his tutor, who, when he came riding into the court-
yard at Fairoaks on his pony, turned out his toes so
absurdly, and left such a gap between his knees and the
saddle, that it was impossible for any lad endowed with a
sense of humour to respect such an equestrian. He nearly
killed Smirke with terror by putting him on his mare, and
taking him a ride over a common, where the county fox-
hounds (then hunted by that staunch old sportsman, Mr.
Hardhead, of Dumplingbeare) happened to meet. Mr.
Smirke, on Pen's mare, Eebecca (she was named after
Pen's favourite heroine, the daughter of Isaac of York),
astounded the hounds as much as he disgusted the hunts-
man, laming one of the former by persisting in riding
amongst the pack, and receiving a speech from the latter,
more remarkable for energy of language, than any oration
he had ever heard since he left the bargemen on the banks
of Isis.

Smirke and his pupil read the ancient poets together,
and rattled through them at a pleasant rate, very different
from that steady grubbing pace with which the Cistercians
used to go over the classic ground, scenting out each word
as they went, and digging up every root in the way. Pen.
never liked to halt, but made his tutor construe when he
was at fault, and thus galloped through the Iliad and the
Odyssey, the tragic play-writers, and the charming wicked
Aristophanes (whom he vowed to be the greatest poet of

32 PENDENNIS.

all). But he went so fast that, though he certainly gal-
loped through a considerable extent of the ancient country,
he clean forgot it in after-life, and had only such a vague
remembrance of his early classic course as a man has in the
House of Commons, let us say, who still keeps up two or
three quotations; or a reviewer who, just for decency's
sake, hints at a little Greek.

Besides the ancient poets, you may be sure Pen read the
English with great gusto. Smirke sighed and shook his
head sadly both about Byron and Moore. But Pen was a
sworn fire-worshipper and a Corsair ; he had them by heart,
and used to take little Laura into the window and say,
"Zuleika, I am not thy brother," in tones so tragic, that
they caused the solemn little maid to open her great eyes
still wider. She sat, until the proper hour for retirement,
sewing at Mrs. Pendennis's knee, and listening to Pen
reading out to her of nights without comprehending one
word of what he read.

He read Shakespeare to his mother (which she said she
liked, but didn't), and Byron, and Pope, and his favourite
Lalla Rookh, which pleased her indifferently. But as for
Bishop Heber, and Mrs. Heinans above all, this lady used
to melt right away, and be absorbed into her pocket-hand-
kerchief, when Pen read those authors to her in his kind
boyish voice. The " Christian Year " was a book which
appeared about that time. The son and the mother whis-
pered it to each other with awe — Faint, very faint, and
seldom in after-life Pendennis heard that solemn church-
music : but he always loved the remembrance of it, and of
the times when it struck on his heart, and he walked over
the fields full of hope and void of doubt, as the church-
bells rang on Sunday morning.

It was at this period of his existence, that Pen broke out
in the Poets' Corner of the County Chronicle, with some
verses with which he was perfectly well satisfied. His are
the verses signed "KEP.," addressed "To a Tear;" "On
the Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo ; " " To Madame
Caradori singing at the Assize Meetings ; " " On Saint Bar-

PENDENNIS. 33

tholomew's Day " (a tremendous denunciation of Popery,
and a solemn warning to the people of England to rally
against emancipating the Eoman Catholics), &c., &c. — ail
which masterpieces, poor Mrs. Pendennis kept along with
his first socks, the first cutting of his hair, his bottle, and
other interesting relics of his infancy. He used to gallop
Eebecca over the neighbouring Dumpling Downs, or into
the county town, which, if you please, we shall call Chat-
teris, spouting his own poems, and filled with quite a
Byronic afflatus as he thought.

His genius at this time was of a decidedly gloomy cast,
He brought his mother a tragedy, at which, though he
killed sixteen people before the second act, Helen laughed
so that he thrust the masterpiece into the fire in a pet.
He projected an epic poem in blank verse, " Cortez, or the
Conqueror of Mexico, and the Inca's daughter." He
wrote part of "Seneca, or the Fatal Bath," and "Ariadne
in Naxos ; " classical pieces, with choruses and strophes and
antistrophes, which sadly puzzled Mrs. Pendennis; and
began a " History of the Jesuits," in which he lashed that
Order with tremendous severity. His loyalty did his
mother's heart good to witness. He was a staunch, un-
flinching Church-and-King man in those days ; and at the
election, when Sir Giles Beanfield stood on the Blue inter-
est, against Lord Trehawk, Lord Eyrie's son, a Whig and
a friend of Popery, Arthur Pendennis, with an immense
bow for himself, which his mother made, and with a blue
ribbon for Rebecca, rode alongside of the Reverend Doctor
Portman, on his grey mare Dowdy, and at the head of the
Clavering voters, whom the Doctor brought up to plump
for the Protestant Champion.

On that day Pen made his first speech at the Blue
Hotel : and also, it appears, for the first time in his life —
took a little more wine than was good for him. Mercy !
what a scene it was at Fairoaks, when he rode back at
ever so much o'clock at night. What moving about of
lanterns in the court-yard and stables, though the moon
was shining out; what a gathering of servants, as Pen

34 PENDENNIS.

came home, clattering over the bridge and up the stable-
yard, with half -a-score of the Clavering voters yelling after
him the Blue song of the election !

He wanted them all to come in and have some wine —
some very good Madeira — some capital Madeira — John, go
and get some Madeira, — and there is no knowing what the
farmers would have done had not Madam Pendennis made
her appearance in a white wrapper, with a candle — and
scared those zealous Blues so by the sight of her pale hand-
some face, that they touched their hats and rode off.

Besides these amusements and occupations in which Mr.
Pen indulged, there was one which forms the main business
and pleasure of youth, if the poets tell us aright, whom
Pen was always studying; and which, ladies, you have
rightly guessed to be that of Love. Pen sighed for it first
in secret, and, like the love-sick swain in Ovid, opened his
breast and said, "Aura, veni." What generous youth is
there that has not courted some such windy mistress in his
time?

Yes, Pen began to feel the necessity of a first love — of
a consuming passion — of an object on which he could
concentrate all those vague floating fancies under which he
sweetly suffered — of a young lady to whom he could really
make verses, and whom he could set up and adore, in place
of those unsubstantial lanthes and Zuleikas to whom he
addressed the outpourings of his gushing muse. He read
his favourite poems over and over again, he called upon
Alma Venus the delight of gods and men, he translated
Anacreon's odes, and picked out passages suitable to his
complaint from Waller, Dry den, Prior, and the like.
Smirke and he were never weary, in their interviews, of
discoursing about love. The faithless tutor entertained
him with sentimental conversations in place of lectures on
algebra and Greek; for Smirke was in love, too. Who
could help it, being in daily intercourse with such a
woman? Smirke was madly in love (as far as such a mild
flame as Mr. Smirke's may be called madness) with Mrs.
Pendennis. That honest lady, sitting down below stairs

PENDENNIS. 35

teaching little Laura to play the piano, or devising flannel
petticoats for the poor round about her, or otherwise busied
with the calm routine of her modest and spotless Christian
life, was little aware what storms were brewing in two
bosoms upstairs in the study — in Pen's as he sate in his
shooting- jacket, with his elbows on the green study-table,
and his hands clutching his curly brown hair, Homer
under his nose, — and in worthy Mr. Smirke's, with whom
he was reading. Here they would talk about Helen and
Andromache. " Andromache's like my mother," Pen used
to avouch; "but I say, Smirke, by Jove I'd cut off my
nose to see Helen ; " and he would spout certain favourite
lines which the reader will find in their proper place in
the third book. He drew portraits of her — they are ex-
tant still — with straight noses and enormous eyes, and
" Arthur Pendennis delineavit et pinxit " gallantly written
underneath.

As for Mr. Smirke he naturally preferred Andromache.
And in consequence he was uncommonly kind to Pen. He
gave him his Elzevir Horace, of which the boy was fond,
and his little Greek Testament which his own mamma at
Clapham had purchased and presented to him. He bought
him a silver pencil case ; and in the matter of learning let
him do just as much or as little as ever he pleased. He
always seemed to be on the point of unbosoming himself
to Pen : nay, he confessed to the latter that he had a — an
attachment, an ardently cherished attachment, about which
Pendennis longed to hear, and said, "Tell us, old chap,
is she handsome? has she got blue eyes or black? " But
Doctor Portman's curate, heaving a gentle sigh, cast up
his eyes to the ceiling, and begged Pen faintly to change
the conversation. Poor Smirke ! He invited Pen to dine
at his lodgings over Madame Fribsby's, the milliner's, in
Clave ring, and once when it was raining, and Mrs. Pen-
dennis, who had driven in her pony-chaise into Clavering
with respect to some arrangements, about leaving off
mourning probably, was prevailed upon to enter the
curate's apartments, he sent for pound-cakes instantly.

36 PENDENNIS.

The sofa on which she sate became sacred to him from that
day : and he kept flowers in the glass which she drank
from ever after.

As Mrs. Pendennis was never tired of hearing the praises
of her son, we may be certain that this rogue of a tutor
neglected no opportunity of conversing with her upon the
subject. It might be a little tedious to him to hear the
stories about Pen's generosity, about his bravery in fight-
ing the big naughty boy, about his fun and jokes, about
his prodigious skill in Latin, music, riding, &c. — but what
price would he not pay to be in her company? and the
widow, after these conversations, thought Mr. Srnirke a
very pleasing and well-informed man. As for her son, she
had not settled in her mind, whether he was to be Senior
Wrangler and Archbishop of Canterbury, or Double First
Class at Oxford, and Lord Chancellor. That all England
did not possess his peer, was a fact about which there was,
in her mind, no manner of question.

A simple person, of inexpensive habits, she began forth-
with to save, and, perhaps, to be a little parsimonious, in
favour of her boy. There were no entertainments, of
course, at Fairoaks, during the year of her weeds. Nor,
indeed, did the Doctor's silver dish-covers, of which he
was so proud, and which were flourished all over with the
arms of the Pendennises, and surmounted with their crest,
come out of the plate-chest again for long, long years.
The household was diminished, and its expenses curtailed.
There was a very blank anchorite repast when Pen dined
from home : and he himself headed the remonstrance from
the kitchen regarding the deteriorated quality of the Fair-
oaks beer. She was becoming miserly for Pen. Indeed,
who ever accused women of being just? They are always
sacrificing themselves or somebody for somebody else's
sake.

There happened to be no young woman in the small cir-
cle of friends who were in the widow's intimacy whom
Pendennis could by any possibility gratify by endowing
her with the inestimable treasure of a heart which he was

PENDENNIS. 37

longing to give away. Some young fellows in this predic-
ament bestow their young affections upon Dolly, the dairy-
maid, or cast the eyes of tenderness upon Molly, the black-
smith's daughter. Pen thought a Pendennis much too
grand a personage to stoop so low. He was too high-
minded for a vulgar intrigue, and at the idea of a seduction,
had he ever entertained it, his heart would have revolted
as from the notion of any act of baseness or dishonour.
Miss Mira Portman was too old, too large, and too fond of
reading "Rollin's Ancient History." The Miss Board-
backs, Admiral Boardback's daughters (of St. Vincent's,
or Fourth of June House, as it was called), disgusted Pen
with the London airs which they brought into the country.
Captain Glanders' s (H. P., 50th Dragoon Guards) three
girls were in brown-holland pinafores as yet, with the ends
of their hair-plaits tied up in dirty pink ribbon. Not hav-
ing acquired the art of dancing, the youth avoided such
chances as he might have had of meeting with the fair sex
at the Chatteris Assemblies ; in fine, he was not in love,
because there was nobody at hand to fall in love with.
And the young monkey used to ride out, day after day,
in quest of Dulcinea; and peep into the pony-chaises and
gentlefolks' carriages, as they drove along the broad turn-
pike roads, with a heart beating within him, and a secret
tremor and hope that she might be in that yellow post-
chaise coming swinging up the hill, or one of those three
girls in beaver bonnets in the back seat of the double gig,
which the fat old gentleman in black was driving, at four
miles an hour. The post-chaise contained a snuffy old
dowager of seventy, with a maid, her contemporary. The
three girls in the beaver bonnets were no handsomer than
the turnips that skirted the roadside. Do as he might,
and ride where he would, the fairy princess whom he was
to rescue and win, had not yet appeared to honest Pen.

Upon these points he did not discourse to his mother.
He had a world of his own. What ardent, imaginative
soul has not a secret pleasure-place in which it disports?
Let no clumsy prying or dull meddling of ours try to dis-

38 PENDENNIS.

turb it in our children. Actseon was a brute for wanting
to push in where Diana was bathing. Leave him occasion-
ally alone, my good madam, if you have a poet for a child.
Even your admirable advice may be a bore sometimes.
Yonder little child may have thoughts too deep even for
your great mind, and fancies so coy and timid that they
will not bare themselves when your ladyship sits by.

Helen Pendennis by the force of sheer love divined a
great number of her son's secrets. But she kept these
things in her heart (if we may so speak), and did not speak
of them. Besides, she had made up her mind that he was
to marry little Laura : she would be eighteen when Pen was
six-and- twenty ; and had finished his college career ; and
had made his grand tour ; and was settled either in Lon-
don, astonishing all the metropolis by his learning and elo-
quence at the bar, or better still in a sweet country par-
sonage surrounded with hollyhocks and roses, close to a
delightful romantic ivy-covered church, from the pulpit of
which Pen would utter the most beautiful sermons ever
preached.

While these natural sentiments were waging war and
trouble in honest Pen's bosom, it chanced one day that he
rode into Chatteris for the purpose of carrying to the
County Chronicle a tremendous and thrilling poem for the
next week's paper; and putting up his horse according to
custom, at the stables of the George Hotel there, he fell
in with an old acquaintance. A grand black tandem, with
scarlet wheels, came rattling into the inn yard, as Pen
stood there in converse with the ostler about Kebecca ; and
the voice of the driver called out, " Hallo, Pendennis, is
that you? " in a loud patronising manner. Pen had some
difficulty in recognising, under the broad-brimmed hat and
the vast greatcoats and neckcloths, with which the new
comer was habited, the person and figure of his quondam
schoolfellow, Mr. Foker.

A year's absence had made no small difference in that
gentleman. A youth who had been deservedly whipped

PENDENNIS. 39

a few months previously, and who spent his pocket-money
on tarts and hardbake, now appeared before Pen in one of
those costumes to which the public consent, which I take
to be quite as influential in this respect as "Johnson's Dic-
tionary," has awarded the title of "Swell." He had a
bull-dog between his legs, and in his scarlet shawl neck-
cloth, was a pin representing another bull-dog in gold : he
wore a fur waistcoat laced over with gold chains ; a green
cut-away coat with basket buttons, and a white upper-coat
ornamented with cheese-plate buttons, on each of which
was engraved some stirring incident of the road or the
chase; all of which ornaments set off this young fellow's
figure to such advantage, that you would hesitate to say
which character in life he most resembled, and whether he
was a boxer en goguette, or a coachman in his gala suit.

"Left that place for good, Pendennis? " Mr. Foker said,
descending from his landau and giving Pendennis a fin-
ger.

" Yes, this year or more," Pen said.

"Beastly old hole," Mr. Foker remarked. "Hate it.
Hate the Doctor : hate Towzer, the second master ; hate
everybody there. Not a fit place for a gentleman."

"Not at all," said Pen, with an air of the utmost conse-
quence.

"By gad, sir, I sometimes dream, now, that the Doc-
or's walking into me," Foker continued (and Pen smiled
as he thought that he himself had likewise fearful dreams
of this nature). " When I think of the diet there, by gad,
sir, I wonder how I stood it. Mangy mutton, brutal beef,
pudding on Thursdays and Sundays, and that fit to poison
you. Just look at my leader — did you ever see a prettier
animal? Drove over from Baymouth. Came the nine mile
in two-and-forty minutes. Not bad going, sir."

"Are you stopping at Baymouth, Foker?" Pendennis
asked.

" I'm coaching there," said the other with a nod.

" What ? " asked Pen, in a tone of such wonder, that
Foker burst out laughing, and said, " He was blowed if he

40 PENDENNIS.

didn't think Pen was such a flat as not to know what
coaching meant."

" I'm come down with a coach from Oxbridge. A tutor,
don't you see, old boy? He's coaching me, and some
other men, for the little go. Me and Spavin have the drag
between us. And I thought I'd just tool over, and go to
the play. Did you ever see Rowkins do the hornpipe?"
and Mr. Foker began to perform some steps of that popu-
lar dance in the inn yard, looking round for the sympathy
of his groom, and the stable men.

Pen thought he would like to go to the play, too : and
could ride home afterwards, as there was a moonlight.
So he accepted Foker' s invitation to dinner, and the young
men entered the inn together, where Mr. Foker stopped at
the bar, and called upon Miss Rummer, the landlady's
fair daughter, who presided there, to give him a glass of
"his mixture."

Pen and his family had been known at the George ever
since they came into the county; and Mr. Pendennis's
carriage and horses always put up there when he paid a
visit to the county town. The landlady dropped the heir
of Fairoaks a very respectful curtsey, and complimented
him upon his growth and manly appearance, and asked
news of the family at Fairoaks, and of Dr. Portman and
the Clavering people, to all of which questions the young
gentleman answered with much affability. But he spoke
to Mr. and Mrs. Rummer with that sort of good nature with
which a young Prince addresses his father's subjects ; never
dreaming that those " bonnes gens " were his equals in life.

Mr. Foker' s behaviour was quite different. He inquired
for Rummer and the cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rummer a
riddle, asked Miss Rummer when she would be ready to
marry him, and paid his compliments to Miss Brett, the
other young lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and
with a liveliness and facetiousness which set all these
ladies in a giggle ; and he gave a cluck, expressive of great
satisfaction, as he tossed off his mixture, which Miss
Rummer prepared and handed to him.

PENDENNIS. 41

"Have a drop," said he to Pen. "Give the young one
a glass, R. , and score it up to yours truly. "

Poor Pen took a glass, and everybody laughed at the
face which he made as he put it down — Gin, bitters, and
some other cordial, was the compound with which Mr.
Foker was so delighted as to call it by the name of Foker's
own. As Pen choked, sputtered, and made faces, the other
took occasion to remark to Mr. Rummer that the young
fellow was green, very green, but that he would soon form
him; and then they proceeded to order dinner — which Mr.
Foker determined should consist of turtle and venison;
cautioning the landlady to be very particular about icing
the wine.

Then Messrs. Foker and Pen strolled down the High
Street together — the former having a cigar in his mouth,
which he had drawn out of a case almost as big as a port-
manteau. He went in to replenish it at Mr. Lewis's, and
talked to that gentleman for a while, sitting down on the
counter; he then looked in at the fruiterer's, to seethe
pretty girl there : then they passed the County Chronicle
office, for which Pen had his packet ready, in the shape of
"Lines to Thyrza," but poor Pen did not like to put the
letter into the editor's box while walking in company with
such a fine gentleman as Mr. Foker. They met heavy
dragoons of the regiment always quartered at Chatteris;
and stopped and talked about the Baymouth balls, and
what a pretty girl was Miss Brown, and what a dein fine
woman Mrs. Jones was. It was in vain that Pen recalled
to his own mind how stupid Foker used to be at school —
how he could scarcely read, how he was not cleanly in his
person, and notorious for his blunders and dullness. .Mr.
Foker was not much more refined now than in his school
days : and yet Pen felt a secret pride in strutting down
High Street with a young fellow who owned tandems,
talked to officers, and ordered turtle and champagne for
dinner. He listened, and with respect too, to Mr. Foker's
accounts of what the men did at the University of which
Mr. F. was an ornament, and encountered a long series of

42 PENDENNIS.

stories about boat-racing, bumping, College grass-plats, and
milk-punch — and began to wish to go up himself to College
to a place where there were such manly pleasures and en-
' joyments. Farmer Gurnett, who lives close by Fairoaks,
riding by at this minute and touching his hat to Pen, th(
latter stopped him, and sent a message to his mother t<
say that he had met with an old schoolfellow, and should
dine in Chatteris.

The two young gentlemen continued their walk, and we«
passing round the Cathedral Yard, where they could heai
the music of the afternoon service (a music which always
exceedingly affected Pen), but whither Mr. Foker came foi
the purpose of inspecting the nursery maids who frequem
the Elms "Walk there, and here they strolled until with j
final burst of music the small congregation was played out

Old Doctor Portman was one of the few who came fron
the venerable gate. Spying Pen, he came and shook hin
by the hand, and eyed with wonder Pen's friend, fron
whose mouth and cigar clouds of fragrance issued, whicl
curled round the Doctor's honest face and shovel hat.

"An old schoolfellow of mine, Mr. Foker," said Pen
The Doctor said " H'm " : and scowled at the cigar. H(
did not mind a pipe in his study, but the cigar was ai
abomination to the worthy gentleman.

"I came up on Bishop's business," the Doctor said
" We'll ride home, Arthur, if you like? "

"I — I'm engaged to my friend here," Pen answered.

"You had better come home with me," said the Doctor

"His mother knows he's out, sir," Mr. Foker remarked
" don't she, Pendennis? "

" But that does not prove that he had not better com(
home with me," the Doctor growled, and he walked of
with great dignity.

"Old boy don't like the weed, I suppose," Foker said
"Ha! who's here? — here's the General, and Bingley, th<
manager. How do, Cos? How do, Bingley? "

" How does my worthy and gallant young Foker? " said
the gentleman addressed as the General ; and who wore i

I

R.OS& T

YOUTH BETWEEN PLEASURE AND DUTY

FENDENNIS. 43

shabby military cape with a mangy collar, and a hat
cocked very much over one eye.

" Trust you are very well, my very dear sir," said the
other gentleman, " and that the Theatre Eoyal will have
the honour of your patronage to-night. We perform 'The
Stranger,' in which your humble servant will — "

"Can't stand you in tights and Hessians, Bingley,"
young Mr. Foker said. On which the General, with the
Irish accent, said, "But I think ye' 11 like Miss Fother-
ingay, in Mrs. Haller, or me name's not Jack Costigan."

Pen looked at these individuals with the greatest inter-
est. He had never seen an actor before ; and he saw Dr.
Portman's red face looking over the Doctor's shoulder, as
he retreated from the Cathedral Yard, evidently quite dis-
satisfied with the acquaintance into whose hands Pen had
fallen.

Perhaps it would have been much better for him had he
taken the parson's advice and company home, But which
of us knows his fate?

13— Thackeray, Vol. 3

44 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER IV.

MRS. HALLER.

HAVING returned to the George, Mr. Foker and his guest
sate down to a handsome repast in the coffee-room ; where
Mr. Rummer brought in the first dish, and bowed as gravely*
as if he was waiting upon the Lord-Lieutenant of the
county. Pen could not but respect Foker 's connoisseurship
as he pronounced the champagne to be condemned goose-
berry, and winked at the port with one eye. The latter he
declared to be of the right sort ; and told the waiters, there
was no way of humbugging him. All these attendants he
knew by their Christian names, and showed a great inter-
est in their families ; and as the London coaches drove up,
which in those early days used to set off from the George,
Mr. Foker flung the coffee-room window open, and called
the guards and coachmen by their Christian names, too,
asking about their respective families, and imitating with
great liveliness and accuracy the tooting of the horns as
Jem the ostler whipped the horses' cloths off, and the car-
riages drove gaily away.

" A bottle of sherry, a bottle of sham, a bottle of port
and a shass caffy, it ain't so bad, hay, Pen? " Foker said,
and pronounced, after all these delicacies and a quantity
of nuts and fruit had been dispatched, that it was time to
"toddle." Pen sprang up with very bright eyes, and a
flushed face; and they moved off towards the theatre,
where they paid their money to the wheezy old lady slum-
bering in the money-taker's box. "Mrs. Dropsicum, Bing-
ley's mother-in-law, great in Lady Macbeth," Foker said
to his companion. Foker knew her, too.

They had almost their choice of places in the boxes of
the theatre, which was no better filled than country theatres
usually are in spite of the " universal burst of attraction

PENDENNIS. 45

and galvanic thrills of delight " advertised by Bingley in
the play-bills. A score or so of people dotted the pit-
benches, a few more kept a kicking and whistling in the
galleries, and a dozen others, who came in with free ad-
missions, were in the boxes where our young gentleman
sate. Lieutenants Eodgers and Podgers, and young Cor-
net Tidmus, of the Dragoons, occupied a private box. The
performers acted to them, and these gentlemen seemed to
hold conversations with the players when not engaged in
the dialogue, and applauded them by name loudly.

Bingley the manager, who assumed all the chief tragic
and comic parts except when he modestly retreated to
make way for the London stars, who came down occa-
sionally to Chatteris, was great in the character of the
" Stranger." He was attired in the tight pantaloons and
Hessian boots which the stage legend has given to that in-
jured man, with a large cloak and beaver and a hearse-
feather in it drooping over his raddled old face, and only
partially concealing his great buckled brown wig. He had
the stage- jewellery on too, of which he selected the largest
and most shiny rings for himself, and allowed his little
finger to quiver out of his cloak with a sham diamond ring
covering the first joint of the finger and twiddling in the
faces of the pit. Bingley made it a favour to the young
men of his company to go on in light comedy parts with
that ring. They flattered him by asking its history. The
stage has its traditional jewels, as the Crown and all great
families have. This had belonged to George Frederick
Cooke, who had had it from Mr. Quin, who may have
bought it for a shilling. Bingley fancied the world was
fascinated with its glitter.

He was reading out of the stage-book — that wonderful
stage-book — which is not bound like any other book in
the world, but is rouged and tawdry like the hero or heroine
who holds it ; and who holds it as people never do hold
books : and points with his finger to a passage, and wags
his head ominously at the audience, and then lifts up eyes
and finger to the ceiling, professing to derive some intense

46 PENDENNIS.

consolation from the work between which and heaven there
is a strong affinity.

As soon as the Stranger saw the young men, he acted at
them ; eyeing them solemnly over his gilt volume as he lay
on the stage-bank showing his hand, his ring, and his
Hessians. He calculated the effect that every one of these
ornaments would produce upon his victims : he was deter-
mined to fascinate them, for he knew they had paid their
money ; and he saw their families coming in from the coun-
try and filling the cane chairs in his boxes.

As he lay on the bank reading, his servant, Francis,
made remarks upon his master.

"Again reading," said Francis, "thus it is, from morn
to night. To him nature has no beauty — life no charm.
For three years I have never seen him smile " (the gloom
of Bingley's face was fearful to witness during these com-
ments of the faithful domestic). " Nothing diverts him.
O, if he would but attach himself to any living thing, were
it an animal — for something man must love."

[Enter Tobias (G oil) from the hut.] He cries, "0, how
refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sun-
beams once again. Thanks, bounteous heaven, for the joy
I taste ! " He presses his cap between his hands, looks up
and prays. The Stranger eyes him attentively.

Fronds to the Stranger. "This old man's share of
earthly happiness can be but little. Yet mark how grate-
ful he is for his portion of it."

Bingley. " Because though old, he is but a child in the
leading-string of hope. " (He looks steadily at Foker, who,
however, continues to suck the top of his stick in an un-
concerned manner.)

Francis. "Hope is the nurse of life."

Bingley. "And her cradle — is the grave."

The Stranger uttered this with the moan of a bassoon in
agony, and fixed his glance on Pendennis so steadily, that
the poor lad was quite put out of countenance. He
thought the whole house must be looking at him ; and cast
his eyes down. As soon as ever he raised them Bingley's

PENDENNIS. 47

were at him again. All through the scene the manager
played at him. How relieved the lad was when the scene
ended, and Foker, tapping with his cane, cried out
" Bravo, Bingley ! "

" Give him a hand, Pendennis ; you know every chap likes
a hand," Foker said; and the good-natured young gentle-
man, and Pendennis laughing, and the dragoons in the op-
posite box, began clapping hands to the best of their power.

A chamber in Wintersen Castle closed over Tobias's hut
and the Stranger and his boots: and servants appeared
bustling about with chairs and tables — "That's Hicks and
Miss Thackthwaite," whispered Foker. " Pretty girl, ain't
she, Pendennis? But stop — hurray — bravo! here's the
Fotheringay."

The pit thrilled and thumped its umbrellas ; a volley of
applause was fired from the gallery : the Dragoon officers
and Foker clapped their hands furiously : you would have
thought the house was full, so loud were their plaudits.
The red face and ragged whiskers of Mr. Costigan were
seen peering from the side-scene. Pen's eyes opened wide
and bright, as Mrs. Haller entered with a downcast look,
then rallying at the sound of the applause, swept the house
with a grateful glance, and, folding her hands across her
breast, sank down in a magnificent curtsey. More ap-
plause, more umbrellas ; Pen this time, flaming with wine
and enthusiasm, clapped hands and sang " Bravo " louder
than all. Mrs. Haller saw him, and everybody else, and
old Mr. Bows, the little first fiddler of the orchestra
(which was this night increased by a detachment of the
band of the Dragoons, by the kind permission of Colonel
Swallowtail), looked up from the desk where he was
perched, with his crutch beside him, and smiled at the
enthusiasm of the lad.

Those who have only seen Miss Fotheringay in later
days, since her marriage and introduction into London life,
have little idea how beautiful a creature she was at the
time when our friend Pen first set eyes on her. She was
of the tallest of women, and at her then age of six-and-

48 PENDENNIS.

twenty — for six-and-twenty she was, though she vows she
was only nineteen — in the prime and fulness of her beauty.
Her forehead was vast, and her black hair waved over it
with a natural ripple, and was confined in shining and
voluminous braids at the back of a neck such as you see on
the shoulders of the Louvre Venus — that delight of gods
and men. Her eyes, when she lifted them up to gaze on
you, and ere she dropped their purple deep-fringed lids,
shone with tenderness and mystery unfathomable. Love
and Genius seemed to look out from them and then retire
coyly, as if ashamed to have been seen at the lattice. Who
could have had such a commanding brow but a woman of
high intellect? She never laughed (indeed her teeth were
not good), but a smile of endless tenderness and sweetness
played round her beautiful lips, and in the dimples of her
cheeks and her lovely chin. Her nose defied description
in those days. Her ears were like two little pearl shells,
which the earrings she wore (though the handsomest prop-
erties in the theatre) only insulted. She was dressed in
long flowing robes of black, which she managed and swept
to and fro with wonderful grace, and out of the folds of
which you only saw her sandals occasionally ; they were of
rather a large size ; but Pen thought them as ravishing as
the slippers of Cinderella. But it was her hand and arm
that this magnificent creature most excelled in, and some-
how you could never see her but through them. They sur-
rounded her. When she folded them over her bosom in
resignation; when she dropped them in mute agony, or
raised them in superb command ; when in sportive gaiety
her hands fluttered and waved before her, like — what shall
we say? — like the snowy doves before the chariot of Venus
— it was with these arms and hands that she beckoned, re-
pelled, entreated, embraced her admirers — no single one,
for she was armed with her own virtue, and with her
father's valour, whose sword would have leapt from its
scabbard at any insult offered to his child — but the whole
house ; which rose to her, as the phrase was, as she curt-
seyed and bowed, and charmed it.

PENDENNIS. 49

Thus she stood for a minute — complete and beautiful —
as Pen stared at her. " I say, Pen, isn't she a stunner? "
asked Mr. Foker.

" Hush ! " Pen said. " She's speaking. "

She began her business in a deep sweet voice. Those
who know the play of the " Stranger," are aware that the
remarks made by the various characters are not valuable in
themselves, either for their sound sense, their novelty of
observation, or their poetic fancy.

Nobody ever talked so. If we meet idiots in life, as
will happen, it is a great mercy that they do not use such
absurdly fine words. The Stranger's talk is sham, like
the book he reads, and the hair he wears, and the bank he
sits on, and the diamond ring he makes play with — but, in
the midst of the balderdash, there runs that reality of love,
children, and forgiveness of wrong, which will be listened
to wherever it is preached, and sets all the world sympa-
thising.

With what smothered sorrow, with what gushing
pathos, Mrs. Haller delivered her part ! At first, when as
Count Wintersen's housekeeper, and preparing for his
Excellency's arrival, she has to give orders about the beds
and furniture, and the dinner, &c., to be got ready, she
did so with the calm agony of despair. But when she
could get rid of the stupid servants, and give vent to her
feelings to the pit and the house, she overflowed to each
individual as if he were her particular confidant, and she
was crying out her griefs on his shoulder: the little fiddler
in the orchestra (whom she did not seem to watch, though
he followed her ceaselessly) twitched, twisted, nodded,
pointed about, and when she came to the favourite passage
"I have a William, too, if he be still alive — Ah, yes, if he
be still alive. His little sisters, too ! Why, Fancy, dost
thou rack me so? Why dost thou image my poor children
fainting in sickness, and crying to— to — their mum-um-
other," — when she came to this passage little Bows buried
his face in his blue cotton handkerchief, after crying out
"Bravo."

60 PENDENNIS.

All the house was affected. Foker, for his part, taking
out a large yellow bandanna, wept piteously. As for Pen,
he was gone too far for that. He followed the woman
about and about — when she was off the stage, it and the
house were blank ; the lights and the red officers reeled
wildly before his sight. He watched her at the side scene
— where she stood waiting to come on the stage, and where
her father took off her shawl : when the reconciliation ar-
rived, and she flung herself down on Mr. Bingley's shoul-
ders, whilst the children clung to their knees, and the
Countess (Mrs. Bingley) and Baron Steinforth (performed
with great liveliness and spirit by Garbetts,) — while the
rest of the characters formed a group round them, Pen's
hot eyes only saw Fotheringay, Fotheringay. The curtain
fell upon him like a pall. He did not hear a word of
what Bingley said, who came forward to announce the play
for the next evening, and who took the tumultuous ap-
plause, as usual, for himself. Pen was not even distinctly
aware that the house was calling for Miss Fotheringay,
nor did the manager seem to comprehend that anybody
else but himself had caused the success of the play. At
last he understood it — stepped back with a grin, and pres-
ently appeared with Mrs. Haller on his arm. How beau-
tiful she looked ! Her hair had fallen down, the officers
threw her flowers. She clutched them to her heart. She
put back her hair, and smiled all round. Her eyes met
Pen's. Down went the curtain again : and she was gone.
Not one note could he hear of the overture which the brass
band of the dragoons blew by kind permission of Colonel
Swallowtail.

" She is a crusher, ain't she now? " Mr. Foker asked of
his companion.

Pen did not know exactly what Foker said, and answered
vaguely. He could not tell the other what he felt ; he
could not have spoken, just then, to any mortal. Besides,
Pendennis did not quite know what he felt yet ; it was
something overwhelming, maddening, delicious; a fever
of wild joy and undefined longing.

PENDENNIS. 51

And now Rowkins and Miss Thackthwaite came on to
dance the favourite double hornpipe, and Foker abandoned
himself to the delights of this ballet, just as he had to
the tears of the tragedy a few minutes before. Pen did
not care for it, or indeed think about the dance, except to
remember that that woman was acting with her in the scene
where she ^first came in. It was a mist before his eyes.
At the end of the dance he looked at his watch and said it
was time for him to go.

" Hang it, stay to see The Bravo of the Battle- Axe,"
Foker said ; " Bingley's splendid in it ; he wears red tights,
and has to carry Mrs. B. over the Pine-bridge of the Cata-
ract, only she's too heavy. It's great fun, do stop."

Pen looked at the bill with one lingering fond hope that
Miss Fotheringay's name might be hidden, somewhere, in
the list of the actors of the after-piece, but there was no
such name. Go he must. He had a long ride home. He
squeezed Foker' s hand. He was choking to speak, but he
couldn't. He quitted the theatre and walked frantically
about the town, he knew not how long ; then he mounted
at the George and rode homewards, and Clavering clock
sang out one as he came into the yard at Fairoaks. The
lady of the house might have been awake, but she only
heard him from the passage outside his room as he dashed
into bed and pulled the clothes over his head.

Pen had not been in the habit of passing wakeful nights,
so he at once fell off into a sound sleep. Even in later
days, and with a great deal of care and other thoughtful
matter to keep him awake, a man from long practice or
fatigue or resolution begins by going to sleep as usual and
gets a nap in advance of Anxiety. But she soon comes up
with him and jogs his shoulder, and says " Come, my man,
no more of this laziness, you must wake up and have a talk
with me." Then they fall to together in the midnight.
Well, whatever might afterwards happen to him, poor lit-
tle Pen was not come to this state yet ; he tumbled into a
sound sleep — did not wake until an early hour in the morn-

52 PENDENNI8.

ing, when the rooks began to caw from the little wood be-
yond his bed-room windows ; and — at that very instant and
as his eyes started open, the beloved image was in his mind.
"My dear boy," he heard her say, "you were in a sound
sleep, and I would not disturb you ; but I have been close
by your pillow all this while : and I don't intend that you
shall leave me. lam Love! I bring with me fever and
passion : wild longing, maddening desire ; restless craving
and seeking. Many a long day ere this I heard you call-
ing out for me ; and behold now I am come."

Was Pen frightened at the summons? Not he. He did
not know what was coming : it was all wild pleasure and
delight as yet. And as, when three years previously, and
on entering the fifth form at the Cistercians, his father had
made him a present of a gold watch which the boy took
from under his pillow and examined on the instant of
waking : for ever rubbing and polishing it up in private
and retiring into corners to listen to its ticking : so the
young man exulted over his new delight ; felt in his waist-
coat pocket to see that it was safe ; wound it up at nights,
and at the very first moment of waking hugged it and
looked at it. — By the way, that first watch of Pen's was a
showy ill-manufactured piece : it never went well from the
beginning, and was always getting out of order. And after
putting it aside into a drawer and forgetting it for some
time, he swopped it finally away for a more useful time-
keeper.

Pen felt himself to be ever so many years older since
yesterday. There was no mistake about it now. He was
as much in love as the best hero in the best romance he
ever read. He told John to bring his shaving water with
the utmost confidence. He dressed himself in some of his
finest clothes that morning : and came splendidly down to
breakfast, patronising his mother and little Laura, who
had been strumming her music lesson for hours before ; and
who after he had read the prayers (of which he did not
heed one single syllable), wondered at his grand appear-
ance, and asked him to tell her what the play was about?

PENDENNIS. 53

Pen laughed and declined to tell Laura what the play
was about. In fact it was quite as well that she should
not know. Then she asked him why he had got on his
fine pin and beautiful new waistcoat?

Pen blushed, and told his mother that the old school-
fellow with whom he had dined at Chatteris was reading
with a tutor at Baymouth, a very learned man ; and as he
was himself to go to College, and as there were several
young men pursuing their studies at Baymouth — he was
anxious to ride over — and — and just see what the course of
their reading was.

Laura made a long face. Helen Pendennis looked hard
at her son, troubled more than ever with the vague doubt
and terror which had been haunting her ever since the last
night, when Farmer Gurnett brought back the news that
Pen would not return home to dinner. Arthur's eyes de-
fied her. She tried to console herself, and drive off her
tears. The boy had never told her an untruth. Pen con-
ducted himself during breakfast in a very haughty and
supercilious manner; and, taking leave of the elder and
younger lady, was presently heard riding out of the stable-
court. He went gently at first, but galloped like a mad-
man as soon as he thought that he was out of hearing.

Smirke, thinking of his own affairs, and softly riding
with his toes out, to give Pen his three hours' reading at
Fairoaks, met his pupil, who shot by him like the wind.
Smirke's pony shied, as the other thundered past him; the
gentle curate went over his head among the stinging-nettles
in the hedge. Pen laughed as they met, pointed towards
the Baymouth road, and was gone half-a-mile in that direc-
tion before poor Smirke had picked himself up.

Pen had resolved in his mind that he must see Foker that
morning; he must hear about her ; know about her ; be with
somebody who knew her; and honest Smirke, for his part,
sitting up among the stinging-nettles, as his pony cropped
quietly hi the hedge, thought dismally to himself, ought
he to go to Fairoaks now that his pupil was evidently gone
away for the day? Yes, he thought he might go, too. He

54 PENDENOTS.

might go and ask Mrs. Pendennis when Arthur would be
back ; and hear Miss Laura her Watts' s Catechism. He
got up on the little pony — both were used to his slipping
off — and advanced upon the house from which his scholar
had just rushed away in a whirlwind.

Thus love makes fools of all of us, big and little ; and
the curate had tumbled over head and heels in pursuit of
it, and Pen had started in the first heat of the mad race.

PENDENNIS. 55

CHAPTER V.

MRS. HALLER AT HOME.

WITHOUT slackening his pace Pen galloped on to Bay-
mouth, put the mare up at the inn stables, and ran straight-
way to Mr. Foker's lodgings, of whom he had taken the
direction on the previous day. On reaching these apart-
ments, which were over a chemist's shop whose stock of
cigars and soda-water went off rapidly by the kind patron-
age of his young inmates, Pen only found Mr. Spavin,
Foker's friend, and part owner of the tandem, which the
latter had driven into Chatteris, who was smoking, and
teaching a little dog, a friend of his, tricks with a bit of
biscuit.

Pen's healthy red face, fresh from the gallop, compared
oddly with the waxy debauched little features of Foker's
chum; Mr. Spavin remarked the circumstance. "Who
is that man?" he thought. "He looks as fresh as a
bean. His hand don't shake of a morning, I'd bet five to
one."

Foker had not come home at all. Here was a disap-
pointment!— Mr. Spavin could not say when his friend
would return. Sometimes he stopped a day, sometimes a
week. Of what college was Pen? Would he have any-
thing? There was a very fair tap of ale. Mr. Spavin was
enabled to know Pendennis's name, on the card which
the latter took out and laid down (perhaps Pen in these
days was rather proud of having a card) — and so the
young men took leave.

Then Pen went down the rock, and walked about on the
sand, biting his nails by the shore of the much-sounding
sea. It stretched before him bright and immeasurable.
The blue waters came rolling into the bay, foaming and
roaring hoarsely : Pen looked them in the face with blank

56 PENDENNIS.

eyes, hardly regarding them. What a tide there was pour-
ing into the lad's own mind at the time, and what a little
power had he to check it ! Pen flung stones into the sea
but it still kept coming on. He was in a rage at not seeing
Foker. He wanted to see Foker. He must see Foker.
" Suppose I go on — on the Chatteris road, just to see if
I can meet him," Pen thought. Rebecca was saddled in
another half hour, and galloping on the grass by the Chat-
teris road. About four miles from Bayrnouth, the Claver-
ing road branches off, as everybody knows, and the mare
naturally was for taking that turn, but, cutting her over
the shoulder, Pen passed the turning, and rode on to the
turnpike without seeing any sign of the black tandem and
red wheels.

As he was at the turnpike he might as well go on : that
was quite clear. So Pen rode to the George, and the ostler
told him that Mr. Foker was there sure enough, and that
"he'd been a makin a tremendous row the night afore, a
drinkin and a singin, and wanting to fight Tom the post-
boy: which I'm thinking he'd have had the worst of it,"
the man added with a grin. "Have you carried up your
master's ot water to shave with? " he added, in a very sa-
tirical manner, to Mr. Foker' s domestic, who here came
down the yard bearing his master's clothes, most beauti-
fully brushed and arranged. "Show Mr. Pendennis up
to 'un." And Pen followed the man at last to the apart-
ment, where, in the midst of an immense bed, Mr. Harry
Foker lay reposing.

The feather bed and bolsters swelled up all round Mr.
Foker, so that you could hardly see his little sallow face
and red silk nightcap.

"Hullo!" said Pen.

"Who goes there? brother, quickly tell! " sang out the
voice from the bed. "What! Pendennis again? Is your
Mamma acquainted with your absence? Did you sup with
us last night? No — stop — who supped with us last night,
Stoopid? "

" There was the three officers, sir, and Mr. Bingley, sir,

PENDENNIS. 57

and Mr. Costigan, sir," the man answered, who received
all Mr. Foker's remarks with perfect gravity.

"Ah yes: the cup and merry jest went round. We
chanted : and I remember I wanted to fight a post-boy.
Did I thrash him, Stoopid? "

"No, sir. Fight didn't come off, sir," said Stoopid, still
with perfect gravity. He was arranging Mr. Foker's
dressing-case — a trunk, the gift of a fond mother, without
which the young fellow never travelled. It contained a
prodigious apparatus in plate ; a silver dish, a silver mug,
silver boxes and bottles of all sorts of essences, and a
choice of razors ready against the time when Mr. Foker's
beard should come.

"Do it some other day," said the young fellow, yawning
and throwing up his little lean arms over his head. " No,
there was no fight; but there was chanting. Bingley
chanted, I chanted, the General chanted — Costigan I
mean. — Did you ever hear him sing 'The Little Pig under
the Bed,' Pen? "

" The man we met yesterday? " said Pen, all in a tremor,
" the father of—"

"Of the Fotheringay, — the very man. Ain't she a
Venus, Pen? "

"Please sir, Mr. Costigan's in the sittin-room, sir, and
says, sir, you asked him to breakfast, sir. Called five
times, sir; but wouldn't wake you on no account; and has
been year since eleven o'clock, sir — "

"How much is it now? "

"One, sir."

" What would the best of mothers say," cried the little
sluggard, " if she saw me in bed at this hour? She sent
me down here with a grinder. She wants me to cultivate
my neglected genius — He, he ! I say, Pen, this isn't quite
like seven o'clock school, — is it, old boy? " — and the young
fellow burst out into a boyish laugh of enjoyment. Then
he added — " Go in and talk to the General whilst I dress.
And I say, Pendennis, ask him to sing you ' The Little
Pig under the Bed;' it's capital." Pen went off in great

58 PENDENNIS.

perturbation, to meet Mr. Costigan, and Mr. Foker com-
menced his toilet.

Of Mr. Foker' s two grandfathers, the one from whom
he inherited a fortune 'was a brewer; the other was an earl,
who endowed him with the most doting mother in the
world. The Fokers had been at the Cistercian school from
father to son ; at which place, our friend, whose name could
be seen over the playground wall, on a public-house sign,
under which " Foker' s Entire" was painted, had been
dreadfully bullied on account of his trade, his uncomely
countenance, his inaptitude for learning and cleanliness,
his gluttony and other weak points. But those who know
how a susceptible youth, under the tyranny of his school-
fellows, becomes silent and a sneak, may understand how,
in a very few months after his liberation from bondage,
he developed himself as he had done ; and became the hu-
morous, the sarcastic, the brilliant Foker, with whom we
have made acquaintance. A dunce he always was, it is
tine ; for learning cannot be acquired by leaving school and
entering at college as a fellow-commoner ; but he was now
(in his own peculiar manner) as great a dandy as he before
had been a slattern, and when he entered his sitting-room
to join his two guests, arrived scented and arrayed in fine
linen, and perfectly splendid in appearance.

General or Captain Costigan — for the latter was the
rank which he preferred to assume — was seated in the win-
dow with the newspaper held before him at arm's length.
The Captain's eyes were somewhat dim; and he was spell-
ing the paper, with the help of his lips, as well as of those
bloodshot eyes of his, as you see gentlemen do to whom
reading is a rare and difficult occupation. His hat was
cocked very much on one ear ; and as one of his feet lay
up in the window-seat, the observer of such matters might
remark, by the size and shabbiness of the boots which the
Captain wore, that times did not go very well with him.
Poverty seems as if it were disposed, before it takes pos-
session of a man entirely, to attack his extremities first :
the coverings of his head, feet, and hands, are its first prey.

PENDENNIS. 59

All these parts of the Captain's person were particularly
rakish and shabby. As soon as he saw Pen he descended
from the window-seat and saluted the new comer, first in
a military manner, by conveying a couple of his fingers
(covered with a broken black glove) to his hat, and then
removing that ornament altogether. The Captain was in-
clined to be bald, but he brought a quantity of lank iron-
grey hair over his pate, and had a couple of wisps of the
same falling down on each side of his face. Much whiskey
had spoiled what complexion Mr. Costigan may have pos-
sessed in his youth. His once handsome face had now a
copper tinge. He wore a very high stock, scarred and
stained in many places ; and a dress-coat tightly buttoned
up in those parts where the buttons had not parted com-
pany from the garment.

" The young gentleman to whom I had the honour to be
introjuiced yesterday in the Cathedral Yard," said the Cap-
tain, with a splendid bow and wave of his hat. " I hope I
see you well, sir. I marked ye in the thayater last night
during me daughter's perf awrumance ; and missed ye on
my return. I did but conduct her home, sir, for Jack Cos-
tigan, though poor, is a gentleman; and when I reintered
the house to pay me respects to me joyous young friend,
Mr. Foker — ye were gone. We had a jolly night of ut, sir
— Mr. Foker, the three gallant young dragoons, and your
'umble servant. Gad, sir, it put me in mind of one of our
old nights when I bore Her Majesty's commission in the
Foighting Hundtherd and Third." And he pulled out an
old snuff-box, which he presented with a stately air to his
new acquaintance.

Arthur was a great deal too much flurried to speak.
This shabby-looking buck was — was her father. " I hope,

Miss F , Miss Costigan is well, sir," Pen said, flushing

up. " She — she gave me greater pleasure, than — than I —
I — I ever enjoyed at a play. I think, sir — I think she's
the finest actress in the world," he gasped out.

" Your hand, young man ! for ye speak from your heart,"
cried the Captain. "Thank ye, sir; an old soldier and a

60 PENDENNIS.

fond father thanks ye. She is the finest actress in the
world. I've seen the Siddons, sir, and the O'Nale — They
were great, but what were they compared to Miss Fotherin-
gay? I do not wish she should ashume her own name
while on the stage. Me family, sir, are proud people ; and
the Costigans of Costiganstown think that an honest man,
who has borne Her Majesty's colours in the Hundtherd
and Third, would demean himself, by permitting his
daughter to earn her old father's bread."

" There cannot be a more honourable duty, surely, " Pen
said.

"Honourable! Bedad, sir, I'd like to see the man who
said Jack Costigan would consent to anything dishonour-
able. I have a heart, sir, though I am poor ; I like a man
who has a heart. You have : I read it in your honest face
and steady eye. And would you believe it," he added,
after a pause, and with a pathetic whisper, "that that
Bingley, who has made his fortune by me child, gives her
but two guineas a week : out of which she finds herself in
dresses, and which, added to me own small means, makes
our all? "

Now the Captain's means were so small as to be, it may
be said, quite invisible. But nobody knows how the wind
is tempered to shorn Irish lambs, and in what marvellous
places they find pasture. If Captain Costigan, whom I
had the honour to know, would but have told his history,
it would have been a great moral story. But he neither
would have told it if he could, nor could if he would ; for
the Captain was not only unaccustomed to tell the truth,
— he was unable even to think it — and fact and fiction
reeled together in his muzzy, whiskified brain.

He began life rather brilliantly with a pair of colours, a
fine person and legs, and one of the most beautiful voices
in the world. To his latest day he sang, with admirable
pathos and humour, those wonderful Irish ballads which
are so mirthful and so melancholy : and was always the
first himself to cry at their pathos. Poor Cos ! he was at
once brave and maudlin, humorous and an idiot; always

PENDENNIS. 61

good-natured, and sometimes almost trustworthy. Up to
the last day of his life he would drink with any man, and
back any man's bill : and his end was in a spunging-house,
where the sheriff's officer, who took him, was fond of him.

In his brief morning of life, Cos formed the delight of
regimental messes, and had the honour of singing his songs,
bacchanalian and sentimental, at the tables of the most il-
lustrious generals and commanders-in-chief , in the course
of which period he drank three times as much claret as
was good for him, and spent his doubtful patrimony.
What became of him subsequently to his retirement from
the army, is no affair of ours. I take it, no foreigner un-
derstands the life of an Irish gentleman without money,
the way in which he manages to keep afloat — the wind-
raising conspiracies in which he engages with heroes as
unfortunate as himself — the means by which he contrives,
during most days of the week, to get his portion of whisky-
and-water : all these are mysteries to us inconceivable : but
suffice it to say, that through all the storms of life Jack
had floated somehow, and the lamp of his nose had never
gone out.

Before he and Pen had had a half hour's conversation,
the Captain managed to extract a couple of sovereigns from
the young gentleman for tickets for his daughter's benefit,
which was to take place speedily ; and was not a bond fide
transaction such as that of the last year, when poor Miss
Fotheringay had lost fifteen shillings by her venture ; but
was an arrangement with the manager, by which the lady
was to have the sale of a certain number of tickets, keep-
ing for herself a large portion of the sum for which they
were sold.

Pen had but two pounds in his purse, and he handed
them over to the Captain for the tickets ; he would have
been afraid to offer more lest he should offend the latter 's
delicacy. Costigan scrawled him an order for a box, lightly
slipped the sovereigns into his waistcoat, and slapped his
hand over the place where they lay. They seemed to warm
his old sides.

62 PENDENNIS.

"Faith, sir," said he, "the bullion's scarcer with me
than it used to be, as is the case with many a good fellow.
I won six hundtherd of 'em in a single night, sir, when me
kind friend, His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, was
in Gibralther."

Then it was good to see the Captain's behaviour at
breakfast, before the devilled turkey and the mutton chops !
His stories poured forth unceasingly, and his spirits rose
as he chatted to the young men. When he got a bit of
sunshine, the old lazzarone basked in it ; he prated about
his own affairs and past splendour, and all the lords, gen-
erals, and Lord-Lieutenants he had ever known. He de-
scribed the death of his darling Bessie, the late Mrs. Cos-
tigan, and the challenge he had sent to Captain Shanty
Clancy, of the Slashers, for looking rude at Miss Fother-
ingay as she was on her kyar in the Phaynix ; and then he
described how the Captain apologised, gave a dinner at the
Kildare Street, where six of them drank twinty-one bottles
of claret, &c. He announced that to sit with two such
noble and generous young fellows was the happiness and
pride of an old soldier's existence; and having had a sec-
ond glass of Curaxjoa, was so happy that he began to cry.
Altogetner we should say that the Captain was not a man
of much strength of mind, or a very eligible companion for
youth; but there are worse men, holding much better
places in life, and more dishonest, who have never com-
mitted half so many rogueries as he. They walked out,
the Captain holding an arm of each of his dear young
friends, and in a maudlin state of contentment. He
winked at one or two tradesmen's shops where, possibly,
he owed a bill, as much as to say " See the company I'm
in — sure I'll pay you, my boy," — and they parted finally
with Mr. Foker at a billiard-room, where the latter had a
particular engagement with some gentlemen of Colonel
Swallowtail's regiment.

Pen and the shabby Captain still walked the street to-
gether; the Captain, in his sly way, making inquiries
about Mr. Foker' s fortune and station in life. Pen told

PENDENNIS. 63

him how Foker's father was a celebrated brewer, and his
mother was Lady Agnes Milton, Lord Rosherville's daugh-
ter. The Captain broke out into a strain of exaggerated
compliment and panegyric about Mr. Foker, whose " native
aristocracie," he said, "could be seen with the twinkling
of an oi — and only served to adawrun other qualities which
he possessed, a foin intellect and a generous heart."

Pen walked on, listening to his companion's prate, won-
dering, amused, and puzzled. It had not as yet entered
into the boy's head to disbelieve any statement that was
made to him ; and being of a candid nature himself, he
took naturally for truth what other people told him. Cos-
tigan had never had a better listener, and was highly flat-
tered by the attentiveness and modest bearing of the young
man.

So much pleased was he with the young gentleman, so
artless, honest, and cheerful did Pen seem to be, that the
Captain finally made him an invitation, which he very sel-
dom accorded to young men, and asked Pen if he would do
him the fevor to enter his humble abode, which was near
at hand, where the Captain would have the honour of in-
throjuicing his young friend to his daughter, Miss Fother-
ingay?

Pen was so delightfully shocked at this invitation, that
he thought he should have dropped from the Captain's arm.
at first, and trembled lest the other should discover his
emotion. He gasped out a few incoherent words, indica-
tive of the high gratification he should have in being pre-
sented to the lady for whose — for whose talents he had
conceived such an admiration — such an extreme admira-
tion ; and followed the Captain, scarcely knowing whither
that gentleman led him. He was going to see her ! He
was going to see her ! In her was the centre of the uni-
verse. She was the kernel of the world for Pen. Yes-
terday, before he knew her, seemed a period ever so long
ago — a revolution was between him and that time, and a
new world about to begin.

The Captain conducted his young friend to that quiet

64 PENDENNIS.

little street in Chatteris, called Prior's Lane, which lies
close by Dean's Green and the canons' houses, and is over-
looked by the enormous towers of the cathedral ; there the
Captain dwelt modestly in the first floor of a low gabled
house, on the door of which was the brass plate of " Creed,
Tailor and Robe-maker." Creed was dead, however. His
widow was a pew-opener in the cathedral hard by ; his eld-
est son was a little scamp of a choir-boy, who played toss-
halfpenny, led his little brothers into mischief, and had a
voice as sweet as an angel. A couple of the latter were
sitting on the door-step, and they jumped up with great
alacrity to meet their lodger, and plunged wildly, and
rather to Pen's surprise, at the swallow-tails of the Cap-
tain's dress-coat; for the truth is, that the good-natured
gentleman, when he was in cash, generally brought home
an apple, or a piece of ginger-bread, for these children.
" Whereby the widdy never pressed me for rint when not
convanient," as he remarked afterwards to Pen, winking
knowingly, and laying a finger on his nose.

As Pen followed his companion up the creaking old
stair, his knees trembled under him. He could hardly see
when he entered, following the Captain, and stood in the
room — in her room. He saw something black before him,
and waving as if making a curtsey, and heard, but quite in-
distinctly, Costigan making a speech over him, in which the
Captain, with his usual magniloquence, expressed to " me
child " his wish to make her known to " his dear and admir-
able young friend, Mr. Awther Pindinnis, a young gentle-
man of property in the neighbourhood, a person of refoined
moind, and emiable manners, a sinsare lover of poethry
and a man possest of a feeling and affectionate heart. "

"It is very fine weather," Miss Fotheringay said, in an
Irish accent, and with a deep rich melancholy voice.

"Very," said Mr. Pendennis. In this romantic way their
conversation began; and he found himself seated on a
chair, and having leisure to look at the young lady.

She looked still handsomer off the stage than before the
lamps. All her attitudes were naturally grand and majes-

PENDENNIS. 65

tical. If she went and stood up against the mantel-piece
her robe draped itself classically round her ; her chin sup-
ported itself on her hand, the other lines of her form ar-
ranged themselves in full harmonious undulations — she
looked like a muse in contemplation. If she sate down on
a cane -bottomed chair, her arm rounded itself over the
back of the seat, her hand seemed as if it ought to have a
sceptre put into it, the folds of her dress fell naturally
round her in order : all her movements were graceful and
imperial. In the morning you could see her hair was blue-
black, her complexion of dazzling fairness, with the faint-
est possible blush flickering, as it were, in her cheek. Her
eyes were gray, with prodigious long lashes ; and as for
her mouth, Mr. Pendennis has given me subsequently to
understand, that it was of a staring red colour, with which
the most brilliant geranium, sealing-wax, or Guards-man's
coat, could not vie.

"And very warm," continued this empress and Queen of
Sheba.

Mr. Pen again assented, and the conversation rolled on
in this manner. She asked Costigan whether he had had
a pleasant evening at the George, and he recounted the sup-
per and the tumblers of punch. Then the father asked her
how she had been employing the morning.

"Bows came," said she, " at ten, and we studied Ophalia.
It's for the twenty -fourth, when I hope, sir, we shall have
the honour of seeing ye."

"Indeed, indeed, you will," Mr. Pendennis cried; won-
dering that she could say "Ophalia," and speak with an
Irish inflection of voice naturally, who had not the least
Hibernian accent on the stage.

"I've secured 'um for your benefit, dear," said the Cap-
tain, tapping his waistcoat pocket, wherein lay Pen's sov-
ereigns, and winking at Pen, with one eye, at which the
boy blushed.

"Mr. the gentleman's very obleeging," said Mrs.

Haller.

"My name is Pendennis," said Pen, blushing. "I — I —

66 PENDENNIS.

hope you'll — you'll remember it." His heart thumped so
as he made this audacious declaration, that he almost
choked in uttering it.

"Pendennis" — she answered slowly, and looking him
full in the eyes, with a glance so straight, so clear, so
bright, so killing, with a voice so sweet, so round, so low,
that the word and the glance shot Pen through and
through, and perfectly transfixed him with pleasure.

" I never knew the name was so pretty before," Pen said.

" "Tis a very pretty name," Ophelia said. " Pentweazle' s
not a pretty name. Eemember, papa, when we were on
the Norwich Circuit, Young Pentweazle, who used to play
second old men, and married Miss Rancy, the Columbine ;
they're both engaged in London now, at the Queen's, and
get five pounds a week. Pentweazle wasn't his real name.
'Twas Judkin gave it him, I don't know why. His name
was Harrington ; that is, his real name was Potts ; f awther
a clergyman, very respectable. Harrington was in London,
and got in debt. Ye remember, he came out in Falkland,
to Mrs. Bunce's Julia."

"And a pretty Julia she was," the Captain interposed;
" a woman of fifty, and a mother of ten children. 'Tis you
who ought to have been Julia, or my name's not Jack Cos-
tigan."

"I didn't take the leading business then," Miss Fother-
ingay said modestly; "I wasn't fit for't till Bows taught
me."

" True for you, my dear," said the Captain : and bending
to Pendennis, he added, " Rejuiced in circumstances, sir, I
was for some time a fencing-master in Dublin; (there's
only three men in the empire could touch me with the foil
once, but Jack Costigan's getting old and stiff now, sir,)
and my daughter had an engagement at the thayater there ;
and 'twas there that my friend, Mr. Bows, gave her les-
sons, and made her what ye see. What have ye done since
Bows went, Emily? "

" Sure, I've made a pie," Emily said, with perfect sim-
plicity. She pronounced it "Poy."

PENDENNIS. 67

"If ye'll try it at four o'clock, sir, say the word," said
Costigan gallantly. "That girl, sir, makes the best veal
and ham pie in England, and I think I can promise ye a
glass of punch of the right flavour. "

Pen had promised to be home to dinner at six o'clock,
but the rascal thought he could accommodate pleasure
and duty in this point, and was only too eager to accept
this invitation. He looked on with delight and wonder
whilst Ophelia busied herself about the room, and prepared
for the dinner. She arranged the glasses, and laid and
smoothed the little cloth, all which duties she performed
with a quiet grace and good humour, which enchanted her
guest more and more. The " poy " arrived from the baker's
in the hands of one of the little choir-boy's brothers at the
proper hour; and at four o'clock, Pen found himself at
dinner — actually at dinner with the handsomest woman in
all creation — with his first and only love, whom he had
adored ever since when? — ever since yesterday, ever since
for ever. He ate a crust of her making, he poured her out
a glass of beer, he saw her drink a glass of punch — just
one wine-glass full — out of the tumbler which she mixed
for her papa. She was perfectly good-natured, and offered
to mix one for Pendennis too. It was prodigiously strong ;
Pen had never in his life drunk so much spirits and water.
Was it the punch, or the punch-maker who intoxicated
him?

Pen tried to engage her in conversation about poetry and
about her profession. He asked her what she thought of
Ophelia's madness, and whether she was in love with
Hamlet or not? " In love with such a little ojus wretch as
that stunted manager of a Bingley? " She bristled with
indignation at the thought. Pen explained it was not of
her he spoke, but of Ophelia of the play. " Oh, indeed; if
no offence was meant, none was taken : but as for Bingley,
indeed, she did not value him — not that glass of punch."
Pen next tried her on Kotzebue. "Kotzebue? who was
he? " — " The author of the play in which she had been per-
forming so admirably." "She did not know that — the

4 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

68 PENDENNIS.

man's name at the beginning of the book was Thompson,"
she said. Pen laughed at her adorable simplicity. He
told her of the melancholy fate of the author of the play,
and how Sand had killed him. It was the first time in her
life that Miss Costigan had ever heard of Mr. Kotzebue's
existence, but she looked as if she was very much inter-
ested, and her sympathy sufficed for honest Pen.

And in the midst of this simple conversation, the hour
and a quarter which poor Pen could afford to allow him-
self passed away only too quickly ; and he had taken leave,
he was gone, and away on his rapid road homewards on
the back of Kebecca. She was called upon to show her
mettle in the three journeys which she made that day.

" What was that he was talking about, the madness of
Hamlet, and the theory of the great German critic on the
subject? " Emily asked of her father.

"'Deed then I don't know, Milly dear," answered the
Captain. "We'll ask Bows when he conies."

"Anyhow, he's a nice, fair-spoken pretty young man,"
the lady said : "how many tickets did he take of you? "

"'Faith, then, he took six, and gev me two guineas,
Milly," the Captain said. " I suppose them young chaps is
not too flush of coin."

"He's full of book-learning," Miss Fotheringay con-
tinued. " Kotzebue ! He, he, what a droll name indeed,
now ; and the poor fellow killed by sand, too ! Did ye ever
hear such a thing? I'll ask Bows about it, papa dear."

"A queer death, sure enough," ejaculated the Captain,
and changed the painful theme. " 'Tis an elegant mare the
young gentleman rides," Costigan went on to say ; " and a
grand breakfast, intirely, that young Mister Foker gave
us."

" He's good for two private boxes, and at leest twenty
tickets, I should say," cried the daughter, a prudent lass,
who always kept her fine eyes on the main chance.

"I'll go bail of that," answered the papa; and so their
conversation continued awhile, until the tumbler of punch
was finished ; and their hour of departure soon came, too ;

PENDENNIS. 69

for at half -past six Miss Fotheringay was to appear at the
theatre again, whither her father always accompanied her ;
and stood, as we have seen, in the side-scene watching her,
and drank spirits-and-water in the green-room with the
company there.

" How beautiful she is ! " thought Pen, cantering home-
wards. " How simple and how tender ! How charming it
is to see a woman of her genius busying herself with the
humble offices of domestic life, cooking dishes to make her
old father comfortable, and brewing him drink ! How rude
it was of me to begin to talk about professional matters,
and how well she turned the conversation ! By the way,
she talked about professional matters herself; but then
with what fun and humour she told the story of her com-
rade, Pentweazle, as he was called! There is no humour
like Irish humour. Her father is rather tedious, but thor-
oughly amiable; and how fine of him, giving lessons in
fencing after he quitted the army, where he was the pet of
the Duke of Kent! Fencing! I should like to continue
my fencing, or I shall forget what Angelo taught me.
Uncle Arthur always liked me to fence — he says it is the
exercise of a gentleman. Hang it ! I'll take some lessons
of Captain Costigan. Go along, Kebecca — up the hill, old
lady. Pendennis, Pendennis — how she spoke the word!
Emily, Emily! how good, how noble, how beautiful, how
perfect, she is ! "

Now the reader, who has had the benefit of overhearing
the entire conversation which Pen had with Miss Fother-
ingay, can judge for himself about the powers of her mind,
and may perhaps be disposed to think that she has not said
anything astonishingly humorous or intellectual in the course
of the above interview.

But what did our Pen care? He saw a pair of bright
eyes, and he believed in them — a beautiful image, and he
fell down and worshipped it. He supplied the meaning
which her words wanted ; and created the divinity which
he loved. Was Titania the first who fell in love with an
ass, or Pygmalion the only artist who has gone crazy about

70 PENDENNIS.

a stone? He had found her; he had found what his soul
thirsted after. He flung himself into the stream and drank
with all his might. Let those who have been thirsty own
how delicious that first draught is. As he rode down the
avenue towards home — Pen shrieked with laughter as he
saw the Reverend Mr. Smirke once more coming demurely
away from Fairoaks on his pony. Smirke had dawdled
and stayed at the cottages on the way, and then dawdled
with Laura over her lessons — and then looked at Mrs. Pen-
dennis's gardens and improvements until he had perfectly
bored out that lady : and he had taken his leave at the very
last minute without that invitation to dinner which he
fondly expected.

Pen was full of kindness and triumph. " What, picked
up and sound? " he cried out laughing. " Come along back,
old fellow, and eat my dinner — I have had mine : but we
will have a bottle of the old wine and drink her health,
Smirke."

Poor Smirke turned the pony's head round, and jogged
along with Arthur. His mother was charmed to see him
in such high spirits, and welcomed Mr. Smirke for his sake,
when Arthur said he had forced the curate back to dine.
He gave a most ludicrous account of the play of the night
before, and of the acting of Bingley the Manager in his
rickety Hessians, and the enormous Mrs. Bingley as the
Countess, in rumpled green satin and a Polish cap: he
mimicked them, and delighted his mother and little Laura,
who clapped her hands with pleasure.

" And Mrs. Haller? " said Mrs. Pendennis.

" She's a stunner, ma'am," Pen said, laughing, and using
the words of his revered friend, Mr. Foker.

" A what, Arthur? " asked the lady.

"What is a stunner, Arthur? " cried Laura, in the same
voice.

So he gave them a queer account of Mr. Foker, and how
he used to be called Vats and Grains, and by other con-
tumelious names at school : and how he was now exceedingly
rich, and a Fellow Commoner at St. Boniface. But gay

PENDENNIS. 71

and communicative as he was, Mr. Pen did not say one
syllable about his ride to Chatteris that day, or about the
new friends whom he had made there.

When the two ladies retired, Pen, with flashing eyes,
filled up two great bumpers of Madeira, and looking Smirke
full in the face said, " Here's to her! "

" Here's to her! " said the curate with a sigh, lifting the
glass : and emptying it, so that his face was a little pink
when he put it down.

Pen had even less sleep that night than on the night be-
fore. In the morning, and almost before dawn, he went
out and saddled that unfortunate Eebecca himself, and rode
her on the Downs like mad. Again Love had roused him
— and said, "Awake Pendennis, I am here." That charm-
ing fever — that delicious longing — and fire, and uncer-
tainty ; he hugged them to him — he would not have lost
them for all the world.

72 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER VI.

CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND WAR.

CICERO and Euripides did not occupy Mr. Pen much for
some time after this, and honest Mr. Smirke had a very
easy time with his pupil. Kebecca was the animal who
suffered most in the present state of Pen's mind, for, be-
sides those days when he could publicly announce his in-
tention of going to Chatteris to take a fencing-lesson, and
went thither with the knowledge of his mother, whenever
he saw three hours clear before him, the young rascal made
a rush for the city, and found his way to Prior's Lane.
He was as frantic with vexation when Kebecca went lame,
as Eichard at Bosworth, when his horse was killed under
him : and got deeply into the books of the man who kept
the hunting stables at Chatteris for the doctoring of his
own, and the hire of another animal.

Then, and perhaps once in a week, under pretence of
going to read a Greek play with Smirke, this young repro-
bate set off so as to be in time for the Competitor down
coach, stayed a couple of hours in Chatteris, and returned
on the Rival, which left for London at ten at night. Once
his secret was nearly lost by Smirke' s simplicity, of whom
Mrs. Pendennis asked whether they had read a great deal
the night before, or a question to that effect. Smirke was
about to tell the truth, that he had never seen Mr. Pen at
all, when the latter' s boot-heel came grinding down on Mr.
Smirke' s toe under the table, and warned the curate not to
betray him.

They had had conversations on the tender subject of
course. There must be a confidant and depositary some-
where. When informed, under the most solemn vows of
secrecy, of Pen's condition of mind, the curate said, with
no small tremor, " that he hoped it was no unworthy object

PENDENN1S. 73

—no unlawful attachment, which Pen had formed " — for if
so, the poor fellow felt it would be his duty to break his
vow and inform Pen's mother, and then there would be a
quarrel, he felt, with sickening apprehension, and he
would never again have a chance of seeing what he most
liked in the world.

" Unlawful, unworthy ! " Pen bounced out at the curate's
question. " She is as pure as she is beautiful ; I would
give my heart to no other woman. I keep the matter a se-
cret in my family, because — because — there are reasons of
a weighty nature which I am not at liberty to disclose.
But any man who breathes a word against her purity in-
sults both her honour and mine, and — and dammy, I won't
stand it."

Smirke, with a faint laugh, only said, " Well, well, don't
call me out, Arthur, for you know I can't fight:" but by
this compromise the wretched curate was put more than
ever into the power of his pupil, "and the Greek and mathe-
matics suffered correspondingly.

If the reverend gentleman had had much discernment,
and looked into the Poets' corner of the County Chronicle,
as it arrived in the Wednesday's bag, he might have seen
"Mrs. Haller," "Passion and Genius," "Lines to Miss
Fotheringay, of the Theatre Royal," appearing every week;
and other verses of the most gloomy, thrilling, and pas-
sionate cast. But as these poems were no longer signed
NEP by their artful composer, but subscribed EROS ; nei-
ther the tutor nor Helen, the good soul, who cut all her
son's verses out of the paper, knew that Nep was no other
than that flaming Eros, who sang so vehemently of the new
actress.

" Who is the lady," at last asked Mrs. Pendennis, " whom
your rival is always singing in the County Chronicle. He
writes something like you, dear Pen, but yours is much
the best. Have you seen Miss Fotheringay? "

Pen said yes, he had; that night he went to see the
" Stranger," she acted Mrs. Haller. By the way, she was
going to have a benefit, and was to appear in Ophelia —

74 PENDENNIS.

suppose we were to go — Shakspeare you know, mother —
we can get horses from the Clavering Arms. Little Laura
sprang up with delight, she longed for a play.

Pen introduced "Shakspeare you know," because the
deceased Pendennis, as became a man of his character, pro-
fessed an uncommon respect for the bard of Avon, in whose
works he safely said there was more poetry than in all
"Johnson's Poets" put together. And though Mr. Pen-
dennis did not much read the works in question, yet he en-
joined Pen to peruse them, and often said what pleasure he
should have, when the boy was of a proper age, in taking
him and mother to see some good plays of the immortal
poet.

The ready tears welled up in the kind mother's eyes as
she remembered these speeches of the man who was gone.
She kissed her son fondly, and said she would go. Laura
jumped for joy. Was Pen happy? — was he ashamed? As
he held his mother to him, he longed to tell her all, but he
kept his counsel. He would see how his mother liked her;
the play should be the thing, and he would try his mother
like Hamlet's.

Helen, in her good humour, asked Mr. Smirke to be of
the party. That ecclesiastic had been bred up by a fond
parent at Clapham, who had an objection to dramatic en-
tertainments, and he had never yet seen a play. But,
Shakspeare ! — but to go with Mrs. Pendennis in her car-
riage, and sit a whole night by her side ! — he could not re-
sist the idea of so much pleasure, and made a feeble speech,
in which he spoke of temptation and gratitude, and finally
accepted Mrs. Pendennis' s most kind offer. As he spoke
he gave her a look, which made her exceedingly uncom-
fortable. She had seen that look more than once, of late,
pursuing her. He became more positively odious every
day in the widow's eyes.

We are not going to say a great deal about Pen's court-
ship of Miss Fotheringay, for the reader has already had a
specimen of her conversation, much of which need surely

PENDENNIS. 75

not be reported. Pen sate with her hour after hour, and
poured forth all his honest boyish soul to her. Everything
he knew, or hoped, or felt, or had read, or fancied, he told
to her. He never tired of talking and longing. One after
another, as his thoughts rose in his hot eager brain, he
clothed them in words, and told them to her. Her part of
the tete-a-tete was not to talk, but to appear as if she un-
derstood what Pen talked, and to look exceedingly hand-
some and sympathising. The fact is, whilst he was mak-
ing one of his tirades, the lovely Emily, who could not
comprehend a tenth part of his talk, had leisure to think
about her own affairs, and would arrange in her own mind
how they should dress the cold mutton, or how she would
turn the black satin, or make herself out of her scarf a bon-
net like Miss Thackthwaite's, new one, and so forth. Pen
spouted Byron and Moore ; passion and poetry ; her business
was to throw up her eyes, or fixing them for a moment on
his face, to cry, "Oh, 'tis beautiful! Ah, how exquisite!
Repeat those lines again." And off the boy went, and she
returned to her own simple thoughts about the turned
gown, or the hashed mutton.

In fact Pen's passion was not long a secret from the
lovely Emily or her father. Upon his second visit, his ad-
miration was quite evident to both of them, and on his de-
parture the old gentleman said to his daughter, as he
winked at her over his glass of grog, " Faith, Milly darling,
I think ye've hooked that chap."

"Pooh, 'tis only a boy, papa dear," Milly remarked.
"Sure he's but a child."

"Ye've hooked 'um any how," said the Captain, "and
let me tell ye he's not a bad fish. I asked Tom at the
George, and Flint, the grocer, where his mother dales — fine
fortune — drives in her chariot — splendid park and grounds
— Fairoaks Park — only son — property all his own at
twenty-one — ye might go further and not fare so well, Miss
Fotheringay."

"Them boys are mostly talk," said Milly, seriously.
"Ye know at Dublin how ye went on about young Pol-

76 PENDENNIS.

doody, and I've a whole desk full of verses he wrote me
when he was in Trinity College ; but he went abroad, and
his mother married him to an Englishwoman."

" Lord Poldoody was a young nobleman ; and in them
it's natural : and ye weren't in the position in which ye are
now, Milly dear. But ye mustn't encourage this young
chap too much, for, bedad, Jack Costigan won't have any
thrifling with his daughter."

" No more will his daughter, papa, you may be sure of
that," Milly said. "A little sip more of the punch, — sure,
'tis beautiful. Ye needn't be afraid about the young chap
— I think I'm old enough to take care of myself, Captain
Costigan."

So Pen used to come day after day, rushing in and gal-
loping away, and growing more wild about the girl with
every visit. Sometimes the Captain was present at their
meetings ; but having a perfect confidence in his daughter,
he was more often inclined to leave the young couple to
themselves, and cocked his hat over his eye, and strutted
off on some errand when Pen entered. How delightful
those interviews were! The Captain's drawing-room was
a low wainscoted room, with a large window looking into
the Dean's garden. There Pen sate and talked — and talked
to Emily, looking beautiful as she sate at her work, looking
beautiful and calm, and the sunshine came streaming in at
the great windows, and lighted up her superb face and form.
In the midst of the conversation, the great bell would be-
gin to boom, and he would pause smiling, and be silent un-
til the sound of the vast music died away — or the rooks in
the cathedral elms would make a great noise towards
sunset — or the sound of the organ and the choristers would
come over the quiet air, and gently hush Pen's talking.

By the way, it must be said that Miss Fotheringay, in
a plain shawl and a close bonnet and veil, went to church
every Sunday of her life, accompanied by her indefatigable
father, who gave the responses in a very rich and fine
brogue, joined in the psalms and chanting, and behaved in
the most exemplary manner.

PENDENNIS. 77

Little Bows, the House-friend of the family, was exceed-
ingly wroth at the notion of Miss Fotherin gay's marriage
with a stripling seven or eight years her junior. Bows,
who was a cripple, and owned that he was a little more
deformed even than Bingley the manager, so that he could
not appear on the stage, was a singular wild man of no
small talents and humour. Attracted first by Miss Fother-
ingay's beauty, he began to teach her how to act. He
shrieked out in his cracked voice the parts, and his pupil
learned them from his lips by rote, and repeated them in
her full rich tones. He indicated the attitudes, and set and
moved those beautiful arms of hers. Those who remember
this grand actress on the stage can recall how she used al-
ways precisely the same gestures, looks, and tones ; how
she stood on the same plank of the stage in the same posi-
tion, rolled her eyes at the same instant and to the same
degree, and wept with precisely the same heart-rending
pathos and over the same pathetic syllable. And after she
had come out trembling with emotion before the audience,
and looking so exhausted and tearful that you fancied she
would faint with sensibility, she would gather up her hair
the instant she was behind the curtain, and go home to a
mutton chop and a glass of brown stout ; and the harrow-
ing labours of the day over, she went to bed and snored as
resolutely and as regularly as a porter.

Bows then was indignant at the notion that his pupil
should throw her chances away in life by bestowing her
hand upon a little country squire. As soon as a London
manager saw her he prophesied that she would get a Lon-
don engagement, and a great success. The misfortune was
that the London managers had seen her. She had played
in London three years before, and had failed from utter
stupidity. Since then it was that Bows had taken her in
hand and taught her part after part. How he worked and
screamed, and twisted, and repeated lines over and over
again, and with what indomitable patience and dullness she
followed him ! She knew that he made her : and let her-
self be made. She was not grateful, or ungrateful, or un-

78 PENDENNIS.

kind, or ill-humoured, She was only stupid ; and Pen was
madly in love with her.

The post-horses from the Clavering Arms arrived in due
time, and carried the party to the theatre at Chatteris,
where Pen was gratified in perceiving that a tolerably large
audience was assembled. The young gentlemen from Bay-
mouth had a box, in the front of which sate Mr. Foker and
his friend Mr. Spavin splendidly attired in the most full-
blown evening costume. They saluted Pen in a cordial
manner, and examined his party, of which they approved,
for little Laura was a pretty little red-cheeked girl with a
quantity of shining brown ringlets, and Mrs. Pendennis
dressed in black velvet with the diamond cross which she
sported on great occasions, looked uncommonly handsome
and majestic. Behind these sate Mr. Arthur, and the
gentle Smirke with the curl reposing on his fair forehead,
and his white tie in perfect order. He blushed to find
himself in such a place — but how happy was he to be there 1
He and Mrs. Pendennis brought books of " Hamlet " with
them to follow the tragedy, as is the custom of honest
country-folks who go to a play in state. Samuel, coachman,
groom, and gardener to Mrs. Pendennis, took his place in
the pit, where Mr. Foker' s man was also visible. It was dot-
ted with non-commissioned officers of the Dragoons, whose
band, by kind permission of Colonel Swallowtail, were, as
usual, in the orchestra; and that corpulent and distin-
guished warrior himself, with his Waterloo medal and a num-
ber of his young men, made a handsome show in the boxes.

"Who is that odd-looking person bowing to you,
Arthur? " Mrs. Pendennis asked of her son.

Pen blushed a great deal. " His name is Captain Costi-
gan, ma'am," he said — "a Peninsular officer." In fact it
was the Captain in a new shoot of clothes, as he called
them, and with a large pair of white kid gloves, one of
which he waved to Pendennis, whilst he laid the other
sprawling over his heart and coat-buttons. Pen did not
say any more. And how was Mrs. Pendennis to know that
Mr. Costigan was the father of Miss Fotheringay?

PENDENNIS. 79

Mr. Hornbull, from London, was the Hamlet of the
night, Mr. Bingley modestly contenting himself with the
part of Horatio, and reserving his chief strength for Wil-
liam in "Black-Eyed Susan," which was the second piece.

We have nothing to do with the play: except to say,
that Ophelia looked lovely, and performed with admirable
wild pathos : laughing, weeping, gazing wildly, waving her
beautiful white arms, and flinging about her snatches of
flowers and songs with the most charming madness. What
an opportunity her splendid black hair had of tossing over
her shoulders ! She made the most charming corpse ever
seen ; and while Hamlet and Laertes were battling in her
grave, she was looking out from the back scenes with some
curiosity towards Pen's box, and the family party assem-
bled in it.

There was but one voice in her praise there. Mrs. Pen-
dennis was in ecstacies with her beauty. Little Laura was
bewildered by the piece, and the Ghost, and the play within
the play (during which, as Hamlet lay at Ophelia's knee,
Pen felt that he would have liked to strangle Mr. Horn-
bull), but cried out great praises of that beautiful young
creature. Pen was charmed with the effect which she pro-
duced on his mother — and the clergyman, for his part, was
exceedingly enthusiastic.

When the curtain fell upon that group of slaughtered
personages, who are dispatched so suddenly at the end of
" Hamlet," and whose demise astonished poor little Laura
not a little, there was an immense shouting and applause
from all quarters of the house ; the intrepid Smirke, vio-
lently excited, clapped his hands, and cried out " Bravo,
Bravo ! " as loud as the Dragoon officers themselves. These
were greatly moved, — its s'agitaient sur leurs banes, — to
borrow a phrase from our neighbours. They were led
cheering into action by the portly Swallowtail, who waved
his cap — the non-commissioned officers in the pit, of course,
gallantly following their chiefs. There was a roar of
bravos rang through the house; Pen bellowing with the
loudest, " Fotheringay ! Fotheringay 1 " Messrs. Spavin

80 PENDENNIS.

and Foker giving the view halloo from their box. Even
Mrs. Pendennis began to wave about her pocket-handker-
chief, and little Laura danced, laughed, clapped, and
looked up at Pen with wonder.

Hornbull led the beneficiaire forward, amidst bursts of
enthusiasm — and she looked so handsome and radiant,
with her hair still over her shoulders, that Pen hardly
could contain himself for rapture : and he leaned over his
mother's chair, and shouted, and hurrayed, and waved his
hat. It was all he could do to keep his secret from Helen
and not say, "Look! That's the woman! Isn't she peer-
less? I tell you I love her." But he disguised these feel-
ings under an enormous bellowing and hurraying.

As for Miss Fotheringay and her behaviour, the reader is
referred to a former page for an account of that. She went
through precisely the same business. She surveyed the
house all round with glances of gratitude ; and trembled,
and almost sank with emotion, over her favourite trap-
door. She seized the flowers (Foker discharged a prodig-
ious bouquet at her, and even Smirke made a feeble shy
with a rose, and blushed dreadfully when it fell into the
pit) — she seized the flowers and pressed them to her swell-
ing heart — &c. &c. — in a word — we refer the reader to page
60. Twinkling in her breast poor old Pen saw a locket
which he had bought of Mr. Nathan in High Street with
the last shilling he was worth, and a sovereign borrowed
from Smirke.

" Black-Eyed Susan " followed, at which sweet story our
gentle-hearted friends were exceedingly charmed and af-
fected : and in which Susan, with a russet gown and a pink
ribbon in her cap, looked to the full as lovely as Ophelia.
Bingley was great in William. Goll, as the Admiral,
looked like the figure-head of a seventy-four ; and Garbetts,
as Captain Boldweather, a miscreant who forms a plan for
carrying off Black-Eyed Susan, and waving an immense
cocked hat, says, " Come what may, he will be the ruin of
her" — all these performed their parts with their accus-
tomed talent ; and it was with a sincere regret that all our

PENDENNIS. 81

friends saw the curtain drop down and end that pretty and
tender story.

If Pen had been alone with his mother in the carriage
as they went home, he would have told her all that night ;
but he sate on the box in the moonshine smoking a cigar by
the side of Smirke, who warmed himself with a comforter.
Mr. Foker's tandem and lamps whirled by the sober old
Clavering posters, as they were a couple of miles on their
road home, and Mr. Spavin saluted Mrs. Pendennis's car-
riage with some considerable variations of Rule Britannia
on the key-bugle.

It happened two days after the above gaieties that the
Dean of Chatteris entertained a few select clerical friends at
dinner at his Deanery House. That they drank uncommonly
good port wine, and abused the Bishop over their dessert,
are very likely matters : but with such we have nothing at
present to do. Our friend Doctor Portman, of Clavering,
was one of the Dean's guests, and being a gallant man, and
seeing, from his place at the mahogany, the Dean's lady
walking up and down the grass, with her children sporting
around her, and her pink parasol over her lovely head — the
Doctor stept out of the French windows of the dining-room
into the lawn, which skirts that apartment, and left the
other white neck-cloths to gird at my Lord Bishop. Then
the Doctor went up and offered Mrs. Dean his arm, and
they sauntered over the ancient velvet lawn, which had
been mowed and rolled for immemorial Deans, in that easy,
quiet, comfortable manner, in which people of middle-age
and good temper walk after a good dinner, in a calm golden
summer evening, when the sun has but just sunk behind
the enormous cathedral towers, and the sickle-shaped moon
is growing every instant brighter in the heavens.

Now at the end of the Dean's garden, there is, as we
have stated, Mrs. Creed's house, and the windows of the
first-floor room were open to admit the pleasant summer
air. A young lady of six-and-twenty, whose eyes were
perfectly wide open, and a luckless boy of eighteen, blind

82 PENDENNIS.

with love and infatuation, were in that chamber together ;
in which persons, as we have before seen them in the same
place, the reader will have no difficulty in recognising Mr.
Arthur Pendennis and Miss Costigan.

The poor boy had taken the plunge. Trembling with
passionate emotion, his heart beating and throbbing fiercely,
tears rushing forth in spite of him, his voice almost chok-
ing with feeling, poor Pen had said those words which he
could withhold no more, and flung himself and his whole
store of love, and admiration, and ardour, at the feet of
this mature beauty. Is he the first who has done so? Have
none before or after him staked all their treasure of life,
as a savage does his land and possessions against a draught
of the fair-skins' fire- water, or a couple of bauble eyes?

" Does your mother know of this, Arthur ? " said Miss
Fotheringay, slowly. He seized her hand madly and kissed
it a thousand times. She did not withdraw it. " Does the
old lady know it? " Miss Costigan thought to herself ; " well,
perhaps she may," and then she remembered what a hand-
some diamond cross Mrs. Pendennis had on the night of
the play, and thought, "sure 'twill go in the family."

" Calm yourself, dear Arthur," she said, in her low rich
voice, and smiled sweetly and gravely upon him. Then
with her disengaged hand, she put the hair lightly off
his throbbing forehead. He was in such a rapture and
whirl of happiness that he could hardly speak. At last he
gasped out, "My mother has seen you and admires you be-
yond measure. She will learn to love you soon : who can
do otherwise? She will love you because I do."

" 'Deed then, I think you do," said Miss Costigan, per-
haps with a sort of pity for Pen.

Think he did ! Of course here Mr. Pen went off into a
rhapsody which, as we have perfect command over our own
feelings, we have no right to overhear. Let the poor boy
fling out his simple heart at the woman's feet, and deal
gently with him. It is best to love wisely, no doubt : but
to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.
Some of us can't : and are proud of our impotence too.

PENDENNIS. 83

At the end of his speech, Pen again kissed the imperial
hand with rapture — and I believe it was at this very mo-
ment, and while Mrs. Dean and Doctor Portman were en-
gaged in conversation, that young Master Ridley Eoset,
her son, pulled his mother by the back of her capacious
dress and said —

" I say, ma ! look up there " — and he waggled his inno-
cent head.

That was, indeed, a view from the Dean's garden such
as seldom is seen by Deans — or is written in Chapters.
There was poor Pen performing a salute upon the rosy fin-
gers of his charmer, who received the embrace with perfect
calmness and good-humour. Master Ridley looked up and
grinned, little Miss Rosa looked at her brother, and opened
the mouth of astonishment. Mrs. Dean's countenance
defied expression, and as for Dr. Portman, when he be-
held the scene, and saw his prime favourite and dear pupil
Pen, he stood mute with rage and wonder.

Mrs. Haller spied the party below at the same moment,
and gave a start and a laugh. "Sure there's somebody in
the Dean's garden," she cried out; and withdrew with per-
fect calmness, whilst Pen darted away with his face glow-
ing like coals. The garden party had re-entered the house
when he ventured to look out again. The sickle moon was
blazing bright in the heavens then, the stars were glitter-
ing, the bells of the cathedral tolling nine, the Dean's
guests (all save one, who had called for his horse Dumpling
and ridden off early) were partaking of tea and buttered
cakes in Mrs. Dean's drawing-room — when Pea took leave
of Miss Costigan.

Pen arrived at home in due time afterwards, and was
going to slip off to bed, for the poor lad was greatly worn and
agitated, and his high-strung nerves had been at almost a
maddening pitch — when a summons came to him by John
the old footman, whose countenance bore a very ominous
look, that his mother must see him below.

On this he tied on his neckcloth again, and went down-
stairs to the drawing-room. There sate not only his

84 PENDENNIS.

mother, but her friend, the Reverend Doctor Portrnari.
Helen's face looked very pale by the light of the lamp —
the Doctor's was flushed, on the contrary, and quivering
with anger and emotion.

Pen saw at once that there was a crisis, and that there
had been a discovery. "Now for it," he thought.

" Where have you been, Arthur? " Helen said in a trem-
bling voice.

" How can you look that — that dear lady, and a Chris-
tian clergyman in the face, sir? " bounced out the Doctor,
in spite of Helen's pale, appealing looks. " Where has he
been? Where his mother's son should have been ashamed
to go. For your mother's an angel, sir, an angel. How
dare you bring pollution into her house, and make that
spotless creature wretched with the thoughts of your
crime? "

"Sir!" said Pen.

"Don't deny it, sir," roared the Doctor. "Don't add
lies, sir, to your other infamy. I saw you myself, sir. I
saw you from the Dean's garden. I saw you kissing the
hand of that infernal painted " —

" Stop ! " Pen said, clapping his fist on the table, till the
lamp flickered up and shook ; " I am a very young man,
but you will please .to remember that I am a gentleman — I
will hear no abuse of that lady. "

" Lady, sir ! " cried the Doctor, " that a lady — you — you
— you stand in your mother's presence and call that — that
woman a lady ! " —

"In anybody's presence," shouted out Pen. "She is
worthy of any place. She is as pure as any woman. She
is as good as she is beautiful. If any man but you in-
sulted her, I would tell him what I thought; but as you
are my oldest friend, I suppose you have the privilege to
doubt of my honour."

"No, no, Pen, dearest Pen! " cried out Helen in an ex-
cess of joy. " I told, I told you, Doctor, he was not — not
what you thought : " and the tender creature coming trem-
bling forward flung herself on Pen's shoulder.

PENDENNIS. 85

Pen felt himself a man, and a match for all the Doctors
in Doctordom. He was glad this explanation had come.
" You saw how beautiful she was," he said to his mother,
with a soothing, protecting air, like Hamlet with Gertrude
in the play. "I tell you, dear mother, she is as good.
When you know her you will say so. She is of all, except
you, the simplest, the kindest, the most affectionate of
women. Why should she not be on the stage? — She main-
tains her father by her labour. "

"Drunken old reprobate," growled the Doctor, but Pen
did not hear or heed.

" If you could see, as I have, how orderly her life is,
how pure and pious her whole conduct, you would — as I
do — yes, as I do " — (with a savage look at the Doctor) —
" spurn the slanderer who dared to do her wrong. Her fa-
ther was an officer, and distinguished himself in Spain. He
was a friend of His Eoyal Highness the Duke of Kent, and
is intimately known to the Duke of Wellington, and some
of the first officers of our army. He has met my uncle
Arthur at Lord Hill's, he thinks. His own family is one
of the most ancient and respectable in Ireland, and indeed
is as good as our own. The — the Costigans were kings of
Ireland."

" Why, God bless my soul," shrieked out the Doctor,
hardly knowing whether to burst with rage or laughter,
"you don't mean to say you want to marry her? "

Pen put on his most princely air. " What else, Dr. Port-
man," he said, "do you suppose would be my desire? "

Utterly foiled in his attack, and knocked down by this
sudden lunge of Pen's, the Doctor could only gasp out,
"Mrs. Pendennis, ma'am, send for the Major."

"Send for the Major? with all my heart," said Arthur,
Prince of Pendennis and Grand Duke of Fairoaks, with a
most superb wave of the hand. And the colloquy termi-
nated by the writing of those two letters which were laid on
Major Pendennis' s breakfast-table, in London, at the com-
mencement of Prince Arthur's most veracious history.

86 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTEK VII.

IN WHICH THE MAJOR MAKES HIS APPEARANCE.

OUR acquaintance, Major Pendennis, arrived in due time
at Fairoaks, after a dreary night passed in the mail-coach,
where a stout fellow-passenger, swelling preternaturally
with great-coats, had crowded him into a corner, and kept
him awake by snoring indecently ; where a widow lady, op-
posite, had not only shut out the fresh air by closing all
the windows of the vehicle, but had filled the interior with
fumes of Jamaica rum and water, which she sucked per-
petually from a bottle in her reticule ; where, whenever he
caught a brief moment of sleep, the twanging of the horn
at the turnpike gates, or the scuffling of his huge neigh-
bour wedging him closer and closer, or the play of the
widow's feet on his own tender toes, speedily woke up the
poor gentleman to the horrors and realities of life — a life
which has passed away now, and become impossible, and
only lives in fond memories. Eight miles an hour, for
twenty or five-and-twenty hours, a tight mail-coach, a hard
seat, a gouty tendency, a perpetual change of coachmen
grumbling because you did not fee them enough, a fellow-
passenger partial to spirits-and-water, — who has not borne
these evils in the jolly old times? and how could people
travel under such difficulties? And yet they did. Night
and morning passed, and the Major, with a yellow face, a
bristly beard, a wig out of curl, and strong rheumatic griefs
shooting through various limbs of his uneasy body, de-
scended at the little lodge-gate at Fairoaks, where the por-
teress and gardener's wife reverentially greeted him: and
still more respectfully, Mr. Morgan, his man.

Helen was on the look-out for this expected guest, and
saw him from her window. But she did not come forward
immediately to greet him. She knew the Major did not

PENDENNIS. 87

like to be seen at a surprise, and required a little prepara-
tion before he cared to be visible. Pen, when a boy, had
incurred sad disgrace, by carrying off from the Major's
dressing-table a little morocco box, which it must be con-
fessed contained the Major's back teeth, which he naturally
would leave out of his jaws in a jolting mail-coach, and
without which he would not choose to appear. Morgan,
his man, made a mystery of mystery of his wigs : curling
them in private places: introducing them privily to his
master's room; — nor without his head of hair would the
Major care to show himself to any member of his family,
or any acquaintance. He went to his apartment then and
supplied these deficiencies; he groaned, and moaned, and
wheezed, and cursed Morgan through his toilet, as an old
buck will, who has been up all night with a rheumatism,
and has a long duty to perform. And finally being belted,
curled, and set straight, he descended upon the drawing-
room, with a brave majestic air such as befitted one who
was at once. a man of business and a man of fashion.

Pen was not there, however; only Helen, and little
Laura sewing at her knees; and to whom he never pre-
sented more than a forefinger, as he did on this occasion
after saluting his sister-in-law. Laura took the finger trem-
bling and dropped it — and then fled out of the room. Ma-
jor Pendennis did not want to keep her, or indeed to have
her in the house at all, and had his private reason for dis-
approving of her ; which we may mention on some future
occasion. Meanwhile Laura disappeared, and wandered
about the premises seeking for Pen : whom she presently
found in the orchard, pacing up and down a walk there in
earnest conversation with Mr. Smirke. He was so occu-
pied that he did not hear Laura's clear voice singing out,
until Smirke pulled him by the coat, and pointed towards
her as she came running.

She ran up and put her hand into his. " Come in, Pen,"
she said, "there's somebody come; uncle Arthur's come."

" He is, is he? " said Pen, and she felt him grasp her
little hand. He looked round at Smirke with uncommon

88 PENDENNIS.

fierceness, as much as to say, I am ready for him or any
man — Mr. Smirke cast up his eyes as usual, and heaved a
gentle sigh.

" Lead on, Laura," Pen said, with a half fierce, half
comic air — "Lead on, and say I wait upon my uncle."
But he was laughing in order to hide a great anxiety : and
was screwing his courage inwardly to face the ordeal which
he knew was now before him.

Pen had taken Smirke into his confidence in the last two
days, and after the outbreak attendant on the discovery of
Doctor Portman, and during every one of those forty-eight
hours which he had passed in Mr. Smirke' s society, had
done nothing but talk to his tutor about Miss Fotheringay
— Miss Emily Fotheringay — Emily, &c., to all which talk
Sinirke listened without difficulty, for he was in love him-
self, most anxious in all things to propitiate Pen, and in-
deed very much himself enraptured by the personal charms
of this goddess, whose like, never having been before at a
theatrical representation, he had not beheld until now.
Pen's fire and volubility, his hot eloquence and rich poet-
ical tropes and figures, his manly heart, kind, ardent, and
hopeful, refusing to see any defects in the person he loved,
any difficulties in their position that he might not over-
come, had half convinced Mr. Smirke that the arrangement
proposed by Mr. Pen was a very feasible and prudent one,
and that it would be a great comfort to have Emily settled
at Fairoaks, Captain Costigan in the yellow room, estab-
lished for life there, and Pen married at eighteen.

And it is a fact that in these two days, the boy had al-
most talked over his mother, too ; had parried all her ob-
jections one after another with that indignant good sense
which is often the perfection of absurdity; and had
brought her almost to acquiesce in the belief that if the
marriage was doomed in heaven, why doomed it was — that
if the young woman was a good person, it was all that she
for her part had to ask ; and rather to dread the arrival of
the guardian uncle who she foresaw would regard Mr. Pen's
marriage in a manner very different to that simple, ro-

PENDENNIS. 89

mantic, honest, and utterly absurd way, in which the
widow was already disposed to look at questions of this
sort. Helen Pendennis was a country-bred woman, and
the book of life, as she interpreted it, told her a different
story to that page which is read in cities. It pleased her
(with that dismal pleasure which the idea of sacrificing
themselves gives to certain women), to think of the day
when she would give up all to Pen, and he should bring his
wife home, and she would surrender the keys and the best
bed-room, and go and sit at the side of the table, and see
him happy. What did she want in life, but to see the lad
prosper? As an empress was certainly not too good for
him, and would be honoured by becoming Mrs. Pen; so if
he selected humble Esther instead of Queen Vashti, she
would be content with his lordship's choice. Never mind
how lowly or poor the person might be who was to enjoy
that prodigious honour, Mrs. Pendennis was willing to bow
before her and welcome her, and yield her up the first
place. But an actress — a mature woman, who had long
ceased blushing except with rouge, as she stood under the
eager glances of thousands of eyes — an illiterate and ill-
bred person, very likely, who must have lived with light
associates, and have heard doubtful conversation — Oh! it
was hard that such a one should be chosen, and that the
matron should be deposed to give place to such a Sultana.

All these doubts the widow laid before Pen during the
two days which had of necessity to elapse ere the uncle
came down ; but he met them with that happy frankness
and ease which a young gentleman exhibits at his time of
life, and routed his mother's objections with infinite satis-
faction to himself. Miss Costigan was a paragon of virtue
and delicacy ! she was as sensitive as the most timid maid-
en ; she was as pure as the unsullied snow ; she had the
finest manners, the most graceful wit and genius, the most
charming refinement, and justness of appreciation in all
matters of taste ; she had the most admirable temper and
devotion to her father, a good old gentleman of high family
and fallen fortunes, who had lived, however, with the best

90 .PENDENNTS.

society in Europe : he was in no hurry, and could afford to
wait any time — till he was one-and-twenty. But he felt
(and here his face assumed an awful and harrowing solem-
nity) that he was engaged in the one only passion of his
life, and that DEATH alone could close it.

Helen told him, with a sad smile and a shake of the
head, that people survived these passions, and as for long
engagements contracted between very yonng men and old
women — she knew an instance in her own family — Laura's
poor father was an instance — how fatal they were.

Mr. Pen, however, was resolved that death must be his
doom in case of disappointment, and rather than this —
rather than baulk him in fact — this lady would have sub-
mitted to any sacrifice or personal pain, and would have
gone down on her knees and have kissed the feet of a Hot-
tentot daughter-in-law.

Arthur knew his power over the widow, and the young
tyrant was touched whilst he exercised it. In those two
days he brought her almost into submission, and patronised
her very kindly ; and he passed one evening with the lovely
pie-maker at Chatteris, in which he bragged of his influ-
ence over his mother ; and he spent the other night in com-
posing a most flaming and conceited copy of verses to his
divinity, in which he vowed, like Montrose, that he would
make her famous with his sword and glorious by his pen,
and that he would love her as no mortal woman had been
adored since the creation of womankind.

It was on that night, long after midnight, that wakeful
Helen, passing stealthily by her son's door, saw a light
streaming through the chink of the door into the dark pas-
sage, and heard Pen tossing and tumbling and mumbling
verses in his bed. She waited outside for a while, anx-
iously listening to him. In infantile fevers and early boy-
ish illnesses, many a night before, the kind soul had so kept
watch. She turned the lock very softly now, and went in
so gently, that Pen for a moment did not see her. His face
was turned from her. His papers on his desk were scat-
tered about, and more were lying on the bed round him.

PENDENNIS. 91

He was biting a pencil and thinking of rhymes and all sorts
of follies and passions. He was Hamlet jumping into
Ophelia's grave: he was the Stranger taking Mrs. Haller
to his arms, beautiful Mrs. Haller, with the raven ringlets
falling over her shoulders. Despair and Byron, Thomas
Moore and all the Loves of the Angels, Waller and Herrick,
Beranger and all the love-songs he had ever read, were work-
ing and seething in this young gentleman's mind, and he
was at the very height and paroxysm of the imaginative
phrensy, when his mother found him.

"Arthur," said the mother's soft silver voice: and he
started up and turned round. He clutched some of the
papers and pushed them under the pillow.

" Why don't you go to sleep, my dear? " she said, with
a sweet tender smile, and sate down on the bed and took
one of his hot hands.

Pen looked at her wildly for an instant — " I couldn't
sleep," he said — "I — I was — I was writing." — And here-
upon he flung his arms round her neck and said, " 0 mother !
I love her, I love her ! " — How could such a kind soul as
that help soothing and pitying him? The gentle creature
did her best : and thought with a strange wonderment and
tenderness, that it was only yesterday that he was a child
in that bed : and how she used to come and say her prayers
over it before he woke upon holiday mornings.

They were very grand verses, no doubt, although Miss
Fotheringay did not understand them ; but old Cos, with a
wink and a knowing finger on his nose, said, " Put them up
with th' hother letthers, Milly darling. Poldoody's pomes
was nothing to this. " So Milly locked up the manuscripts.

When, then, the Major being dressed and presentable,
presented himself to Mrs. Pendennis, he found in the
course of ten minutes' colloquy that the poor widow was
not merely distressed at the idea of the marriage contem-
plated by Pen, but actually more distressed at thinking
that the boy himself was unhappy about it, and that his
uncle and he should have any violent altercation on the
subject. She besought Major Pendennis to be very gentle

5— Thackeray, Vol. 3

92 PENDENNIS.

•with Arthur: "He has a very high spirit, and will not
brook unkind words," she hinted. " Doctor Portmau spoke
to him rather roughly — and I must own unjustly, the other
night — for my dearest boy's honour is as high as any
mother can desire — but Pen's answer quite frightened me,
it was so indignant. Recollect he is a man now ; and be
very — very cautious," said the widow, laying a fair long
hand on the Major's sleeve.

He took it up, kissed it gallantly, and looked in her
alarmed face with wonder, and a scorn which he was too
polite to show. " Bon Dieu ! " thought the old negotiator,
"the boy has actually talked the woman round, and she'd
get him a wife as she would a toy if Master cried for it.
Why are there no such things as lettres-de- cachet — and a
Bastille for young fellows of family? " The Major lived
in such good company that he might be excused for feeling
like an Earl. — He kissed the widow's timid hand, pressed
it in both his, and laid it down on the table with one of
his own over it, as he smiled and looked her in the face.

"Confess," said he, "now, that you are thinking how
you possibly can make it up to your conscience to let the
boy have his own way."

She blushed, and was moved in the usual manner of
females. " I am thinking that he is very unhappy — and I
am too " —

" To contradict him or to let him have his own wish? "
asked the other ; and added, with great comfort to his in-
ward self, "I'm d— d if he shall."

" To think that he should have formed so foolish and
cruel and fatal an attachment," the widow said, "which
can but end in pain whatever be the issue. "

"The issue shan't be marriage, my dear sister," the Ma-
jor said resolutely. " We're not going to have a Pendennis,
the head of the house, marry a strolling mountebank from
a booth. No, no, we won't marry into Greenwich Fair,
ma'am."

" If the match is broken suddenly off," the widow inter-
posed, "I don't know what may be the consequence. I

PENDENNIS. 93

know Arthur's ardent temper, the intensity of his affec-
tions, the agony of his pleasures and disappointments, and
I tremble at this one if it must be. Indeed, indeed, it
must not come on him too suddenly."

"My dear madam," the Major said, with an air of the
deepest commiseration, "I've no doubt Arthur will hare to
suffer confoundedly before he gets over the little disap-
pointment. But is he, think you, the only person who has
been so rendered miserable? "

"No, indeed," said Helen, holding down her eyes. She
was thinking of her own case, and was at that moment
seventeen again, and most miserable.

"I, myself," whispered her brother-in-law, "have under-
gone a disappointment in early life. A young woman with
fifteen thousand pounds, niece to an Earl — most accom-
plished creature — a third of her money would have run up
my promotion in no time, and I should have been a lieu-
tenant-colonel at thirty : but it might not be. I was but a
penniless lieutenant: her parents interfered: and I em-
barked for India, where I had the honour of being secre-
tary to Lord Buckley, when Commander-in-Chief — without
her. What happened? We returned our letters, sent back
our locks of hair (the Major here passed his fingers through
his wig), we suffered — but we recovered. She is now a
baronet's wife with thirteen grown-up children; altered, it
is true, in person ; but her daughters remind me of what
she was, and the third is to be presented early next week."

Helen did not answer. She was still thinking of old
times. I suppose if one lives to be a hundred, there are
certain passages of one's early life whereof the recollection
will always carry us back to youth again, and that Helen
was thinking of one of these.

" Look at my own brother, my dear creature," the Major
continued gallantly: "he himself, you know, had a little
disappointment when he started in the — the medical pro-
fession— an eligible opportunity presented itself. Miss
Balls, I remember the name, was daughter of an apoth — a
practitioner in very large practice ; my brother had very

94 PENDENNIS.

nearly succeeded in his suit. — But difficulties arose : disap-
pointments supervened, and — and I am sure he had no
reason to regret the disappointment which gave him this
hand," said the Major, and he once more politely pressed
Helen's fingers.

" Those marriages between people of such different rank
and age," said Helen, "are sad things. I have known
them produce a great deal of unhappiness. — Laura's father,
my cousin, who — who was brought up with me " — she
added, in a low voice, " was an instance of that. "

" Most injudicious," cut in the Major. " I don't know
anything more painful than for a man to marry his superior
in age or his inferior in station. Fancy marrying a woman
of a low rank of life, and having your house filled with her
confounded tag-rag-and-bobtail relations! Fancy your
wife attached to a mother who dropped her h's, or called
Maria Marire ! How are you to introduce her into society?
My dear Mrs. Pendennis, I will name no names, but in the
very best circles of London society I have seen men suffer-
ing the most excruciating agony, I have known them to be
cut, to be lost utterly, from the vulgarity of their wives'
connections. What did Lady Snapperton do last year at
her dejeuner dansant after the Bohemian Ball? She told
Lord Brouncker that he might bring his daughters or send
them with a proper chaperon, but that she would not re-
ceive Lady Brouncker: who was a druggist's daughter, or
some such thing, and as Tom Wagg remarked of her, never
wanted medicine certainly, for she never had an h in her
life. Good Ged, what would have been the trifling pang
of a separation in the first instance to the enduring inflic-
tion of a constant misalliance and intercourse with low
people? "

"What, indeed!" said Helen, dimly disposed towards
laughter, but yet checking the inclination, because she re-
membered in what prodigious respect her deceased husband
held Major Pendennis and his stories of the great world.

"Then this fatal woman is ten years older than that silly
young scapegrace of an Arthur. What happens in such

PENDENNIS. 95

cases, my dear creature? I don't mind telling you now we
are alone : that in the highest state of society, misery, un-
deviating misery, is the result. Look at Lord Clodworthy
come into a room with his wife — why, good Ged, she looks
like Clodworthy' s mother. What's the ca.se between Lord
and Lady Willowbank, whose love match was notorious?
He has already cut her down twice when she has hanged
herself out of jealousy for Mademoiselle de Sainte Cune-
gonde, the dancer; and mark my words, good Ged, one
day he'll not cut the old woman down. No, my dear
madam, you are not in the world, but I am : you are a little
romantic and sentimental (you know you are — women with
those large beautiful eyes always are); you must leave this
matter to my experience. Marry this woman ! Marry at
eighteen an actress of thirty — bah, bah ! — I would as soon
he sent into the kitchen and married the cook."

"I know the evils of premature engagements," sighed
out Helen : and as she has made this allusion no less than
thrice in the course of the above conversation, and seems
to be so oppressed with the notion of long engagements and
unequal marriages, and as the circumstance we have to re-
late will explain what perhaps some persons are anxious to
know, namely who little Laura is, who has appeared more
than once before us, it will be as well to clear up these
points in another chapter.

96 PENDENNIS,

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH PEN IS KEPT WAITING AT THE DOOR
WHILE THE READER IS INFORMED WHO LITTLE
LAURA WAS.

ONCE upon a time, then, there was a young gentleman of
Cambridge University who came to pass the long vacation
at the village where young Helen Thistlewood was living
with her mother, the widow of the lieutenant slain at
Copenhagen. This gentleman, whose name was the Rev-
erend Francis Bell, was nephew to Mrs. Thistlewood, and
by consequence, own cousin to Miss Helen, so that it was
very right that he should take lodgings in his aunt's house,
who lived in a very small way ; and there he passed the
long vacation, reading with three or four pupils who ac-
companied him to the village. Mr. Bell was fellow of a
college, and famous in the University for his learning and
skill as a tutor.

His two kinswomen understood pretty early that the rev-
erend gentleman was engaged to be married, and was only
waiting for a college living to enable him to fulfil his en-
gagement. His intended bride was the daughter of another
parson, who had acted as Mr. Bell's own private tutor in
Bell's early life, and it was whilst under Mr. Coacher's
roof, indeed, and when only a boy of seventeen or eighteen
years of age, that the impetuous young Bell had flung him-
self at the feet of Miss Martha Coacher, whom he was
helping to pick peas in the garden. On his knees, before
those peas and her, he pledged himself to an endless affec-
tion.

Miss Coacher was by many years the young fellow's
senior: and her own heart had been lacerated by many
previous disappointments in the matrimonial line. No less
than three pupils of her father had trifled with those young
affections. The apothecary of the village had despicably

PENDENNIS. 97

jilted her. The dragoon officer, with whom she had danced
so many many times during that happy season which she
passed at Bath with her gouty grandmamma, one day gaily
shook his bridle-rein and galloped away, never to return.
Wounded by the shafts of repeated ingratitude, can it be
wondered at that the heart of Martha Coacher should pant
to find rest somewhere? She listened to the proposals of
the gawky gallant honest boy, with great kindness and
good-humour; at the end of his speech she said, "Law
Bell, I'm sure you are too young to think of such things;"
but intimated that she too would revolve them in her own
virgin bosom. She could not refer Mr. Bell to her mamma,
for Mr. Coacher was a widower, and being immersed in his
books, was of course unable to take the direction of so frail
and wondrous an article as a lady's heart, which Miss
Martha had to manage for herself.

A lock of her hair tied up in a piece of blue ribbon, con-
veyed to the happy Bell the result of the Vestal's conference
with herself. Thrice before had she snipt off one of her
auburn ringlets and given them away. The possessors were
faithless, but the hair had grown again : and Martha had
indeed occasion to say that men were deceivers, when she
handed over this token of love to the simple boy.

Number 6, however, was an exception to former passions
— Francis Bell was the most faithful of lovers. When his
time arrived to go to college, and it became necessary to
acquaint Mr. Coacher of the arrangements that had been
made, the latter cried, " God bless my soul, I hadn't the
least idea what was going on ; " as was indeed very likely,
for he had been taken in three times before in precisely a
similar manner ; and Francis went to the University re-
solved to conquer honours, so as to be able to lay them at
the feet of his beloved Martha.

This prize in view made him labour prodigiously. News
came, term after term, of the honours he won. He sent
the prize-books for his college essays to old Coacher, and
his silver declamation cup to Miss Martha. In due season
he was high among the Wranglers, and a Fellow of his

98 PENDENNIS.

College; and during all the time of these transactions a
constant tender correspondence was kept up with Miss
Coacher, to whose influence, and perhaps with justice, he
attributed the successes which he had won.

By the time, however, when the Rev. Francis Bell, M. A.,
and Fellow and Tutor of his College, was twenty-six years
of age, it happened that Miss Coacher was thirty-four, nor
had her charms, her manners, or her temper improved since
that sunny day in the springtime of life when he found her
picking peas in the garden. Having achieved his honours,
he relaxed in the ardour of his studies, and his judgment
and tastes also perhaps became cooler. The sunshine of
the pea-garden faded away from Miss Martha, and poor
Bell found himself engaged — and his hand pledged to that
bond in a thousand letters — to a coarse, ill-tempered, ill-
favoured, ill-mannered, middle-aged woman.

It was in consequence of one of many altercations (in
which Martha's eloquence shone, and in which therefore she
was frequently pleased to indulge), that Francis refused
to take his pupils to Bearleader's Green, where Mr.
Coacher' s living was, and where Bell was in the habit of
spending the summer: and he bethought him that he would
pass the vacation at his aunt's village, which he had not
seen for many years — not since little Helen was a girl, and
used to sit on his knee. Down then he came and lived
with them. Helen was grown a beautiful young woman
now. The cousins were nearly four months together, from
June to October. They walked in the summer evenings :
they met in the early morn. They read out of the same
book when the old lady dozed at night over the candles.
What little Helen knew, Frank taught her. She sang to
him: she gave her artless heart to him. She was aware of
all his story. Had he made any secret? — had he not
shown the picture of the woman to whom he was engaged,
and with a blush, — her letters, hard, eager, and cruel? —
The days went on and on, happier and closer, with more
kindness, more confidence, and more pity. At last one
morning in October came when Francis went back to col-

PENDENNIS. 99

lege, and the poor girl felt that her tender heart was gone
with him.

Frank too wakened up from the delightful midsummer-
dream to the horrible reality of his own pain. He gnashed
and tore at the chain which bound him. He was frantic
to break it and be free. Should he confess? — give his sav-
ings to the woman to whom he was bound, and beg his re-
lease?— there was time yet — he temporised. No living
might fall in for years to come. The cousins went on cor-
responding sadly and fondly : the betrothed woman, hard,
jealous, and dissatisfied, complaining bitterly, and with
reason, of her Francis's altered tone.

At last things came to a crisis, and the new attachment
was discovered. Francis owned it, cared not to disguise it,
rebuked Martha with her violent temper and angry imperi-
ousness, and, worst of all, with her inferiority and her age.

Her reply was, that if he did not keep his promise she
would carry his letters into every court in the kingdom —
letters in which his love was pledged to her ten thousand
times ; and, after exposing him to the world as the perjurer
and traitor he was, she would kill herself.

Frank had one more interview with Helen, whose mother
was dead then, and who was living companion with old Lady
Pontypool, — one more interview, where it was resolved
that he was to do his duty ; that is, to redeem his vow ;
that is, to pay a debt cozened from him by a sharper ; that
is, to make two honest people miserable. So the two
judged their duty to be, and they parted.

The living fell in only too soon ; but yet Frank Bell was
quite a grey and worn-out man when he was inducted into
it. Helen wrote him a letter on his marriage, beginning,
" My dear Cousin," and ending " always truly yours." She
sent him back the other letters, and the lock of his hair
— all but a small piece. She had it in her desk when she
was talking to the Major.

Bell lived for three or four years in his living, at the end
of which time, the Chaplainship of Coventry Island falling
vacant, Frank applied for it privately, and having procured

100 PENDENNIS.

it, announced the appointment to his -wife. She objected,
as she did to everything. He told her bitterly that he did
not want her to come : so she went. Bell went out in Gov-
ernor Crawley's time, and was very intimate with that
gentleman in his later years. And it was in Coventry
Island, years after his own marriage, and five years after
he had heard of the birth of Helen's boy, that his own
daughter was born.

She was not the daughter of the first Mrs. Bell, who died
of island fever very soon after Helen Pendennis and her
husband, to whom Helen had told everything, wrote to in-
form Bell of the birth of their child. " I was old, was I? »
said Mrs. Bell the first; "I was old, and her inferior, was
I? but I married you, Mr. Bell, and kept you from marry-
ing her ; " and hereupon she died.- Bell married a colonial
lady, whom he loved fondly. But she was not doomed to
prosper in love; and, his lady dying in child-birth, Bell
gave up too : sending his little girl home to Helen Pen-
dennis and her husband, with a parting prayer that they
would befriend her.

The little thing came to Fairoaks from Bristol, which is
not very far off, dressed in black, and in company of a sol-
dier's wife, her nurse, at parting from whom she wept bit-
terly. But she soon dried up her grief under Helen's
motherly care.

Hound her neck she had a locket with hair, which Helen
had given, ah how many years ago! to poor Francis, dead
and buried. This child was all that was left of him, and
she cherished, as so tender a creature would, the legacy
which he had bequeathed to her. The girl's name, as his
dying letter stated, was Helen Laura. But John Pen-
dennis, though he accepted the trust, was always rather
jealous of the orphan ; and gloomily ordered that she should
be called by her own mother's name; and not by that first
one which her father had given her. She was afraid of Mr.
Pendennis, to the last moment of his life. And it was only
when her husband was gone that Helen dared openly to in-
dulge in the tenderness which she felt for the little girl.

PENDENNIS. 101

Thus it was that Laura Bell became Mrs. Pendennis's
daughter. Neither her husband nor that gentleman's
brother, the Major, viewed her with very favourable eyes.
She reminded the first of circumstances in his wife's life
which he was forced to accept, but would have forgotten
much more willingly : and as for the second, how could he
regard her? She was neither related to his own family of
Pendennis, nor to any nobleman in this empire, and she
had but a couple of thousand pounds for her fortune.

And now let Mr. Pen come in, who has been waiting all
this while.

Having strung up his nerves, and prepared himself, with-
out at the door, for the meeting, he came to it, determined
to face the awful uncle. He had settled in his mind that
the encounter was to be a fierce one, and was resolved on
bearing it through with all the courage and dignity of the
famous family which he represented. And he flung open
the door and entered with the most severe and warlike ex-
pression, armed cap-a-pie as it were, with lance couched
and plumes displayed, and glancing at his adversary, as if
to say, "Come on, I'm ready."

The old man of the world, as he surveyed the boy's de-
meanour, could hardly help a grin at his admirable pom-
pous simplicity. Major Pendennis, too, had examined his
ground ; and finding that the widow was already half won
over to the enemy, and having a shrewd notion that threats
and tragic exhortations would have no effect upon the boy,
who was inclined to be perfectly stubborn and awfully seri-
ous, the Major laid aside the authoritative manner at once,
and with the most good-humoured natural smile in the
world, held out his hands to Pen, shook the lad's passive
fingers gaily, and said, "Well, Pen, my boy, tell us all
about it."

Helen was delighted with the generosity of the Major's
good humour. On the contrary, it quite took aback and
disappointed poor Pen, whose nerves were strung up for a
tragedy, and who felt that his grand entree was altogether
baulked and ludicrous. He blushed and winced with mor-

102 PENDENKIS.

tified vanity and bewilderment. He felt immensely in-
clined to begin to cry. "I — I — I didn't know that you
were come till just now," lie said: "is — is — town very full
I suppose? "

If Pen could hardly gulp his tears down, it was all the
Major could do to keep from laughter. He turned round
and shot a comical glance at Mrs. Pendennis, who too felt
that the scene was at once ridiculous and sentimental.
And so, having nothing to say, she went up and kissed
Mr. Pen : as he thought of her tenderness and soft obedi-
ence to his wishes, it is very possible too the boy was
melted.

"What a couple of fools they are!" thought the old
guardian. " If I hadn't come down, she would have driven
over in state to pay a visit and give her blessing to the
young lady's family."

" Come, come," said he, still grinning at the couple, "let
us have as little sentiment as possible, and Pen, my good
fellow, tell us the whole story. "

Pen got back at once to his tragic and heroical air.
"The story is, sir," said he, "as I have written it to you
before. I have made the acquaintance of a most beautiful
and most virtuous lady ; of a high family, although in re-
duced circumstances ; I have found the woman in whom I
know that the happiness of my life is centred ; I feel that
I never, never can think about any woman but her. I am
aware of the difference of our ages and other difficulties in
my way. But my affection was so great that I felt I could
surmount all these ; — that we both could : and she has con-
sented to unite her lot with mine, and to accept my heart
and my fortune."

" How much is that, my boy? " said the Major. " Has
anybody left you some money? I don't know that you are
worth a shilling in the world. "

" You know what I have is his," cried out Mrs. Pen-
dennis.

" Good heavens, madam, hold your tongue ! " was what
the guardian was disposed to say ; but he kept his temper,

PENDENNIS. 103

not without a struggle. "No doubt, no doubt," he said.
" You would sacrifice anything for him. Everybody knows
that. Bat it is, after all then, your fortune which Pen is
offering to the young lady ; and of which he wishes to take
possession at eighteen."

" I know my mother will give me anything," Pen said,
looking rather disturbed.

" Yes, my good fellow, but there is reason in all things.
If your mother keeps the house, it is but fair that she
should select her company. When you give her house over
her head, and transfer her banker's account to yourself for
the benefit of Miss What-d'-you-call'em — Miss Costigan —
don't you think you should at least have consulted my sis-
ter as one of the principal parties in the transaction? I am
speaking to you, you see, without the least anger or as-
sumption of authority, such as the law and your father's
will give me over you for three years to come — but as one
man of the world to another, — and I ask you, if you think
that, because you can do what you like with your mother,
therefore you have a right to do so? As you are her de-
pendent, would it not have been more generous to wait be-
fore you took this step, and at least to have paid her the
courtesy to ask her leave? "

Pen held down his head, and began dimly to perceive
that the action on which he had prided himself as a most
romantic, generous instance of disinterested affection, was
perhaps a very selfish and headstrong piece of folly.

" I did it in a moment of passion," said Pen, floundering ;
" I was not aware what I was going to say or to do " (and
in this he spoke with perfect sincerity). " But now it is
said, and I stand to it. No ; I neither can nor will recall
it. I'll die rather than do so. And I — I don't want to
burden my mother," he continued. "I'll work for myself.
I'll go on the stage, and act with her. She — she says I
should do well there."

" But will she take you on those terms? " the Major in-
terposed. " Mind, I do not say that Miss Costigan is not
the most disinterested of women: but, don't you suppose

104 PENDENNIS.

now, fairly, that your position as a young gentleman of
ancient birth and decent expectations, forms a part of the
cause why she finds your addresses welcome? "

"I'll die, I say, rather than forfeit my pledge to her,"
said Pen, doubling his fists and turning red.

"Who asks you, my dear friend? " answered the imper-
turbable guardian. "No gentleman breaks his word, of
course, when it has been given freely. But, after all, you
can wait. You owe something to your mother, something
to your family — something to me as your father's repre-
sentative."

"Oh, of course," Pen said, feeling rather relieved.

" Well, as you have pledged your word to her, give us
another, will you, Arthur? "

" What is it? " Arthur asked.

"That you will make no private marriage — that you
won't be taking a trip to Scotland, you understand. "

" That would be a falsehood. Pen never told his mother
a falsehood," Helen said.

Pen hung down his head again, and his eyes filled with
tears of shame. Had not this whole intrigue been a false-
hood to that tender and confiding creature who was ready
to give up all for his sake? He gave his uncle his hand.

"No, sir — on my word of honour, as a gentleman," he
said, " I will never marry without my mother's consent! "
and giving Helen a bright parting look of confidence and
affection unchangeable, the boy went out of the drawing-
room into his own study.

"He's an angel — he's an angel," the mother cried out in
one of her usual raptures.

" He comes of a good stock, ma'am," said her brother-
in-law — "of a good stock on both sides." The Major was
greatly pleased with the result of his diplomacy — so much
so, that he once more saluted the tips of Mrs. Pendennis's
glove, and dropping the curt, manly, and straightforward
tone in which he had conducted the conversation with the
lad, assumed a certain drawl, which he always adopted
when he was most conceited and fine.

PENDENNIS. 105

"My dear creature," said he, in that his politest tone,
" I think it certainly as well that I came down, and I flat-
ter myself that last botte was a successful one. I tell you
how I came to think of it. Three years ago my kind
friend Lady Ferrybridge sent for me in the greatest state
of alarm about her son G-retna, whose affair you remember,
and implored me to use my influence with the young gen-
tleman, who was engaged in an affaire de cceur with a
Scotch clergyman's daughter, Miss Mac Toddy. I im-
plored, I entreated gentle measures. But Lord Ferrybridge
was furious, and tried the high hand. Gretna was sulky
and silent, and his parents thought they had conquered.
But what was the fact, my dear creature? The young
people had been married for three months before Lord
Ferrybridge knew anything about it. And that was why I
extracted the promise from Master Pen."

"Arthur would never have done so," Mrs. Pendennis.
said.

"He hasn't, — that is one comfort," answered the
brother-in-law.

Like a wary and patient man of the world, Major Pen-
dennis did not press poor Pen any farther for the moment,
but hoped the best from time, and that the young fellow's
eyes would be opened before long to see the absurdity of
which he was guilty. And having found out how keen the
boy's point of honour was, he worked kindly upon that
kindly feeling with great skill, discoursing him over their
wine after dinner, and pointing out to Pen the necessity of
a perfect uprightness and openness in all his dealings, and
entreating that his communications with his interesting
young friend (as the Major politely called Miss Fother-
ingay) should be carried on with the knowledge, if not ap-
probation, of Mrs. Pendennis. "After all, Pen," the Ma-
jor said, with a convenient frankness that did not displease
the boy, whilst it advanced the interests of the negotiator,
" you must bear in mind that you are throwing yourself
away. Your mother may submit to your marriage as she
would to anything else you desired, if you did but cry long

106 PENDENNIS.

enough for it : but be sure of this, that it can never please
her. You take a young woman off the boards of a country
theatre and prefer her, for such is the case, to one of the
finest ladies in England. And your mother will submit
to your choice, but you can't suppose that she will be
happy under it. I have often fancied, entre nous, that my
sister had it in her eye to make a marriage between you
and that little ward of hers — Flora, Laura — what's her
name? And I always determined to do my small endeav-
our to prevent any such match. The child has but two
thousand pounds, I am given to understand. It is only
with the utmost economy and care that my sister can pro-
vide for the decent maintenance of her house, and for your
appearance and education as a gentleman ; and I don't care
to own to you that I had other and much higher views for
you. With your name and birth, sir — with your talents,
which I suppose are respectable, with the friends whom I
have the honour to possess, I could have placed you in an
excellent position — a remarkable position for a young man
of such exceeding small means, and had hoped to see you,
at least, try to restore the honours of our name. Your
mother's softness stopped one prospect, or you might have
been a general, like our gallant ancestor who fought at
Rainillies and Malplaquet. I had another plan in view :
my excellent and kind friend, Lord Bagwig, who is very
well disposed towards me, would, I have little doubt, have
attached you to his mission at Pumpernickel, and you
might have advanced in the diplomatic service. But, par-
don me for recurring to the subject; how is a man to serve
a young gentleman of eighteen, who proposes to marry a
lady of thirty, whom he has selected from a booth in a
fair? — well, not a fair, — barn. That profession at once is
closed to you. The public service is closed to you. So-
ciety is closed to you. You see, my good friend, to what
you bring yourself. You may get on at the bar to be sure,
where I am given to understand that gentlemen of merit
occasionally marry out of their kitchens ; but in no other
profession. Or you may come and live down here — down

PENDENNIS. 107

here, mon Dieu / for ever " (said the Major, with a dreary
shrug, as he thought with inexpressible fondness of Pall
Mall), "where your mother will receive the Mrs. Arthur
that is to be, with perfect kindness ; where the good people
of the county won't visit you; and where, by Gad, sir, I
shall be shy of visiting you myself, for I'm a plain-spoken
man, and I own to you that I like to live with gentlemen
for my companions; where you will have to live, with
rum - and - water drinking gentlemen - farmers, and drag
through your life the young husband of an old woman,
who, if she doesn't quarrel with your mother, will at least
cost that lady her position in society, and drag her down
into that dubious caste into which you must inevitably fall.
It is no affair of mine, my good sir. I am not angry.
Your downfall will not hurt me farther than that it will
extinguish the hopes I had of seeing my family once more
taking its place in the world. It is only your mother and
yourself that will be ruined. And I pity you both from
my soul. Pass the claret : it is some I sent to your poor
father; I remember I bought it at poor Lord Levant's sale.
But of course," added the Major, smacking the wine, " hav-
ing engaged yourself, you will do what becomes you as a
man of honour, however fatal your promise may be. How-
ever, promise us on your side, my boy, what I set out by
entreating you to grant, — that there shall be nothing clan-
destine, that you will pursue your studies, that you will
only visit your interesting friend at proper intervals. Do
you write to her much? "

Pen blushed and said, "Why, yes, he had writ-
ten."

" I suppose verses, eh ! as well as prose? I was a dab
at verses myself. I recollect when I first joined, I used to
write verses for the fellows in the regiment ; and did some
pretty tnings in that way. I was talking to my old friend
General Hobbler about some lines I dashed off for him in
the year 1806, when we were at the Cape, and, Gad, he
remembered every line of them still; for he'd used 'em so
often, the old rogue, and had actually tried 'em on Mrs.

108 PENDENNIS.

Hobbler, sir — who brought him sixty thousand pounds. I
suppose you've tried verses, eh Pen? "

Pen blushed again, and -said, " Why, yes, he had writ-
ten verses."

"And does the fair one respond in poetry or prose?"
asked the Major, eyeing his nephew with the queerest ex-
pression, as much as to say, " 0 Moses and Green Spec-
tacles! what a fool the boy is."

Pen blushed again. She had written, but not in verse,
the young lover owned, and he gave his breast-pocket the
benefit of a squeeze with his left arm, which the Major re-
marked, according to his wont,

"You have got the letters there, I see," said the old
campaigner, nodding at Pen and pointing to his own chest
(which was manfully wadded with cotton by Mr. Stultz).
"You know you have. I would give twopence to see 'em."

"Why," said Pen, twiddling the stalks of the strawber-
ries, "I — I," but this sentence was never finished; for
Pen's face was so comical and embarrassed, as the Major
watched it, that the elder could contain his gravity no
longer, and burst into a fit of laughter, in which chorus
Pen himself was obliged to join after a minute : when he
broke out fairly into a guffaw.

It sent them with great good humour into Mrs. Pen-
dennis's drawing-room. She was pleased to hear them
laughing in the hall as they crossed it.

" You sly rascal ! " said the Major, putting his arm gaily
on Pen's shoulder, and giving a playful push at the boy's
breast-pocket. He felt the papers crackling there sure
enough. The young fellow was delighted — conceited — tri-
umphant— and in one word, a spoony.

The pair came to the tea-table in the highest spirits.
The Major's politeness was beyond expression. He had
never tasted such good tea, and such bread was only to be
had in the country. He asked Mrs. Pendennis for one of
her charming songs. He then made Pen sing, and was de-
lighted and astonished at the beauty of the boy's voice :
he made his nephew fetch his maps and drawings, and

PENDENNIS. 109

praised them as really remarkable works of talent in a
young fellow: he complimented him on his French pro-
nunciation : he flattered the simple boy as adroitly as ever
lover flattered a mistress : and when bedtime came, mother
and son went to their several rooms perfectly enchanted
with the kind Major.

When they had reached those apartments, I suppose
Helen took to her knees as usual : and Pen read over his
letters before going to bed : just as if he didn't know every
word of them by heart already. In truth there were but
three of those documents: and to learn their contents re-
quired no great effort of memory.

In No. 1, Miss Fotheringay presents grateful compli-
ments to Mr. Pendennis, and in her papa's name and her
own begs to thank him for his most beautiful presents.
They will always be kept carefully; and Miss F. and Cap-
tain C. will never forget the delightful evening which they
passed on Tuesday last.

No. 2, said — Dear Sir, we shall have a small quiet party
of social friends at our humble board, next Tuesday even-
ing, at an early tea, when I shall wear the beautiful scarf
which, with its accompanying delightful verses, I shall ever,
ever cherish : and papa bids me say how happy he will be
if you will join " the feast of reason and the flow of soul "
in our festive little party, as I am sure will be your truly
grateful EMILY FOTHERINGAY

No. 3 was somewhat more confidential, and showed that
matters had proceeded rather far. You were odious yes-
terday night, the letter said. Why did you not come to
the stage-door? Papa could not escort me on account of
his eye ; he had an accident, and fell down over a loose
carpet on the stair on Sunday night. I saw you looking at
Miss Diggle all night; and you were so enchanted with
Lydia Languish you scarcely once looked at Julia. I could
have crushed Bingley, I was so angry. I play Ella Rosen-
berg on Friday : will you come then? Miss Diggle performs
— ever your E. F.

110 PENDENNIS.

These three letters Mr. Pen used to read at intervals,
during the day and night, and embrace with that delight
and fervour which such beautiful compositions surely war-
ranted. A thousand times at least he had kissed fondly
the musky satin paper, made sacred to him by the hand of
Emily Fotheringay. This was all he had in return for his
passion and flames, his vows and protests, his rhymes and
similes, his wakeful nights and endless thoughts, his fond-
ness, fears and folly. The young wiseacre had pledged
away his all for this : signed his name to endless promis-
sory notes, conferring his heart upon the bearer: bound
himself for life, and got back twopence as an equivalent.
For Miss Costigan was a young lady of such perfect good
conduct and self-command, that she never would have
thought of giving more, and reserved the treasures of her
affection until she could transfer them lawfully at church.

Howbeit, Mr. Pen was content with what tokens of re-
gard he had got, and mumbled over his three letters in a
rapture of high spirits, and went to sleep delighted with
his kind old uncle from London, who must evidently yield
to his wishes in time ; and, in a word, in a preposterous
state of contentment with himself and all the world.

PENDENNIS. HI

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH THE MAJOR OPENS THE CAMPAIGN.

LET those who have the blessed privilege of an entree
into the most select circles, admit that Major Pendennis
was a man of no ordinary generosity and affection, in the
sacrifice which he now made. He gave up London in
May, — his newspapers and his mornings — his afternoons
from club to club, his little confidential visits to my ladies,
his rides in Eotten Kow, his dinners, and his stall at the
Opera, his rapid escapades to Fulharn or Richmond on
Saturdays and Sundays, his bow from my Lord Duke or
my Lord Marquis at the great London entertainments, and
his name in the " Morning Post " of the succeeding day, —
his quieter little festivals, more select, secret, and delight-
ful— all these he resigned to lock himself into a lone little
country house, with a simple widow and a greenhorn of a
son, a mawkish curate, and a little girl of twelve years of
age.

He made the sacrifice, and it was the greater that few
knew the extent of it. His letters came down franked
from town, and he showed the invitations to Helen with a
sigh. It was beautiful and tragical to see him refuse one
party after another — at least to those who could under-
stand, as Helen didn't, the melancholy grandeur of his
self-denial. Helen did not, or only smiled at the awful
pathos with which the Major spoke of the Court Guide in
general : but young Pen looked with great respect at the
great names upon the superscriptions of his uncle's letters,
and listened to the Major's stories about the fashionable
world with constant interest and sympathy.

The elder Pendennis' s rich memory was stored with
thousands of these delightful tales, and -he poured them
into Pen's willing ear. He knew the name and pedigree

112 PENDENNIS.

of everybody in the Peerage, and everybody's relations.
" My dear boy," he would say, with a mournful earnestness
and veracity, " you cannot begin your genealogical studies
too early ; I wish to Heaven you would read in Debrett
every day. Not so much the historical part (for the pedi-
grees, between ourselves, are many of them very fabulous,
and there are few families that can show such a clear de-
scent as our own) as the account of family alliances, and
who is related to whom. I have known a man's career in
life blasted, by ignorance on this all-important subject.
Why, only last month, at dinner at my Lord Hobanob's, a
young man, who has lately been received amongst us,
young Mr. Suckling (author of a work, I believe), began
to speak lightly of Admiral Bowser's conduct for ratting
to Ministers, in what I must own is the most audacious
manner. But who do you think sate next and opposite to
this Mr. Suckling? Why — why, next to him was Lady
Grampound Bowser's daughter, and opposite to him was
Lord Grampound Bowser's son-in-law. The infatuated
young man went on cutting his jokes at the Admiral's ex-
pense, fancying that all the world was laughing with him,
and I leave you to imagine Lady Hobanob's feelings —
Hobanob's ! — those of every well-bred man, as the wretched
intrus was so exposing himself. He will never dine again
in South Street. I promise yon that."

With such discourses the Major entertained his nephew,
as he paced the terrace in front of the house for his two
hours' constitutional walk, or as they sate together after
dinner over their wine. He grieved that Sir Francis Clav-
ering had not come down to the Park, to live in it since
his marriage, and to make a society for the neighbourhood.
He mourned that Lord Eyrie was not in the country, that
he might take Pen and present him to his lordship. " He
has daughters," the Major said. " Who knows? you might
have married Lady Emily or Laby Barbara Trehawk ; but
all those dreams are over ; my poor fellow, you must lie on
the bed which you have made for yourself."

These things to hear did young Pendennis seriously in-

PENDENNIS. 113

cline. They are not so interesting in print as when deliv-
ered orally; but the Major's anecdotes of the great George,
of the Eoyal Dukes, of the statesmen, beauties, and fash-
ionable ladies of the day, filled young Pen's soul with
longing and wonder ; and he found the conversations with
his guardian, which sadly bored and perplexed poor Mrs.
Pendennis, for his own part never tedious.

It can't "be said that Mr. Pen's new guide, philosopher
and friend, discoursed him on the most elevated subjects,
or treated the subjects which he chose in the most elevated
manner. But his morality, such as it was, was consistent.
It might not, perhaps, tend to a man's progress in another
world, but it was pretty well calculated to advance his in-
terests in this ; and then it must be remembered, that the
Major never for one instant doubted that his views were
the only views practicable, and that his conduct was per-
fectly virtuous and respectable. He was a man of honour,
in a word : and had his eyes, what he called, open. He
took pity on this young greenhorn of a nephew, and wanted
to open his eyes, too.

No man, for instance, went more regularly to church
when in the country than the old bachelor. "It don't
matter so much in town, Pen," he said, "for there the
women go and the men are not missed. But when a gen-
tleman is sur ses terres, he must give an example to the
country people : and if I could turn a tune, I even think I
should sing. The Duke of St. David's, whom I have the
honour of knowing, always sings in the country, and let
me tell you, it has a doosed fine effect from the family
pew. And you are somebody down here. As long as the
Claverings are away you are the first man in the parish :
or as good as any. You might represent the town if you
played your cards well. Your poor dear father would
have done so had he lived; so might you. — Not if you
marry a lady, however amiable, whom the country people
won't meet. — Well, well: it's a painful subject. Let us
change it, my boy." But if Major Pendennis changed the
subject once he recurred to it a score of times in the day :

114 PENDENNIS.

and the moral of his discourse always was, that Pen was
throwing himself away. Now it does not require much
coaxing or wheedling to make a simple boy believe that he
is a very fine fellow.

Pen was glad enough, we have said, to listen to his
elder's talk. The conversation of Captain Costigan became
by no means pleasant to him, and the idea of that tipsy old
father-in-law haunted him with terror. He couldn't bring
that man, unshaven and reeking of punch, to associate with
his mother. Even about Emily — he faltered when the
pitiless guardian began to question him. " Was she ac-
complished?" He was obliged to own, no. "Was she
clever? " Well, she had a very good average intellect : but
he could not absolutely say she was clever. " Come, let us
see some of her letters." So Pen confessed that he had
but those three of which we have made mention — and that
they were but trivial invitations or answers.

" She is cautious enough," the Major said, drily. " She
is older than you, my poor boy ; " and then he apologised
with the utmost frankness and humility, and flung himself
upon Pen's good feelings, begging the lad to excuse a fond
old uncle, who had only his family's honour in view — for
Arthur was ready to flame up in indignation whenever Miss
Costigan' s honesty was doubted, and swore that he would
never have her name mentioned lightly, and never, never
would part from her.

He repeated this to his uncle and his friends at home,
and also, it must be confessed, to Miss Fotheringay and
the amiable family at Chatteris, with whom he still con-
tinued to spend some portion of his time. Miss Emily was
alarmed when she heard of the arrival of Pen's guardian,
and rightly conceived that the Major came down with hos-
tile intentions to herself. " I suppose ye intend to leave
me, now your grand relation has come down from town.
He'll carry ye off, and you'll forget your poor Emily, Mr.
Arthur!"

Forget her ! In her presence, in that of Miss Rouney,
the Columbine and Milly's confidential friend of the Com-

PENBENIHS. 116

pany, in the presence of the Captain himself, Pen swore
he never could think of any other woman but his beloved
Miss Fotheringay ; and the Captain, looking up at his foils,
which were hung as a trophy on the wall of the room
where Pen and he used to fence, grimly said, he would not
advoise any man to meddle rashly with the affections of
his darling child; and would never believe his gallant
young Arthur, whom he treated as his son, whom he called
his son, would ever be guilty of conduct so revolting to
every idaya of honour and humanitee.

He went up and embraced Pen after speaking. He cried,
and wiped his eye with one large dirty hand as he clasped
Pen with the other. Arthur shuddered in that grasp, and
thought of his uncle at home. His father-in-law looked
unusually dirty and shabby; the odour of whisky-and-
water was even more decided than hi common. How was
he to bring that man and his mother together? He trem-
bled when he thought that he had absolutely written to
Costigan (inclosing to him a sovereign, the loan of which
the worthy gentleman needed), and saying, that one day
he hoped to sign himself his affectionate son, Arthur Pen-
dennis. He was glad to get away from Chatteris that day ;
from Miss Bouncy the confidante; from the old toping
father-in-law; from the divine Emily herself. "O Emily,
Emily," he cried inwardly, as he rattled homewards on
Rebecca, " you little know what sacrifices I am making for
you ! — for you who are always so cold, so cautious, so mis-
trustful!"

Pen never rode over to Chatteris, but the Major found
out on what errand the boy had been. Faithful to his
plan, Major Pendennis gave his nephew no let or hindrance ;
but somehow the constant feeling that the senior's eye was
upon him, an uneasy shame attendant upon that inevitable
confession which the evening's conversation would be sure
to elicit in the most natural simple manner, made Pan go
less frequently to sigh away his soul at the feet of his
charmer than he had been wont to do previous to his
uncle's arrival. There was no use trying to deceive him;

6— Thackeray, Vol. 3

116 PENDENNIS.

there was no pretext of dining with Smirke, or reading
Greek plays with Foker ; Pen felt, when he returned from
one of his flying visits, that everybody knew whence he
came, and appeared quite guilty before his mother and
guardian, over their books or their game at picquet.

Once having walked out half-a-mile, to the Fairoaks*
Inn, beyond the Lodge gates, to be in readiness for the
Competitor coach, which changed horses there, to take a
run for Chatteris, a man on the roof touched his hat to the
young gentleman: it was his uncle's man, Mr. Morgan,
who was going on a message for his master, and had been
took up at the Lodge, as he said. And Mr. Morgan came
back by the Bival, too ; so that Pen had the pleasure of
that domestic's company both ways. Nothing was said at
home. The lad seemed to have every decent liberty; and
yet he felt himself dimly watched and guarded, and that
there were eyes upon him even in the presence of his Dul-
cinea.

In fact, Pen's suspicions were not unfounded, and his
guardian had sent forth to gather all possible information
regarding the lad and his interesting young friend. The
discreet and ingenious Mr. Morgan, a 'London confidential
valet, whose fidelity could be trusted, had been to Chat-
teris more than once, and made every inquiry regarding
the past history and present habits of the Captain and his
daughter. He delicately cross-examined the waiters, the
ostlers, and all the inmates of the bar at the George, and
got from them what little they knew respecting the worthy
Captain. He was not held hi very great regard there, as
it appeared. The waiters never saw the colour of his
money, and were warned not to furnish the poor gentleman
with any liquor for which some other party was not re-
sponsible. He swaggered sadly about the coffee-room
there, consumed a tooth-pick, and looked over the paper,
and if any friend asked him to dinner he stayed.

From the servants of the officers at the barracks Mr.
Morgan found that the Captain had so frequently and out-
rageously inebriated himself there, that Colonel Swallow-

PENDENNIS. 117

tail had forbidden him the mess-room. The indefatigable
Morgan then put himself in communication with some of
the inferior actors at the theatre, and pumped them over
their cigars and punch, and all agreed that Costigan was
poor, shabby, and given to debt and to drink. But there
was not a breath upon the reputation of Miss Fotheringay :
her father's courage was reported to have displayed itself
on more than one occasion towards persons disposed to
treat his daughter with freedom. She never came to the
theatre but with her father : in his most inebriated mo-
ments, that gentleman kept a watch over her ; finally Mr.
Morgan, from his own experience, added that he had been
to see her hact, and was uncommon delighted with the
performance, besides thinking her a most splendid woman.

Mrs. Creed, the pew-opener, confirmed these statements
to Doctor Portman, who examined her personally. Mrs.
Creed had nothing unfavourable to her lodger to divulge.
She saw nobody ; only one or two ladies of the theatre.
The Captain did intoxicate himself sometimes, and did not
always pay his rent regularly, but he did when he had
money, or rather Miss Fotheringay did. Since the young
gentleman from Clavering had been and took lessons in
fencing, one or two more had come from the barracks ; Sir
Derby Oaks, and his young friend, Mr. Foker, which was
often together; and which was always driving over from
Baymouth in the tandem. But on the occasions of the les-
sons, Miss F. was very seldom present, and generally came
downstairs to Mrs. Creed's own room.

The Doctor and the Major consulting together as they
often did, groaned in spirit over that information. Major
Pendennis openly expressed his disappointment; and, I
believe, the Divine himself was ill-pleased at not being
able to pick a hole in poor Miss Fotheringay' s reputation.

Even about Pen himself, Mrs. Creed's reports were des-
perately favourable. "Whenever he come," Mrs. Creed
said, " she always have me or one of the children with her.
And Mrs. Creed, marm, says she, if you please marm,
you'll on no account leave the room when that young gen-

118 PENDENNIS.

tleman's here. And many's the time I've seen him
a lookin' as if he wished I was away, poor young man :
and he took to coming in service time, when I wasn't at
home, of course : but she always had one of the boys up if
her Pa wasn't at home, or old Mr. Bows with her a teach-
ing of her her lesson, or one of the young ladies of the
theayter."

It was all true: whatever encouragements might have
been given him before he avowed his passion, the prudence
of Miss Emily was prodigious after Pen had declared him-
self : and the poor fellow chafed against her hopeless re-
serve.

The Major surveyed the state of things with a sigh.
"If it were but a temporary liaison," the excellent man
said, " one could bear it. A young fellow must sow his
wild oats, and that sort of thing. But a virtuous attach-
ment is the deuce. It comes of the d — d romantic notions
boys get from being brought up by women."

"Allow me to say, Major, that you speak a little too like
a man of the world," replied the Doctor. "Nothing can
be more desirable for Pen than a virtuous attachment for a
young lady of his own rank and with a corresponding for-
tune— this present infatuation, of course, I must deplore
as sincerely as you do. If I were his guardian I should
command him to give it up. "

"The very means, I tell you, to make him marry to-
morrow. We have got time from him, that is all, and we
must do our best with that."

"I say, Major," said the Doctor, at the end of the con-
versation in which the above subject was discussed — "I
am not, of course, a play-going man — but suppose, I say,
we go and see her."

The Major laughed — he had been a fortnight at Fairoaks,
and strange to say, had not thought of that. "Well," he
said, " why not? After all, it is not my niece, but Miss
Fotheringay the actress, and we have as good right as any
other of the public to see her if we pay our money. " So
upon a day when it was arranged that Pen was to dine at

PENDENNIS. 119

home, and pass the evening with his mother, the two eld-
erly gentlemen drove over to Chatteris in the Doctor's
chaise, and there, like a couple of jolly bachelors, dined at
the George Inn, before proceeding to the play.

Only two other guests were in the room, — an officer of
the regiment quartered at Chatteris, and a young gentle-
man whom the Doctor thought he had somewhere seen.
They left them at their meal, however, and hastened to the
theatre. It was " Hamlet " over again. Shakspeare was
Article XL. of stout old Doctor Portman's creed, to which
he always made a point of testifying publicly at least once
in a year.

We have described the play before, and how those who
saw Miss Fotheringay perform in Ophelia saw precisely the
same thing on one night as on another. Both the elderly
gentlemen looked at her with extraordinary interest, think-
ing how very much young Pen was charmed with her.

" Gad," said the Major, between his teeth, as he sur-
veyed her when she was called forward as usual, and swept
her curtsies to the scanty audience, " the young rascal has
not made a bad choice."

The Doctor applauded her loudly and loyally. " Upon
my word," said he, "she is a very clever actress; and I'
must say, Major, she is endowed with very considerable
personal attractions."

"So that young officer thinks in the stage-box," Major
Pendennis answered, and he pointed out to Doctor Port-
man's attention the young dragoon of the George Coffee-
room, who sate in the box in question, and applauded with
immense enthusiasm. She looked extremely sweet upon
him too, thought the Major: but that's their way — and he
shut up his natty opera-glass and pocketed it, as if he
wished to see no more that night. Nor did the Doctor, of
course, propose to stay for the after-piece, so they rose and
left the theatre; the Doctor returning to Mrs. Portman,
who was on a visit at the Deanery, and the Major walking
home full of thought towards the George, where he had
bespoken a bed.

120 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER X.

FACING THE ENEMY.

SAUNTERING homewards, Major Pendennis reached the
hotel presently, and found Mr. Morgan, his faithful valet,
awaiting him at the door, who stopped his master as he
was about to take a candle to go to bed, and said, with his
usual air of knowing deference, "I think, sir, if you would
go into the coffee-room, there's a young gentleman there as
you would like to see."

"What, is Mr. Arthur here?" the Major said, in great
anger.

"No, sir — but his great friend, Mr. Foker, sir. Lady
Hagnes Foker' s son is here, sir. He's been asleep in the
coffee-room since he took his dinner, and has just rung for
his coffee, sir. And I think, p'raps, you might like to
git into conversation with him," the valet said opening the
coffee-room door.

The Major entered; and there indeed was Mr. Foker,
the only occupant of the place. He had intended to
go to the play too, but sleep had overtaken him after
a copious meal, and he had flung up his legs on the
bench, and indulged in a nap instead of the dramatic
amusement. The Major was meditating how to ad-
dress the young man, but the latter prevented him that
trouble.

"Like to look at the evening paper, sir?" said Mr.
Foker, who was always communicative and affable ; and he
took up the " Globe " from his table, and offered it to the
new comer.

"I am very much obliged to you," said the Major, with
a grateful bow and smile. "If I don't mistake the family
likeness, I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Henry
Foker, Lady Agnes Foker 's son. I have the happiness to

PENDENNIS. 121

name her ladyship among my acquaintances — and you bear,
sir, a Erosherville face. "

"Hullo! I beg your pardon," Mr. Foker said, "I took
you " — he was going to say — " I took you for a commercial
gent." But he stopped that phrase. "To whom have I
the pleasure of speaking? " he added.

" To a relative of a friend and schoolfellow of yours —
Arthur Pendennis, my nephew, who has often spoken to
me about you in terms of great regard. I am Major Pen-
dennis, of whom you may have heard him speak. May I
take my soda-water at your table? I have had the pleasure
of sitting at your grandfather's."

"Sir, you do me proud," said Mr. Foker, with much
courtesy. "And so you are Arthur Pendennis' s uncle, are
you? "

"And guardian," added the Major.

"He's as good a fellow as ever stepped, sir," said Mr.
Foker. •

"I am glad you think so."

"And clever, too — I was always a stupid chap, I was —
but you see, sir, I know 'em when they are clever, and like
'em of that sort."

"You show your taste and your modesty, too," said the
Major. " I have heard Arthur repeatedly speak of you,
and he said your talents were very good."

"I'm not good at the books," Mr. Foker said, wagging
his head — " never could manage that — Pendennis could —
he used to do half the chaps' verses — and yet you are his
guardian ; and I hope you will pardon me for saying that
I think he's what we call a flat," the candid young gentle-
man said.

The Major found himself on the instant in the midst of
a -most interesting and confidential conversation. "And
how is Arthur a flat? " he asked, with a smile.

" You know," Foker answered, winking at him — he
would have winked at the Duke of Wellington with just as
little scruple. "You know Arthur's a flat, — about women
I mean."

122 PENDENNIS.

" He is not the first of us, my dear Mr. Harry," an-
swered the Major. " I have heard something of this — but
pray tell me more."

"Why, sir, you see — it's partly my fault. We went to
the play one night, and Pen was struck all of a heap with
Miss Fotheringay — Costigan her real name is — an uncom-
mon fine gal she is, too ; and the next morning I introduced
him to the General, as we call her father — a regular old
scamp — and such a boy for the whisky-and-water ! — and
he's gone on being intimate there. And he's fallen in love
with her — and I'm blessed if he hasn't proposed to her,"
Foker said, slapping his hand on the table, until all the
dessert began to jingle.

" What ! you know it too? " asked the Major.

"Know it! don't I? and many more too. We were
talking about it at mess, yesterday, and chaffing Derby
Oaks — until he was as mad as a hatter. Know Sir Derby
Oaks? We dined together, and we went to the play; we
were standing at the door smoking, I remember, when you
passed in to dinner."

" I remember Sir Thomas Oaks, his father, before he
was a Baronet or a Knight ; he lived in Cavendish Square,
and was Physician to Queen Charlotte."

" The young one is making the money spin, I can tell
you,'- Mr. Foker said.

" And is Sir Derby Oaks," the Major said, with great
delight and anxiety, " another soupirant ? "

" Another what ? " inquired Mr. Foker.

"Another admirer of Miss Fotheringay?"

"Lord bless you! we call him Mondays, Wednesdays,
and Fridays, and Pen Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Satur-
days. But mind you, nothing wrong ! No, no! Miss F.
is a deal too wide awake for that, Major Pendennis. She
plays one off against the other. What you call two strings
to her bow."

"I think you seem tolerably wide awake, too, Mr.
Foker," Pendennis said, laughing.

"Pretty well, thank you, sir — how are you?" Foker

PENDENNIS. 123

replied, imperturbably. "I'm not clever, p'raps: but I
am rather downy; and partial friends say I know what's
o'clock tolerably well. Can I tell you the time of day in
any way? "

" Upon my word," the Major answered, quite delighted,
"I think you may be of very great service to me. You
are a young man of the world, and with such one likes to
deal. And as such I need not inform you that our family
is by no means delighted at this absurd intrigue in which
Arthur is engaged."

"I should rather think not," said Mr. Foker. "Con-
nexion not eligible. Too much beer drunk on the premises.
No Irish need apply. That I take to be your meaning."

The Major said it was, exactly: and he proceeded to
examine his new acquaintance regarding the amiable fam-
ily into which his nephew proposed to enter, and soon got
from the candid witness a number of particulars regarding
the House of Costigan.

We must do Mr. Foker the justice to say that he spoke
most favourably of Mr. and Miss Costigan' s moral charac-
ter. " You see," said he, " I think the General is fond of
the jovial bowl, and if I wanted to be very certain of my
money, it isn't in his pocket I'd invest it — but he has
always kept a watchful eye on his daughter, and neither
he nor she will stand anything but what's honourable.
Pen's attentions to her are talked about in the whole Com-
pany, and I hear all about them from a young lady who
used to be very intimate with her, and with whose family
I sometimes take tea in a friendly way. Miss Bouncy says,
Sir Derby Oaks has been hanging about Miss Fotheringay
ever since his regiment has been down here ; but Pen has
come in and cut him out lately, which has made the Baro-
net so mad, that he has been very near on the point of pro-
posing, too. Wish he would; and you'd see which of the
two Miss Fotheringay would jump at. "

" I thought as much," the Major said. " You give me a
great deal of pleasure, Mr. Foker. I wish I could have
seen you before."

124 PENDENNIS.

"Didn't like to put in my oar," replied the other.
"Don't speak till I'm asked, when, if there's no objec-
tions, I speak pretty freely. Heard your man had been
hankering about my servant — didn't know myself what
was going on until Miss Fotheringay and Miss Rouncy had
the row about the ostrich feathers, when Miss R. told me
everything."

" Miss Rouncy, I gather, was the confidante of the other? "

"Confidante? I believe you. Why, she's twice as clever
a girl as Fotheringay, and literary and that, while Miss
Foth can't do much more than read."

"She can write," said the Major, remembering Pen's
breast-pocket.

Foker broke out into a sardonic " He, he ! Rouncy writes
her letters, "he said: "everyone of 'em; and since they've
quarrelled, she don't know how the deuce to get on. Miss
Rouncy is an uncommon pretty hand, whereas the other
one makes dreadful work of the writing and spelling
when Bows ain't by. Rouncy' s been settin' her copies
lately — she writes a beautiful hand, Rouncy does."

"I suppose you know it pretty well," said the Major,
archly : upon which Mr. Foker winked at him again.

" I would give a great deal to have a specimen of her
handwriting," continued Major Pendennis; "I dare say
you could give me one."-

" That would be too bad," Foker replied. "Miss F.'s
writin' ain't so very bad, I dare say; only she got Miss R.
to write the first letter, and has gone on ever since. But
you mark my word, that till they are friends again the
letters will stop."

"I hope they will never be reconciled," the Major said
with great sincerity. "You must feel, my dear sir, as
a man of the world, how fatal to my nephew's prospects
in life is this step which he contemplates, and how
eager we all must be to free him from this absurd engage-
ment."

"He has come out uncommon strong," said Mr. Foker;
" I have seen his verses ; Rouncy copied 'em. And I said

PENDENNIS. 125

to myself when I saw 'em, ' Catch me writin' verses to a
woman, — that's all.' "

" He has made a fool of himself, as many a good fellow
has before him. How can we make him see his folly, and
'care it? I am sure you will give us what aid you can in
extricating a generous young man from such a pair of
schemers as this father and daughter seem to be. Love
on the lady's side is out of the question."

" Love, indeed? " Foker said. " If Pen hadn't two thou-
sand a-year when he came of age — "

"If Pen hadn't what?" cried out the Major in astonish-
ment.

"Two thousand a-year: hasn't he got two thousand
a-year? — the General says he has."

"My dear friend," shrieked out the Major, with an
eagerness which this gentleman rarely showed, "thank
you! — thank you! — I begin to see now. — Two thousand
a-year ! Why, his mother has but five hundred a-year in
the world. — She is likely to live to eighty, and Arthur has
not a shilling but what she can allow him."

" What! he ain't rich then? " Foker asked.

" Upon my honour he has no more than what I say."

"And you ain't going to leave him anything? "

The Major had sunk every shilling he could scrape to-
gether on annuity, and of course was going to leave Pen
nothing ; but he did not tell Foker this. " How much do
you think a Major on half -pay can save? " he asked. " If
these people have been looking at him as a fortune, they
are utterly mistaken — and — and you have made me the
happiest man in the world."

" Sir to YOU," said Mr. Foker, politely, and when they
parted for the night they shook hands with the greatest
cordiality ; the younger gentleman promising the elder not
to leave Chatteris without a further conversation in the
morning. And as the Major went up to his room, and Mr.
Foker smoked his cigar against the door pillars of the
George, Pen, very likely, ten miles off, was lying in bed
kissing the letter from his Emily.

126 PENDENNIS.

The next morning, before Mr. Foker drove off in his drag,
the insinuating Major had actually got a letter of Miss
Bouncy 's in his own pocket-book. Let it be a lesson to
women how they write. And in very high spirits Major
Pendennis went to call upon Doctor Portman at the Dean-
ery, and told him what happy discoveries he had made on
the previous night. As they sate in confidential conversa-
tion in the Dean's oak breakfast parlour they could look
across the lawn and see Captain Costigan's window, at
which poor Pen had been only too visible some three weeks
since. The. Doctor was most indignant against Mrs. Creed,
the landlady, for her duplicity, in concealing Sir Derby
Oaks' s constant visits to her lodgers, and threatened
to excommunicate her out of the Cathedral. But the
wary Major thought that all things were for the bestj
and, having taken counsel with himself over night, felt
himself quite strong enough to go and face Captain Cos-
tigan.

" I'm going to fight the dragon," he said, with a laugh,
to Doctor Portman.

"And I shrive you, sir, and bid good fortune go with
you," answered the Doctor. Perhaps he and Mrs. Port-
man and Miss Mira, as they sate with their friend, the
Dean's lady, in her drawing-room, looked up more than
once at the enemy's window to see if they could perceive
any signs of the combat.

The Major walked round, according to the directions
given him, and soon found Mrs. Creed's little door. He
passed it, and as he ascended to Captain Costigan's apart-
ment, he could hear a stamping of feet, and a great shout-
ing of " Ha, ha! " within.

"It's Sir Derby Oaks taking his fencing lesson," said
the child, who piloted Major Pendennis. "He takes it
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."

The Major knocked, and at length a tall gentleman came
forth, with a foil and mask in one hand, and a fencing
glove on the other.

Pendennis made him a deferential bow. "I believe I

PENDENNB. 127

have the honour of speaking to Captain Costigan — My
name is Major Pendennis."

The Captain brought his weapon up to the salute, and
said, "Major, the honour is moine; I'm deloighted to see
ye."

128 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTEK XI.

NEGOTIATION.

THE Major and Captain Costigan were old soldiers and
accustomed to face the enemy, so we may presume that
they retained their presence of mind perfectly: but the
rest of the party assembled in Cos's sitting-room were,
perhaps, a little flurried at Pendennis's apparition. Miss
Fotheringay's slow heart began to beat no doubt, for her
cheek flushed up with a great healthy blush, as Lieutenant
Sir Derby Oaks looked at her with a scowl. The little
crooked old man in the window-seat, who had been witness-
ing the fencing-match between the two gentlemen (whose
stamping and jumping had been such as to cause him to
give up all attempts to continue writing the theatre music,
in the copying of which he had been engaged) looked up
eagerly towards the new-comer as 4;he Major of the well-
blacked boots entered the apartment, distributing the most
graceful bows to everybody present.

" Me daughter — me friend, Mr. Bows — me gallant young
pupil and friend, I may call 'um, Sir Derby Oaks," said
Costigau, splendidly waving his hand, and pointing each
of these individuals to the Major's attention. "In one
moment, Meejor, I'm your humble servant," and to dash
into the little adjoining chamber where he slept, to give a
twist to his lank hair with his hair- brush (a wonderful and
ancient piece), to tear off his old stock and put on a new
one which Emily had constructed for him, and to assume
a handsome clean collar, and the new coat which had been
ordered upon the occasion of Miss Fotheringay's benefit,
was with the still active Costigan the work of a minute.

After him Sir Derby entered, and presently emerged
from the same apartment, where he also cased himself in
his little shell- jacket, which fitted tightly upon the young

PENDENNIS. 129

officer' s big person ; and which he and Miss Fotheringay,
and poor Pen too, perhaps, admired prodigiously.

Meanwhile conversation was engaged in between the
actress and the new-comer; and the usual remarks about
the weather had been interchanged before Costigan re-
entered in his new "shoot," as he called it.

"I needn't apologoise to ye, Meejor," he said, in his
richest and most courteous manner, " for receiving ye in
me shirt-sleeves."

" An old soldier can't be better employed than in teach-
ing a young one the use of his sword," answered the
Major, gallantly. " I remember in old times hearing that
you could use yours pretty well, Captain Costigan."

"What, ye've heard of Jack Costigan, Major!" said
the other, greatly.

The Major had, indeed; he had pumped his nephew con-
cerning his new friend, the Irish officer ; and said that he
perfectly well recollected meeting Mr. Costigan, and hear-
ing him sing at Sir Eichard Strachan's table at Walcheren.

At this information, and the bland and cordial manner
in which it was conveyed, Bows looked up, entirely
puzzled. " But we will talk of these matters another time,"
the Major continued, perhaps not wishing to commit him-
self ; " it is to Miss Fotheringay that I came to pay my
respects to-day : " and he performed another bow for her,
so courtly and gracious, that if she had been a duchess he
could not have made it more handsome.

" I had heard of your performances from my nephew,
madam," the Major said, "who raves about you, as I
believe you know pretty well. But Arthur is but a boy,
and a wild enthusiastic young fellow, whose opinions one
must not take au pied de la lettre; and I confess I was
anxious to judge for myself. Permit me to say your per-
formance delighted and astonished me. I have seen our
best actresses, and, on my word, I think you surpass them
all. You are as majestic as Mrs. Siddons."

"Faith, I always said so," Costigan said, winking at his
daughter: "Major, take a chair." Milly rose at this hint,

130 PENDEXXIS.

took an unripped satin garment off the only vacant seat,
and brought the latter to Major Pendennis with one of her
finest curtseys.

"You are as pathetic as Miss O'Neill," he continued,
bowing and seating himself; "your snatches of song re-
mind me of Mrs. Jordan in her best time, when we were
young men, Captain Costigan ; and your manner reminded
me of Mars. Did you ever see the Mars, Miss Fother-
ingay? "

"There was two Mahers in Crow Street," remarked Miss
Emily : " Fanny was well enough, but Biddy was no great
things. "

"Sure, the Major means the god of war, Milly, my
dear," interposed the parent.

" It is not that Mars I meant, though Venus, I suppose,
may be pardoned for thinking about him;" the Major
replied with a smile directed in full to Sir Derby Oaks,
who now re-entered in his shell- jacket; but the lady did
not understand the words of which he made use, nor
did the compliment at all pacify Sir Derby, who, probably
did not understand it either, and at any rate received it
with great sulkiness and stiffness; scowling uneasily at
Miss Fotheringay with an expression which seemed to ask
what the deuce does this man here?

Major Pendennis was not the least annoyed by the gen-
tleman's ill-humour. On the contrary, it delighted him.
" So," thought he, " a rival is in the field ; " and he offered
up vows that Sir Derby might be, not only a rival, but a
winner, too, in this love-match in which he and Pen were
engaged. 4

" I fear I interrupted your fencing lesson ; but my stay
in Chatteris is very short, and I was anxious to make my-
self known to my old fellow-campaigner Captain Costigan,
and to see a lady nearer who had charmed me so much
from the stage. I was not the only man epris last night,
Miss Fotheringay (if I must call you so, though your own
family name is a very ancient and noble one). There was
a reverend friend of mine, who went home in raptures

FENDENNIS. 131

with Ophelia ; and I saw Sir Derby Oaks fling a bouquet
which no actress ever merited better. I should have
brought one myself, had I known what I was going to see.
Are not those the very flowers in a glass of water on the
mantel-piece yonder? "

"I am very fond of flowers," said Miss Fotheringay,
•with a languishing ogle at Sir Derby Oaks — but the Baro-
net still scowled sulkily.

" Sweets to the sweet — isn't that the expression of the
play?" Major Pendennis asked, bent upon being good-
humoured. .

"'Pon my life, I don't know. Very likely it is. I
ain't much of a literary man," answered Sir Derby.

" Is it possible? " the Major continued, with an air
of surprise. " You don't inherit your father's love of let-
ters, then, Sir Derby? He was a remarkably fine scholar,
and I had the honour of knowing him very well."

" Indeed," said the other, and gave a sulky wag of his
head.

"He saved my life," continued Pendennis.

"Did he now?" cried Miss Fotheringay, rolling her
eyes first upon the Major with surprise, then towards Sir
Derby with gratitude — but the latter was proof against
those glances ; and far from appearing to be pleased that
the Apothecary, his father, should have saved Major Pen-
dennis's life, the young man actually looked as if he
wished the event had turned the other way.

"My father, I believe, was a very good doctor," the
young gentleman said by way of reply. " I'm not in that
line myself. I wish you good morning, sir. I've got
an appointment — Cos, bye-bye — Miss Fotheringay, good
morning." And, in spite of the young lady's imploring
looks and appealing smiles, the Dragoon bowed stiffly out
of the room, and the clatter of his sabre was heard as he
strode down the creaking stair ; and the angry tones of his
voice as he cursed little Tom Creed, who was disporting
in the passage, and whose peg-top Sir Derby kicked away
with an oath into the street.

132 PENDENNIS.

The Major did not smile in the least, though he had
every reason to be amused. " Monstrous handsome young
man that — as fine a looking soldier as ever I saw," he said
to Costigan.

"A credit to the army and to human nature in general,"
answered Costigan. "A young man of refoined manners,
polite affabilitee, and princely fortune. His table is
sumptuous: he's adawr'd in the regiment: and he rides
sixteen stone."

"A perfect champion," said the Major, laughing. "I
have no doubt all the ladies admire him."

"He's very well, in spite of his weight, now he's
young," said Milly; "but he's no conversation."

"He's best on horseback," Mr.. Bows said; on which
Milly replied, that the Baronet had ridden third in the
steeple-chase on his horse Tareaways, and the Major began
to comprehend that the young lady herself was not of a
particular genius, and to wonder how she should be so
stupid and act so well.

Costigan, with Irish hospitality, of course pressed re-
freshment upon his guest: and the Major, who was no
more hungry than you are after a Lord Mayor's dinner,
declared that he should like a biscuit and a glass of wine
above all things, as he felt quite faint from long fasting
— but he knew that to receive small kindnesses flatters
the donors very much, and that people must needs grow
well disposed towards you as they give you their hospi-
tality.

" Some of the old Madara, Milly, love," Costigan said,
winking to his child — and that lady, turning to her father
a glance of intelligence, went out of the room, and down
the stair, where she softly summoned her little emissary
Master Tommy Creed : and giving him a piece of money,
ordered him to go buy a pint of Madara wine at the
Grapes, and sixpennyworth of sorted biscuits at the bak-
er's, and to return in a hurry, when he might have two
biscuits for himself.

Whilst Tommy Creed was gone on this errand, Miss

PENDENNIS. 133

Costigan sate below with Mrs. Creed, telling her landlady
how Mr. Arthur Pendennis's uncle, the Major, was above
stairs; a nice, soft-spoken old gentleman; that butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth ; and how Sir Derby had gone
out of the room in a rage of jealousy, and thinking what
must be done to pacify both of them.

"She keeps the keys of the cellar, Major," said Mr.
Costigan, as the girl left the room.

" Upon my word you have a very beautiful butler," an-
swered Pendennis, gallantly, "and I don't wonder at the
young fellows raving about her. When we were of their
age, Captain Costigan, I think plainer women would have
done our business."

"Faith, and ye may say that, sir — and lucky is the
man who gets her. Ask me friend Bob Bows here whether
Miss Fotheringay's moind is not even shuperior to her
person, and whether she does not possess a cultiveated
intellect, a refoined understanding, and an emiable dispo-
sition? "

"Oh, of course," said Mr. Bows, rather drily. "Here
comes Hebe blushing from the cellar. Don't you think it is
time to go to rehearsal, Miss Hebe? You will be fined if
you are late " — and he gave the young lady a look, which
intimated that they had much better leave the room and the
two elders together.

At this order Miss Hebe took up her bonnet and shawl,
looking uncommonly pretty, good-humoured, and smiling :
and Bows gathered up his roll of papers, and hobbled
across the room for his hat and cane.

"Must you go? " said the Major. "Can't you give us a
few minutes more, Miss Fotheringay? Before you leave
us, permit an old fellow to shake you by the hand, and be-
lieve that I am proud to have had the honour of making
your acquaintance, and am most sincerely anxious to be
your friend."

Miss Fotheringay made a low curtsey at the conclusion
of this gallant speech, and the Major followed her retreat-
ing steps to the door, where he squeezed her hand with the

134 PENDENNIS.

kindest and most paternal pressure. Bows was puzzled
with this exhibition of cordiality: "The lad's relatives
can't be really wanting to marry him to her," he thought
— and so they departed.

" Now for it," thought Major Pendennis; and as for Mr.
Costigan he profited instantaneously by his daughter's ab-
sence to drink up the rest of the wine ; and tossed off one
bumper after another of the Madeira from the Grapes, with
an eager shaking hand. The Major came up to the table,
and took up his glass and drained it with a jovial smack.
If it had been Lord Steyne's particular, and not public-
house Cape, he could not have appeared to relish it
more.

"Capital Madeira, Captain Costigan," he said. "Where
do you get it? I drink the health of that charming crea-
ture in a bumper. Faith, Captain, I don't wonder that the
men are wild about her. I never saw such eyes in my life,
or such a grand manner. I am sure she is as intellectual
as she is beautiful; and I have no doubt she's as good as
she is clever."

"A good girl, sir, — a good girl, sir," said the delighted
father ; " and I pledge a toast to her with all my heart.
Shall I send to the — to the cellar for another pint? It's
handy by. No? Well, indeed sir, ye may say she is a
good girl, and the pride and glory of her father — honest
old Jack Costigan. The man who gets her will have a
jew'l to a wife, sir; and I drink his health, sir, and ye
know who I mean, Major."

" I am not surprised at young or old falling in love with
her," said the Major, "and frankly must tell you, that
though I was very angry with my poor nephew Arthur,
when I heard of the boy's passion — now I have seen the
lady I can pardon him any extent of it. By George, I
should like to enter for the race myself, if I weren't an old
fellow and a poor one."

" And no better man, Major, I'm sure," cried Jack en-
raptured. " Your friendship, sir, delights me. Your ad-
miration for my girl brings tears to me eyes — tears, sir —

PENDENNIS. 135

manlee tears — and when she leaves me humble home for
your own more splendid mansion, I hope she'll keep a
place for her poor old father, poor old Jack Costigan." —
The Captain suited the action to the word, and his blood-
shot eyes were suffused with water, as he addressed the
Major.

"Your sentiments, do you honour," the other said.
"But, Captain Costigan, I can't help smiling at one thing
you have just said."

"And what's that, sir?" asked Jack, who was at a too
heroic and sentimental pitch to descend from it.

" You were speaking about our splendid mansion — my
sister's house, I mean."

" I mane the park and mansion of Arthur Pendennis,
Esquire, of Fairoaks Park, whom I hope to see a Mimber
of Parliament for his native town of Clavering, when he is
of ege to take that responsible stetion," cried the Captain
with much dignity.

The Major smiled. "Fairoaks Park, my dear sir!" he
said. " Do you know our history? We are of excessively
ancient family certainly, but I began life with scarce
enough money to purchase my commission, and my eldest
brother was a country apothecary : who made every shilling
he died possessed* of out of his pestle and mortar."

"I have consented to waive that objection, sir," said
Costigan majestically, " in consideration of the known re-
spectability of your family."

"Curse your impudence," thought the Major; but he
only smiled and bowed.

" The Costigans, too, have met with misfortunes ; and
our house of Castle Costigan is by no manes what it was.
I have known very honest men apothecaries, sir, and
there's some in Dublin that has had the honour of dining
at the Lord Leftenant's teeble."

" You are very kind to give us the benefit of your char-
ity," the Major continued : " but permit me to say that is
not the question. You spoke just now of my little nephew
as heir of Fairoaks Park, and I don't know what besides."

136 PENDENOTS.

"Funded property, I've no doubt, Meejor, and some-
thing handsome eventually from yourself."

" My good sir, I tell you the boy is the son of a country
apothecary," cried out Major Pendennis ; " and that when
he comes of age he won't have a shilling."

"Pooh, Major, you're laughing at me," said Mr. Cos-
tigan ; " me young friend, I make no doubt, is heir to two
thousand pounds a-year."

"Two thousand fiddlesticks! I beg your pardon, my
dear sir; but has the boy been humbugging you? — it is not
his habit. Upon my word and honour, as a gentleman
and an executor to my brother's will too, he left little more
than five hundred a-year behind him."

" And with aconomy, a handsome sum of money too,
sir," the Captain answered. "Faith, I've known a man
drink his clar't, and drive his coach-and-four on five hun-
dred a-year and strict aconomy, in Ireland, sir. We'll
manage on it, sir — trust Jack Costigan for that. "

" My dear Captain Costigan — I give you my word that
my brother did not leave a shilling to his son Arthur. "

"Are ye joking with me, Meejor Pendennis?" cried
Jack Costigan. " Are ye thrifling with the feelings of a
father and a gentleman? "

" I am telling you the honest truth," said Major Pen-
dennis. " Every shilling my brother had, he left to his
widow: with a partial reversion, it is true, to the boy.
But she is a young woman, and may marry if he offends
her — or she may outlive him, for she comes of an uncom-
monly long-lived family. And I ask you, as a gentleman
and a man of the world, what allowance can my sister,
Mrs. Pendennis, make to her son out of five hundred
a-year, which is all her fortune — that shall enable him to
maintain himself and your daughter in the rank befitting
such an accomplished young lady? "

"Am I to understand, sir, that the young gentleman,
your nephew, and whom I have fosthered and cherished as
the son of me bosom, is an imposther who has been thrifling
with the affections of me beloved child? " exclaimed the

PENDENNIS. 137

General, with an outbreak of wrath. " Have a care, sir,
how you thrifle with the honour of John Costigan. If I
thought any mortal man meant to do so, be heavens I'd
have his blood, sir — were he old or young."

"Mr. Costigan! " cried out the Major.

"Mr. Costigan can protect his own and his daughter's
honour, and will, sir," said the other. "Look at that
chest of dthrawers, it contains heaps of letthers that that
viper has addressed to that innocent child. There's prom-
ises there, sir, enough to fill a band-box with ; and when I
have dragged the scoundthrel before the Courts of Law,
and shown up his perjury and his dishonour, I have an-
other remedy in yondther mahogany case, sir, which shall
set me right, sir, with any individual — ye mark me words,
Major Pendennis — with any individual who has counselled
your nephew to insult a soldier and a gentleman. What?
Me daughter to be jilted, and me gray hairs dishonoured
by an apothecary's son! By the laws of heaven, sir, I
should like to see the man that shall do it."

" I am to understand then that you threaten in the first
place to publish the letters of a boy of eighteen to a woman
of eight-and-twenty : and afterwards to do me the honour
of calling me out? " the Major said, still with perfect cool-
ness.

" You have described my intentions with perfect accu-
racy, Meejor Pendennis," answered the Captain, as he
pulled his ragged whiskers over his chin.

"Well, well; these shall be the subjects of future ar-
rangements, but before we come to powder and ball, my
good sir, — do have the kindness to think with yourself in
what earthly way I have injured you? I have told you
that my nephew is dependent upon his mother, who has
scarcely more than five hundred a-year."

" I have my own opinion of the correctness of that asser-
tion," said the Captain.

"Will you go to my sister's lawyers, Messrs. Tathain
here, and satisfy yourself? "

" I decline to meet those gentlemen," said the Captain,

138 PENDENNIS.

with rather a disturbed air. " If it be as you say, I have
been athrociously deceived by some one, and on that per-
son I'll be revenged."

"Is it my nephew?" cried the Major, starting up and
putting on his hat. " Did he ever tell you that his prop-
erty was two thousand a year? If he did, I'm mistaken in
the boy. To tell lies has not been a habit in our family,
Mr. Costigan, and I don't think my brother's son has
learned it as yet. Try and consider whether you have not
deceived yourself; or adopted extravagant reports from
hearsay. As for me, sir, you are at liberty to understand
that I am not afraid of all the Costigans in Ireland, and
know quite well how to defend myself against any threats
from any quarter. I come here as the boy's guardian to
protest against a marriage, most absurd and unequal, that
cannot but bring poverty and misery with it : and in pre-
venting it I conceive I am quite as much your daughter's
friend (who I have no doubt is an honourable young lady),
as the friend of my own family, and prevent the marriage
I will, sir, by every means in my power. There, I have
said my say, sir."

" But I have not said mine, Major Pendennis — and ye
shall hear more from me," Mr. Costigan said, with a look
of tremendous severity.

"'Sdeath, sir, what do you mean?" the Major asked,
turning round on the threshold of the door, and looking the
intrepid Costigan in the face.

" Ye said, in the course of conversation, that ye were at
the George Hotel, I think," Mr. Costigan said in a stately
manner. " A friend shall wait upon ye there before ye
leave town, sir."

"Let him make haste, Mr. Costigan," cried out the
Major, almost beside himself with rage. "I wish you a
good morning, sir." And Captain Costigan bowed a mag-
nificent bow of defiance to Major Pendennis over the land-
ing-place as the latter retreated down the stairs.

PENDENNIS. 139

CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH A SHOOTING MATCH IS PROPOSED.

EARLY mention has been made in this history of Mr.
Garbetts, Principal Tragedian, a promising and athletic
young actor, of jovial habits and irregular inclinations, be-
tween whom and Mr. Costigan there was a considerable in-
timacy. They were the chief ornaments of the convivial
club held at the Magpie Hotel ; they helped each other in
various bill transactions in which they had been engaged,
with the mutual loan of each other's valuable signatures.
They were friends, in fine ; and Mr. Garbetts was called in
by Captain Costigan iTrmnp.dia.te1y after Major Pendennis
had quitted the house, as a friend proper to be consulted at
the actual juncture. He was a large man, with a loud
voice and fierce aspect, who had the finest legs of the whole
company and could break a poker in mere sport across his
stalwart arm.

"Bun, Tommy," said Mr. Costigan to the little messen-
ger, " and fetch Mr. Garbetts from his lodgings over the
tripe shop, ye know, and tell 'em to send two glasses of
whisky and water, hot, from the Grapes." So Tommy
went his way ; and presently Mr. Garbetts and the whisky
came.

Captain Costigan did not disclose to him the whole of
the previous events, of which the reader is in possession ;
but, with the aid of the spirits and water, he composed a
letter of a threatening nature to Major Pendennis' s ad-
dress, in which he called upon that gentleman to offer no
hindrance to the marriage projected between Mr. Arthur
Pendennis and his daughter, Miss Fotheringay, and to fix
an early day for its celebration : or, in any other case, to
give him the satisfaction which was usual between gentle-
men of honour. And should Major Pendennis be disin-

7— Thackeray, Vol. 3

140 PENDENNIS.

clined to this alternative, the Captain hinted, that he would
force him to accept it by the use of a horsewhip, which he
should employ upon the Major's person. The precise terms
of this letter we cannot give, for reasons which shall be
specified presently ; but it was, no doubt, couched in the
Captain's finest style, and sealed elaborately with the great
silver seal of the Costigans — the only bit of the family
plate which the Captain possessed.

Garbetts was despatched, then, with this message and
letter ; and bidding Heaven bless 'urn, the General squeezed
his ambassador's hand, and saw him depart. Then he took
down his venerable and murderous duelling-pistols, with
flint locks, that had done the business of many a pretty
fellow in Dublin : and having examined these, and seen that
they were in a satisfactory condition, he brought from the
drawer all Pen's letters and poems which he kept there,
and which he always read before he permitted his Emily to
enjoy their perusal.

In a score of minutes Garbetts came back with an anx-
ious and crest-fallen countenance.

" Ye've seen 'um? " the Captain said.

"Why, yes," said Garbetts.

"And when is it for?" asked Costigan, trying the lock
of one of the ancient pistols, and bringing it to a level
with his oi — as he called that blood-shot orb.

" When is what for? " asked Mr. Garbetts.

"The meeting, my dear fellow."

" You don't mean to say you mean mortal combat, Cap-
tain? " Garbetts said, aghast.

"What the devil else do I mean, Garbetts? — I want to
shoot that man that has trajuiced me honor, or meself
dthrop a victim on the sod."

" D — if I carry challenges, " Mr. Garbetts replied. " I'm
a family man, Captain, and will have nothing to do with
pistols — take back your letter ; " and, to the surprise and
indignation of Captain Costigan, his emissary flung the
letter down, with its great sprawling superscription and
blotched seal.

PENDENNIS. 141

"Ye don't mean to say ye saw 'urn and didn't give ;uni
the letter? " cried out the Captain, in a fury.

"I saw him, but I could not have speech with him,
Captain," said Mr. Garbetts.

"And why the devil not? " asked the other.

" There was one there I cared not to meet, nor would
you," the tragedian answered in a sepulchral voice. " The
minion Tatham was there, Captain."

"The cowardly scoundthrel ! " roared Costigan. "He's
frightened, and already going to swear the peace against
me."

"I'll have nothing to do with the fighting, mark that,"
the tragedian doggedly said, " and I wish I'd not seen Tat-
ham neither, nor that bit of "

" Hold your tongue ! Bob Acres. It's my belief ye're no
better than a coward, " said Captain Costigan, quoting Sir
Lucius O'Trigger, which character he had performed with
credit, both off and on the stage, and after some more
parley between the couple they separated in not very good
humour.

Their colloquy has been here condensed, as the reader
knows the main point upon which it turned. But the latter
will now see how it is impossible to give a correct account
of the letter which the Captain wrote to Major Pendennis,
as it was never opened at all by that gentleman.

When Miss Costigan came home from rehearsal, which
she did in the company of the faithful Mr. Bows, she
found her father pacing up and down their apartment in
a great state of agitation, and in the midst of a powerful
odour of spirits and water, which, as it appeared, had not
succeeded in pacifying his disordered mind. The Pen-
dennis papers were on the table surrounding the empty
goblets and now useless teaspoons, which had served to
hold and mix the Captain's liquor and his friend's. As
Emily entered he seized her in his arms, and cried out,
" Prepare yourself, me child, me blessed child," in a voice
of agony, and with eyes brimful of tears.

"Ye're tipsy, Papa," Miss Fotheringay said, pushing

142 PENDENNIS.

back her sire. " Ye promised me ye wouldn't take spirits
before dinner."

" It's to forget me sorrows, me poor girl, that I've taken
just a drop," cried the bereaved father — " it's to drown me
care that I drain the bowl. "

" Your care takes a deal of drowning, Captain dear,"
said Bows, mimicking his friend's accent; "what has hap-
pened? Has that soft-spoken gentleman in the wig been
vexing you? "

" The oily miscreant! I'll have his blood! " roared Cos.
Miss Milly, it must be premised, had fled to her room out
of his embrace, and was taking off her bonnet and shawl
there.

" I thought he meant mischief. He was so uncommon
civil," the other said. "What has he come to say? "

"0 Bows! He has overwhellum'd me," the Captain
said. "There's a hellish conspiracy on foot against me
poor girl; and it's me opinion that both them Pendennises,
nephew and uncle, is two infernal thrators and scoun-
dthrels, who should be conshumed from off the face of the
earth."

"What is it? What has happened?" said Mr. Bows,
growing rather excited.

Costigan then told him the Major's statement that the
young Pendennis had not two thousand, nor two hundred
pounds a-year ; and expressed his fury that he should have
permitted such an impostor to coax and wheedle his inno-
cent girl, and that he should have nourished such a viper
in his own personal bosom. " I have shaken the reptile
from me, however," said Costigan; "and as for his uncle,
I'll have such a revenge on that old man, as shall make
'um rue the day he ever insulted a Costigan."

" What do you mean, General? " said Bows.

" I mean to have his life, Bows — his villanous, skulking
life, my boy ;" and he rapped upon the battered old pistol-
case in an ominous and savage manner. Bows had often
heard him appeal to that box of death, with which he pro-
posed to sacrifice his enemies ; but the Captain did not tell

PENDENNIS. 143

him that he had actually written and sent a challenge to
Major Pendennis, and Mr. Bows therefore rather disre-
garded the pistols in the present instance.

At this juncture Miss Fotheringay returned to the com-
mon sitting-room from her private apartment, looking per-
fectly healthy, happy, and unconcerned, a striking and
wholesome contrast to her father, who was in a delirious
tremor of grief, anger, and other agitation. She brought
in a pair of ex-white satin shoes with her, which she pro-
posed to rub as clean as might be with bread-crumb ; in-
tending to go mad with them upon next Tuesday evening
in Ophelia, in which character she was to reappear on that
night.

She looked at the papers on the table ; stopped as if she
was going to ask a question, but thought better of it, and,
going to the cupboard, selected an eligible piece of bread
wherewith she might operate on the satin slippers : and
afterwards coming back to the table, seated herself there
commodiously with the shoes, and then asked her father,
in her honest Irish brogue, " What have ye got them let-
thers, and pothry, and stuff, of Master Arthur's out for,
Pa? Sure ye don't want to be reading over that non-
sense."

" 0 Emilee ! " cried the Captain, "that boy whom I loved
as the boy of mee bosom is only a scoundthrel, and a de-
ceiver, mee poor girl : " and he looked in the most tragical
way at Mr. Bows, opposite ; who, in his turn, gazed some-
what anxiously at Miss Costigan.

"He! pooh! Sure the poor lad's as simple as a school-
boy," she said. "All them children write verses and non-
sense."

"He's been acting the part of a viper to this fireside,
and a traitor in this familee," cried the Captain. "I tell
ye he's no better than an impostor."

" What has the poor fellow done, Papa? " asked Emily.

"Done? He has deceived us in the most athrocious
manner," Miss Emily's papa said. " He has thrifled with
your affections, and outraged my own fine feelings. He has

144 PENDENNIS.

represented himself as a man of property, and it turruns
out that he is no betther than a beggar. Haven't I often
told ye he had two thousand a-year? He's a pauper, I
tell ye, Miss Costigan; a depindent upon the bountee of
his mother; a good woman, who may marry again, who's
likely to live forever, and who has but five hundred a-year.
How dare he ask ye to marry into a family which has not
the means of providing for ye? Ye've been grossly de-
ceived and put upon, Milly, and it's my belief this old
ruffian of an uncle in a wig is in the plot against us."

"That soft old gentleman? What has he been doing,
Papa? " continued Emily, still imperturbable.

Costigan informed Milly that when she was gone, Major
Pendennis told him in his double-faced Pall Mall polite
manner, that young Arthur had no fortune at all, that the
Major had asked him (Costigan) to go to the lawyers
(" wherein he knew the scoundthrels have a bill of mine,
and I can't meet them," the Captain parenthetically re-
marked), and see the lad's father's will: and finally, that
an infernal swindle had been practised upon him by the
pair, and that he was resolved either on a marriage, or on
the blood of both of them.

Milly looked very grave and thoughtful, rubbing the
white satin shoe. " Sure, if he's no money, there's no use
marrying him, Papa," she said, sententiously.

" Why did the villain say he was a man of prawpertee? "
asked Costigan.

"The poor fellow always said he was poor," answered
the girl. " 'Twas you who would have it he was rich,
Papa — and made me agree to take him."

" He should have been explicit and told us his income,
Milly," answered the father. "A young fellow who rides
a blood mare, and makes presents of shawls and bracelets,
is an impostor if he has no money ; — and as for his uncle,
bedad I'll pull off his wig whenever I see 'um. Bows,
here, shall take a message to him and tell him so. Either
it's a marriage, or he meets me in the field like a man, or
I tweak 'um on the nose in front of his hotel or in the

PENDENNIS. 145

gravel walks of Fairoaks Park before all the county,
bedad."

" Bedad, you may send somebody else with the message,"
said Bows, laughing. " I'm a fiddler, not a fighting man,
Captain."

" Pooh, you've no spirit, sir," roared the General. " I'll
be my own second, if no one will stand by and see me in-
jured. And I'll take my case of pistols and shoot 'urn in
the Coffee Room of the George."

"And so poor Arthur has no money? " sighed out Miss
Costigan, rather plaintively. "Poor lad, he was a good
lad, too : wild and talking nonsense, with his verses and
pothry and that, but a brave, generous boy, and indeed I
liked him — and he liked me too," she added, rather softly,
and rubbing away at the shoe.

" Why don't you marry him if you like him so? " Mr.
Bows said, rather savagely. "He is not more than ten
years younger than you are. His mother may relent, and
you might go and live and have enough at Fairoaks Park.
Why not go and be a lady? I could go on with the fiddle,
and the General live on his half-pay. Why don't you
marry him? You know he likes you."

"There's others that likes me as well, Bows, that has
no money and that's old enough," Miss Milly said senten-
tiously.

"Yes, d it," said Bows, with a bitter curse — "that

are old enough and poor enough and fools enough for any-
thing."

"There's old fools, and young fools, too. You have
often said so, you silly man," the imperious beauty said,
with a conscious glance at the old gentleman. " If Pen-
dennis has not enough money to live upon, it's folly to
talk about marrying him : and that's the long and short of
it."

" And the boy? " said Mr. Bows. " By Jove ! you throw
a man away like an old glove, Miss Costigan. "

"I don't know what you mean, Bows," said Miss Foth-
eringay, placidly, rubbing the second shoe. " If he had

146 PENDENNIS.

had half of the two thousand a-year that Papa gave him,
or the half of that, I would marry him. But what is the
good of taking on with a beggar? We're poor enough
already. There's no use in my going to live with an old
lady that's testy and cross, maybe, and would grudge me
every morsel of meat. (Sure, it's near dinner time, and
Suky not laid the cloth yet), and then," added Miss Costi-
gan, quite simply, "suppose there was a family? — why,
Papa, we shouldn't be as well off as we are now."

"'Deed then, you would not, Milly dear," answered the
father.

"And there's an end to all the fine talk about Mrs.
Arthur Pendennis of Fairoaks Park — the member of Par-
liament's lady," said Milly, with a laugh. "Pretty car-
riages and horses we should have to ride ! — that you were
always talking about, Papa. But it's always the same.
If a man looked at me, you fancied he was going to marry
me ; and if he had a good coat, you fancied he was as rich
as Crazes."

"As Croesus," said Mr. Bows.

"Well, call 'urn what ye like. But it's a fact now that
Papa has married me these eight years a score of times.
Wasn't I to be my Lady Poldoody of Oystherstown Castle?
Then there was the Navy Captain at Portsmouth, and the
old surgeon at Norwich, and the Methodist preacher here
last year, and who knows how many more? Well, I bet
a penny, with all your scheming, I shall die Milly Costi-
gan at last. So poor little Arthur has no money? Stop
and take dinner, Bows : we've a beautiful beef-steak pud-
ding. "

"I wonder whether she is on with Sir Derby Oaks,"
thought Bows, whose eyes and thoughts were always
watching her. "The dodges of women beat all compre-
hension; and I am sure she wouldn't let the lad off so
easily, if she had not some other scheme on hand."

It will have been perceived that Miss Fotheringay,
though silent in general, and by no means brilliant as a
conversationist where poetry, literature, or the fine arts

PENDENNIS. 147

were concerned, could talk freely and with good sense, too,
in her own family circle. She cannot justly be called a
romantic person : nor were her literary acquirements great ;
she never opened a Shakspeare from the day she left the
stage, nor, indeed, understood it during all the time she
adorned the boards : but about a pudding, a piece of needle-
work, or her own domestic affairs, she was as good a judge
as could be found ; and not being misled by a strong imag-
ination or a passionate temper, was better enabled to keep
her judgment cool. When, over their dinner, Costigan
tried to convince himself and the company, that the Ma-
jor's statements regarding Pen's finances were unworthy of
credit, and a mere ruse upon the old hypocrite's part so as
to induce them, on their side, to break off the match, Miss
Milly would not, for a moment, admit the possibility of
deceit on the side of the adversary : and pointed out clearly
that it was her father who had deceived himself, and not
poor little Pen, who had tried to take them in. As for
that poor lad, she said she pitied him with all her heart.
And she ate an exceedingly good dinner ; to the admiration
of Mr. Bows, who had a remarkable regard and contempt
for this woman, during and after which repast, the party
devised upon the best means of bringing this love-matter
to a close. As for Costigan, his idea of tweaking the Ma-
jor's nose vanished with his supply of after-dinner whisky-
and- water; and he was submissive to his daughter, and
ready for any plan on which she might decide, in order to
meet the crisis which she saw was at hand.

The Captain, who, as long as he had a notion that he
was wronged, was eager to face and demolish both Pen and
his uncle, perhaps shrank from the idea of meeting the
former, and asked " what the juice they were to say to the
lad if he remained steady to his engagement, and they,
broke from theirs?" "What? don't you know how to
throw a man over? " said Bows ; " ask a woman to tell
you ;" and Miss Fotheringay showed how this feat was to
be done simply enough — nothing was more easy. " Papa
writes to Arthur to know what settlements he proposes to

148 PENDENNIS.

make in event of a marriage ; and asks what his means are.
Arthur writes back and says what he's got, and you'll find
it's as the Major says, I'll go bail. Then Papa writes, and
says it's not enough, and the match had best be at an
end."

"And, of course, you enclose a parting line, in which
you say you will always regard him as a brother ; " said
Mr. Bows, eyeing her in his scornful way.

"Of course, and so I shall," answered Miss Fotheringay.
"He's a most worthy young man, I'm sure. I'll thank
ye hand me the salt. Them filberts is beautiful."

" And there will be no noses pulled, Cos, my boy? I'm
sorry you're balked," said Mr. Bows.

"'Dad, I suppose not," said Cos, rubbing his own. —
" What' 11 ye do about them letters, and verses, and pomes,
Milly, darling? — Ye must send 'em back."

" Wigsby would give a hundred pound for 'em," Bows
said, with a sneer.

"'Deed, then, he would," said Captain Costigan, who
was easily led.

"Papa!" said Miss Milly. — "Ye wouldn't be for not
sending the poor boy his letters back? Them letters and
pomes is mine. They were very long, and full of all sorts
of nonsense, and Latin, and things I couldn't understand
the half of; indeed I've not read 'em all; but we'll send
'em back to him when the proper time comes." And going
to a drawer, Miss Fotheringay took out from it a number
of the County Chronicle and Chatteris Champion, in which
Pen had written a copy of flaming verses celebrating her
appearance in the character of Imogen, and putting by the
leaf upon which the poem appeared (for, like ladies of her
profession, she kept the favourable printed notices of her
performances), she wrapped up Pen's letters, poems, pas-
sions, and fancies, and tied them with a piece of string
neatly, as she would a parcel of sugar.

Nor was she in the least moved while performing this
act. What hours the boy had passed over those papers!
What love and longing: what generous faith and manly

PENDENNIS. 149

devotion — what watchful nights and lonely fevers might
they tell of ! She tied them up like so much grocery, and
sate down and made tea afterwards with a perfectly placid
and contented heart : while Pen was yearning after her tea
miles off : and hugging her image to his soul.

150 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XIII.

A CRISIS.

MAJOB PENDENNIS came away from his interview with
Captain Costigan in a state of such concentrated fury as
rendered him terrible to approach. " The impudent bog-
trotting scamp," he thought, " dare to threaten me ! Dare
to talk of permitting his damned Costigans to marry with
the Pendennises ! Send me a challenge ! If the fellow can
get anything in the shape of a gentleman to carry it, I
have the greatest mind in life not to balk him. — Psha!
what would people say if I were to go out with a tipsy
mountebank, about a row with an actress in a barn ! " So
when the Major saw Dr. Portman, who asked anxiously re-
garding the issue of his battle with the dragon, Mr. Pen-
dennis did not care to inform the divine of the General's
insolent behaviour, but stated that the affair was a very
ugly and disagreeable one, and that it was by no means
over yet.

He enjoined Doctor and Mrs. Portman to say nothing
about the business at Fairoaks ; and then he returned to
his hotel, where he vented his wrath upon Mr. Morgan his
valet, " dammin and cussin up stairs and down stairs," as
that gentleman observed to Mr. Foker's man, in whose
company he partook of dinner in the servants' room of the
George.

The servant carried the news to his master; and Mr.
Foker having finished his breakfast about this time, it be-
ing two o'clock in the afternoon, remembered that he was
anxious to know the result of the interview between his
two friends, and having inquired the number of the Major's
sitting-room, went over in his brocade dressing-gown, and
knocked for admission.

The Major had some business, as he had stated, respect-

PENDENNIS. 151

ing a lease of the widow's, about which he was desirous of
consulting old Mr. Tatham, the lawyer, who had been his
brother's man of business, and who had a branch-office at
Clavering, where he and his son attended market and other
days three or four in the week. This gentleman and his
client were now in consultation when Mr. Foker showed his
grand dressing-gown and embroidered skull-cap at Major
Pendennis's door.

Seeing the Major engaged with papers and red-tape, and
an old man with a white head, the modest youth was for
drawing back — and said, "Oh, you're busy — call again an-
other time." But Mr. Pendennis wanted to see him, and
begged him, with a smile, to enter : whereupon Mr. Foker
took off the embroidered tarboosh or fez (it had been worked
by the fondest of mothers) and advanced, bowing to the
gentlemen and smiling on them graciously. Mr. Tatham
had never seen so splendid an apparition before as this
brocaded youth, who seated himself in an arm-chair,
spreading out his crimson skirts, and looking with exceed-
ing kindness and frankness on the other two tenants of the
room. " You seem to like my dressing-gown, sir," he said
to Mr. Tatham. " A pretty thing, isn't it? Neat, but not
in the least gaudy. And how do you do? Major Pendennis,
sir, and how does the world treat you? "

There was that in Foker' s manner and appearance
which would have put an Inquisitor into good humour,
and it smoothed the wrinkles under Pendennis's head of
hair.

" I have had an interview with that Irishman, (you may
speak before my friend, Mr. Tatham here, who knows all
the affairs of the family,) and it has not, I own, been very
satisfactory. He won't believe that my nephew is poor :
he says we are both liars : he did me the honour to hint
that I was a coward, as I took leave. And I thought
when you knocked at the door, that you might be the gen-
tleman whom I expect with a challenge from Mr. Costigan
—that is how the world treats me, Mr. Foker."

"You don't mean that Irishman, the actress's father?"

152 PENDENNIS.

cried Mr. Tatham, who was a dissenter himself, and did
not patronise the drama.

"That Irishman, the actress's father — the very man.
Have not you heard what a fool my nephew has made of
himself about the girl? " — and Major Pendennis had to re-
count the story of his nephew's loves to the lawyer, Mr.
Foker coming in with appropriate comments in his usual
familiar language.

Tatham was lost in wonder at the narrative. Why had
not Mrs. Pendennis married a serious man, he thought —
Mr. Tatham was a widower — and kept this unfortunate boy
from perdition? As for Miss Costigan, he would say
nothing : her profession was sufficient to characterise her.
Mr. Foker here interposed to say he had known some un-
common good people in the booths, as he called the Temple
of the Muses. Well it might be so, Mr. Tatham hoped so
— but the father, Tatham knew personally — a man of the
worst character, a wine-bibber and an idler in taverns and
billiard-rooms, and a notorious insolvent. " I can under-
stand the reason, Major," he said, "why the fellow would
not come to my office to ascertain the truth of the state-
ments which you made him. — We have a writ out against
him and another disreputable fellow, one of the play-actors,
for a bill given to Mr. Skinner of this city, a most respect-
able Grocer and Wine and Spirit Merchant, and a Member
of the Society of Friends. This Costigan came crying to
Mr. Skinner, — crying in the shop, sir, — and we have not
proceeded against him or the other, as neither were worth
powder and shot."

It was whilst Mr. Tatham was engaged in telling his
story that a third knock came to the door, and there en-
tered an athletic gentleman in a shabby braided frock,
bearing in his hand a letter with a large blotched red
seal.

" Can I have the honour of speaking with Major Pen-
dennis in private? " he began — " I have a few words for
your ear, sir. I am the bearer of a mission from my friend
Captain Costigan," — but here the man with the bass voice

PENDENNIS. 153

paused, faltered, and turned pale — he caught sight of the
head and well-remembered face of Mr. Tatham.

"Hullo, Garbetts, speak up!" cried Mr. Foker, de-
lighted.

" Why, bless my soul, it is the other party to the bill ! "
said Mr. Tatham. "I say, sir; stop I say." But Gar-
betts, with a face as blank as Macbeth' s when Banquo's
ghost appears upon him, gasped some inarticulate words,
and fled out of the room.

The Major's gravity was entirely upset, and he burst out
laughing. So did Mr. Foker, who said, " By Jove, it was
a good Jun." So did the attorney, although by profession
a serious man.

"I don't think there'll be any fight, Major," young
Foker said; and began mimicking the tragedian. "If
there is, the old gentleman — your name Tatham? — very
happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tatham — may send
the bailiffs to separate the men ; " and Mr. Tatham prom-
ised to do so. The Major was by no means sorry at the
ludicrous issue of the quarrel. " It seems to me, sir," he
said to Mr. Foker, "that you always arrive to put me into
good humour."

Nor was this the only occasion on which Mr. Foker this
day was destined to be of service to the Pendennis family.
We have said that he had the entree of Captain Costigan's
lodgings, and in the course of the afternoon he thought he
would pay the General a visit, and hear from his own lips
what had occurred in the conversation, in the morning,
with Mr. Pendennis. Captain Costigan was not at home.
He had received permission, nay, encouragement from his
daughter, to go to the convivial club at the Magpie Hotel,
where no doubt he was bragging at that moment of his
desire to murder a certain ruffian; for he was not only
brave, but he knew it, too, and liked to take out his cour-
age, and, as it were, give it an airing in company.

Costigan then was absent, but Miss Fotheringay was at
home washing the tea-cups whilst Mr. Bows sate opposite
to her.

154 PENDENNIS.

" Just done breakfast I see — how do? " said Mr. Foker,
popping in his little funny head.

"Get out, you funny little man," cried Miss Fother-
ingay.

"You mean come in," answered the other. — "Here we
are ! " and entering the room he folded his arms and be-
gan twirling his head round and round with immense ra-
pidity, like Harlequin in the Pantomime when he first issues
from his cocoon or envelope. Miss Fotheringay laughed
with all her heart: a wink of Foker' s would set her off
laughing, when the bitterest joke Bows ever made could
not get a smile from her, or the finest of poor Pen's
speeches would only puzzle her. At the end of the
harlequinade he sank down on one knee and kissed her
hand.

"You're the drollest little man," she said, and gave
him a great good-humoured slap. Pen used to tremble as
he kissed her hand. Pen would have died of a slap.

These preliminaries over, the three began to talk ; Mr.
Foker amused his companions by recounting to them the
scene which he had just witnessed of the discomfiture of
Mr. Garbetts, by which they learned, for the first time, how
far the General had carried his wrath against Major Pen-
dennis. Foker spoke strongly in favour of the Major's
character for veracity and honour, and described him as a
tip-top swell, moving in the upper circle of society, who
would never submit to any deceit — much more to deceive
such a charming young woman as Miss Foth.

He touched delicately upon the delicate marriage ques-
tion, though he couldn't help showing that he held Pen
rather cheap. In fact, he had a perhaps just contempt
for Mr. Pen's high-flown sentimentality; his own weakness,
as he thought, not lying that way. " I knew it wouldn't
do, Miss Foth," said he, nodding his little head. " Couldn't
do. Didn't like to put my hand into the bag, but knew it
couldn't do. He's too young for you: too green: a deal
too green : and he turns out to be poor as Job. Can't have
him at no price, can she, Mr. Bo? "

PENDENNIS. 155

"Indeed he's a nice poor boy," said the Fotheringay
rather sadly.

"Poor little beggar," said Bows, with his hands in his
pockets, and stealing up a queer look at Miss Fotheringay.
Perhaps he thought and wondered at the way in which
women play with men, and coax them and win them and
drop them.

But Mr. Bows had not the least objection to acknowl-
edge that he thought Miss Fotheringay was perfectly right
in giving up Mr. Arthur Pendennis, and that in his idea
the match was always an absurd one : and Miss Costigan
owned that she thought so herself, only she couldn't send
away two thousand a-year. "It all comes of believing
Papa's silly stories," she said; "faith, I'll choose for me-
self another time " — and very likely the large image of
Lieutenant Sir Derby Oaks entered into her mind at that
instant.

After praising Major Pendennis, whom Miss Costigan
declared to be a proper gentleman entirely, smelling of
lavender, and as neat as a pin, — and who was pronounced
by Mr. Bows to be the right sort of fellow, though rather
too much of an old buck, Mr. Foker suddenly bethought
him to ask the pair to come and meet the Major that very
evening at dinner at his apartment at the George. " He
agreed to dine with me, and I think after the — after the
little shindy this morning, in which I must say the General
was wrong, it would look kind, you know. — I know the
Major fell in love with you, Miss Foth: he said so."

" So she may be Mrs. Pendennis still," Bows said with a
sneer — "No thank you, Mr. F. — I've dined."

" Sure, that was at three o'clock," said Miss Costigan,
who had an honest appetite, "and I can't go without you."

"We'll have lobster-salad and Champagne," said the lit-
tle monster, who could not construe a line of Latin, or do
a sum beyond the Rule of Three. Now, for lobster-salad
and Champagne in an honourable manner, Miss Costigan
would have gone anywhere — and Major Pendennis actually
found himself at seven o'clock, seated at a dinner-table in

156 PENDENNIS.

company with Mr. Bows, a professional fiddler, and Miss
Costigan, whose father had wanted to blow his brains out
a few hours before.

To make the happy meeting complete, Mr. Foker, who
knew Costigan' s haunts, despatched Stoopid to the club at
the Magpie, where the General was in the act of singing a
pathetic song, and brought him off to supper. To find his
daughter and Bows seated at the board was a surprise in-
deed— Major Pendennis laughed, and cordially held out
his hand, which the General Officer grasped avec effusion
as the French say. In fact he was considerably inebriated,
and had already been crying over his own song before he
joined the little party at the George. He burst into tears
more than once during the entertainment, and called the
Major his dearest friend. Stoopid and Mr. Foker walked
home with him : the Major gallantly giving his arm to Miss
Costigan. He was received with great friendliness when
he called the next day, when many civilities passed be-
tween the gentlemen. On taking leave he expressed his
anxious desire to serve Miss Costigan on any occasion in
which he could be useful to her, and he shook hands with
Mr. Foker most cordially and gratefully, and said that
gentleman had done him the very greatest service.

"All right," said Mr. Foker: and they parted with mu-
tual esteem.

On his return to Fairoaks the next day, Major Pen-
dennis did not say what had happened to him on the pre-
vious night, or allude to the company in which he had
passed it. But he engaged Mr. Smirke to stop to dinner ;
and any person accustomed to watch his manner might
have remarked that there was something constrained in his
hilarity and talkativeness, and that he was unusually gra-
cious and watchful in his communications with his nephew.
He gave Pen an emphatic God-bless-you when the lad
went to bed ; and as they were about to part for the night,
he seemed as if he were going to say something to Mrs.
Pendennis, but he bethought him that if he spoke he might
spoil her night's rest, and allowed her to sleep in peace.

PENDENNIS. 157

The next morning he was down in the breakfast-room
earlier than was his custom, and saluted everybody there
with great cordiality. The post used to arrive commonly
about the end of this meal. When John, the old servant,
entered, and discharged the bag of its letters and papers,
the Major looked hard at Pen as the lad got his — Arthur
blushed, and put his letter down. He knew the hand, it
was that of old Costigan, and he did not care to read it in
public. Major Pendennis knew the letter, too. He had
put it into the post himself in Chatteris the day before.

He told little Laura to go away, which the child did,
having a thorough dislike to him ; and as the door closed
on her, he took Mrs. Pendennis' s hand, and giving her a
look full of meaning, pointed to the letter under the news-
paper which Pen was pretending to read. " Will you come
into the drawing-room?" he said. "I want to speak to
you."

And she followed him, wondering, into the hall.

" What is it? " she said nervously.

"The affair is at an end," Major Pendennis said. "He
has a letter there giving him his dismissal. I dictated it
myself yesterday. There are a few lines from the lady,
too, bidding him farewell. It is all over."

Helen ran back to the dining-room, her brother follow-
ing. Pen had jumped at his letter the instant they were
gone. He was reading it with a stupefied face. It stated
what the Major had said, that Mr. Costigan was most
gratified for the kindness with which Arthur had treated
his daughter, but that he was only now made aware of Mr.
Pendennis' s pecuniary circumstances. They were such that
marriage was at present out of the question, and consider-
ing the great disparity in the age of the two, a future union
was impossible. Under these circumstances, and with the
deepest regret and esteem for him, Mr. Costigan bade
Arthur farewell, and suggested that he should cease visit-
ing, for some time at least, at his house.

A few lines from Miss Costigan were inclosed. She ac-
quiesced in the decision of her Papa. She pointed out that

158 PENDENNIS

she was many years older than Arthur, and that an engage-
ment was not to be thought of. She would always be grate-
ful for his kindness to her, and hoped to keep his friendship.
But at present, and until the pain of the separation should
be over, she entreated they should not meet.

Pen read Costigan's letter and its in closure mechanically,
hardly knowing what was before his eyes. He looked up
wildly, and saw his mother and uncle regarding him with
sad faces. Helen, indeed, was full of tender maternal
anxiety.

"What— what is this?" Pen said. "It's some joke.
This is not her writing. This is some servant's writing.
Who's playing these tricks upon me? "

"It comes under her father's envelope," the Major said.
u Those letters you had before were not in her hand : that
is hers."

" How do you know? " said Pen very fiercely.

" I saw her write it," the uncle answered, as the boy
started up; and his mother, coming forward, took his
hand. He put her away.

" How came you to see her? How came you between me
and her? What have I ever done to you that you should
— Oh, it's not true; it's not true!" — Pen broke out with a
wild execration. " She can't have done it of her own ac-
cord. She can't mean it. She's pledged to me. Who has
told her lies to break her from me? "

"Lies are not told in the family, Arthur," Major Pen-
dennis replied. " I told her the truth, which was, that
you had no money to maintain her, for her foolish father
had represented you to be rich. And when she knew how
poor you were, she withdrew at once, and without any per-
suasion of mine. She was quite right. She is ten years
older than you are. She is perfectly unfitted to be your
wife, and knows it. Look at her handwriting, and ask
yourself, is such a woman fitted to be the companion of
your mother? "

"I will know from herself if it is true," Arthur said,
crumpling up the paper.

PENDENNIS. 159

" Won't you take my word of honour? Her letters were
written by a confidante of hers, who writes better than she
can — look here. Here's one from the lady to your friend,
Mr. Foker. You have seen her with Miss Costigan, as
whose amanuensis she acted " — the Major said, with ever
so little of a sneer, and laid down a certain billet which
Mr. Foker had given to him.

"It's not that," said Pen, burning with shame and rage.
" I suppose what you say is true, sir, but I'll hear it from
herself."

" Arthur ! " appealed his mother.

"I will see her," said Arthur. "I'll ask her to marry
me, once more. I will. No one shall prevent me."

" What, a woman who spells affection with one f ? Non-
sense, sir. Be a man, and remember that your mother is
a lady. She was never made to associate with that tipsy
old swindler or his daughter. Be a man and forget her,
as she does you."

"Be a man and comfort your mother, my Arthur,"
Helen said, going and embracing him : and seeing that the
pair were greatly moved, Major Pendennis went out of the
room and shut the door upon them, wisely judging that
they were best alone.

He had won a complete victory. He actually had
brought away Pen's letters in his portmanteau from Chat-
teris: having complimented Mr. Costigan, when he re-
turned them, by giving him the little promissory note
which had disquieted himself and Mr. Garbetts : and for
which the Major settled with Mr. Tatham.

Pen rushed wildly off to Chatteris that day, but in vain
attempted to see Miss Fotheringay, for whom he left a
letter, inclosed to her father. The inclosure was returned
by Mr. Costigan, who begged that all correspondence might
end; and after one or two further attempts of the lad's,
the indignant General desired that their acquaintance might
cease. He cut Pen in the street. As Arthur and Foker
were pacing the Castle walk, one day, they came upon

160 PENDENNIS.

Emily on her father's arm. She passed without any nod
of recognition. Foker felt poor Pen trembling on his arm.
His uncle wanted him to travel, to quit the country for
a while, and his mother urged him, too : for he was grow-
ing very ill, and suffered severely. But he refused, and
said point-blank he would not go. He would not obey in
this instance : and his mother was too fond, and his uncle
too wise to force him. Whenever Miss Fotheringay acted,
he rode over to the Chatteris Theatre and saw her. One
night there were so few people in the house that the Man-
ager returned the money. Pen came home and went to
bed at eight o'clock and had a fever. If this continues,
his mother will be going over and fetching the girl, the
Major thought, in despair. As for Pen, he thought he
should die. We are not going to describe his feelings, or
give a dreary journal of his despair and passion. Have
not other gentlemen been balked in love besides Mr. Pen?
Yes, indeed : but few die of the malady.

PENDENNIS. 161

CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH MISS FOTHERINGAY MAKES A NEW EN-
GAGEMENT.

WITHIN a short period of the events above narrated,
Mr. Manager Bingley was performing his famous character
of Rolla, in " Pizarro," to a house so exceedingly thin, that
it would appear as if the part of Rolla was by no means
such a favourite with the people of Chatteris as it was with
the accomplished actor himself. Scarce anybody was in
the theatre. Poor Pen had the boxes almost all to himself,
and sate there lonely, with bloodshot eyes, leaning over
the ledge, and gazing haggardly towards the scene, when
Cora came in. When she was not on the stage he saw
nothing. Spaniards and Peruvians, processions and bat-
tles, priests and virgins of the sun, went in and out, and
had their talk, but Arthur took no note of any one of
them; and only saw Cora whom his soul longed after.
He said afterwards that he wondered he had not taken a
pistol to shoot her, so mad was he with love, and rage, and
despair; and had it not been for his mother at home, to
whom he did not speak about his luckless condition, but
whose silent sympathy and watchfulness greatly comforted
the simple half heart-broken fellow, who knows but he
might have done something desperate, and have ended his
days prematurely in front of Chatteris gaol? There he
sate then, miserable, and gazing at her. And she took no
more notice of him than he did of the rest of the house.

The Fotheringay was uncommonly handsome, in a white
raiment and leopard skin, with a sun upon her breast, and
fine tawdry bracelets on her beautiful glancing arms. She
spouted to admiration the few words of her part, and
looked it still better. The eyes, which had overthrown
Pen's soul, rolled and gleamed as lustrous as ever; but it

162 PENDENNIS.

was not to him that they were directed that night. He did
not know to whom, or remark a couple of gentlemen, in
the box next to him, upon whom Miss Fotheringay's
glances were perpetually shining.

Nor had Pen noticed the extraordinary change which
had taken place on the stage a short time after the entry
of these two gentlemen into the theatre. There were so
few people in the house, that the first act of the play lan-
guished entirely, and there had been some question of re-
turning the money, as upon that other unfortunate night
when poor Pen had been driven away. The actors were
perfectly careless about their parts, and yawned through
the dialogue, and talked loud to each other in the intervals.
Even Bingley was listless, and Mrs. B. in Elvira spoke
under her breath.

How came it that all of a sudden Mrs. Bingley began to
raise her voice and bellow like a bull of Bashan? Whence
was it that Bingley, flinging off his apathy, darted about
the stage and yelled like Kean? Why did Garbetts and
Rowkins and Miss Rouncy try, each of them, the force of
their charms or graces, and act and swagger and scowl and
spout their very loudest at the two gentlemen in box No. 3?

One was a quiet little man in black, with a grey head and
a jolly shrewd face — the other was in all respects a splen-
did and remarkable individual. He was a tall and portly
gentleman with a hooked nose and a profusion of curling
brown hair and whiskers ; his coat was covered with the
richest frogs, braiding, and velvet. He had under-waist-
coats, many splendid rings, jewelled pins and neck-chains.
When he took out his yellow pocket handkerchief with his
hand that was cased in white kids, a delightful odour of
musk and bergamot was shaken through the house. He
was evidently a personage of rank, and it was at him that
the little Chatteris company was acting.

He was, in a word, no other than Mr. Dolphin, the great
manager from London, accompanied by his faithful friend
and secretary Mr. William Minns : without whom he never
travelled. He had not been ten minutes in the theatre be-

PENDENNIS. 163

fore his august presence there was perceived by Bingley
and the rest : and they all began to act their best and try-
to engage his attention. Even Miss Fotheringay's dull
heart, which was disturbed at nothing, felt perhaps a flut-
ter, when she came in presence of the famous London Im-
presario. She had not much to do in her part, but to look
handsome, and stand in picturesque attitudes encircling
her child : and she did this work to admiration. In vain
the various actors tried to win the favour of the great stage
Sultan. Pizarro never got a hand from him. Bingley
yelled, and Mrs. Bingley bellowed, and the manager only
took snuff out of his great gold box. It was only in the
last scene, when Rolla comes in staggering with the infant
(Bingley is not so strong as he was, and his fourth son
Master Talma Bingley is a monstrous large child for his
age) — when Rolla comes straggering with the child to
Cora, who rushes forward with a shriek and says — " 0 God,
there's blood upon him!" — that the London manager
clapped his hands, and broke out with an enthusiastic
bravo.

Then having concluded his applause, Mr. Dolphin gave
his secretary a slap on the shoulder, and said " By Jove,
Billy, she'll do!"

" Who taught her that dodge? " said old Billy, who was
a sardonic old gentleman — " I remember her at the Olympic,
and hang me if she could say Bo to a goose."

It was little Mr. Bows in the orchestra who had taught
her the " dodge " in question. All the company heard the
applause, and, as the curtain went down, came round her
and congratulated and hated Miss Fotheringay.

Now Mr. Dolphin's appearance in the remote little Chat-
teris theatre may be accounted for in this manner. In
spite of all his exertions, and the perpetual blazes of tri-
umph, coruscations of talent, victories of good old English
comedy, which his play-bills advertised, his theatre (which,
if you please, and to injure no present susceptibilities and
vested interests, we shall call the Museum Theatre) by no
means prospered, and the famous Impresario found himself

8— Thackeray, Vol. 3

164 PENDENNIS.

on the verge of ruin. The great Hubbard had acted legiti-
mate drama for twenty nights, and failed to remunerate
anybody but himself : the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Cawdor
had come out in Mr. Kawhead's tragedy, and in their fa-
vourite round of pieces, and had not attracted the public.
Herr Garbage's lions and tigers had drawn for a little time,
until one of the animals had bitten a piece out of the
Herr's shoulder; when the Lord Chamberlain interfered,
and put a stop to this species of performance: and the
grand Lyrical Drama, though brought out with unexampled
splendour and success, with Monsieur Poumons as first
tenor, and an enormous orchestra, had almost crushed poor
Dolphin in its triumphant progress : so that great as his
genius and resources were, they seemed to be at an end.
He was dragging on his season wretchedly with half sal-
aries, small operas, feeble old comedies, and his ballet
company ; and everybody was looking out for the day when
he should appear in the Gazette.

One of the illustrious patrons of the Museum Theatre,
and occupant of the great proscenium-box, was a gentle-
man whose name has been mentioned in a previous history ;
that refined patron of the arts, and enlightened lover of
music and the drama, the Most Noble Marquis of Steyne.
His lordship's avocations as a statesman prevented him
from attending the playhouse very often, or coming very
early. But he occasionally appeared at the theatre in time
for the ballet, and was always received with the greatest
respect by the Manager, from whom he sometimes con-
descended to receive a visit in his box. It communicated
with the stage, and when anything occurred there which
particularly pleased him, when a new face made its ap-
pearance among the coryphe'es, or a fair dancer executed a
pas with especial grace or agility, Mr. Wenham, Mr. Wagg,
or some other aide-de-camp of the noble Marquis, would
be commissioned to go behind the scenes and express the
great man's approbation, or make the inquiries which were
prompted by his lordship's curiosity, or his interest in the
dramatic art. He could not be seen by the audience, for

PENDENNIS. 165

Lord Steyne sate modestly behind a curtain, and looked
only towards the stage — but you could know he was in the
house, by the glances which all the corps-de-ballet, and all
the principal dancers, cast towards his box. I have seen
many scores of pairs of eyes (as in the Palm Dance in the
ballet of Cook at Otaheite, where no less than a htmdred-
and-twenty lovely female savages in palm leaves and
feather aprons, were made to dance round Floridar as Cap-
tain Cook), ogling that box as they performed before it,
and have often wondered to remark the presence of mind
of Mademoiselle Sauterelle, or Mademoiselle de Bondi
(known as la petite Caoutchouc), who, when actually up
in the air quivering like so many shuttlecocks, always kept
their lovely eyes winking at that box in which the great
Steyne sate. Now and then you would hear a harsh voice
from behind the curtain, cry, " Brava, Brava," or a pair of
white gloves wave from it, and begin to applaud. Bondi,
or Sauterelle, when they came down to earth, curtsied and
smiled, especially to those hands, before they walked up
the stage again, panting and happy.

One night this great Prince surrounded by a few choice
friends was in his box at the Museum, and they were mak-
ing such a noise and laughter that the pit was scandalised,
and many indignant voices were bawling out silence so
loudly, that Wagg wondered the police did not interfere to
take the rascals out. Wenham was amusing the party in
the box with extracts from a private letter which he had
received from Major Pendennis, whose absence in the
country at the full London season had been remarked, and
of course deplored by his friends.

"The secret is out," said Mr. Wenham, "there's a
woman in the case."

" Why, d it, Wenham, he's your age," said the gen-
tleman behind the curtain.

"Pour les &mes bien nees, 1' amour ne compte pas le
nombre des anndes," said Mr. Wenham, with a gallant air.
"For my part, I hope to be a victim till I die, and to
break my heart every year of my life." The meaning of

166 PENDENNIS.

which sentence was, "My lord, you need not talkj I'm
three years younger than you, and twice as well conserve."

" Wenham, you affect rne," said the great man, with one
of his usual oaths. "By you do. I like to see a fel-
low preserving all the illusions of youth up to our time of
life — and keeping his heart warm as yours is. Hang it,
sir, — it's a comfort to meet with such a generous, candid
creature. — Who's that gal in the second row, with blue
ribbons, third from the stage — fine gal. Yes, you and I
are sentimentalists. Wagg I don't think so much cares —
it's the stomach rather more than the heart with you, eh,
Wagg, my boy? "

"I like everything that's good," said Mr. Wagg, gener-
ously. "Beauty and Burgundy, Venus and Venison. I
don't say that Venus' s turtles are to be despised, because
they don't cook them at the London Tavern : but — but tell
us about old Pendennis, Mr. Wenham," he abruptly con-
cluded— for his joke flagged just then, as he saw that his
patron was not listening. In fact, Steyne's glasses were
up, and he was examining some object on the stage.

"Yes, I've heard that joke about Venus' s turtle and the
London Tavern before — you begin to fail, my poor Wagg.
If you don't mind I shall be obliged to have a new Jester,"
Lord Steyne said, laying down his glass. " Go on, Wen-
ham, about old Pendennis."

"Dear Wenham, — he begins," Mr. Wenham read, — "as
you have had my character in your hands for the last
three weeks, and no doubt have torn me to shreds, accord-
ing to your custom, I think you can afford to be good-
humoured by way of variety, and to do me a service. It
is a delicate matter, entre noiis, une affaire de cceur. There
is a young friend of mine who is gone wild about a certain
Miss Fotheringay, an actress at the theatre here, and I
must own to you, as handsome a woman, and, as it appears
to me, as good an actress as ever put on rouge. She does
Ophelia, Lady Teazle, Mrs. Haller — that sort of thing.
Upon my word, she is as splendid as Georges in her best
days, and, as far as I know, utterly superior to anything

PENDENNIS. 167

we have on our scene. 1 want a London engagement for
her. Can't you get your friend Dolphin to come and see
her — to engage her to take her out of this place? A word
from a noble friend of ours (you understand) would be in-
valuable, and if you could get the Gaunt House interest
for me — I will promise anything I can in return for your
service — which I shall consider one of the greatest that can
be done to me. Do, do this now as a good fellow, which
I always said you were ; and in return, command yours
truly, A, PENDENNIS."

"It's a clear case," said Mr. Wenham, having read this
letter; "old Pendennis is in love."

"And wants to get the woman up to London — evident-
ly," continued Mr. Wagg.

" I should like to see Pendennis on his knees, with the
rheumatism," said Mr. Wenham.

" Or, accommodating the beloved object with a lock of
his hair," said Wagg.

"Stuff," said the great man. "He has relations in the
country, hasn't he? He said something about a nephew,
whose interest could return a member. It is the nephew's
affair, depend on it. The young one is in a scrape. I was
myself — when I was in the fifth form at Eton — a market-
gardener's daughter — and swore I'd marry her. I was
mad about her — poor Polly! " — Here he made a pause, and
perhaps the past rose up to Lord Steyne, and George Gaunt
was a boy again not altogether lost. — " But I say, she must
be a fine woman from Pendennis' s account. Have in
Dolphin, and let us hear if he knows anything of her. "

At this Wenham sprang out of the box, passed the ser-
vitor who waited at the door communicating with the stage,
and who saluted Mr. Wenham with profound respect ; and
the latter emissary, pushing on and familiar with the place,
had no difficulty in finding out the manager, who was em-
ployed, as he not unfrequently was, in swearing and curs-
ing the ladies of the corps-de-ballet for not doing their
duty.

168 PENDENNIS.

The oaths died away on Mr. Dolphin's lips, as soon as he
saw Mr. Wenham ; and he drew off the hand which was
clenched in the face of one of the offending Coryphees, to
grasp that of the new-comer.

"How do, Mr. Wenham? How's his lordship to-night?
Looks uncommonly well," said the manager smiling, as if
he had never been out of temper in his life ; and he was
only too delighted to follow Lord Steyne's ambassador,
and pay his personal respects to that great man.

The visit to Chatteris was the result of their conversa-
tion: and Mr. Dolphin wrote to his Lordship from that
place, and did himself the honour to inform the Marquis
of Steyne, that he had seen the lady about whom his Lord-
ship had spoken, that he was as much struck by her talents
as he was by her personal appearance, and that he had
made an engagement with Miss Fotheringay, who would
soon have the honour of appearing before a London audi-
ence, and his noble and enlightened patron the Marquis of
Steyne.

Pen read the announcement of Miss Fotheringay 's en-
gagement in the Chatteris paper, where he had so often
praised her charms. The Editor made very handsome men-
tion of her talent and beauty, and prophesied her success
in the metropolis. Bingley, the manager, began to adver-
tise "The last night of Miss Fotherin gay's engagement."
Poor Pen and Sir Derby Oaks were very constant at the
play : Sir Derby in the stage-box, throwing bouquets and
getting glances. — Pen in the almost deserted boxes, hag-
gard, wretched, and lonely. Nobody cared whether Miss
Fotheringay was going or staying except those two — and
perhaps one more, which was Mr. Bows of the orchestra.

He came out of his place one night, and went into the
house to the box where Pen was ; and he held out his hand
to him, and asked him to come and walk. They walked
down the street together ; and went and sate upon Chat-
teris bridge in the moonlight, and talked about Her. " We
may sit on the same bridge," said he: "we have been in
the same boat for a long time. You are not the only man

PENDENNIS. 169

who has made a fool of himself about that woman. And
I have less excuse than you, because I'm older and know
her better. She has no more heart than the stone you are
leaning on ; and it or you or I might fall into the water, and
never come up again, and she wouldn't care. Yes — she
would care for me, because she wants me to teach her : and
she won't be able to get on without me, and will be forced
to send for me from London. But she wouldn't if she
didn't want me. She has no heart and no head, and no
sense, and no feelings, and no griefs or cares, whatever.
I was going to say no pleasures — but the fact is, she does
like her dinner, and she is pleased when people admire
her."

"And you do? " said Pen, interested out of himself, and
wondering at the crabbed homely little old man.

"It's a habit, like taking snuff, or drinking drams," said
the other. "I've been taking her these five years, and
can't do without her. It was I made her. If she doesn't
send for me, I shall follow her : but I know she'll send for
me. She wants me. Some day she'll marry, and fling me
over, as I do the end of this cigar."

The little flaming spark dropped into the water below,
and disappeared; and Pen, as he rode home that night,
actually thought about somebody but himself.

170 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XV.

THE HAPPY VILLAGE.

UNTIL the enemy had retired altogether from before the
place, Major Pendennis was resolved to keep his garrison
in Fairoaks. He did not appear to watch Pen's behaviour,
or to put any restraint on his nephew's actions, but he
managed, nevertheless, to keep the lad constantly under
his eye or those of his agents, and young Arthur's comings
and goings were quite well known to his vigilant guardian.

I suppose there is scarcely any man who reads this or
any other novel but has been balked in love some time or
the other, by fate, and circumstance, by falsehood of
women, or his own fault. Let that worthy friend recall
his own sensations under the circumstances, and apply
them as illustrative of Mr. Pen's anguish. Ah! what
weary nights and sickening fevers ! Ah ! what mad desires
dashing up against some rock of obstruction or indifference,
and flung back again from the unimpressionable granite ! If
a list could be made this very night in London of the groans,
thoughts, imprecations of tossing lovers, what a catalogue
it would be ! I wonder what a percentage of the male pop-
ulation of the metropolis will be lying awake at two or
three o'clock to-morrow morning, counting the hours as
they go by, knelling drearily, and rolling from left to
right, restless, yearning, and heart-sick? What a pang it
is ! I never knew a man die of love, certainly, but I have
known a twelve-stone man go down to nine stone five un-
der a disappointed passion, so that pretty nearly a quarter
of him may be said to have perished : and that is no small
portion. He has come back to his old size subsequently —
perhaps is bigger than ever : very likely some new affection
has closed round his heart and ribs and made them com-
fortable, and young Pen is a man who will console himself
like the rest of us. We say this lest the ladies should be

PENDENNIS. 171

disposed to deplore him prematurely, or be seriously un-
easy with regard to his complaint. His mother was ; but
what will not a maternal fondness fear or invent? " De-
pend on it, my dear creature," Major Pendennis would say
gallantly to her, "the boy will recover. As soon as we
get her out of the country, we will take him somewhere,
and show him a little life. Meantime make yourself easy
about him. Half a fellow's pangs at losing a woman re-
sult from vanity more than affection. To be left by a
woman is the deuce and all, to be sure; but look how
easily we leave 'em."

Mrs. Pendennis did not know. This sort of knowledge
had by no means come within the simple lady's scope.
Indeed, she did not like the subject or to talk of it: her
heart had had its own little private misadventure, and she
had borne up against it, and cured it: and perhaps she
had not much patience with other folks' passions, except,
of course, Arthur's, whose sufferings she made her own,
feeling indeed very likely, in many of the boy's illnesses
and pains, a great deal more than Pen himself endured.
And she watched him through this present grief with a
jealous silent sympathy ; although, as we have said, he did
not talk to her of his unfortunate condition.

The Major must be allowed to have had not a little
merit and forbearance, and to have exhibited a highly
creditable degree of family affection. The life at Fairoaks
was uncommonly dull to a man who had the entree of half
the houses in London, and was in the habit of making his
bow in three or four drawing-rooms of a night. A dinner
with Doctor Portman or a neighbouring Squire now and
then; a dreary rubber at backgammon with the widow,
who did her utmost to amuse him ; these were the chief of
his pleasures. He used to long for the arrival of the bag
with the letters, and he read every word of the evening
paper. He doctored himself too, assiduously, — a course
of quiet living would suit him well, he thought, after the
London banquets. He dressed himself laboriously every
morning and afternoon : he took regular exercise up and

172 PENDENNIS.

down the terrace walk. Thus, with his cane, his toilet,
his medicine-chest, his backgammon-box, and his news-
paper, this worthy and worldly philosopher fenced himself
against ennui; and if he did not improve each shining
hour, like the bees by the widow's garden wall, Major
Pendennis made one hour after another pass as he could ;
and rendered his captivity just tolerable.

Pen sometimes took the box at backgammon of a night,
or would listen to his mother's simple music of summer
evenings — but he was very restless and wretched in spite
of all : and has been known to be up before the early day-
light even : and down at a carp-pond in Clavering Park, a
dreary pool with innumerable whispering rushes and green
alders, where a milkmaid drowned herself in the Baronet's
grandfather's time, and her ghost was said to walk still.
But Pen did not drown himself, as perhaps his mother
fancied might be his intention. He liked to go and fish
there, and think and think at leisure, as the float quivered
in the little eddies of the pond, and the fish flapped about
him. If he got a bite he was excited enough : and in this
way occasionally brought home carps, tenches, and eels,
which the Major cooked in the Continental fashion.

By this pond, and under a tree, which was his favourite
resort, Pen composed a number of poems suitable to his
circumstances — over which verses he blushed in after days,
wondering how he could ever have invented such rubbish.
And as for the tree, why it is in a hollow of this very tree,
where he used to put his tin-box of ground-bait, and other
fishing commodities, that he afterwards — but we are ad-
vancing matters. Suffice it to say, he wrote poems and
relieved himself very much. When a man's grief or pas-
sion is at this point, it may be loud, but it is not very se-
vere. When a gentleman is cudgelling his brain to find
any rhyme for sorrow, besides borrow and to-morrow, his
woes are nearer at an end than he thinks for. So were
Pen's. He had his hot and cold fits, his days of sullen-
ness and peevishness, and of blank resignation and despond-
ency, and occasional mad paroxysms of rage and longing, in

PENDENNIS. 173

which fits Eebecca would be saddled and galloped fiercely
about the country, or into Chatteris, her rider gesticulating
wildly on her back, and astonishing carters and turnpike-
men as he passed, crying out the name of the false one.

Mr. Foker became a very frequent and welcome visitor
at Fairoaks during this period, where his good spirits and
oddities always amused the Major and Pendennis, while
they astonished the widow and little Laura not a little.
His tandem made a great sensation in Clavering market-
place ; where he upset a market-stall, and cut Mrs. Pybus's
poodle over the shaven quarters, and drank a glass of rasp-
berry bitters at the Clavering Arms. All the society in
the little place heard who he was, and looked out his name
in their Peerages. He was so young, and their books so
old, that his name did not appear in many of their vol-
umes; and his mamma, now quite an antiquated lady,
figured amongst the progeny of the Earl of Eosherville, as
Lady Agnes Milton still. But his name, wealth, and hon-
ourable lineage were speedily known about Clavering,
where you may be sure that poor Pen's little transaction
with the Chatteris actress was also pretty freely discussed.

Looking at the little old town of Clavering St. Mary
from the London road as it runs by the lodge at Fairoaks,
and seeing the rapid and shining Brawl winding down from
the town and skirting the woods of Clavering Park, and
the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of the houses
rising up amongst trees and old walls, behind which swells
a fair background of sunshiny hills that stretch from
Clavering westwards towards the sea — the place appears
to be so cheery and comfortable that many a traveller's
heart must have yearned towards it from the coach-top,
and he must have thought that it was in such a calm
friendly nook he would like to shelter at the end of life's
struggle. Tom Smith, who used to drive the Alacrity
coach, would often point to a tree near the river, from
which a fine view of the church and town was commanded,
and inform his companion on the box that " Artises come

174 PENDENNIS.

and take hoff the Church from that there tree. — It was a
Habby once, sir : " — and indeed a pretty view it is, which
I recommend to Mr. Stanfield or Mr. Roberts, for their
next tour.

Like Constantinople seen from the Bosphorus ; like Mrs.
Rougemont viewed in her box from the opposite side of the
house; like many an object which we pursue in life, and
admire before we have attained it; Clavering is rather
prettier at a distance than it is on a closer acquaintance.
The town so cheerful of aspect a few furlongs off, looks
very blank and dreary. Except on market days there is
nobody in the streets. The clack of a pair of pattens echoes
through half the place, and you may hear the creaking of
the rusty old ensign at the Clavering Arms, without being
disturbed by any other noise. There has not been a ball in
the Assembly Rooms since the Clavering volunteers gave
one to their Colonel, the old Sir Francis Clavering ; and
the stables which once held a great part of that brilliant,
but defunct regiment, are now cheerless and empty, except
on Thursdays, when the farmers put up there, and their
tilted carts and gigs make a feeble show of liveliness in
the place, or on Petty Sessions, when the magistrates at-
tend in what used to be the old card-room.

On the south side of the market rises up the church,
with its great grey towers, of which the sun illumiuatea
the delicate carving ; deepening the shadows of the huge
buttresses, and gilding the glittering windows, and flaming
vanes. The image of the Patroness of the Church was
wrenched out of the porch centuries ago: such of the
statues of saints as were within reach of stones and ham-
mer at that period of pious demolition, are maimed and
headless, and of those who were out of fire, only Doctor
Portinan knows the names and history, for his curate,
Smirke, is not much of an antiquarian, and Mr. Simcoe
(husband of the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe), incumbent and
architect of the Chapel of Ease in the lower town, thinks
them the abomination of desolation.

The Rectory is a stout, broad-shouldered brick house, of

"DOES ANYBODY WANT MOREf

PENDENNIS. 175

the reign of Anne. It communicates with the church and
market by different gates, and stands at the opening of

Yew-tree Lane, where the Grammar School (Rev.

Wapshot) is; Yew-tree Cottage (Miss Flather) ; the butch-
er's slaughtering-house, an old barn or brew-house of the
Abbey times, and the Misses Finucane's establishment for
young ladies. The two schools had their pews in the loft
on each side of the organ, until the Abbey Church getting
rather empty, through the falling off of the congregation,
•who were inveigled to the Heresy-shop in the lower town,
the Doctor induced the Misses Finucane to bring their
pretty little flock downstairs ; and the young ladies' bon-
nets make a tolerable show in the rather vacant aisles.
Nobody is in the great pew of the Clavering family, except
the statues of defunct baronets and their ladies : there is
Sir Poyntz Clavering, Knight and Baronet, kneeling in a
square beard opposite his wife in a ruff : a very fat lady,
the Dame Rebecca Clavering, in alto-relievo, is borne up
to Heaven by two little blue-veined angels, who seem to
have a severe task — and so forth. How well in after life
Pen remembered those effigies, and how often in youth he
scanned them as the Doctor was grumbling the sermon
from the pulpit, and Smirke's mild head and forehead curl
peered over the great prayer-book in the desk !

The Fairoaks folks were constant at the old church;
their servants had a pew, so had the Doctor's, so had
Wapshot' s, and those of the Misses Finucane's establish-
ment, three maids and a very nice-looking young man in a
livery. The Wapshot family were numerous and faithful.
Glanders and his children regularly came to church: so
did one of the apothecaries. Mrs. Pybus went, turn and
turn about, to the Low Town church, and to the Abbey :
the Charity School and their families of course came;
Wapshot' s boys made a good cheerful noise, scuffling with
their feet as they marched into church and up the organ-
loft stair, and blowing their noses a good deal during the
service. To be brief, the congregation looked as decent as
might be in these bad times. The Abbey Church was fur-

176 PENDENNIS.

nished with a magnificent screen, and many hatchments
and heraldic tombstones. The Doctor spent a great part
of his income in beautifying his darling place ; he had en-
dowed it with a superb painted window, bought in the
Netherlands, and an organ grand enough for a cathedral.

But in spite of organ and window, in consequence of the
latter very likely, which had come out of a Papistical
place of worship and was blazoned all over with idolatry,
Clavering New Church prospered scandalously in the teeth
of Orthodoxy; and many of the Doctor's congregation de-
serted to Mr. Simcoe and the honourable woman his wife.
Their efforts had thinned the very Ebenezer hard by them,
which building before Simcoe' s advent used to be so full,
that you could see the backs of the congregation squeezing
out of the arched windows thereof. Mr. Simcoe' s tracts
fluttered into the doors of all the Doctor's cottages, and
were taken as greedily as honest Mrs. Portman's soup,
with the quality of which the graceless people found fault.
With the folks at the Ribbon Factory situated by the weir
on the Brawl side, and round which the Low Town had
grown, Orthodoxy could make no way at all. Quiet Miss
Mira was put out of court by impetuous Mrs. Simcoe and
her female aides-de-camp. Ah, it was a hard burthen for
the Doctor's lady to bear, to behold her husband's congre-
gation dwindling away ; to give the precedence on the few
occasions when they met to a notorious low-churchman's
wife who was the daughter of an Irish Peer ; to know that
there was a party in Clavering, their own town of Claver-
ing, on which her Doctor spent a great deal more than his
professional income, who held him up to odium because he
played a rubber at whist; and pronounced him to be a
Heathen because he went to the play. In her grief she be-
sought him to give up the play and the rubber, — indeed
they could scarcely get a table now, so dreadful was the
outcry against the sport, — but the Doctor declared that he
would do what he thought right, and what the great and
good George the Third did (whose Chaplain he had been) :
and as for giving up whist because those silly folks cried

PENDENNIS. 177

out against it, he would play dummy to the end of his
days with his wife and Mira, rather than yield to their
despicable persecutions.

Of the two families, owners of the Factory (which had
spoiled the Brawl as a trout-stream and brought all the
mischief into the town), the senior partner, Mr. Holt, went
to Ebenezer ; the junior, Mr. Barker, to the New Church.
In a word, people quarrelled in this little place a great
deal more than neighbours do in London ; and in the Book
Club which the prudent and conciliating Pendennis had
set up, and which ought to have been a neutral territory,
they bickered so much that nobody scarcely was ever seen
in the reading-room, except Smirke, who, though he kept
up a faint amity with the Sirncoe faction, had still a taste
for magazines and light worldly literature ; and old Glan-
ders, whose white head and grizzly moustache might be
seen at the window ; and of course, little Mrs. Pybus, who
looked at everybody's letters as the Post brought them
(for the Clavering Reading Koom, as every one knows,
used to be held at Baker's Library, London Street, for-
merly Hog Lane), and read every advertisement in the
paper.

It may be imagined how great a sensation was created
in this amiable little community when the news reached it
of Mr. Pen's love-passages at Chatteris. It was carried
from house to house, and formed the subject of talk at
high-church, low-church, and no-church tables; it was
canvassed by the Misses Finucane and their teachers, and
very likely debated by the young ladies in the dormitories,
for what we know; Wapshot's big boys had their version
of the story and eyed Pen curiously as he sate in his pew
at church, or raised the finger of scorn at him as he passed
through Chatteris. They always hated him and called him
Lord Pendennis, because he did not wear corduroys as they
did, and rode a horse, and gave himself the airs of a buck.

And, if the truth must be told, it was Mrs. Portrnan
herself who was the chief narrator of the story of Pen's
loves. Whatever tales this candid woman heard, she was

178 PENDENNIS.

sure to impart them to her neighbours ; and after she had
been put into possession of Pen's secret by the little scan-
dal at Chatteris, poor Doctor Portman knew that it would
next day be about the parish of which he was the Rector.
And so indeed it was; the whole society there had the
legend — at the news-room, at the milliner's, at the shoe-
shop, and the general warehouse at the corner of the mar-
ket; at Mrs. Pybus's, at the Glanders's, at the Honour-
able Mrs. Simcoe's soiree, at the Factory; nay, through the
mill itself the tale was current in a few hours, and young
Arthur Pendennis's madness was in every mouth.

All Doctor Portman's acquaintances barked out upon
him when he walked the street the next day. The poor
divine knew that his Betsy was the author of the rumour,
and groaned in spirit. Well, well, — it must have come in
a day or two, and it was as well that the town should have
the real story. What the Clavering folks thought of Mrs.
Pendennis for spoiling her son, and of that precocious
young rascal of an Arthur, for daring to propose to a play-
actress, need not be told here. If pride exists amongst
any folks in our country, and assuredly we have enough of
it, there is no pride more deep-seated than that of twopenny
old gentlewomen in small towns. "Gracious goodness,"
the cry was, " how infatuated the mother is about that pert
and headstrong boy who gives himself the airs of a lord on
his blood-horse, and for whom our society is not good
enough, and who would marry an odious painted actress
off a booth, where very likely he wants to rant himself. If
dear good Mr. Pendennis had been alive this scandal would
never have happened."

No more it would, very likely, nor should we have been
occupied in narrating Pen's history. It was true that he
gave himself airs to the Clavering folks. Naturally
haughty and frank, their cackle and small talk and small
dignities bored him, and he showed a contempt which he
could not conceal. The Doctor and the Curate were the
only people Pen cared for in the place — even Mrs. Port-
man shared in the general distrust of. him, and of his

PENDENNIS. 179

mother, the widow, who kept herself aloof from the village
society, and was sneered at accordingly, because she tried,
forsooth, to keep her head up with the great County fam-
ilies. She, indeed! Mrs. Barker at the Factory has four
times the butcher's meat that goes up to Fairoaks, with all
their fine airs.

&c. &c. &c. : let the reader fill up these details accord-
ing to his liking and experience of village scandal. They
will suffice to show how it was that a good woman, occu-
pied solely in doing her duty to her neighbour and her
children, and an honest, brave lad, impetuous, and full of
good, and wishing well to every mortal alive, found ene-
mies and detractors amongst people to whom they were
superior, and to whom they had never done anything like
harm. The Clavering curs were yelping all round the
house of Fairoaks, and delighted to pull Pen down.

Doctor Portman and Smirke were both cautious of in-
forming the widow of the constant outbreak of calumny
which was pursuing poor Pen, though Glanders, who was
a friend of the house, kept him au courant. It may be
imagined what his indignation was: was there any man in
the village whom he could call to account? Presently some
wags began to chalk up " Fotheringay for ever ! " and other
sarcastic allusions to late transactions at Fairoaks' gate.
Another brought a large play-bill fom Chatteris, and
wafered it there one night. On one occasion Pen, riding
through the Low Town, fancied he heard the Factory boys
jeer him; and finally, going through the Doctor's gate into
the churchyard, where some of Wapshot's boys were loung-
ing, the biggest of them, a young gentleman about twenty
years of age, son of a neighbouring small Squire, who lived
in the doubtful capacity of parlour-boarder with Mr. Wap-
shot, flung himself into a theatrical attitude near a newly-
made grave, and began repeating Hamlet's verses over
Ophelia, with a hideous leer at Pen.

The young fellow was so enraged that he rushed at
Hobnell Major with a shriek very much resembling an
oath, cut him furiously across the face with the riding-

180 PENDENNIS.

whip which he carried, flung it away, calling upon the cow-
ardly villain to defend himself, and in another minute
knocked the bewildered young ruffian into the grave which
was just waiting for a different lodger.

Then, with his fists clenched, and his face quivering
with passion and indignation, he roared out to Mr. Hob-
nell's gaping companions, to know if any of the black-
guards would come on? But they held back with a growl,
and retreated, as Doctor Portman came up to his wicket,
and Mr. Hobnell, with his nose and lip bleeding piteously,
emerged from the grave.

Pen, looking death and defiance at the lads, who re-
treated towards their side of the churchyard, walked back
again through the Doctor's wicket, and was interrogated
by that gentleman. The young fellow was so agitated he
could scarcely speak. His voice broke into a sob as he
answered. "The — coward insulted me, sir," he said;
and the Doctor passed over the oath, and respected the
emotion of the honest suffering young heart.

Pendennis the elder, who, like a real man of the world,
had a proper and constant dread of the opinion of his
neighbour, was prodigiously annoyed by the absurd little
tempest which was blowing in Chatteris, and tossing about
Master Pen's reputation. Doctor Portman and Captain
Glanders had to support the charges of the whole Claver-
ing society against the young reprobate, who was looked
upon as a monster of crime. Pen did not say anything
about the churchyard scuffle at home ; but went over to
Baymouth, and took counsel with his friend Harry Foker,
Esq., who drove over his drag presently to the Clavering
Arms, whence he sent Stoopid with a note to Thomas Hob-
nell, Esq., at the Kev. J. Wapshot's, and a civil message
to ask when he should wait upon that gentleman.

Stoopid brought back word that the note had been
opened by Mr. Hobnell, and read to half-a-dozen of the
big boys, on whom it seemed to make a great impression ;
and that after consulting together and laughing, Mr. Hob-

PENDENNIS. 181

nell said he would send an answer " arter arternoon school,
which the bell was a ringing : and Mr. Wapshot, he eaine
out in his Master's gownd." Stoopid was learned in aca-
demical costume, having attended Mr. Foker at St. Boniface.

Mr. Foker went out to see the curiosities of Clavering
meanwhile ; but not having a taste for architecture, Doctor
Portman's fine church did not engage his attention much,
and he pronounced the tower to be as mouldy as an old
Stilton cheese. He walked down the street and looked at
the few shops there ; he saw Captain Glanders at the win-
dow of the Reading-room, and having taken a good stare
at that gentleman, he wagged his head at him in token of
satisfaction; he inquired the price of meat at the butcher's
with an air of the greatest interest, and asked " when was
next killing day? " he flattened his little nose against Ma-
dame Fribsby's window to see if haply there was a pretty
workwoman in her premises ; but there was no face more
comely than the doll's or dummy's wearing the French
cap in the window, only that of Madame Fribsby her-
self, dimly visible in the parlour, reading a novel. That
object was not of sufficient interest to keep Mr. Foker very
long in contemplation, and so having exhausted the town
and the inn stables, in which there were no cattle, save the
single old pair of posters that earned a scanty livelihood
by transporting the gentry round about to the county din-
ners, Mr. Foker was giving himself up to ennui entirely,
when a messenger from Mr. Hobnell was at length an-
nounced.

It was no other than Mr. Wapshot himself, who came
with an air of great indignation, and holding Pen's missive
in his hand, asked Mr. Foker " how dared he bring such
an unchristian message as a challenge to a boy of his
school? "

In fact Pen had written a note to his adversary of the day
before, telling him that if after the chastisement which his
insolence richly deserved, he felt inclined to ask the repa-
ration which was usually given amongst gentlemen, Mr.
Arthur Pendennis's friend, Mr. Henry Foker, was empow-

182 PENDENNI8.

ered to make any arrangements for the satisfaction of Mr.
Hobnell.

"And so he sent you with the answer — did he, sir?"
Mr. Foker said, surveying the Schoolmaster in his black
coat and clerical costume.

"If he had accepted this wicked challenge, I should
have flogged him," Mr. Wapshot said, and gave Mr. Foker
a glance which seemed to say, " and I should like very
much to flog you too."

"Uncommon kind of you, sir, I'm sure," said Pen's
emissary. "I told my principal that I didn't think the
other man would fight," he continued with a great air of
dignity. " He prefers being flogged to fighting, sir, I dare
say. May I offer you any refreshment, Mr. — ? I haven't
the advantage of your name."

"My name is Wapshot, sir, and I am Master of the
Grammar School of this town, sir," cried the other: "and
I want no refreshment, sir, I thank you, and have no de-
sire to make your acquaintance, sir."

"I didn't seek yours, sir, I'm sure," replied Mr. Foker.
" In affairs of this sort, you see, I think it is a pity that
the clergy should be called in, but there's no accounting
for tastes, sir."

" I think it's a pity that boys should talk about commit-
ting murder, sir, as lightly as you do," roared the School-
master : " and if I had you in my school — "

" I dare say you would teach me better, sir, " Mr. Foker
said, with a bow. " Thank you, sir. I've finished my educa-
tion, sir, and ain't a-going back to school, sir — when I do,
I'll remember your kind offer, sir. John, show this gentle-
man downstairs — and, of course, as Mr. Hobnell likes being
thrashed, we can have no objection, sir, and we shall be very
happy to accommodate him, whenever he comes our way."

And with this, the young fellow bowed the elder gen-
tleman out of the room, and sate down and wrote a note
off to Pen, in which he informed the latter, that Mr. Hob-
nell was not disposed to fight, and proposed to put up with
the caning which Pen had administered to him.

PENDENNIS. 183

CHAPTER XVI.

WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THIS
HISTORY.

PEN'S conduct in this business of course was soon made
public, and angered his friend Doctor Portman not a little ;
while it only amused Major Pendennis. As for the good
Mrs. Pendennis, she was almost distracted when she heard
of the squabble, and of Pen's unchristian behaviour. All
sorts of wretchedness, discomfort, crime, annoyance, seemed
to come out of this transaction in which the luckless boy
had engaged : and she longed more than ever to see him
out of Chatteris for a while, — anywhere removed from the
woman who had brought him into so much trouble.

Pen when remonstrated with by this fond parent, and
angrily rebuked by the Doctor for his violence and fero-
cious intentions, took the matter au grand ser^e^lx, with
the happy conceit and gravity of youth : said that he would
permit no man to insult him upon this head without vin-
dicating his own honour, and appealing, asked whether he
could have acted otherwise as a gentleman, than as he did
in resenting the outrage offered to him, and in offering sat-
isfaction to the person chastised?

" Vous allez trop vite, my good sir," said the uncle,
rather puzzled, for he had been indoctrinating his nephew
with some of his own notions upon the point of honour —
old-world notions savouring of the camp and pistol a great
deal more than our soberer opinions of the present day —
"between men of the world I don't say; but between two
schoolboys, this sort of thing is ridiculous, my dear boy —
perfectly ridiculous. "

"It is extremely wicked, and unlike my son," said Mrs.
Pendennis, with tears in her eyes; and bewildered with
the obstinacy of the boy.

184 FENDENNIS.

Pen kissed her, and said with great pomposity, " Wom-
en, dear mother, don't understand these matters — I put
myself into Foker's hands — I had no other course to pur-
sue."

Major Pendennis grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
The young ones were certainly making great progress, he
thought. Mrs. Pendennis declared that that Foker was a
wicked horrid little wretch, and was sure that he would
lead her dear boy into mischief, if Pen went to the same
college with him. " I have a great mind not to let him go
at -all," she said: and only that she remembered that the
lad's father had always destined him for the College in
which he had had his own brief education, very likely the
fond mother would have put a veto upon his going to the
University.

That he was to go, and at the next October term, had
been arranged between all the authorities who presided
over the lad's welfare. Foker had promised to introduce
frim to the right set; and Major Pendennis laid great store
upon Pen's introduction into College 'life and society by
this admirable young gentleman. " Mr. Foker knows the
very best young men now at the University," the Major
said, " and Pen will form acquaintances there who will be
of the greatest advantage through life to him. The young
Marquis of Plinlimmon is there, eldest son of the Duke of
St. David's — Lord Magnus Charters is there, Lord Runny-
mede's son; and a first cousin of Mr. Foker, (Lady Bunny-
mede, my dear, was Lady Agatha Milton, you of course
remember, ) Lady Agnes will certainly invite him to Log-
wood ; and far from being alarmed at his intimacy with
her son, who is a singular and humorous, but most prudent
and amiable young man, to whom, I am sure, we are under
every obligation for his admirable conduct in the affair of
the Fotheringay marriage, I look upon it as one of the very
luckiest things which could have happened to Pen, that he
should have formed an intimacy with this most amusing
young gentleman."

Helen sighed, she supposed the Major knew best. Mr.

PENDENNIS. 185

Foker had been very kind in the wretched business with
Miss Costigan, certainly, and she was grateful to him.
But she could not feel otherwise than a dim presentiment
of evil ; and all these quarrels, and riots, and worldliness,
scared her about the fate of her boy.

Doctor Portman was decidedly of opinion that Pen
should go to College. He hoped the lad would read, and
have a moderate indulgence of the best society too. He
was of opinion that Pen would distinguish himself : Srnirke
spoke very highly of his proficiency : the Doctor himself
had heard him construe, and thought he acquitted himself
remarkably well. That he should go out of Chatteris was
a great point at any rate; and Pen, who was distracted
from his private grief by the various rows and troubles
which had risen round about him, gloomily said he would
obey.

There were assizes, races, and the entertainments and
the flux of company consequent upon them, at Chatteris,
during a part of the months of August and September, and
Miss Fotheringay still continued to act, and take farewell
of the audiences at the Chatteris Theatre during that time.
Nobody seemed to be particularly affected by her presence,
or her announced departure, except those persons whom
we have named; nor could the polite county folks, who
had houses in London, and very likely admired the Foth-
eringay prodigiously in the capital, when they had been
taught to do so by the Fashion which set in in her favour,
find anything remarkable in the actress performing on the
little Chatteris boards. Many a genius and many a quack,
for that matter, has met with a similar fate before and
since Miss Costigan' s time. This honest woman mean-
while bore up against the public neglect, and any other
crosses or vexations which she might have in life, with her
usual equanimity; and ate, drank, acted, slept, with that
regularity and comfort which belongs to people of her tem-
perament. What a deal of grief, care, and other harmful
excitement, does a healthy dulness and cheerful insensibil-
ity avoid ! Nor do I mean to say that Virtue is not Virtue

186 PENDENNIS.

because it is never tempted to go astray ; only that dulness
is a much finer gift than we give it credit for being, and
that some people are very lucky whom Nature has en-
dowed with a. good store of that great anodyne.

Pen used to go drearily in and out from the play at
Chatteris during this season, and pretty much according
to his fancy. His proceedings tortured his mother not a
little, and her anxiety would have led her often to inter-
fere, had not the Major constantly checked, and at the
same time encouraged her ; for the wily man of the world
fancied he saw that a favourable turn had occurred in
Pen's malady. It was the violent efflux of versification,
among other symptoms, which gave Pen's guardian and
physician satisfaction. He might be heard spouting verses
in the shrubbery walks, or muttering them between his
teeth as he sat with the home party of evenings. One day
prowling about the house in Pen's absence, the Major found
a great book full of verses in the lad's study. They were
in English, and in Latin; quotations from the classic
authors were given in the scholastic manner in the foot-
notes. He can't be very bad, wisely thought the Pail-Mall
Philosopher: and he made Pen's mother remark (not, per-
haps, without a secret feeling of disappointment, for she
loved romance, like other soft women), that the young gen-
tleman during the last fortnight came home quite hungry
to dinner at night, and also showed a very decent appetite
at the breakfast table in the morning. "Gad, I wish I
could," said the Major, thinking ruefully of his dinner
pills. "The boy begins to sleep well, depend upon that."
It was cruel, but it was true.

Having no other soul to confide in, the lad's friendship
for the Curate redoubled, or rather, he was never tired of
having Smirke for a listener on that one subject. What is
a lover without a confidant? Pen employed Mr. Smirke,
as Cory don does the elm-tree, to cut out his mistress's
name upon. He made him echo with the name of the
beautiful Amaryllis. When men have left off playing the
tune, they do not care much for the pipe : but Pen thought

PENDENNIS. 187

he had a great friendship for Smirke, because he could
sigh out his loves and griefs into his tutor's ears; and
Smirke had his own reasons for always being ready at the
lad's call.

The poor Curate was naturally very much dismayed at
the contemplated departure of his pupil. When Arthur
should go, Smirke's occupation and delight would go too.
What pretext could he find for a daily visit to Fairoaks,
and that kind word or glance from the lady there, which
was as necessary to the Curate as the frugal dinner which
Madame Fribsby served him? Arthur gone, he would only
be allowed to make visits like any other acquaintance:
little Laura could not accommodate him by learning the
Catechism more than once a week : he had curled himself
like ivy round Fairoaks : he pined at the thought that he
must lose his hold of the place. Should he speak his
mind and go down on his knees to the widow? He
thought over any indications in her behaviour which flat-
tered his hopes. She had praised his sermon three weeks
before : she had thanked him exceedingly for his present
of a melon, for a small dinner-party which Mrs. Pendennis
gave : she said she should always be grateful to him for
his kindness to Arthur : and when he declared that there
were no bounds to his love and affection for that dear boy,
she had certainly replied in a romantic manner, indicating
her own strong gratitude and regard to all her son's
friends. Should he speak out? — or should he delay? If
he spoke and she refused him, it was awful to think that
the gate of Fairoaks might be shut upon him for ever — and
within that door lay all the world for Mr. Smirke.

Thus, oh friendly readers, we see how every man in the
world has his own private griefs and business, by which
he is more cast down or occupied than by the affairs or sor-
rows of any other person. While Mrs. Pendennis is dis-
quieting herself about losing her son, and that anxious hold
she has had of him, as long as he has remained in the
mother's nest, whence he is about to take flight into the
great world beyond — while the Major's great soul chafes

9 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

188 PENDENNIS.

and frets, inwardly vexed as he thinks what great parties
are going on in London, and that he might be sunning him-
self in the glances of Dukes and Duchesses, but for those
cursed affairs which keep him in a wretched little country
hole — while Pen is tossing between his passion and a more
agreeable sensation, unacknowledged yet, but swaying him
considerably, namely, his longing to see the world — Mr.
Smirke has a private care watching at his bed-side, and
sitting behind him on his pony ; and is no more satisfied
than the rest of us. How lonely we are in the world ! how
selfish and secret, everybody! You and your wife have
pressed the same pillow for forty years and fancy your-
selves united. — Psha, does she cry out when you have the
gout, or do you lie awake when she has the tooth-ache?
Your artless daughter, seemingly all innocence and devoted
to her mamma and her piano-lesson, is thinking of neither,
but of the young Lieutenant with whom she danced at the
last ball — the honest frank boy just returned from school
is secretly speculating upon the money you will give him,
and the debts he owes the tart-man. The old grandmother
crooning in the corner and bound to another world within
a few months, has some business or cares which are quite
private and her own — very likely she is thinking of fifty
years back, and that night when she made such an impres-
sion, and danced a cotillon with the Captain before your
father proposed for her ; or, what a silly little over-rated
creature your wife is, and how absurdly you are infatuated
about her — and, as for your wife — 0 philosophic reader,
answer and say, — Do you tell her all? Ah, sir — a distinct
universe walks about under your hat and tinder mine — all
things in nature are different to each — the woman we look
at has not the same features, the dish we eat from has not
the same taste to the one and the other — you and I are but
a pair of infinite isolations, with some fellow-islands a
little more or less near to us. Let us return ^ however, to
the solitary Smirke.

Smirke had one confidant for his passion — that most in-
judicious woman, Madame Fribsby. How she became

PENDENNIS. 189

Madame Fribsby, nobody knows : she had left Clavering
to go to a milliner's in London as Miss Fribsby — she pre-
tended that she had got the rank in Paris during her resi-
dence in that city. But how could the French king, were
he ever so much disposed, give her any such title? We
shall not inquire into this mystery, however. Suffice to
say, she went away from home a bouncing young lass ; she
returned a rather elderly character, with a Madonna front
and a melancholy countenance — bought the late Mrs. Har-
bottle's business for a song — took her elderly mother to
live with her; was very good to the poor, was constant at
church, and had the best of characters. But there was no
one in all Clavering, not Mrs. Portman herself, who read
so many novels as Madame Fribsby. She had plenty of
time for this amusement, for, in truth, very few people be-
sides the folks at the Kectory and Fairoaks employed her ;
and by a perpetual perusal of such works (which were by
no means so moral or edifying in the days of which we
write, as they are at present), she had got to be so absurdly
sentimental, that in her eyes life was nothing but an im-
mense love-match ; and she never could see two people to-
gether, but she fancied they were dying for one another.

On the day after Mrs. Pendennis's visit to the Curate,
which we have recorded many pages back, Madame Fribsby
settled in her mind that Mr. Smirke must be in love with
the widow, and did everything in her power to encourage
this passion on both sides. Mrs. Pendennis she very sel-
dom saw, indeed, except in public, and in her pew at
church. That lady had very little need of millinery, or
made most of her own dresses and caps ; but on the rare
occasions when Madame Fribsby received visits from Mrs.
Pendennis, or paid her respects at Fairoaks, she never
failed to entertain the widow with praises of the Curate,
pointing out what an angelical man he was, how gentle,
how studious, how lonely ; and she would wonder that no
lady would take pity upon him.

Helen laughed at these sentimental remarks, and won-
dered that Madame herself did not compassionate her

190 PENDENNIS.

lodger, and console him. Madame Fribsby shook her
Madonna front. " Mong cure a boco suffare," she said,
laying her hand on the part she designated as her cure.
" II est more en Espang, Madame," she said with a sigh.
She was proud of her intimacy with the French language,
and spoke it with more volubility than correctness. Mrs.
Pendennis did not care to penetrate the secrets of this
wounded heart : except to her few intimates she was a re-
served, and it may be a very proud woman; she looked
upon her son's tutor merely as an attendant on that young
Prince, to be treated with respect as a clergyman certainly,
but with proper dignity as a dependant on the house of
Pendennis. Nor were Madame' s constant allusions to the
Curate particularly agreeable to her. It required a very
ingenious sentimental turn indeed to find out that the
widow had a secret regard for Mr. Smirke, to which
pernicious error however Madame Fribsby persisted in
holding.

Her lodger was very much more willing to talk on this
subject with his soft-hearted landlady. Every time after
that she praised the Curate to Mrs. Pendennis, she came
away from the latter with the notion that the widow her-
self had been praising him. "Eire soul au monde est bien
omieeyong," she would say, glancing up at a print of a
French carbineer in a green coat and brass cuirass which
decorated her apartment — " Depend upon it when Master
Pendennis goes to college, his Ma will find herself very
lonely. She is quite young yet. — You wouldn't suppose
her to be five-and-twenty. Monsieur le Cury, song cure est
touchy — fong suis sure — Je conny cela biang — Ally Mon-
sieur Smirke."

He softly blushed ; he sighed ; he hoped ; he feared ; he
doubted ; he sometimes yielded to the delightful idea — his
pleasure was to sit in Madame Fribsby 's apartment, and
talk upon the subject, where, as the greater part of the
conversation was carried on in French by the Milliner, and
her old mother was deaf, that retired old individual (who
had once been a housekeeper, wife and widow of a butler

PENDENNIS. 191

in the Clavering family), could understand scarce one syl-
lable of their talk.

When Major Pendennis announced to his nephew's tutor
that the young fellow would go to College in October, and
that Mr. Smirke's valuable services would no longer be
needful to his pupil, for which services the Major, who
spoke as grandly as a lord, professed himself exceedingly
grateful, and besought Mr. Smirke to command his interest
in any way — the Curate felt that the critical moment was
come for him, and was racked and tortured by those severe
pangs which the occasion warranted.

And now that Arthur was going away, Helen's heart
was rather softened towards the Curate, from whom, per-
haps divining his intentions, she had shrunk hitherto : she
bethought her how very polite Mr. Smirke had been ; how
he had gone on messages for her ; how he had brought
books and copied music ; how he had taught Laura so many
things, and given her so many kind presents. Her heart
smote her on account of her ingratitude towards the Curate :
— so much so, that one afternoon when he came down from
study with Pen, and was hankering about the hall pre-
vious to his departure, she went out and shook hands with
him with rather a blushing face, and begged him to come
into her drawing-room, where she said they now never saw
him. And as there was to be rather a good dinner that
day, she invited Mr. Smirke to partake of it ; and we may
be sure that he was too happy to accept such a delightful
summons.

Helen was exceedingly kind and gracious to Mr. Smirke
during dinner, redoubling her attentions, perhaps because
Major Pendennis was very high and reserved with his
nephew's tutor. When Peudennis asked Smirke to drink
wine, he addressed him as if he was a Sovereign speaking
to a petty retainer, in a manner so condescending, that
even Pen laughed at it, although quite ready, for his part,
to be as conceited as most young men are.

But Smirke did not care for the impertinences of the Ma-
jor so long as he had his hostess's kind behaviour; and he

192 PENDENNIS.

passed a delightful time by her side at table, exerting all
his powers of conversation to please her, talking in a man-
ner both clerical and worldly, about the fancy Bazaar,
and the Great Missionary Meeting, about the last new
novel, and the Bishop's excellent sermon — about the fash-
ionable parties in London, an account of which he read in
the newspapers — in fine, he neglected no art, by which a
College divine who has both sprightly and serious talents,
a taste for the genteel, an irreproachable conduct, and a
susceptible heart, will try and make himself agreeable to
the person on whom he has fixed his affections.

Major Pendennis came yawning out of the dining-room
very soon after his sister and little Laura had left the
apartment.

Now Arthur, flushed with a good deal of pride at the
privilege of having the keys of the cellar, and remember-
ing that a very few more dinners would probably take place
which he and his dear friend Smirke could share, had
brought up a liberal supply of claret for the company's
drinking, and when the elders with little Laura left him,
he and the Curate began to pass the wine very freely.

One bottle speedily yielded up the ghost, another shed
more than half its blood, before the two topers had been
much more than half an hour together — Pen, with a hollow
laugh and voice, had drunk off one bumper to the falsehood
of women, and had said sardonically, that wine at any rate
was a mistress who never deceived, and was sure to give a
man a welcome.

Smirke gently said that he knew for his part some
women who were all truth and tenderness ; and casting up
his eyes towards the ceiling, and heaving a sigh as if
evoking some being dear and unmentionable, he took up
his glass and drained it, and the rosy liquor began to
suffuse his face.

Pen trolled over some verses he had been making that
morning, in which he informed himself that the woman
who had slighted his passion could not be worthy to win it :
that he was awaking from love's mad fever, and, of course,

PENDENNIS. 193

under these circumstances, proceeded to leave her, and to
quit a heartless deceiver : that a name which had one day
been famous in the land, might again be heard in it : and,
that though he never should be the happy and careless boy
he was but a few months since, or his heart be what it had
been ere passion had filled it and grief had well-nigh killed
it ; that though to him personally death was as welcome
as life, and that he would not hesitate to part with the lat-
ter, but for the love of one kind being whose happiness
depended on his own, — yet he hoped to show he was a man
worthy of his race, and that one day the false one should
be brought to know how great was the treasure and noble
the heart which she had flung away.

Pen, we say, who was a very excitable person, rolled out
these verses in his rich sweet voice, which trembled with
emotion whilst our young poet spoke. He had a trick of
blushing when in this excited state, and his large and hon-
est grey eyes also exhibited proofs of a sensibility so gen-
uine, hearty, and manly, that Miss Costigan, if she had a
heart, must needs be softened toward him ; and very likely
she was, as he said, altogether unworthy of the affection
which he lavished upon her.

The sentimental Smirke was caught by the emotion
which agitated his young friend. He grasped Pen's hand
over the dessert dishes and wine glasses. He said the
verses were beautiful : that Pen was a poet, a great poet,
and likely by Heaven's permission to run a great career in
the world. "Go on and prosper, dear Arthur," he cried:
" the wounds under which at present you suffer are only
temporary, and the very grief you endure will cleanse and
strengthen your heart. I have always prophesied the great-
est and brightest things of you, as soon as you have cor-
rected some failings and weaknesses of character, which at
present belong to you. But you will get over these, my
boy, you will get over these ; and when you are famous
and celebrated, as I know you will be, will you remem-
ber your old tutor and the happy early days of your
youth? "

194 PEKDENNIS.

Pen swore he would : with another shake of the hand
across the glasses and apricots. " I shall never forget how
kind you have been to me, Smirke," he said. " I don't
know what I should have done without you. You are my
best friend."

"Ain I really, Arthur?" said Smirke, looking through
his spectacles; and his heart began to beat so that he
thought Pen must almost hear it throbbing.

" My best friend, my friend for ever" Pen said. " God
bless you, old boy," and he drank up the last glass of the
second bottle of the famous wine which his father had laid
in, which his uncle had bought, which Lord Levant had
imported, and which now, like a slave indifferent, was
ministering pleasure to its present owner, and giving its
young master delectation.

"We'll have another bottle, old boy," Pen said, "by
Jove we will. Hurray! — claret goes for nothing. My
uncle was telling me that he saw Sheridan drink five bot-
tles at Brookes' s, besides a bottle of Maraschino. This is
some of the finest wine in England, he says. So it is, by
Jove. There's nothing like it. Nunc vino pellite euros —
eras ingens iterabimus ceq — fill your glass, Old Smirke, a
hogshead of it won't do you any harm." And Mr. Pen
began to sing the drinking song out of "Der Freischiitz."
The dining-room windows were open, and his mother was
softly pacing on the lawn outside, while little Laura was
looking at the sunset. The sweet fresh notes of the boy's
voice came to the widow. It cheered her kind heart to
hear him sing.

"You — you are taking too much wine, Arthur," Mr.
Smirke said softly — " you are exciting yourself. "

" No," said Pen, " women give headaches, but this don't.
Fill your glass, old fellow, and let's drink — I say, Smirke,
my boy — let's drink to her — your her, I mean, not mine,
for whom I swear I'll care no more — no, not a penny — no,
not a fig — no, not a glass of wine. Tell us about the lady,
Smirke; I've often seen you sighing about her."

" Oh ! " said Smirke — and his beautiful cambric shirt

PENDENNIS. 195

front and glistening studs heaved with the emotion which
agitated his gentle and suffering bosom.

" Oh — what a sigh ! " Pen cried, growing very hilarious ;
"fill, my boy, and drink the toast; you can't refuse a
toast, no gentleman refuses a toast. Here's her health,
and good luck to you, and may she soon be Mrs. Smirke."

" Do you say so? " Smirke said, all of a tremble. " Do
you really say so, Arthur? "

"Say so; of course I say so. Down with it. Here's
Mrs. Smirke' s good health: Hip, hip, hurray! "

Smirke convulsively gulped down his glass of wine, and
Pen waved his over his head, cheering so as to make his*
mother and Laura wonder on the lawn, and his uncle, who
was dozing over the paper in the drawing-room, start, and
say to himself , "that boy's drinking too much." Smirke
put down the glass.

"I accept the omen," gasped out the blushing Curate.
" Oh, my dear Arthur, you — you know her — "

"What — Mira Portman? I wish you joy: she's got a
dev'lish large waist; but I wish you joy, old fellow."

" Oh, Arthur ! " groaned the Curate again, and nodded
his head, speechless.

" Beg your pardon — sorry I offended you — but she has
got a large waist, you know — devilish large waist, " Pen
continued — the third bottle evidently beginning to act upon
the young gentleman.

"It's not Miss Portman," the other said, in a voice of
agony.

"Is it anybody at Chatteris or at Clapham? Somebody
here? No — it ain't old Pybus? it can't be Miss Eolt at
the Factory — she's only fourteen."

" It's somebody rather older than I am, Pen," the Curate
cried, looking up at his friend, and then guiltily casting
his eyes down into his plate.

Pen burst out laughing. "It's Madame Fribsby, by
Jove, it's Madame Fribsby. Madame Frib. by the im-
mortal Gods ! "

The Curate could contain no more. " 0 Pen," he cried,

196 PENDENNIS.

"how can you suppose that any of those — of those more
than ordinary beings you have named — could have an in-
fluence upon this heart, when I have been daily in the
habit of contemplating perfection! I may be insane, I
may be madly ambitious, I may be presumptuous — but for
two years my heart has been filled by one image, and has
known no other idol. Haven't I loved you as a son,
Arthur? — say, hasn't Charles Smirke loved you as a sou? "

"Yes, old boy, you've been very good to me," Pen said,
whose liking, however, for his tutor was not by any means
of the filial kind.

" My means," rushed on Smirke, " are at present limited,
I own, and my mother is not so liberal as might be desired;
but what she has will be mine at her death. Were she to
hear of my marrying a lady of rank and good fortune, my
mother would be liberal, I am sure she would be liberal.
Whatever I have or subsequently inherit — and it's five hun-
dred a year at the very least — would be settled upon her,
and — and — and you at my death — that is — "

" What the deuce do you mean? — and what have I to do
with your money? " cried out Pen, in a puzzle.

" Arthur, Arthur ! " exclaimed the other wildly ; " You
say I am your dearest friend — Let me be more. Oh, can't
you see that the angelic being I love — the purest, the best
of women — is no other than your dear, dear angel of a —
mother."

" My mother ! " cried out Arthur, jumping up and sober
in a minute. " Pooh ! damn it, Smirke, you must be mad
— she's seven or eight years older than you are."

"Did you find that any objection?" cried Smirke pite-
ously, and alluding, of course, to the elderly subject of
Pen's own passion.

The lad felt the hint, and blushed quite red. "The
cases are not similar, Smirke," he said, "and the allusion
might have been spared. A man may forget his own rank
and elevate any woman to it ; but allow me to say our po-
sitions are very different."

" How do you mean, dear Arthur? " the Curate inter-

PENDENNIS. 197

posed sadly, cowering as he felt that his sentence was
about to be read.

"Mean?" said Arthur. "I mean what I say. My
tutor, I say my tutor, has no right to ask a lady of my
mother's rank of life to marry him. It's a breach of con-
fidence. I say it's a liberty you take, Smirke — it's a liberty.
Mean, indeed ! "

" 0 Arthur ! " the Curate began to cry with clasped
hands, and a scared face, but Arthur gave another stamp
with his foot, and began to pull at the bell. "Don't let's
have any more of this. We'll have some coffee, if you
please," he said with a majestic air : and the old butler en-
tering at the summons, Arthur bade him to serve that re-
freshment.

John said he had just carried coffee into the drawing-
room, where his uncle was asking for Master Arthur, and
the old man gave a glance of wonder at the three empty
claret bottles. Smirke said he thought he'd — he'd rather
not go into the drawing-room, on which Arthur haughtily
said "As you please," and called for Mr. Smirke' s horse
to be brought round. The poor fellow said he knew the
way to the stable and would get his pony himself, and he
went into the hall and sadly put on his coat and hat.

Pen followed him out uncovered. Helen was still walk-
ing up and down the soft lawn as the sun was setting, and
the Curate took off his hat and bowed by way of farewell,
and passed on to the door leading to the stable court by
which the pair disappeared. Smirke knew the way to the
stable as he said, well enough. He fumbled at the girths
of the saddle, which Pen fastened for him, and put on the
bridle and led the pony into the yard. The boy was
touched by the grief which appeared in the other's face as
he mounted. Pen held out his hand, and Smirke wrung it
silently.

"I say, Smirke," he said in an agitated voice, "forgive
me if I have said anything harsh — for you have always
been very, very kind to me. But it can't be, old fellow, it
can't be. Be a man. God bless you."

198 FENDENNI8.

Smirke nodded his head silently, and rode out of the
lodge gate : and Pen looked after him for a couple of min-
utes, until he disappeared down the road, and the clatter
of the pony's hoofs died away. Helen was still lingering
on the lawn waiting until the boy came back — she put his
hair off his forehead and kissed it fondly. She was afraid
he had been drinking too much wine. Why had Mr.
Smirke gone away without any tea?

He looked at her with a kind humour beaming in his
eyes; "Smirke is unwell," he said with a laugh. Fora
long while Helen had not seen the boy looking so cheerful.
He put his arm round her waist, and walked her up and
down the walk in front of the house. Laura began to drub
on the drawing-room window and nod and laugh from it.
"Come along you two people," cried out Major Pendennis,
"your coffee is getting quite cold."

When Laura was gone to bed, Pen, who was big with his
secret, burst out with it, and described the dismal but lu-
dicrous scene which had occurred. Helen heard of it with
many blushes, which became her pale face very well, and
a perplexity which Arthur roguishly enjoyed.

"Confound the fellow's impudence," Major Pendennis
said as he took his caudle ; " where will the assurance of
these people stop? " Pen and his mother had a loug talk
that night, full of love, confidence, and laughter, and the
boy somehow slept more soundly and woke up more easily
than he had done for many months before.

Before the great Mr. Dolphin quitted Chatteris, he not
only made an advantageous engagement with Miss Fother-
ingay, but he liberally left with her a sum of money to pay
off any debts which the little family might have contracted
during their stay in the place, and which, mainly through
the lady's own economy and management, were not con-
siderable. The small account with the spirit merchant,
which Major Pendennis had settled, was the chief of Cap-
tain Costigan's debts, and though the Captain at one time
talked about repaying every farthing of the money, it

PENDENNIS. 199

never appears that he executed his menace, nor did the
laws of honour in the least call upon him to accomplish
that threat.

When Miss Costigan had seen all the outstanding bills
paid to the uttermost shilling, she handed over the balance
to her father, who broke out into hospitalities to all his
friends, gave the little Creeds more apples and ginger-
bread than he had ever bestowed upon them, so that the
widow Creed ever after held the memory of her lodger in
veneration, and the young ones wept bitterly when he went
away ; and in a word managed the money so cleverly that
it was entirely expended before many days, and he was
compelled to draw upon Mr. Dolphin for a sum to pay for
travelling expenses when the time of their departure ar-
rived.

There was held at an inn in that county town a weekly
meeting of a festive, almost a riotous character, of a society
of gentlemen who called themselves the Buccaneers. Some
of the choice spirits of Chatteris belonged to this cheerful
Club. Graves, the apothecary (than whom a better fellow
never put a pipe in his mouth and smoked it), Smart, the
talented and humorous portrait-painter of High Street,
Croker, an excellent auctioneer, and the uncompromising
Hicks, the able Editor for twenty-three years of the County
Chronicle and Chatteris Champion, were amongst the crew
of the Buccaneers, whom also Bingley, the manager, liked
to join of a Saturday evening, whenever he received per-
mission from his lady.

Costigan had been also an occasional Buccaneer. But a
want of punctuality of payments had of late somewhat ex-
cluded him from the Society, where he was subject to dis-
agreeable remarks from the landlord, who said that a Buc-
caneer who didn't pay his shot was utterly unworthy to be
a Marine Bandit. But when it became known to the 'Ears,
as the Clubbists called themselves familiarly, that Miss
Fotheringay had made a splendid engagement, a great
revolution of feeling took place in the Club regarding Cap-
tain Costigan. Solly, mine host of the Grapes, told the

200 PENDENNIS.

gents in the Buccaneers' room one night how noble the
Captain had beayved ; having been round and paid off all
his ticks in Chatteris, including his score of three pound
fourteen here — and pronounced that Cos was a good fellar,
a gentleman at bottom, and he, Solly, had always said so,
and finally worked upon the feelings of the Buccaneers to
give the Captain a dinner.

The banquet took place on the last night of Costigan's
stay at Chatteris, and was served in Solly's accustomed
manner. As good a plain dinner of old English fare as
ever smoked on a table was prepared by Mrs. Solly ; and
about eighteen gentlemen sat down to the festive board.
Mr. Jubber (the eminent draper of High Street) was in
the Chair, having the distinguished guest of the Club on
his right. The able and consistent Hicks officiated as
croupier on the occasion; most of the gentlemen of the

Club were present, and H. Foker, Esq., and Spavin,

Esq., friends of Captain Costigan, were also participators
in the entertainment. The cloth having been drawn, the
Chairman said, " Costigan, there is wine, if you like," but
the Captain preferring punch, that liquor was voted by ac-
clamation : and " Non Nobis " having been sung in admi-
rable style by Messrs. Bingley, Hicks, and Bullby (of the
Cathedral choir, than whom a more jovial spirit "ne'er
tossed off a bumper or emptied a bowl"), the Chairman
gave the health of the " King ! " which was drunk with the
loyalty of Chatteris men, and then, without further cir-
cumlocution, proposed their friend "Captain Costigan."

After the enthusiastic cheering, which rang through old
Chatteris, had subsided, Captain Costigan rose in reply,
and made a speech of twenty minutes, in which he was
repeatedly overcome by his emotions.

The gallant Captain said he must be pardoned for inco-
herence, if his heart was too full to speak. He was quit-
ting a city celebrated for its antiquitee, its hospitalitee,
the beautee of its women, the manly fidelitee, generositee,
and jovialitee of its men. (Cheers.) He was going from
that ancient and venerable city, of which, while Mimoree

PENDENNIS. 201

held her sayt, he should never think without the fondest
emotion, to a methrawpolis where the talents of his daugh-
ter were about to have full play, and where he would
watch over her like a guardian angel. He should never
forget that it was at Chatteris she had acquired the skill
which she was about to exercise in another sphere, and in
her name and his own, Jack Costigan thanked and blessed
them. The gallant officer's speech was received with tre-
mendous cheers.

Mr. Hicks, Croupier, in a brilliant and energetic man-
ner, proposed Miss Fotheringay's health.

Captain Costigan returned thanks in a speech full of
feeling and eloquence.

Mr. Jubber proposed the Drama and the Chatteris Thea-
tre, and Mr. Bingley was about to rise, but was prevented
by Captain Costigan, who, as long connected with the
Chatteris Theatre, and on behalf of his daughter, thanked
the company. He informed them that he had been in gar-
rison, at Gibraltar, and at Malta, and had been at the
taking of Flushing. The Duke of York was a patron of
the Drama ; he had the honour of dining with His Royal
Highness and the Duke of Kent many times; and the
former had justly been named the friend of the soldier.
(Cheers. )

The Army was then proposed, and Captain Costigan
returned thanks. In the course of the night, he sang his
well-known songs, "The Deserter," "The Shan Van
Voght," "The Little Pig under the Bed," and "The Vale
of Avoca. " The evening was a great triumph for him —
it ended. All triumphs and all evenings end. And the
next day, Miss Costigan having taken leave of all her
friends, having been reconciled to Miss Rouncy, to whom
she left a necklace and a white satin gown — the next day,
he and Miss Costigan had places in the Competitor coach
rolling by the gates of Fairoaks Lodge — and Pendennis
never saw them.

Tom Smith, the coachman, pointed out Fairoaks to Mr.
Costigan, who sate on the box smelling of rum-and-water

202 PENDENNIS.

— aiid the Captain said it was a poor place — and added,
" Ye should see Castle Costigan, County Mayo, me boy,"
— which Tom said he should like very much to see.

They were gone, and Pen had never seen them! He
only knew of their departure by its announcement in the
county paper the next day: and straight galloped over to
Chatteris to hear the truth of this news. They were gone
indeed. A card of " Lodgings to let " was placed in the
dear little familiar window- He rushed up into the room
and viewed it over. He sate ever so long in the old win-
dow-seat looking into the Dean's Garden: whence he and
Emily had so often looked out together. He walked, with
a sort of terror, into her little empty bed-room. It was
swept out and prepared for new-comers. The glass which
had reflected her fair face was shining ready for her suc-
cessor. The curtains lay square folded on the little bed :
he flung himself down and buried his head on the vacant
pillow.

Laura had netted a purse into which his mother had put
some sovereigns, and Pen had found it on his dressing-
table that very morning. He gave one to the little servant
who had been used to wait upon the Costigans, and an-
other to the children, because they said they were very
fond of her. It was but a few months back, yet what
years ago it seemed since he had first entered that room !
He felt that it was all done. The very missing her at the
coach had something fatal in it. Blank, weary, utterly
wretched and lonely the poor lad felt.

His mother saw She was gone by his look when he came
home. He was eager to fly too now, as were other folks
round about Chatteris. Poor Smirke wanted to go away
from the sight of the siren widow, Foker began to think
he had had enough of Baymouth, and that a few supper
parties at Saint Boniface would not be unpleasant. And
Major Pendennis longed to be off, and have a little pheas-
ant-shooting at Stillbrook, and get rid of all the annoyances
and tracasseries of the village. The widow and Laura ner-
vously set about the preparations for Pen's kit, and filled

PENDENKIS. 203

trunks with his books and linen. Helen wrote cards with
the name of Arthur Pendennis, Esq. , which were duly nailed
on the boxes ; and at which both she and Laura looked with
tearful, wistful eyes. It was not until long, long after he
was gone, that Pen remembered how constant and tender the
affection of these women had been, and how selfish his
own conduct was

A night soon comes, when the mail, with echoing horn
and blazing lamps, stops at the lodge-gate of Fairoaks, and
Pen's trunks and his Uncle's are placed on the roof of the
carriage, in which the pair presently afterwards enter.
Helen and Laura are standing by the evergreens of the
shrubbery, their figures lighted up by the coach lamps;
the guard cries " all right : " in another instant the car-
riage whirls onward; the lights disappear, and Helen's
heart and prayers go with them. Her sainted benedictions
follow the departing boy. He has left the home-nest in
which he has been chafing, and whither, after his very first
flight, he returned bleeding and wounded; he is eager to
go forth again and try his restless wings.

How lonely the house looks without him ! The corded
trunks and book-boxes are there in his empty study.
Laura asks leave to come and sleep in Helen's room: and
when she has cried herself to sleep there, the mother goes
softly into Pen's vacant chamber, and kneels down by the
bed on which the moon is shining, and there prays for her
boy, as mothers only know how to plead. He knows that
her pure blessings are following him, as he is carried miles
away, (

204 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XVII.

»

ALMA MATER.

EVERY man, however brief or inglorious may have been
his academical career, must remember with kindness and
tenderness the old university comrades and days. The
young man's life is just beginning: the boy's leading
strings are cut, and he has all the novel delights and dig-
nities of freedom. He has no idea of cares yet, or of bad
health, or of roguery, or poverty, or to-morrow's disap-
pointment. The play has not been acted so often as to
make him tired. Though the after-drink, as we mechan-
ically go on repeating it, is stale and bitter, how pure and
brilliant was that first sparkling draught of pleasure! —
How the boy rushes at the cup, and with what a wild
eagerness he drains it ! But old epicures who are cut off
from the delights of the table, and are restricted to a
poached egg and a glass of water, like to] see people with
good appetites ; and, as the next best thing to being amused
at a pantomime one's-self is to see one's children enjoy it,
I hope there may be no degree of age or experience to
which mortal may attain, when he shall become such a
glum philosopher as not to be pleased by the sight of
happy youth. Coming back a few weeks since from a
brief visit to the old University of Oxbridge, where my
friend Mr. Arthur Pendennis passed some period of his
life, I made the journey in the railroad by the side of a
young fellow at present a student of Saint Boniface. He
had got an exeat somehow, and was bent on a day's lark in
London : he never stopped rattling and talking from the
commencement of the journey until its close (which was a
great deal too soon for me, for I never was tired of listen-
ing to the honest young fellow's jokes and cheery laugh-
ter) ; and when we arrived at the terminus nothing would

PENDENNIS. 205

satisfy him but a Hansom cab, so that he might get into
town the quicker, and plunge into the pleasures awaiting
him there. Away the young lad went whirling, with joy
lighting up his honest face ; and as for the reader's humble
servant, having but a small carpet-bag, I got up on the
outside of the omnibus, and sate there very contentedly be-
tween a Jew-pedler smoking bad cigars, and a gentleman's
servant taking care of a poodle-dog, until we got our fated
complement of passengers and boxes, when the coachman
drove leisurely away. We weren't in a hurry to get to
town. Neither one of us was particularly eager about
rushing into that near smoking Babylon, or thought of din-
ing at the Club that night, or dancing at the Casino. Yet
a few years more, and my young friend of the railroad will
be not a whit more eager.

There were no railroads made when Arthur Pendennis
went to the famous University of Oxbridge ; but he drove
thither in a well-appointed coach, filled inside and out
with dons, gownsmen, young freshmen about to enter, and
their guardians, who were conducting them to the uni-
versity. A fat old gentleman, in grey stockings, from the
City, who sate by Major Pendennis inside the coach, hav-
ing his pale-faced son opposite, was frightened beyond
measure, when he heard that the coach had been driven,
for a couple of stages by young Mr. Foker, of Saint Boni-
face College, who was the friend of all men, including
coachmen, and could drive as well as Tom Hicks himself.
Pen sate on the roof, examining coach, passengers, and
country, with great delight and curiosity. His heart
jumped with pleasure as the famous university came in
view, and the magnificent prospect of venerable towers
and pinnacles, tall elms and shining river, spread before
him.

Pen had passed a few days with his uncle at the Major's
lodgings, in Bury Street, before they set out for Oxbridge.
Major Pendennis thought that the lad's wardrobe wanted
renewal ; and Arthur was by no means averse to any plan
which was to bring him new coats and waistcoats. There

206 PENDENNIS.

was no end to the sacrifices which the self-denying uncle
made in the youth's behalf. London was awfully lonely.
The Pall Mall pavement was deserted; the very red-jackets
had gone out of town. There was scarce a face to be seen
in the bow-windows of the clubs. The Major conducted
his nephew into one or two of those desert mansions, and
wrote down the lad's name on the candidate-list of one of
them; and Arthur's pleasure at this compliment on his
guardian's part was excessive. He read in the parchment
volume his name and titles, as " Arthur Pendennis, Esquire,

of Fairoaks Lodge, shire, and Saint Boniface College,

Oxbridge ; proposed by Major Pendennis, and seconded by
Viscount Colchicum, " with a thrill of intense gratification.
" You will come in for ballot in about three years, by which
time you will have taken your degree," the guardian said.
Pen longed for the three years to be over, and surveyed the
stucco-halls, and vast libraries, and drawing-rooms, as al-
ready his own property. The Major laughed slily to see
the pompous airs of the simple young fellow, as he strutted
out of the building. He and Foker drove down in the lat-
ter's cab one day to the Grey Friars, and renewed acquaint-
ance with some of their old comrades there. The boys
came crowding up to the cab as it stood by the Grey Friars
gates, where they were entering, and admired the chestnut
horse, and the tights and livery and gravity of Stoopid, the
tiger. The bell for afternoon-school rang as they were
swaggering about the playground talking to their old
cronies. The awful Doctor passed into school with his
grammar in his hand. Foker slunk away uneasily at his
presence, but Pen went up blushing, and shook the digni-
tary by the hand. He laughed as he thought that well-
remembered Latin Grammar had boxed his ears many a
time. He was generous, good-natured, and, in a word,
perfectly conceited and satisfied with himself.

Then they drove to the parental brewhouse. Foker's
Entire is composed in an enormous pile of buildings, not
far from the Grey Friars, and the name of that well-known
firm is gilded upon innumerable public-house signs, ten-

PENDENNIS. 207

anted by its vassals in the neighbourhood : the venerable
junior partner and manager did honour to the young lord
of the vats and his friend, and served them with silver
flagons of brown-stout, so strong, that you would have
thought, not only the young men, but the very horse Mr.
Harry Foker drove, were affected by the potency of the
drink : for he rushed home to the west-end of the town at a
rapid pace, which endangered the pie-stalls and the women
on the crossings, and brought the cab-steps into collision
with the posts at the street corners, and caused Stoopid to
swing fearfully on his board behind.

The Major was quite pleased when Pen was with his
young acquaintance ; listened to Mr. Foker's artless stories
with the greatest interest : gave the two boys a fine dinner
at a Covent Garden Coffee-house, whence they proceeded
to the play ; but was above all happy when Mr. and Lady
Agnes Foker, who happened to be in London, requested
the pleasure of Major Pendennis and Mr. Arthur Pen-
dennis's company at dinner in Grosvenor Street. " Having
obtained the entree into Lady Agnes Foker' s house," he
said to Pen with an affectionate solemnity which befitted
the importance of the occasion, " it behoves you, my dear
boy, to keep it. You must mind and never neglect to call
in Grosvenor Street when you come to London. I recom-
mend you to read up carefully, in Debrett, the alliances
and genealogy of the Earls of Rosherville, and if you can,
to make some trifling allusions to the family, something
historical, neat, and complimentary, and that sort of thing,
which you, who have a poetic fancy, can do pretty well.
Mr. Foker himself is a worthy man, though not of high
extraction or indeed much education. He always makes
a point of having some of the family porter served round
after dinner, which you will on no account refuse, and
which I shall drink myself, though all beer disagrees with
me confoundedly." And the heroic martyr did actually
sacrifice himself, as he said he would, on the day when
the dinner took place, and old Mr. Foker, at the head of his
table, made his usual joke about Foker' s Entire. We

208 PENDENNIS.

should all of us, I am sure, have liked to see the Major's
grin, when the worthy old gentleman made his time-hon-
oured joke.

Lady Agnes, who, wrapped up in Harry, was the fondest
of mothers, and one of the most good-natured though not
the wisest of women, received her son's friend with great
cordiality; and astonished Pen by accounts of the severe
course of studies which her darling boy was pursuing, and
which she feared might injure his dear health. Foker the
elder burst into a horse-laugh at some of these speeches,
and the heir of the house winked his eye very knowingly
at his friend. And Lady Agnes then going through her
son's history from the earliest time, and recounting his
miraculous sufferings in the measles and whooping-cough,
his escape from drowning, the shocking tyrannies practised
upon him at that horrid school, whither Mr. Foker would
send him because he had been brought up there himself,
and she never would forgive that disagreeable Doctor, no,
never — Lady Agnes, we say, having prattled away for an
hour incessantly about her son, voted the two Messieurs
Pendennis most agreeable men ; and when the pheasants
came with the second course, which the Major praised as
the very finest birds he ever saw, her Ladyship said they
came from Logwood (as the Major knew perfectly well)
and hoped that they would both pay her a visit there— at
Christmas, or when dear Harry was at home for the vaca-
tions

"God bless you, my dear boy," Pendennis said to
Arthur as they were lighting their candles in Bury Street
afterwards to go to bed. " You made that little allusion
to Agincourt, where one of the Roshervilles distinguished
himself, very neatly and well, although Lady Agnes did
not quite understand it : but it was exceedingly well for a
beginner — though you oughtn't to blush so, by the way —
and I beseech you, my dear Arthur, to remember through
life, that with an entree — with a good entree, mind — it is
just as easy for you to have good society as bad, and that
it costs a man, when properly introduced, no more trouble

PENDENNIS. 209

or soins to keep a good footing in the best houses in Lon-
don than to dine with a lawyer in Bedford Square. Mind
this when you are at Oxbridge pursuing your studies, and
for Heaven's sake be very particular in the acquaintances
which you make. The premier pas in lif e^ is the most im-
portant of all — did you write to your mother to-day? — No?
— well, do, before you go, and call and ask Mr. Foker for
a frank — They like it — Good night. God bless you."

Pen wrote a droll account of his doings in London, and
the play, and the visit to the old Friars, and the brewery,
and the party at Mr. Foker' s, to his dearest mother, who
was saying her prayers at home in the lonely house at Fair-
oaks, her heart full of love and tenderness unutterable for
the boy : and she and Laura read that letter and those
which followed, many, many times, and brooded over them
as women do. It was the first step in life that Pen was
making — Ah ! what a dangerous journey it is, and how the
bravest may stumble and the strongest fail. Brother way-
farer ! may you have a kind arm to support yours on the
path, and a friendly hand to succour those who fall beside
you! May truth guide, mercy forgive at the end, and love
accompany always! Without that lamp how blind the
traveller would be, and how black and cheerless the jour-
ney!

So the coach drove up to that ancient and comfortable
inn the Trencher, which stands in Main Street, Oxbridge,
and Pen with delight and eagerness remarked, for the first
time, gownsmen going about, chapel bells clinking (bells
in Oxbridge are ringing from morning- tide till even-song,)
— towers and pinnacles rising calm and stately over the
gables and antique house-roofs of the city. Previous com-
munications had taken place between Doctor Portman on
Pen's part, and Mr. Buck, Tutor of Boniface, on whose side
Pen was entered : and as soon as Major Pendennis had ar-
ranged his personal appearance, so that it should make a
satisfactory impression upon Pen's tutor, the pair walked
down Main Street, and passed the great gate and belfry-
tower of Saint George's College, and so came, as they were

210 PENDENNIS.

directed, to Saint Boniface, where again Pen's heart began
to beat as they entered at the wicket of the venerable ivy-
mantled gate of the College. It is surmounted with an
ancient dome almost covered with creepers, and adorned
with the effigy of the Saint from whom the House takes its
name, and many coats-of-arms of its royal and noble bene-
factors.

The porter pointed out a queer old tower at the corner of
the quadrangle, by which Mr. Buck's rooms were ap-
proached, and the two gentlemen walked across the square,
the main features of which were at once and for ever
stamped in Pen's mind — the pretty fountain playing in the
centre of the fair grass plats ; the tall chapel windows and
buttresses rising to the right ; the hall, with its tapering
lantern and oriel window; the lodge, from the doors of
which the Master issued awfully in rustling silks : the lines
of the surrounding rooms pleasantly broken by carved
chimnies, grey turrets, and quaint gables — all these Mr.
Pen's eyes drank in with an eagerness which belongs to
first impressions; and Major Pendennis surveyed with that
calmness which belongs to a gentleman who does not care
for the picturesque, and whose eyes have been somewhat
dimmed by the constant glare of the pavement of Pall Mall.

Saint George's is the great College of the University of
Oxbridge, with its fouf vast quadrangles, and its beautiful
hall and gardens, and the Georgians, as the men are called,
wear gowns of a peculiar cut, and give themselves no small
airs of superiority over all other young men. Little Saint
Boniface is but a petty hermitage in comparison of the
huge consecrated pile alongside of which it lies. But con-
sidering its size it has always kept an excellent name in
the university. Its ton is very good : the best families of
certain counties have time out of mind sent up their young
men to Saint Boniface : the college livings are remarkably
good, the fellowships easy; the Boniface men had had
more than their fair share of university honours; their
boat was third upon the river ; their chapel-choir is not in-
ferior to Saint George's itself j and the Boniface ale the

PENDENNIS. 211

best in Oxbridge. In the comfortable old wainscotted Col-
lege-Hall, and round about Roubilliac's statue of Saint
Boniface (who stands in an attitude of seraphic benediction
over the uncommonly good cheer of the fellows' table) there
are portraits of many most eminent Bonifacians. There is
the learned Doctor Griddle, who suffered in Henry VIII. 'a
time, and Archbishop Bush who roasted him — there is
Lord Chief Justice Hicks — the Duke of St. David's, K.G.,
Chancellor of the University and Member of this College —
•Sprott the Poet, of whose fame the college is justly proud
— Doctor Blogg, the late master, and friend of Doctor
Johnson, who visited him at Saint Boniface — and other
lawyers, scholars, and divines, whose portraitures look
from the walls, or whose coats-of-arms shine in emerald
and ruby, gold and azure, in the tall windows of the refec-
tory. The venerable cook of the college is one of the best
artists in Oxbridge, and the wine in the fellows' room has
long been famed for its excellence and abundance.

Into this certainly not the least snugly sheltered arbour
amongst the groves of Academe, Pen now found his way,
leaning on his uncle's arm, and they speedily reached Mr.
Buck's rooms, and were conducted into the apartment of
that courteous gentleman.

He had received previous information from Doctor Port-
man regarding Pen, with respect to whose family, fortune,
and personal merits the honest Doctor had spoken with no
small enthusiasm. Indeed Portman had described Arthur
to the tutor as "a young gentleman of some fortune and
landed estate, of one of the most ancient families in the
kingdom, and possessing such a character and genius as
were sure, under proper guidance, to make him a credit to
the college and the university." Under such recommenda-
tions, the tutor was, of course, most cordial to the young
freshman and his guardian, invited the latter to dine in
hall, where he would have the satisfaction of seeing his
nephew wear his gown and eat his dinner for the first time,
and requested the pair to take wine at his rooms after hall,
and in consequence of the highly-favourable report he had

10 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

212 PENDENNIS.

received of Mr. Arthur Pendennis, said he should be happy
to give him the best set of rooms to be had in college — a
gentleman-pensioner's set, indeed, which were just luckily
vacant. When a College Magnate takes the trouble to be
polite, there is no man more splendidly courteous. Im-
mersed in their books, and excluded from the world by the
gravity of their occupations, these reverend men assume
a solemn magnificence of compliment in which they rus-
tle and swell as in their grand robes of state. Those
silks and brocades are not put on for all comers or every
day.

When the two gentlemen had taken leave of the tutor
in his study, and had returned to Mr. Buck's ante-room, or
lecture-room, a very handsome apartment, turkey- carpeted,
and hung with excellent prints and richly framed pictures,
they found the tutor's servant already in waiting there, ac-
companied by a man with a bag full of caps and a number
of gowns, from which Pen might select a cap and gown for
himself, and the servant, no doubt, would get a commission
proportionable to the service done by him. Mr. Pen was
all in a tremor of pleasure as the bustling tailor tried on a
gown, and pronounced that it was an excellent fit; and
then he put the pretty college cap on, in rather a dandified
manner, and somewhat on one side, as he had seen Fiddi-
cornbe, the youngest master at Grey Friars, wear it. And
he inspected the entire costume with a great deal of satis-
faction in one of the great gilt mirrors which ornamented
Mr. Buck's lecture -room : for some of these college divines
are no more above looking-glasses than a lady is, and look
to the set of their gowns and caps quite as anxiously as
folks do of the lovelier sex.

Then Davis, the skip or attendant, led the way, keys in
hand, across the quadrangle, the Major and Pen following
him, the latter blushing, and pleased with his new aca-
demical habiliments, across the quadrangle to the rooms
which were destined for the freshman; and which were
vacated by the retreat of the gentleman-pensioner, Mr.
Spicer. The rooms were very comfortable, with large

PENDENNIS. 213

cross beams, high wainscots, and small windows in deep
embrasures. Mr. Spicer's furniture was the.re, and to be
sold at a valuation, and Major Pendennis agreed on his
nephew's behalf to take the available part of it, laughingly
however declining (as, indeed, Pen did for his own part)
six sporting prints, and four groups of opera-dancers with
gauze draperies, which formed the late occupant's pictorial
collection.

Then they went to hall, where Pen sate down and ate
his commons with his brother freshmen, and the Major
took his place at the high-table along with the college dig-
nitaries and other fathers or guardians of youth, who had
come up with their sons to Oxbridge ; and after hall they
went to Mr. Buck's to take wine; and after wine to
chapel, where the Major sate with great gravity in the
upper place, having a fine view of the Master in his carved
throne or stall under the organ-loft, where that gentle-
man, the learned Doctor Donne, sate magnificent, with his
great prayer-book before him, an image of statuesque
piety and rigid devotion. All the young freshmen behaved
with gravity and decorum, but Pen was shocked to see that
atrocious little Foker, who came in very late, and half-a-
dozen of his comrades in the gentlemen-pensioners' seats,
giggling and talking as if they had been in so many stalls
at the Opera.

Pen could hardly sleep at night in his bed-room at the
Trencher; so anxious was he to begin his college life, and
to get into his own apartments. What did he think about,
as he lay tossing and awake? Was it about his mother at
home; the pious soul whose life was bound up in his?
Yes, let us hope he thought of her a little. Was it about
Miss Fotheringay, and his eternal passion, which had kept
him awake so many nights, and created such wretchedness
and such longing? He had a trick of blushing, and if you
had been in the room, and the candle had not been out,
you might have seen the youth' s countenance redden more
than once, as he broke out into passionate incoherent ex-
clamations regarding that luckless event of his life. His

214 PENDENNIS.

uncle's lessons had not been thrown away upon him; the
mist of passion had passed from his eyes now, and he saw
her as she was. To think that he, Pendennis, had been
enslaved by such a woman, and then jilted by her! that he
should have stooped so low, to be trampled on in the mire !
that there was a time in his life, and that but a few
months back, when he was willing to take Costigan for his
father-in-law ! —

" Poor old Srnirke ! " Pen presently laughed out — " well,
I'll write and try and console the poor old boy. He won't
die of his passion, ha, ha ! " The Major, had he been
awake, might have heard a score of such ejaculations ut-
tered by Pen as he lay awake and restless through the first
night of his residence at Oxbridge.

It would, perhaps, have been better for a youth, the
battle of whose life was going to begin on the morrow, to
have passed the eve in a different sort of vigil : but the
world had got hold of Pen in the shape of his selfish old
Mentor : and those who have any interest in his character,
must have perceived ere now, that this lad was very weak
as well as very impetuous, very vain as well as very frank,
and if of a generous disposition, not a little selfish, in the
midst of his profuseness, and also rather fickle, as all eager
pursuers of self -gratification are.

The six-months' passion had aged him very considerably.
There was an immense gulf between Pen the victim of
love, and Pen the innocent boy of eighteen, sighing after
it : and so Arthur Pendennis had all the experience and
superiority, besides that command which afterwards conceit
and imperiousness of disposition gave him over the young
men with whom he now began to live.

He and his uncle passed the morning with great satis-
faction in making purchases for the better comfort of the
apartments which the lad was about to occupy. Mr.
Spicer's china and glass were in dreadfully dismantled con-
dition, his lamps smashed, and his book-cases by no means
so spacious as those shelves which would be requisite to
receive the contents of the boxes which were lying in the

PENDENNIS. 215

hall at Fairoaks, and which were addressed to Arthur in
the hand of poor Helen.

The boxes arrived in a few days that his mother had
packed with so much care. Pen was touched as he read
the superscriptions in the dear well-known hand, and he ar-
ranged in their proper places all the books, his old friends,
and all the linen and table-cloths which Helen had selected
from the family stock, and all the jam-pots which little
Laura had bound in straw, and the hundred simple gifts of
home.

216 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XVIII.

PENDENNIS OF BONIFACE.

OUR friend Pen was not sorry when his Mentor took
leave of the young gentleman on the second day after the
arrival of the pair in Oxbridge, and we may be sure that
the Major on his part was very glad to have discharged his
duty, and to have the duty over. More than three months
of precious time had that martyr of a Major given up to
his nephew — Was ever selfish man called upon to make a
greater sacrifice? Do you know many men or Majors who
would do as much? A man will lay down his head, or
peril his life for his honour, but let us be shy how we ask
him to give up his ease or his heart's desire. Very few
of us can bear that trial. Let us give the Major due credit
for his conduct during the past quarter, and own that he
has quite a right to be pleased at getting a holiday. Foker
and Pen saw him off in the coach, and the former youth
gave particular orders to the coachman to take care of that
gentleman inside. It pleased the elder Pendennis to have
his nephew in the company of a young fellow who would
introduce him to the best set of the university. The Major
rushed off to London and thence to Cheltenham, from
which watering-place he descended upon some neighbour-
ing great houses, whereof the families were not gone
abroad, and where good shooting and company were to be
had.

We are not about to go through young Pen's academical
career very minutely. Alas, the life of such boys does not
bear telling altogether ! I wish it did. I ask you, does
yours? As long as what we call our honour is clear, I
suppose your mind is pretty easy. Women are pure, but
not men. Women are unselfish, but not men. And I
would not wish to say of poor Arthur Pendennis that he

PENDENNIS. 217

was worse than his neighbours, only that his neighbours
are bad for the most part. ^Let us have the candour to
own as much at least. Can you point out ten spotless men
of your acquaintance? Mine is pretty large, but I can't
find ten saints in the list.

During the first term of Mr. Pen's university life, he at-
tended classical and mathematical lectures with tolerable
assiduity ; but discovering before very long time that he
had little taste or genius for the pursuing of the exact sci-
ences, and being perhaps rather annoyed that one or two
very vulgar young men, who did not even use straps to
their trousers so as to cover the abominably thick and
coarse shoes and stockings which they wore, beat him
completely in the lecture-room, he gave up his attendance
at that course, and announced to his fond parent that he
proposed to devote himself exclusively to the cultivation
of Greek and Roman Literature.

Mrs. Pendennis was, for her part, quite satisfied that
her darling boy should pursue that branch of learning for
which he had the greatest inclination ; and only besought
him not to ruin his health by too much study, for she had
heard the most melancholy stories of young students who,
by over fatigue, had brought on brain-fevers and perished
untimely in the midst of their university career. And
Pen's health, which was always delicate, was to be re-
garded, as she justly said, beyond all considerations or vain
honours. Pen, although not aware of any lurking disease
which was likely to endanger his life, yet kindly promised
his mamma not to sit up reading too late of nights, and
stuck to his word in this respect with a great deal more
tenacity of resolution than he exhibited upon some other
occasions, when perhaps he was a little remiss.

Presently he began, too, to find that he learned little
good in the classical lecture. His fellow-students there
were too dull, as in mathematics they were too learned for
him. Mr. Buck, the tutor, was no better a scholar than
many a fifth-form boy at Grey Friars ; might have some
stupid humdrum notions about the metre and grammatical

218 PENDENNIS.

construction of a passage of ^Eschylus or Aristophanes, but
had no more notion of the poetry than Mrs. Binge, his bed-
maker : and Pen grew weary of hearing the dull students
and tutor blunder through a few lines of a play, which he
could read in a tenth part of the time which they gave to
it. After all, private reading, as he began to perceive, was
the only study which was really profitable to a man ; and
he announced to his mamma that he should read by him-
self a great deal more, and in public a great deal less.
That excellent woman knew no more about Homer than she
did about Algebra, but she was quite contented with
Pen's arrangements regarding his course of studies, and
felt perfectly confident that her dear boy would get the
place which he merited.

Pen did not come home until after Christmas, a little to
the fond mother's disappointment, and Laura's, who was
longing for him to make a fine snow fortification, such as
he had made three winters before. But he was invited to
Logwood, Lady Agnes Foker's, where there were private
theatricals, and a gay Christmas party of very fine folks,
some of them whom Major Pendennis would on no account
have his nephew neglect. However, he stayed at home for
the last three weeks of the vacation, and Laura had the
opportunity of remarking what a quantity of fine new
clothes he brought with him, and his mother admired his
improved appearance and manly and decided tone.

He did not come home at Easter ; but when he arrived
for the long vacation, he brought more smart clothes ; ap-
pearing in the morning in wonderful shooting- jackets, with
remarkable buttons ; and in the evening in gorgeous velvet
waistcoats, with richly embroidered cravats, and curious
linen. And as she pried about his room, she saw, oh, such
a beautiful dressing-case, with silver mountings, and a
quantity of lovely rings and jewellery. And he had a new
French watch and gold chain, in place of the big old chro-
nometer, with its bunch of jingling seals, which had long
hung from the fob of John Pendennis, and by the seconds-
hand of which the defunct doctor had felt many a patient's

PENDENNIS. 219

pulse in his time. It was but a few months back Pen had
longed for this watch, which he thought the most splendid
and august time-piece in the world; and just before he
went to college, Helen had taken it out of her trinket-box
(where it had remained unwound since the death of her
husband) and given it to Pen with a solemn and appro-
priate little speech respecting his father's virtues and the
proper use of time. This portly and valuable chronometer
Pen now pronounced to be out of date, and indeed, made
some comparisons between it and a warming-pan, which
Laura thought disrespectful, and he left the watch in a
drawer, in the company of soiled primrose gloves, cravats
which had gone out of favour, and of that other school
watch which has once before been mentioned in this history.
Our old friend, Rebecca, Pen pronounced to be no longer
up to his weight, and swopped her away for another and
more powerful horse, for which he had to pay rather a
heavy figure. Mrs. Pendennis gave the boy the money for
the new horse ; and Laura cried when Rebecca was fetched
away.

Also Pen brought a large box of cigars branded, Colora-
dos, Afrancesados, Telescopios, Fudson Oxford Street, or by
some such strange titles, and began to consume these not
only about the stables and green-houses, where they were
very good for Helen's plants, but in his own study, — which
practice his mother did not at first approve. But he was
at work upon a prize-poem, he said, and could not compose
without his cigar, and quoted the late lamented Lord
Byron's lines in favour of the custom of smoking. As he
was smoking to such good purpose, his mother could not
of course refuse permission ; in fact, the good soul coming
into the room one day in the midst of Pen's labours (he
was consulting a novel which had recently appeared, for
the cultivation of the light literature of his own country as
well as of foreign nations became every student) — Helen,
we say, coming into the room and finding Pen on the sofa
at this work, rather than disturb him went for a light-box
and his cigar-case to his bed-room which was adjacent, and

220 PENDENNIS.

actually put the cigar into his mouth and lighted the match
at which he kindled it. Pen laughed, and kissed his
mother's hand as it hung fondly over the back of the sofa.
"Dear old mother," he said, "if I were to tell you to burn
the house down, I think you would do it." And it is very
likely that Mr. Pen was right, and that the foolish woman
would have done almost as much for him as he said.

Besides the works of English " light literature " which
this diligent student devoured, he brought down boxes of
the light literature of the neighbouring country of France :
into the leaves of which when Helen dipped, she read such
things as caused her to open her eyes with wonder. But
Pen showed her that it was not he who made the books,
though it was absolutely necessary that he should keep up
his French by an acquaintance with the most celebrated
writers of the day, and that it was as clearly his duty to
read the eminent Paul de Kock, as to study Swift or Mo-
liere. And Mrs. Pendennis yielded with a sigh of perplex-
ity. But Miss Laura was warned off the books, both by
his anxious mother, and that rigid moralist Mr. Arthur
Pendennis himself, who, however he might be called upon
to study every branch of literature in order to form his
mind and to perfect his style, would by no means prescribe
such a course of reading to a young lady whose business in
life was very different.

In the course of this long vacation Mr. Pen drank up the
bin of claret which his father had laid in, and of which we
have heard the son remark that there was not a headache
in a hogshead; and this wine being exhausted, he wrote
for a further supply to "his wine merchants," Messrs.
Binney and Latham of Mark Lane, London : from whom,
indeed, old Doctor Portman had recommended Pen to get
a supply of port and sherry on going to college. " You
will have, no doubt, to entertain your young friends at
Boniface with wine parties," the honest rector had re-
marked to the lad. " They used to be customary at col-
lege in my time, and I would advise you to employ an
honest and respectable house in London for your small

PENDENNIS. 221

stock of wine, rather than to have recourse to the Oxbridge
tradesmen, whose liquor, if I remember rightly, was both
deleterious in quality and exorbitant in price." And the
obedient young gentleman took the Doctor's advice, and
patronised Messrs. Binney and Latham at the rector's sug-
gestion.

So when he wrote orders for a stock of wine to be sent
down to the cellars at Fairoaks, he hinted that Messrs. B.
and L. might send in his university account for wine at the
same time with the Fairoaks bill. The poor widow was
frightened at the amount. But Pen laughed at her old-
fashioned views, said that the bill was moderate, that
everybody drank claret and champagne now, and, finally,
the widow paid, feeling dimly that the expenses of her
household were increasing considerably, and that her nar-
row income would scarce suffice to meet them. But they
were only occasional. Pen merely came home for a few
weeks at the vacation. Laura and she might pinch when
he was gone. In the brief time he was with them ought
they not to make him happy?

Arthur's own allowances were liberal all this time; in-
deed, much more so than those of the sons of far more
wealthy men. Years, before, the thrifty and affectionate
John Pendennis, whose darling project it had ever been to
give his, son a university education, and those advantages
of which his own father's extravagance had deprived him,
had begun laying by a store of money which he called
Arthur's Education Fund. Year after year in his book his
executors found entries of sums vested as A.E.F., and
during the period subsequent to her husband's decease, and
before Pen's entry at college, the widow had added sundry
sums to this fund, so that when Arthur went up to Ox-
bridge it reached no inconsiderable amount. Let him be
liberally allowanced, was Major Pendennis' s' maxim. Let
him make his first entree into the world as a gentleman,
and take his place with men of good rank and station;
after giving it to him, it will be his own duty to hold it.
There is no such bad policy as stinting a boy — or putting

222 PENDENNIS.

him on a lower allowance than his fellows. Arthur will
have to face the world and fight for himself presently.
Meanwhile we shall have procured for him good friends,
gentlemanly habits, and have him well backed and well
trained against the time when the real struggle comes.
And these liberal opinions the Major probably advanced
both because they were just, and because he was not deal-
ing with his own money.

Thus young Pen, the only son of an estated country gen-
tleman, with a good allowance, and a gentlemanlike bear-
ing and person, looked to be a lad of much more conse-
quence than he was really ; and was held by the Oxbridge
authorities, tradesmen, and undergraduates, as quite a
young buck and member of the aristocracy. His manner
was frank, brave, and perhaps a little impertinent, as be-
comes a high-spirited youth. He was perfectly generous
and free-handed with his money, which seemed pretty plen-
tiful. He loved joviality, and had a good voice for a song.
Boat-racing had not risen in Pen's time to the /wrewrwhich,
as we are given to understand, it has since attained in the
university ; and riding and tandem-driving were the fash-
ions of the ingenuous youth. Pen rode well to hounds,
appeared in pink, as became a young buck, and not par-
ticularly extravagant in equestrian or any other amusement,
yet managed to run up a fine bill at Nile's, the livery
stable-keeper, and in a number of other quarters. In fact,
this lucky young gentleman had almost every taste to a
considerable degree. He was very fond of books of all
sorts : Doctor Portman had taught him to like rare editions,
and his own taste led him to like beautiful bindings. It
was marvellous what tall copies, and gilding, and mar-
bling, and blind-tooling, the booksellers and binders put
upon Pen's bookshelves. He had a very fair taste in mat-
ters of art, and a keen relish for prints of a high school —
none of your French Opera Dancers, or tawdry Racing
Prints, such as had delighted the simple eyes of Mr.
Spicer, his predecessor — but your Stranges, and Rembrandt
etchings, and Wilkies before the letter, with which his

223

apartments were furnished presently in the most perfect
good taste, as was allowed in the university, where this
young fellow got no small reputation. We have mentioned
that he exhibited a certain partiality for rings, jewellery,
and fine raiment of all sorts; and it must be 'owned that
Mr. Pen, during his time at the university, was rather a
dressy man, and loved to array himself in splendour. He
and his polite friends would dress themselves out with as
much care in order to go and dine at each other's rooms, as
other folks would who -were going to enslave a mistress.
They said he used to wear rings over his kid gloves, which
he always denies j but what follies will not youth perpe-
trate with its own admirable gravity and simplicity? That
he took perfumed baths is a truth ; and he used to say that
he took them after meeting certain men of a very low set
in hall.

In Pen's second year, when Miss Fotheringay made her
chief hit in London, and scores of prints were published of
her, Pen had one of these hung in his bed-room, and con-
fided to the men of his set how awfully, how wildly, how
madly, how passionately, he had loved that woman. He
showed them in confidence the verses that he had written to
her, and his brow would darken, his eyes roll, his chest heave
with emotion as he recalled that fatal period of his life, and
described the woes and agonies which he had suffered. The
verses were copied out, handed about, sneered at, admired,
passed from coterie to coterie. There are few things which
elevate a lad in the estimation of his -brother boys, more
than to have a character for a great and romantic passion.
Perhaps there is something noble in it at all times — among
very young men, it is considered heroic — Pen was pro-
nounced a tremendous fellow. They said he had almost
committed suicide : that he had fought a duel with a baro-
net about her. Freshmen pointed him out to each other.
As at the promenade time at two o'clock he swaggered out
of college, surrounded by his cronies, he was famous to be-
hold. He was elaborately attired. He would ogle the
ladies who came to lionise the University, and passed be-

224 PENDENNIS.

fore him on the arms of happy gownsmen, and give his
opinion upon their personal charms, or their toilettes, with
the gravity of a critic whose experience entitled him to
speak with authority. Men used to say that they had been
walking with Pendennis, and were as pleased to be seen in
his company as some of us would be if we walked with a
duke down Pall Mall. He and the Proctor capped each
other as they met, as if they were rival powers, and the
men hardly knew which was the greater.

In fact, in the course of his second year, Arthur Pen-
deunis had become one of the men of fashion in the uni-
versity. It is curious to watch that facile admiration, and
simple fidelity of youth. They hang round a leader : and
wonder at him, and love him, and imitate him. No gen-
erous boy ever lived, I suppose, that has not had some
wonderment of admiration for another boy; and Monsieur
Pen at Oxbridge had his school, his faithful band of
friends, and his rivals. When the young men heard at the
haberdashers' shops that Mr. Pendennis of Boniface had
just ordered a crimson satin cravafc, you would see a couple
of dozen crimson satin cravats in Main Street in the course
of the week — and Simon, the jeweller, was known to sell
no less than two gross of Pendennis' s pins, from a pattern
which the young gentleman had selected in his shop.

Now if any person with an arithmetical turn of mind
will take the trouble to calculate what a sum of money it
would cost a young man to indulge freely in all the above
propensities which we have said Mr. Pen possessed, it will
be seen that a young fellow, with such liberal tastes and
amusements, must needs in the course of two or three years
spend or owe a very handsome sum of money. We have
said our friend Pen had not a calculating turn. No one
propensity of his was outrageously extravagant : and it is
certain that Paddington's tailor's account; Guttle bury 's
cook's bill for dinners; Dilley Tandy's bill with Finn, the
printseller, for Raphael-Morghens, and Landseer proofs;
and Wormall's dealings with Parkton, the great bookseller,
for Aldine editions, black-letter folios, and richly illumi-

PENDENNIS. 225

nated Missals of the XVI. Century ; and Snaffle's or Foker's
score with Nile the horse-dealer, were, each and all of
them, incomparably greater than any little bills which Mr.
Pen might run up with the above-mentioned tradesmen.
But Pendennis of Boniface had the advantage over all
these young gentlemen, his friends and associates, of a uni-
versality of taste : and whereas young Lord Paddington did
not care two-pence for the most beautiful print, or to look
into any gilt frame that had not a mirror within it ; and
Guttlebury did not mind in the least how he was dressed,
and had an aversion to horse exercise, nay a terror of itj
and Snaffle never read any printed works but the " Racing
Calendar," or "Bell's Life," or cared for any manuscript
except his greasy little scrawl of a betting-book : — our cath-
olic-minded young friend occupied himself in every one of
the branches of science or pleasure above-mentioned, and
distinguished himself tolerably in each.

Hence young Pen got a prodigious reputation in the uni-
versity, and was hailed as a sort of Crichton ; and as for
the English verse prize, in competition for which we have
seen him busily engaged at Fairoaks, Jones of Jesus car-
ried it that year certainly, but the under-graduates thought
Pen's a much finer poem, and he had his verses printed at
his own expense, and distributed in gilt morocco covers
amongst his acquaintance. I found a copy of it lately in a
dusty corner of Mr. Pen's bookcases, and have it before
me this minute, bound up in a collection of old Oxbridge
tracts, university statutes, prize poems by successful and
unsuccessful candidates, declamations recited in the col-
lege chapel, speeches delivered at the Union Debating So-
ciety, and inscribed by Arthur with his name and college,
Pendennis — Boniface ; or presented to him by his affection-
ate friend Thompson or Jackson, the author. How strange
the epigraphs look in those half-boyish hands, and what a
thrill the sight of the documents gives one after the lapse
of a few lustres ! How fate, since that time, has removed
some, estranged others, dealt awfully with all ! Many a
hand is cold that wrote those kindly memorials, and that

226 PENDENNIS.

we pressed in the confident and generous grasp of youthful
friendship. What passions our friendships were in those
old days, how artless and void of doubt ! How the arm
you were never tired of having linked in yours under the
fair college avenues or by the river-side, where it washes
Magdalen Gardens, or Christ Church Meadows, or winds
by Trinity and King's, was withdrawn of necessity, when
you entered presently the world, and each parted to push
and struggle for himself through the great mob on the way
through life ! Are we the same men now that wrote those
inscriptions — that read those poems? that delivered or heard
those essays and speeches so simple, so pompous, so ludi-
crously solemn; parodied so artlessly from books, and
spoken with smug chubby faces, and such an admirable
aping of wisdom and gravity? Here is the book before
me : it is scarcely fifteen years old. Here is Jack moaning
with despair and Byronic misanthropy, whose career at the
university was one of unmixed milk-punch. Here is Tom's
daring essay in defence of suicide and of republicanism in
general, a propos of the death of Roland and the Girondins
— Tom's, who wears the starchiest tie in all the diocese,
and would go to Srnithfield, rather than eat a beefsteak on
a Friday in Lent. Here is Bob, of the — Circuit, who has
made a fortune in Railroad Committees, — bellowing out
with Tancred and Godfrey, " On to the breach, ye soldiers
of the cross, Scale the red wall and swim the choking foss.
Ye dauntless archers, twang your cross-bows well ; On, bill
and battle-axe and mangonel ! Ply battering ram and hur-
tling catapult, Jerusalem is ours — id Deus vult." After
which comes a mellifluous description of the gardens of
Sharon and the maids of Salem, and a prophecy that roses
shall deck the entire country of Syria, and a speedy reign
of peace be established — all in undeniably decasyllabic
lines, and the queerest aping of sense and sentiment and
poetry. And there are Essays and Poems along with these
grave parodies, and boyish exercises (which are at once
frank and false, and so mirthful, yet, somehow, so mourn-
ful), by youthful hands, that shall never write more. Fate

PENDENNIS. 227

has interposed darkly, and the young voices are silent, and
the eager brains have ceased to work. This one had genius
and a great descent, and seemed to be destind for honours
which now are of little worth to him: that had virtue,
learning, genius — every faculty and endowment which
might secure love, admiration, and worldly fame : an ob-
scure and solitary churchyard contains the grave of many
fond hopes, and the pathetic stone which bids them fare-
well. I saw the sun shining on it in the fall of last year,
and heard the sweet village choir raising anthems round
about. What boots whether it be Westminster or a little
country spire which covers your ashes, or if, a few days
sooner or later, the world forgets you?

Amidst these friends then, and a host more, Pen passed
more than two brilliant and happy years of his life. He
had his fill of pleasure and popularity. No dinner or sup-
per party was complete without him; and Pen's jovial wit,
and Pen's songs, and dashing courage, and frank and manly
bearing, charmed all the undergraduates. Though he be-
came the favourite and leader of young men who were
much his superiors in wealth and station, he was much too
generous to endeavour to propitiate them by any meanness
or cringing on his own part, and would not neglect the hum-
blest man of his acquaintance in order to curry favour with
the richest young grandee in the university. His name is
still remembered at the Union Debating Club, as one of
the brilliant orators of his day. By the way, from having
been an ardent Tory in his freshman's year, his principles
took a sudden turn afterwards, and be became a Liberal of
the most violent order. He avowed himself a Dantonist,
and asserted that Louis the Sixteenth was served right.
And as for Charles the First, he vowed that he would chop
off that monarch's head with his own right hand were he
then in the room at the Union Debating Club, and had
Cromwell no other executioner for the traitor. He and
Lord Magnus Charters, the Marquis of Runnymede's son,
before mentioned, were the most truculent republicans of
their day.

228 PENDENNIS.

There are reputations of this sort made quite independ-
ent of the collegiate hierarchy, in the republic of gowns-
men. A man may be famous in the Honour-lists and en-
tirely unknown to the undergraduates : who elect kings and
chieftains of their own, whom they admire and obey, as
negro-gangs have private black sovereigns in their own
body, to whom they pay an occult obedience, besides that
which they publicly profess for their owner and drivers.
Among the young ones Pen became famous and popular :
not that he did much, but there was a general determina-
tion that he could do a great deal if he chose. " Ah, if
Pendennis of Boniface would but try," the men said, "he
might do anything." He was backed for the Greek Ode
won by Smith of Trinity ; everybody was sure he would
have the Latin hexameter prize which Brown of St. John's,
however, carried off, and in this way one university honour
after another was lost by him, until, after two or three
failures, Mr. Pen ceased to compete. But he got a decla-
mation prize in his own college, and brought home to his
mother and Laura at Fairoaks a set of prize-books begilt
with the college arms, and so big, well-bound, and mag-
nificent, that these ladies thought there had been no such
prize ever given in a college before as this of Pen's, and
that he had won the very largest honour which Oxbridge
was capable of awarding.

As vacation after vacation and term after term passed
away without the desired news that Pen had sate for any
scholarship or won any honour, Doctor Portman grew
mightily gloomy in his behaviour towards Arthur, and
adopted a sulky grandeur of deportment towards him,
which the lad returned by a similar haughtiness. One
vacation he did not call upon the Doctor at all, much to
his mother's annoyance, who thought that it was a privi-
lege to enter the Rectory-house at Clavering, and listened
to Doctor Portman's antique jokes and stories, though ever
so often repeated, with unfailing veneration. "I cannot
stand the Doctor's patronising air," Pen said. "He's too
kind to me, a great deal too fatherly. I have seen in the

PENDENNIS. 229

world better men than him, and I am not going to bore
myself by listening to his dull old stories." The tacit feud
between Pen and the Doctor made the widow nervous, so
that she too avoided Portman, and was afraid to go to the
Rectory when Arthur was at home.

One Sunday in the last long vacation, the wretched boy
pushed his rebellious spirit so far as not to go to church,
and he was seen at the gate of the Clavering Arms smok-
ing a cigar, in the face of the congregation as it issued
from St. Mary's. There was an awful sensation in the
village society, Portman prophesied Pen's ruin after that,
and groaned hi spirit over the rebellious young prodigal.

So did Helen tremble in her heart, and little Laura —
Laura had grown to be a fine young stripling by this time,
graceful and fair, clinging round Helen and worshipping
her, with a passionate affection. Both of these women felt
that the boy was changed. He was no longer the artless
Pen of old days, so brave, so artless, so impetuous, and
tender. His face looked careworn and haggard, his voice
had a deeper sound, and tones more sarcastic. Care seemed
to be pursuing him ; but he only laughed when his mother
questioned him, and parried her anxious queries with some
scornful jest. Nor did he spend much of his vacations at
home ; he went on visits to one great friend or another, and
scared the quiet pair at Fairoaks by stories of great houses
whither he had been invited, and by talking of lords with-
out their titles.

Honest Harry Foker, who had been the means of intro-
ducing Arthur Pendennis to that set of young men at the
university, from whose society and connections Arthur's
uncle expected that the lad would get so much benefit;
who had called for Arthur's first song at his first supper-
party ; and who had presented him at the Barmecide Club,
where none but the very best men of Oxbridge were ad-
mitted (it consisted in Pen's time of six noblemen, eight
gentlemen-pensioners, and twelve of the most select com-
moners of the university), soon found himself left far be-
hind by the young freshman in the fashionable world of

230 PENDENNIS.

Oxbridge, and being a generous and worthy fellow, with-
out a spark of envy in his composition, was exceedingly
pleased at the success of his young protege, and admired
Pen quite as much as any of the other youth did. It was
he who followed Pen now, and quoted his sayings ; learned
his songs, and retailed them at minor supper-parties, and
was never weary of hearing them from the gifted young
poet's own mouth — for a good deal of the time which Mr.
Pen might have employed much more advantageously in
the pursuit of the regular scholastic studies, was given up
to the composition of secular ballads, which he sang about
at parties according to university wont.

It had been as well for Arthur if the honest Foker had
remained for some time at college, for, with all his vivacity,
he was a prudent young man, and often curbed Pen's pro-
pensity to extravagance: but Foker' s collegiate career did
not last very long after Arthur's entrance at Boniface.
Repeated differences with the university authorities caused
Mr. Foker to quit Oxbridge in an untimely manner. He
would persist in attending races on the neighbouring Hun-
gerford Heath, in spite of the injunctions of his academic
superiors. He never could be got to frequent the chapel of
the college with that regularity of piety which Alma Mater
demands from her children ; tandems, which are abomina-
tions in the eyes of the heads and tutors, were Poker's
greatest delight, and so reckless was his driving and fre-
quent the accidents and upsets out of his drag, that Pen
called taking a drive with him taking the " Diversions of
Purley ; " finally, having a dinner-party at his rooms to en-
tertain some friends from London, nothing would satisfy
Mr. Foker but painting Mr. Buck's door vermilion, in which
freak he was caught by the proctor ; and although young
Black Strap, the celebrated negro-fighter, who was one of
Mr. Foker' s distinguished guests, and was holding the can
of paint while the young artist operated on the door,
knocked down two of the proctor's attendants and per-
formed prodigies of valour, yet these feats rather injured
than served Foker, whom the proctor knew very well and

PENDENNIS. 231

who was taken with the brush in his hand, summarily con-
vened, and sent down from the university.

The tutor wrote a very kind and feeling letter to Lady
Agnes on the subject, stating that everybody was fond of
the youth ; that he never meant harm to any mortal crea-
ture : that he for his own part would have been delighted to
pardon the harmless little boyish frolic, had not its un-
happy publicity rendered it impossible to look the freak
over, and breathing the most fervent wishes for the young
fellow's welfare — wishes no doubt sincere, for Foker, as
we know, came of a noble family on his mother's side, and
on the other was heir to a great number of thousand
pounds a year.

"It don't matter," said Foker, talking over the matter
with Pen, — " a little sooner or a little later, what is the
odds? I should have been plucked for my little go again,
I know I should — that Latin I cannot screw into my head,
and my mamma's anguish would have broke out next
term. The Governor will blow like an old grampus, I
know he will, — well, we must stop till he gets his wind
again. I shall probably go abroad and improve rny mind
with foreign travel. Yes, parly voo's the ticket. It'ly and
that sort of thing. I'll go to Paris, and learn to dance
and complete my education. But it's not me I'm anxious
about, Pen. As long as people drink beer I don't care, —
it's about you I'm doubtful, my boy. You're going too
fast, and can't keep up the pace, I tell you. It's not the
fifty you owe me — pay it or not when you like, — but it's
the every-day pace, and I tell you it will kill you. You're
livin' as if there was no end to the money in the stockin'
at home. You oughtn't to give dinners, you ought to eat
'em. Fellows are glad to have you. You oughtn't to owe
horse bills, you ought to ride other chaps' nags. You
know no more about betting than I do about algebra : the
chaps will win your money as sure as you sport it. Hang
me if you are not trying at everything. I saw you sit down
to ecarte last week at Trurnpington's, and taking your turn
with the bones after Ring wood's supper. They'll beat you

232 PENDENNTS

at it, Pen my boy, even if they play on the square, which
I don't say they don't, nor which I don't say they do, mind.
But J won't play with 'em. You're no match for 'em.
You ain't up to their weight. It's like little Black Strap
standing up to Tom Spring, — the Black's a pretty fighter,
but, Law bless you, his arm ain't long enough to touch Tom,
— and I tell you, you're going it with fellers beyond your
weight. Lock here — If you'll promise me never to bet nor
touch a box nor a card, I'll let you off the two ponies."

But Pen, laughingly, said, " that though it wasn't con-
venient to him to pay the two ponies at that moment, he
by no means wished to be let off any just debts he owed;"
and he and Foker parted, not without many dark forebod-
ings on the latter' s part with regard to his friend, who
Harry thought was travelling speedily on the road to ruin.

"One must do at Rome as Rome does," Pen said, in a
dandified manner, jingling some sovereigns in his waistcoat
pocket. "A little quiet play at ecartt can't hurt a man
who plays pretty well — I came away fourteen sovereigns
richer from Ringwood's supper, and, gad! I wanted the
money." — And he walked off, after having taken leave of
poor Foker, who went away without any beat of drum, or
offer to drive the coach out of Oxbridge, to superintend a
little dinner which he was going to give at his own rooms
in Boniface, about which dinners, the cook of the college,
who had a great respect for Mr. Pendennis, always took
especial pains for his young favourite.

PENDENNIS. 233

CHAPTER XIX.

RAKE'S PROGRESS.

So in Pen's second year Major Peudennis paid a brief
visit to his nephew, and was introduced to several of Pen's
university friends — the gentle and polite Lord Plinlimmon ;
the gallant and open-hearted Magnus Charters ; the sly and
witty Harland; the intrepid Eingwood, who was called
Kupert in the Union Debating Club, from his opinions and
the bravery of his blunders ; Broadbent, styled Barebones
Broadbent from the republican nature of his opinions (he
was of a dissenting family from Bristol, and a perfect
Boanerges of debate) ; and Bloundell-Bloundell, whom Mr.
Pen entertained at a dinner whereof his uncle was the chief
guest.

The Major said, "Pen, my boy, your dinner went off a
merveille; you did the honours very nicely — you carved well
— I am glad you learned to carve — it is done on the side-
board now in most good houses, but it is still an important
point, and may aid you in middle-life — young Lord Plin-
limmon is a very amiable young man, quite the image of his
dear mother (whom I knew as Lady Aquila Brownbill) ;
and Lord Magnus's republicanism will wear off — it sits
prettily enough on a young patrician in early life, though
nothing is so loathsome among persons of our rank — Mr.
Broadbent seems to have much eloquence and considerable
reading ; your friend Foker is always delightful ; but your
acquaintance, Mr. Bloundell, struck me as in all respects a
most ineligible young man."

" Bless my soul, sir, Bloundell-Bloundell ! " cried Pen,
laughing: "why, sir, he's the most popular man of the

university. He was in the Dragoons before he came

up. We elected him of the Barmecides the first week he
came up — had a special meeting on purpose — he's of an

234 PENDENNIS.

excellent family — Suffolk Bloundels, descended from Rich-
ard's Blondel, bear a harp in chief — and motto O Mong
Roy."

" A man may have a very good coat-of-arms, and be a
tiger, my boy," the Major said, chipping his egg; "that
man is a tiger, mark my word — a low man. I will lay a
wager that he left his regiment, which was a good one
(for a more respectable man than my friend, Lord Mar-
tingale, never sat in a saddle), in bad odour. There is the
unmistakable look of slang and bad habits about this Mr.
Bloundell. He frequents low gambling-houses and billiard
hells, sir, — he haunts third-rate clubs — I know he does. I
know by his style. I never was mistaken in my man yet.
Did you remark the quantity of rings and jewellery he
wore? That person has Scamp written on his countenance,
if any man ever had. Mark my words and avoid him.
Let us turn the conversation. The dinner was a leetle too
fine, bnt I don't object to your making a few extra frais
when you receive friends. Of course you don't do it often,
and only those whom it is your interest tofeter. The cut-
lets were excellent, and the souffle uncommonly light and
good. The third bottle of champagne was not necessary;
but you have a good income, and as long as you keep within
it, I shall not quarrel with you, my dear boy."

Poor Pen ! the worthy uncle little knew how often those
dinners took place, while the reckless young Amphitryon
delighted to show his hospitality and skill in gourmandise.
There is no art about which boys are more anxious to have
an air of knowingness. A taste and knowledge of wines
and cookery appears to them to be the sign of an accom-
plished rout and manly gentleman. Pen, in his character
of Admirable Crichton, thought it necessary to be a great
judge and practitioner of dinners ; we have just said how
the college cook respected him, and shall soon have to de-
plore that that worthy man so blindly trusted our Pen. In
the third year of the lad's residence at Oxbridge his stair-
case was by no means encumbered with dish-covers and
desserta and waiters carrying in dishes, and skips opening

PENDENNIS. 235

iced champagne ; crowds of different sorts of attendants,
with faces sulky or piteous, hung about the outer oak, and
assailed the unfortunate lad as he issued out of his den.

Nor did his guardian's advice take any effect, or induce
Mr. Pen to avoid the society of the disreputable Mr. Bloun-
dell.

The young magnates of the neighbouring great College
of St. George's, who regarded Pen, and in whose society
he lived, were not taken in by Bloundell's flashy graces,
and rakish airs of fashion. Broadbent called him Captain
Macheath, and said he would live to be hanged. Foker,
during his brief stay at the university with Macheath, with
characteristic caution, declined to say anything in the Cap-
tain's disfavour, but hinted to Pen that he had better have
him for a partner at whist than play against him, and bet-
ter back him at ecarte than bet on the other side. " You
see, he plays better than you do, Pen," was the astute
young gentleman's remark: "he plays uncommon well, the
Captain does; — and Pen, I wouldn't take the odds too
freely from him, if I was you. I don't think he's too flush
of money, the Captain ain't." But beyond these dark sug-
gestions and generalities, the cautious Foker could not be
got to speak.

Not that his advice would have had more weight with a
headstrong young man, than advice commonly has with a
lad who is determined on pursuing his own way. Pen's
appetite for pleasure was insatiable, and he rushed at it
wherever it presented itself, with an eagerness which be-
spoke his fiery constitution and youthful health. He
called taking pleasure "seeing life," and quoted well-
known maxims from Terence, from Horace, from Shak-
speare, to show that one should do all that might become a
man. He bade fair to be utterly used up and a roue, in a
few years, if he were to continue at the pace at which he
was going.

One night after a supper-party in college, at which Pen
and Macheath had been present, and at which a little
quiet vingt-et-un had been played, as the men had taken

ii — Thackeray, Vol. 3

236 PENDENNIS.

their caps and were going away, after no great losses or
winnings on any side, Mr. Bloundell playfully took up a
green wine-glass from the supper-table, which had been
destined to contain iced cup, but into which he inserted
something still more pernicious, namely a pair of dice,
which the gentleman took out of his waistcoat pocket, and
put into the glass. Then giving the glass a graceful wave
which showed that his hand was quite experienced in the
throwing of dice, he called seven's the main, and whisking
the ivory cubes gently on the table, swept them up lightly
again from the cloth, and repeated this process two or three
times. The other men looked on, Pen, of course, among
the number, who had never used the dice as yet, except to
play a humdrum game of backgammon at home. .

Mr. Bloundell, who had a good voice, began to troll out
the chorus from "Kobert the Devil," an Opera then in
great vogue, in which chorus many of the men joined,
especially Pen, who was in very high spirits, having won a
good number of shillings and half-crowns at the vingt-et-un
— and presently, instead of going home, most of the party
were seated round the table playing at dice, the green glass
going round from hand to hand until Pen finally shivered
it, after throwing six mains.

From that night Pen plunged into the delights of the
game of hazard, as eagerly as it was his custom to pursue
any new pleasure. Dice can be played of mornings as well
as after dinner or supper. Bloundell would come into
Pen's rooms after breakfast, and it was astonishing how
quick the time passed as the bones were rattling. They
had little quiet parties with closed doors, and Bloundell
devised a box lined with felt, so that the dice should make
no noise, and their tell-tale rattle not bring the sharp-eared
tutors up to the rooms. Bloundell, Eingwood, and Pen
were once very nearly caught by Mr. Buck, who, passing
in the Quadrangle, thought he heard the words " Two to
one on the caster," through Pen's open window; but when
the tutor got into Arthur's rooms he found the lads with
three Homers before them, and Pen said, he was trying to

PENDENNIS. 237

coach the two other men, and asked Mr. Buck with great
gravity what was the present condition of the River Sca-
mander, and whether it was navigable or no?

Mr. Arthur Pendennis did not win much money in these
transactions with Mr. Bloundell, or indeed gain good of
any kind except a knowledge of the odds at hazard, which
he might have learned out of books.

One Easter vacation, when Pen had announced to his
mother and uncle his intention not to go down, but stay at
Oxbridge and read, Mr. Pen was nevertheless induced to
take a brief visit to London in company with his friend
Mr. Bloundell. They put up at a hotel in Covent Garden,
where Bloundell had a tick, as he called it, and took the
pleasures of the town very freely after the wont of young
university men. Bloundell still belonged to a military
club, whither he took Pen to dine once or twice (the young
men would drive thither in a cab, trembling lest they should
meet Major Pendennis on his beat in Pall Mall), and here
Pen was introduced to a number of gallant young fellows
with spurs and mustachios, with whom he drank pale-ale
of mornings and beat the town of a night. Here he saw a
deal of life, indeed : nor in his career about the theatres
and singing-houses which these roaring young blades fre-
quented, was he very likely to meet his guardian. One
night, nevertheless, they were very near to each other : a
plank only separating Pen, who was in the boxes of the
Museum Theatre, from the Major, who was in Lord Steyne's
box, along with that venerated nobleman. The Fotherin-
gay was in the pride of her glory. She had made a hit:
that is, she had drawn very good houses for nearly a year,
had starred the provinces with great eclat, had come back
to shine in London with somewhat diminished lustre, and
now was acting with "ever-increasing attraction, &c.,"
"triumph of the good old British drama," as the play-bills
avowed, to houses in which there was plenty of room for
anybody who wanted to see her.

It was not the first time Pen had seen her, since that
memorable day when the two had parted in Chatteris. In

238 PENDENNIS.

the previous year, when the town was making much of her
and the press lauded her beauty, Pen had found a pretext
for coming to London in term-time, and had rushed off to
the theatre to see his old flame. He recollected it rather
than renewed it. He remembered how ardently he used to
be on the look-put at Chatteris, when the speech before
Ophelia's or Mrs. Haller's entrance on the stage was made
by the proper actor. Now, as the actor spoke, he had a
sort of feeble thrill : as the house began to thunder with
applause, and Ophelia entered with her old bow and sweep-
ing curtsey, Pen felt a slight shock and blushed very much
as he looked at her, and could not help thinking that all
the house was regarding him. He hardly heard her for the
first part of the play : and he thought with such rage of the
humiliation to which she had subjected him, that he began
to fancy he was jealous and in love with her still. But
that illusion did not last very long. He ran round to the
stage door of the theatre to see her if possible, but he did
not succeed. She passed indeed under his nose with a fe-
male companion, but he did not know her, — nor did she
recognise him. The next night he came in late, and stayed
very quietly for the afterpiece, and on the third and last
night of his stay in London — why Taglioni was going to
dance at the Opera, — Taglioni! and there was to be "Don
Giovanni," which he admired of all things in the world: so
Mr. Pen went to " Don Giovanni " and Taglioni.

This time the illusion about her was quite gone. She was
not less handsome, but she was not the same, somehow.
The light was gone out of her eyes which used to flash there,
or Pen's no longer were dazzled by it. The rich voice
spoke as of old, yet it did not make Pen's bosom thrill as
formerly. He thought he could recognise the brogue un-
derneath : the accents seemed to him coarse and false. It
annoyed him to hear the same emphasis on the same words,
only uttered a little louder : worse than this, it annoyed
him to think that he should ever have mistaken that loud
imitation for genius, or melted at those mechanical sobs
and sighs. He felt that it was in another life almost, that

PENDENNIS. 239

it was another man, who had so madly loved her. He was
ashamed and bitterly humiliated, and very lonely. Ah,
poor Pen ! the delusion is better than the truth sometimes,
and fine dreams than dismal waking.

They went and had an uproarious supper that night, and
Mr. Pen had a fine headache the next morning, with which
he went back to Oxbridge, having spent all his ready
money.

As all this narrative is taken from Pen's own confes-
sions, so that the reader may be assured of the truth of
every word of it, and as Pen himself never had any accu-
rate notion of the manner in which he spent his money, and
plunged himself in much deeper pecuniary difficulties, dur-
ing his luckless residence at Oxbridge University, it is, of
course, impossible for me to give any accurate account of
his involvements, beyond that general notion of his way of
life, which we have sketched a few pages back. He does
not speak too hardly of the roguery of the university
tradesmen, or of those in London whom he honoured with
his patronage at the outset of his career. Even Finch,
the money-lender, to whom Bloundell introduced him, and
with whom he had various transactions, in which the young
rascal's signature appeared upon stamped paper, treated
him, according to Pen's own account, with forbearance,
and never mulcted him of more than a hundred per cent.
The old college-cook, his fervent admirer, made him a pri-
vate bill, offered to send him in dinners up to the very
last, and never would have pressed his account to his dying
day. There was that kindness and frankness about Arthur
Pendennis, which won most people who came in contact
with him, and which, if it rendered him an easy prey to
rogues, got him, perhaps, more goodwill than he merited
from many honest men. It was impossible to resist his
good nature, or, in his worst moments, not to hope for his
rescue from utter ruin.

At the time of his full career of university pleasure, he
would leave the gayest party to go and sit with a sick
friend. He never knew the difference between small and

240 PENDENNIS.

great in the treatment of his acquaintances, however much
the unlucky lad's tastes, which were of the sumptuous or-
der, led him to prefer good society ; he was only too ready
to share his guinea with a poor friend, and when he got
money had an irresistible propensity for paying, which he
never could conquer through life.

In his third year at college, the duns began to gather
awfully round about him, and there was a levee at his oak
which scandalised the tutors, and would have scared many
a stouter heart. With some of these he used to battle,
some he would bully (under Mr. Bloundell's directions,
who was a master in this art, though he took a degree in
no other), and some deprecate. And it is reported of him
that little Mary Frodsham, the daughter of a certain poor
gilder and frame-maker, whom Mr. Pen had thought fit
to employ, and who had made a number of beautiful frames
for his fine prints, coming to Pendennis with a piteous tale
that her father was ill with ague, and that there was an
execution in their house, Pen in an anguish of remorse
rushed away, pawned his grand watch and every single
article of jewellery except two old gold sleeve-buttons,
which had belonged to his father, and rushed with the pro-
ceeds to Frodsham's shop, where, with tears in his eyes,
and the deepest repentance and humility, he asked the
poor tradesman's pardon.

This, young gentlemen, is not told as an instance of
Pen's virtue, but rather of his weakness. It would have
been much more virtuous to have had no prints at all. He
still owed for the baubles which he sold in order to pay
Frodsham's bill, and his mother had cruelly to pinch her-
self in order to discharge the jeweller's account, so that
she was in the end the sufferer by the lad's impertinent
fancies and follies. We are not presenting Pen to you as
a hero or a model, only as a lad, who, in the midst of a
thousand vanities and weaknesses, has as yet some generous
impulses, and is not altogether dishonest.

We have said it was to the scandal of Mr. Buck the tutor
that Pen's extravagances became known: from the manner

PENDENNIS. 241

in which he entered college, the associates he kept, and
the introductions of Doctor Portman and the Major, Buck
for a long time thought that his pupil was a man of large
property, and wondered rather that he only wore a plain
gown. Once on going up to London to the levee with an
address from His Majesty's Loyal University of Oxbridge,
Buck had seenMajorPendennis at St. James's in conversa-
tion with two knights of the Garter, in the carriage of one
of whom, the dazzled tutor saw the Major whisked away
after the levee. He asked Pen to wine the instant he came
back, let him off from chapels and lectures more than ever,
and felt perfectly sure that he was a young gentleman of
large estate.

Thus, he was thunderstruck when he heard the truth,
and received a dismal confession from Pen. His university
debts were large, and the tutor had nothing to do, and of
course Pen did not acquaint him, with his London debts.
What man ever does tell all when pressed by his friends
about his liabilities? The tutor learned enough to know
that Pen was poor, that he had spent a handsome, almost
a magnificent allowance, and had raised around him such
a fine crop of debts, as it would be very hard work for any
man to mow down ; for there is no plant that grows so
rapidly when once it has taken root.

Perhaps it was because she was so tender and good that
Pen was terrified lest his mother should know of his sins.
" I can't bear to break it to her," he said to the tutor in an
agony of grief. " 0 ! sir, I've been a villain to her " — and
he repented, and he wished he had the time to come over
again, and he asked himself, "Why, why did his uncle
insist upon the necessity of living with great people, and
in how much did all his grand acquaintance profit him? "

They were not shy, but Pen thought they were, and
slunk from them during his last terms at college. He was
as gloomy as a death's-head at parties, which he avoided
of his own part, or to which his young friends soon ceased
to invite him. Everybody knew that Pendennis was
"hard up." That man Bloundell, who could pay nobody,

242 PENDENKIS.

and who was obliged to go down after three terms, was his
ruin, the men said. His melancholy figure might be seen
shirking about the lonely quadrangles in his battered old
cap and torn gown, and he who had been the pride of the
university but a year before, the man whom all the young
ones loved to look at, was now the object of conversation
at freshmen's wine parties, and they spoke of him with
wonder and awe.

At last came the Degree Examinations. Many a young
man of his year whose hob-nailed shoes Pen had derided,
and whose face or coat he had caricatured — many a man
whom he had treated with scorn in the lecture-rooai or
crushed with his eloquence in the debating-club — many of
his own set who had not half his brains, but a little regu-
larity and constancy of occupation, took high places in the
honours or passed with decent credit. And where in the
list was Pen the superb, Pen the wit and dandy, Pen the
poet and orator? Ah, where was Pen the widow's darling
and sole pride? Let us hide our heads, and shut up the
page. The lists came out; and a dreadful rumour rushed
through the university, that Pendennis of Boniface was
plucked.

PENDENNIS. 243

CHAPTER XX.

FLIGHT AFTER DEFEAT.

DURING the latter part of Pen's residence at the Univer-
sity of Oxbridge, his uncle's partiality had greatly in-
creased for the lad. The Major was proud of Arthur, who
had high spirits, frank manners, a good person, and high
gentlemanlike bearing. It pleased the old London bach-
elor to see Pen walking with the young patricians of his
university, and he (who was never known to entertain his
friends, and whose stinginess had passed into a sort of by-
word among some wags at the Club, who envied his many
engagements, and did not choose to consider his poverty)
was charmed to give his nephew and the young lords snug
little dinners at his lodgings, and to regale them with good
claret, and his very best bon mots and stories: some of
which would be injured by the repetition, for the Major's
manner of telling them was incomparably neat and careful ;
and others, whereof the repetition would do good to no-
body. He paid his court to their parents through the
young men, and to himself as it were by their company.
He made more than one visit to Oxbridge, where the young
fellows were amused by entertaining the old gentleman,
and gave parties and breakfasts, and fetes, partly to joke
him and partly to do him honour. He plied them with his
stories. He made himself juvenile and hilarious in the
company of the young lords. He went to hear Pen at
a grand debate at the Union, crowed and cheered, and
rapped his stick in chorus with the cheers of the men, and
was astounded at the boy's eloquence and fire. He thought
he had got a young Pitt for a nephew. He ha,d an almost
paternal fondness for Pen. He wrote to the lad letters
with playful advice and the news of the town. He bragged
about Arthur at his Clubs, and introduced him with pleas-

244

lire into his conversation ; saying, that, Egad, the young
fellows were putting the old ones to the wall ; that the
lads who were coming up, young Lord Plinlirnmon, a friend
of my boy, young Lord Magnus Charters, a chum of my
scapegrace, &c. , would make a greater figure in the world
than ever their father had done before them. He asked
permission to bring Arthur to a grand fete at Gaunt House ;
saw him with ineffable satisfaction dancing with the sis-
ters of the young noblemen before mentioned ; and gave
himself as much trouble to procure cards of invitation for
the lad to some good houses, as if he had been a mamma
with a daughter to marry, and not an old half -pay officer
in a wig. And he boasted everywhere of the boy's great
talents, and remarkable oratorical powers ; and of the bril-
liant degree he was going to take. Lord Runnymede
would take him on his embassy, or the Duke would bring
him in for one of his boroughs, he wrote over and over
again to Helen ; who, for her part, was too ready to believe
anything that anybody chose to say in favour of her son.

And all this pride and affection of uncle and mother had
been trampled down by Pen's wicked extravagance and
idleness ! I don't envy Pen's feelings (as the phrase is),
as he thought of what he had done. He had slept, and the
tortoise had won the race. He had marred at its outset
what might have been a brilliant career. He had dipped
ungenerously into a generous mother's purse; basely and
recklessly spilt her little cruse. 0 ! it was a coward hand
that could strike and rob a creature so tender. And if
Pen felt the wrong which he had done to others, are we
to suppose that a young gentleman of his vanity did not
feel still more keenly the shame he had brought upon him-
self? Let us be assured that there is no more cruel re-
morse than that ; and no groans more piteous than those of
wounded self-love. Like Joe Miller's friend, the Senior
Wrangler, who bowed to the audience from his box at the
play, because he and the king happened to enter the thea-
tre at the same time, only with a fatuity by no means so
agreeable to himself, poor Arthur Pendennis felt perfectly

PENDENNI& 245

convinced that all England would remark the absence of
his name from the examination-lists, and talk about his mis-
fortune. His wounded tutor, his many duns, the skip and
bed-maker who waited upon the undergraduates of his own
time and the years below him, whom he had patronised or
scorned — how could he bear to look any of them in the face
now? He rushed to his rooms, into which he shut him-
self, and there he penned a letter to his tutor, full of
thanks, regards, remorse, and despair, requesting that his
name might be taken off the college books, and intimating
a wish and expectation that death would speedily end the
woes of the disgraced Arthur Pendennis.

Then he slunk out, scarcely knowing whither he went,
but mechanically taking the unfrequented little lanes by
the backs of the colleges, until he cleared the university
precincts, and got down to the banks of the Camisis river,
now deserted, but so often alive with the boat-races, and the
crowds of cheering gownsmen; he wandered on and on,
until he found himself at some miles' distance from Ox-
bridge, or rather was found by some acquaintance, leaving
that city.

As Pen went up a hill, a drizzling January rain beating
in his face, and his ragged gown flying behind him — for he
had not divested himself of his academical garments since
the morning — a postchaise came rattling up the road, on
the box of which a servant was seated, whilst within, or
rather half out of the carriage window, sate a young gen-
tleman smoking a cigar, and loudly encouraging the post-
boy. It was our young acquaintance of Baymouth, Mr.
Spavin, who had got his degree, and was driving home-
wards in triumph in his yellow postchaise. He caught a
sight of the figure, madly gesticulating as he worked up the
hill, and of poor Pen's pale and ghastly face as the chaise
whirled by him.

" Wo ! " roared Mr. Spavin to the postboy, and the
horses stopped in their mad career, and the carriage pulled
up some fifty yards before Pen. He presently heard his
own name shouted, and beheld the upper half of the body

246 PENDEKNia

of Mr. Spavin thrust out of the side-window of the vehicle,
and beckoning Pen vehemently towards it.

Pen stopped, hesitated — nodded his head fiercely, and
pointed onwards, as if desirons that the postilion should
proceed. He did not speak: but his countenance must
have looked very desperate, for young Spavin, having
stared at him with an expression of blank alarm, jumped
out of the carriage presently, ran towards Pen holding out
his hand, and grasping Pen's said, "I say — hullo, old boy,
where are you going, and what's the row now?"

"I'm going where I deserve to go," said Pen, with an
imprecation.

"This ain't the way," said Mr. Spavin, smiling. "This
is the Fenbury road. I say, Pen, don't take on because
you are plucked. It's nothing when you are used to it.
I've been plucked three times, old boy — and after the first
time I didn't care. Glad it's over, though. You'll have
better luck next time."

Pen looked at his early acquaintance, — who had been
plucked, who had been rusticated, who had only, after re-
peated failures, learned to read and write correctly, and
who, in spite of all these drawbacks, had attained the hon-
our of a degree. "This man has passed," he thought,
" and I have failed ! " It was almost too much for him to
bear.

"Good-bye, Spavin," said he; "I'm very glad you are
through. Don't let me keep you; I'm in a hurry — I'm
going to town to-night."

"Gammon," said Mr. Spavin. "This ain't the way to
town; this is the Fenbury road, I tell you."

" I was just going to turn back," Pen said.

"All the coaches are full with the men going down,"
Spavin said. Pen winced. "You'd not get a place for a
ten-pound note. Get into my yellow; I'll drop you at
Mudf ord, where you have a chance of the Fenbury mail
I'll lend you a hat and coat; I've got lots. Come along;
jump in, old boy — go it, Leathers! " — and in this way Pen
found himself in Mr. Spavin's postchaise, and rode with

PENDENNIS. 247

that gentleman as far as the Earn Inn at Mudford, fifteen
miles from Oxbridge; where the Fenbury mail changed
horses, and where Pen got a place on to London.

The next day there was an immense excitement in Boni-
face College, Oxbridge, where, for some time, a rumour
prevailed, to the terror of Pen's tutor and tradesmen, that
Pendennis, maddened at losing his degree, had made away
with himself — a battered cap, in which his name was al-
most discernible, together with a seal bearing his crest of
an eagle looking at a now extinct sun, had been found
three miles on the Fenbury road, near a mill stream ; and
for four-and-twenty hours, it was supposed that poor Pen
had flung himself into the stream, until letters arrived from
him, bearing the London post-mark.

The mail reached London at the dreary hour of five;
and he hastened to the inn at Covent Garden, at which he
was accustomed to put up, where the ever-wakeful porter
admitted him, and showed him to a bed. Pen looked hard
at the man, and wondered whether Boots knew he was
plucked? When in bed he could not sleep there. He
tossed about until the appearance of the dismal London
daylight, when he sprang up desperately, and walked off
to his uncle's lodgings in Bury Street; where the maid,
who was scouring the steps, looked up suspiciously at him,
as he came with an unshaven face, and yesterday's linen.
He thought she knew of his mishap, too.

"Good evens! Mr. Harthur, what as appened, sir?"
Mr. Morgan, the valet, asked, who had just arranged the
well-brushed clothes and shiny boots at the door of his
master's bed-room, and was carrying in his wig to the Major.

" I want to see my uncle," he cried, in a ghastly voice,
and flung himself down on a chair.

Morgan backed before the pale and desperate-looking
young man, with terrified and wondering glances, and dis-
appeared into his master's apartment.

The Major put his head out of the bed-room door, as
Soon as he had his wig on.

"What? examination over? Senior Wrangler, double

248 PENDENNIS.

First Class, hay? " said the old gentleman — " I'll come di-
rectly ; " and the head disappeared.

"They don't know what has happened," groaned Pen;
"what will they say when they know all? "

Pen had been standing with his back to the window, and
to such a dubious light as Bury Street enjoys of a foggy
January morning, so that his uncle could not see the ex-
pression of the young man's countenance, or the looks of
gloom and despair which even Mr. Morgan had remarked.

But when the Major came out of his dressing-room neat
and radiant, and preceded by faint odours from Delcroix's
shop, from which emporium Major Pendennis's wig and
his pocket-handkerchief got their perfume, he held out one
of his hands to Pen, and was about addressing him in his
cheery high-toned voice, when he caught sight of the boy's
face at length, and dropping his hand, said, "Good God!
Pen, what's the matter?"

" You'll see it in the papers at breakfast, sir," Pen said.

"See what!"

"My name isn't there, sir."

"Hang it, why should it be?" asked the Major, more
perplexed.

"I have lost everything, sir," Pen groaned out; "my
honour's gone; I'm ruined irretrievably; I can't go back
to Oxbridge."

" Lost your honour? " screamed out the Major. " Heaven
alive ! you don't mean to say you have shown the white
feather? "

Pen laughed bitterly at the word feather, and repeated
it. "No, it isn't that, sir. I'm not afraid of being shot;
I wish to God anybody would shoot me. I have not got
my degree. I — I'm plucked, sir."

The Major had heard of plucking, but in a very vague
and cursory way, and concluded that it was some ceremony
performed corporally upon rebellious university youth.
" I wonder you can look me in the face after such a dis-
grace, sir," he said; "I wonder you submitted to it as a
gentleman."

PENDENNIS. 249

"I couldn't help it, sir. I did my classical papers well
enough : it was those infernal mathematics, which I have
always neglected."

" Was it — was it done in public, sir? " the Major said.

" What? "

" The — the plucking? " asked the guardian, looking
Pen anxiously in the face.

Pen perceived the error under which his guardian was
labouring, and in the midst of his misery the blunder
caused the poor wretch a faint smile, and served to bring
down the conversation from the tragedy-key, in which Pen
had been disposed to carry it on. He explained to his uncle
that he had gone in to pass his examination, and failed.
On which the Major said, that though he had expected far
better things of his nephew, there was no great misfortune
in this, and no dishonour as far as he saw, and that Pen
must try again.

" Me again at Oxbridge," Pen thought, "after such a
humiliation as that ! " He felt that, except he went down
to burn the place, he could not enter it.

But it was when he came to tell his uncle of his debts
that the other felt surprise and anger most keenly, and
broke out into speeches most severe upon Pen, which the
lad bore, as best he might, without flinching. He had de-
termined to make a clean breast, and had formed a full,
true and complete list of all his bills and liabilities at the
university, and in London. They consisted of various
items, such as

London Tailor. Oxbridge do.

Oxbridge do. Bill for horses.

Haberdasher, for shirts Printseller.

and gloves. Books.

Jeweller. Binding.

College Cook. Hairdresser and Perfumery.

Crump, for desserts. Hotel Bill in London.

Bootmaker. Sundries.
Wine Merchant in London.

250 PENDENNIS.

All which items the reader may fill in at his pleasure —
such accounts have been inspected by the parents of many
university youth, — and it appeared that Mr. Pen's bills in
all amounted to about seven hundred pounds ; and, further-
more, it was calculated that he had had more than twice
that sum of ready money during his stay at Oxbridge. This
sum he had spent, and for it had to show — what?

" You need not press a man who is down, sir, " Pen said
to his uncle, gloomily. " I know very well, how wicked
and idle I have been. My mother won't like to see me dis-
honoured, sir," he continued, with his voice failing; "and
I know she will pay these accounts. But I shall ask her
for no more money."

"As you like, sir," the Major said. "You are of age,
and my hands are washed of your affairs. But you can't
live without money, and have no means of making it that
I see, though you have fine talent in spending it, and it is
my belief that you will proceed as you have begun, and
ruin your mother before you are five years older. — Good
morning ; it is time for me to go to breakfast. My engage-
ments won't permit me to see you much during the time
that you stay in London. I presume that you will acquaint
your mother with the news which you have just conveyed
to me."

And pulling on his hat, and trembling in his limbs some-
what, Major Pendennis walked out of his lodgings before
his nephew, and went ruefully off to take his accustomed
corner at the Club. He saw the Oxbridge examination-lists
in the morning papers, and read over the names, not un-
derstanding the business, with mournful accuracy. He
consulted various old fogies of his acquaintance, in the
course of the day, at his Clubs ; Wenham, a Dean, various
Civilians; and, as it is called, "took their opinion," show-
ing to some of them the amount of his nephew's debts,
which he had dotted down on the back of a card, and ask-
ing what was to be done, and whether such debts were not
monstrous, preposterous? What was to be done? — There
was nothing for it but to pay. Wenham and the others

PENDENNIS. 251

told the Major of young men who owed twice as much — five
times as much — as Arthur, and with no means at all to
pay. The consultations, and calculations, and opinions,
comforted the Major somewhat. After all, he was not to

Pay-
But he thought bitterly of the many plans he had formed

to make a man of his nephew, of the sacrifices which he had
made, and of the manner in which he was disappointed.
And he wrote off a letter to Doctor Portman, informing him
of the direful events which had taken place, and begging
the Doctor to break them to Helen. For the orthodox old
gentleman preserved the regular routine in all things, and
was of opinion that it was more correct to " break " a piece
of bad news to a person by means of a (possibly 'maladroit
and unfeeling) messenger, than to convey it simply to its
destination by a note. So the Major wrote to Doctor Port-
man, and then went out to dinner, one of the saddest men
in any London dining-room that day.

Pen, too, wrote his letter, and skulked about London
streets for the rest of the day, fancying that everybody
was looking at him and whispering to his neighbour,
" That is Pendennis of Boniface, who was plucked yester-
day. " His letter to his mother was full of tenderness and
remorse : he wept the bitterest tears over it — and the re-
pentance and passion soothed him to some degree.

He saw a party of roaring young blades from Oxbridge
in the coffee-room of his hotel, and slunk away from them,
and paced the streets. He remembers, he says, the prints
which he saw hanging up at Ackermann's window in the
rain, and a book which he read at a stall near the Temple:
at night he went to the pit of the play, and saw Miss
Fotheringay, but he doesn't in the least recollect in what
piece.

On the second day there came a kind letter from his
tutor, containing many grave and appropriate remarks
upon the event which had befallen him, but strongly urg-
ing Pen not to take his name off the university books, and
to retrieve a disaster which, everybody knew, was owing to

252 PENDENNIS.

his own carelessness alone, and which he might repair by
a month's application. He said he had ordered Pen's skip
to pack up some trunks of the young gentleman's ward-
robe, which duly arrived with fresh copies of all Pen's bills
laid on the top.

On the third day there arrived a letter from Home!
which Pen read in his bedroom, and the result of which
was that he fell down on his knees, with his head in the
bed-clothes, and there prayed out his heart, and humbled
himself : and having gone downstairs and eaten an immense
breakfast, he saMied forth and took his place at the Bull
and Mouth, Piccadilly, by the Chatteris coach for that
evening.

PENDENNIS. 253

CHAPTER XXL

PRODIGAL'S RETURN.

SUCH a letter as the Major wrote, of course sent Doctor
Portman to Fairoaks, and he went off with that alacrity
which a good man shows when he has disagreeable news
to communicate. He wishes the deed were done, and done
quickly. He is sorry, but que voulez-voiis ? the tooth must
be taken out, and he has you into the chair, and it is sur-
prising with what courage and vigour of wrist he applies
the forceps. Perhaps he would not be quite so active or
eager if it were his tooth ; but, in fine, it is your duty to
have it out. So the Doctor, having read the epistle out to
Mira and Mrs. Portman, with many damnatory comments
upon the young scapegrace who was going deeper and
deeper into perdition, left those ladies to spread the news
through the Clavering society, which they did with their
accustomed accuracy and despatch, and strode over to Fair-
oaks to break the intelligence to the widow.

She had the news already. She had read Pen's letter,
and it had relieved her somehow. A gloomy presentiment
of evil had been hanging over her for many, many months
past. She knew the worst now, and her darling boy was
come back to her repentant and tender-hearted. Did she
want more? All that the Hector could say (and his re-
marks were both dictated by common sense, and made re-
spectable by antiquity) could not bring Helen to feel any
indignation or particular unhappiness, except that the boy
should be unhappy. What was this degree that they made
such an outcry about, and what good would it do Pen?
Why did Doctor Portman and his uncle insist upon send-
ing the boy to a place where there was so much temptation
to be risked, and so little good to be won? Why didn't
they leave him at home with his mother? As for his debts,

254 PENDENNIS.

of course they must be paid; — his debts! — wasn't his fa-
ther's money all his, and hadn't he a right to spend it?
In this way the widow met the virtuous Doctor, and all
the arrows of his indignation somehow took no effect, upon
her gentle bosom.

For some time past, an agreeable practice, known since
times ever so ancient, by which brothers and sisters are
wont to exhibit their affection towards one another, and in
which Pen and his little sister Laura had been accustomed
to indulge pretty frequently in their childish days, had
been given up by the mutual consent of those two individ-
uals. Coming back from college after an absence from
home of some months, in place of the simple girl whom he
had left behind him, Mr. Arthur found a tall, slim, hand-
some young lady, to whom he could not somehow proffer
the kiss which he had been in the habit of administering
previously, and who received him with a gracious curtsey
and a proffered hand, and with a great blush which rose up
to the cheek, just upon the very spot which young Pen had
been used to salute.

I am not good at descriptions of female beauty ; and, in-
deed, do not care for it in the least (thinking that good-
ness and virtue are, of course, far more advantageous to a
young lady than any mere fleeting charms of person and
face), and so shall not attempt any particular delineation
of Miss Laura Bell at the age of sixteen years. At that
age she had attained her present altitude of five feet four
inches, so that she was called tall and gawky by some, and
a Maypole by others, of her own sex, who prefer littler
women. But if she was a Maypole, she had beautiful roses
about her head, and it is a fact that many swains were dis-
posed to dance round her. She was ordinarily pale, with
a faint rose tinge in her cheeks ; but they flushed up in a
minute when occasion called, and continued so blushing
ever so long, the roses remaining after the emotion had
passed away which had summoned those pretty flowers into
existence. Her eyes have been described as very large
from her earliest childhood, and retained that characteristic

PENDENNIS. 255

in later life. Good-natured critics (always females) said
that she was in the habit of making play with those eyes,
and ogling the gentlemen and ladies in her company ; but
the fact is, that Nature had made them so to shine and to
look, and they could no more help so looking and shining
than one star can help being brighter than another. It was
doubtless to mitigate their brightness that Miss Laura's
eyes were provided with two pairs of veils in the shape of
the longest and finest black eyelashes, so that, when she
closed her eyes, the same people who found fault with those
orbs, said that she wanted to show her eyelashes off ; and,
indeed, I dare say that to see her asleep would have been
a pretty sight.

As for her complexion, that was nearly as brilliant as
Lady Mantrap's, and without the powder which her lady-
ship uses. Her nose must be left to the reader's imagina-
tion : if her mouth was rather large (as Miss Piminy avers,
who, but for her known appetite, one would think could not
swallow anything larger than a button) everybody allowed
that her smile was charming, and showed off a set of pearly
teeth, whilst her voice was so low and sweet, that to hear
it was like listening to sweet music. Because she is in the
habit of wearing very long dresses, people of course say
that her feet are not small : but it may be, that they are of
the size becoming her figure, and it does not follow, be-
cause Mrs. Pincher is always putting her foot out, that all
other ladies should be perpetually bringing theirs on the
tapis. In fine, Miss Laura Bell, at the age of sixteen, was
a sweet young lady. Many thousands of such are to be
found, let us hope, in this country, where there is no lack
of goodness, and modesty, and purity, and beauty.

Now, Miss Laura, since she had learned to think for
herself (and in the past two years her mind and her person
had both developed themselves considerably), had only
been half pleased with Pen's general conduct and bearing.
His letters to his mother at home had become of late very
rare and short. It was in vain that the fond widow urged
how constant Arthur's occupations and studies were, and

256 PENDENNIS.

how many his engagements. " It is better that he should
lose a prize," Laura said, "than forget his mother: and
indeed, mamina, I don't see that he gets many prizes.
Why doesn't he come home and stay with you, instead of
passing his vacations at his great friends' fine houses?
There is nobody there will love him half as much as — as
you do." "As I do only, Laura," sighed out Mrs. Pen-
dennis. Laura declared stoutly that she did not love Pen
a bit, when he did not do his duty to his mother: nor
would she be convinced by any of Helen's fond arguments,
that the boy must make his way in the world ; that his
uncle was most desirous that Pen should cultivate the ac-
quaintance of persons who were likely to befriend him in
life ; that men had a thousand ties and calls which women
could not understand, and so forth. Perhaps Helen no
more believed in these excuses than her adopted daughter
did ; but she tried to believe that she believed them, and
comforted herself with the maternal infatuation. And
that is a point whereon I suppose many a gentleman has re-
flected, that, do what we will, we are pretty sure of the
woman's love that once has been ours; and that that un-
tiring tenderness and forgiveness never fail us.

Also, there had been that freedom, not to say audacity,
in Arthur's latter talk and ways, which had shocked and
displeased Laura. Not that he ever offended her by rude-
ness, or addressed to her a word which she ought not to
hear, for Mr. Pen was a gentleman, and by nature and
education polite to every woman high and low; but he
spoke lightly and laxly of women in general; was less
courteous in his actions than in his words — neglectful in
sundry ways, and in many of the little offices of life. It
offended Miss Laura that he should smoke his horrid pipes
in the house ; that he should refuse to go to church with
his mother, or on walks or visits with her, and be found
yawning over his novel in his dressing-gown, when the
gentle widow returned from those duties. The hero of
Laura's early infancy, about whom she had passed so
many, many nights talking with Helen (who recited end-

PENDENNIS. 257

less stories of the boy's virtues, and love, and bravery,
when he was away at school), was a very different person
from the young man whom now she knew ; bold and bril-
liant, sarcastic and defiant, seeming to scorn the simple oc-
cupations or pleasures, or even devotions, of the women
with whom he lived, and whom he quitted on such light
pretexts.

The Fotheringay affair, too, when Laura came to hear of
it (which she did first by some sarcastic allusions of Major
Pendennis, when on a visit to Fairoaks, and then from
their neighbours at Clavering, who had plenty of informa-
tion to give her on this head), vastly shocked and outraged
Miss Laura. A Pendennis fling himself away on such a
woman as that! Helen's boy galloping away from home
day after day, to fall on his knees to an actress, and drink
with her horrid father ! A good son want to bring such a
man and such a woman into his house, and set her over his
mother ! " I would have run away, mamma ; I would, if I
had had to walk barefoot through the snow," Laura said.

" And you would have left me too, then? " Helen an-
swered ; on which, of course, Laura withdrew her previous
observation, and the two women rushed into each other's
embraces with that warmth which belonged to both their
natures, and which characterises not a few of their sex.
Whence comes all this indignation of Miss Laura about
Arthur's passion? Perhaps she did not know, that, if men
throw themselves away upon women, women throw them-
selves away upon men, too; and that there is no more ac-
counting for love, than for any other physical liking or
antipathy : perhaps she had been misinformed by the Clav-
ering people and old Mrs. Portman, who was vastly bitter
against Pen, especially since his impertinent behaviour to
the Doctor, and since the wretch had smoked cigars hi
church-time : perhaps, finally, she was jealous ; but this is
a vice in which it is said the ladies very seldom indulge.

Albeit she was angry with Pen, against his mother she had
no such feeling ; but devoted herself to Helen with the ut-
most force of her girlish affection — such affection as women,

258 PENDENNIS.

whose hearts are disengaged, are apt to bestow upon a near
female friend. It was devotion — it was passion — it was
all sorts of fondness and folly; it was a profusion of
caresses, tender epithets and endearments, such as it does
not become sober historians with beards to narrate. Do
not let us men despise these instincts because we cannot
feel them. These women were made for our comfort and
delectation, gentlemen, — with all the rest of the minor
animals.

But as soon as Miss Laura heard that Pen was unfortu-
nate and unhappy, all her wrath against him straightway
vanished, and gave place to the most tender and unreason-
able compassion. He was the Pen of old days(once more
restored to her, the frank and affectionate, the generous
and tender-hearted. She at once took side with Helen
against Doctor Portman, when he outcried at the enormity
of Pen's transgressions. Debts? what were his debts? they
were a trifle ; he had been thrown into expensive society
by his uncle's order, and of course was obliged to live in
the same manner as the young gentlemen whose company
he frequented. Disgraced by not getting his degree? the
poor boy was ill when he went in for the examinations : he
couldn't think of his mathematics and stuff on account of
those very debts which oppressed him ; very likely some of
the odious tutors and masters were jealous of him, and had
favourites of their own whom they wanted to put over his
head. Other people disliked him and were cruel to him,
and were unfair to him, she was very sure. And so, with
flushing cheeks and eyes bright with anger, this young
creature reasoned; and she went up and seized Helen's
hand, and kissed her in the Doctor's presence, and her
looks braved the Doctor, and seemed to ask how he dared
to say a word against her darling mother's Pen?

When that divine took his leave, not a little discomfited
and amazed at the pertinacious obstinacy of the women,
Laura repeated her embraces and arguments with tenfold
fervour to Helen, who felt that there was a great deal of
cogency in most of the latter. There must be some jeal-

PENDENNIS. 259

ousy against Pen. She felt quite sure that he had offended
some of the examiners, who had taken a mean revenge of
him — nothing more likely. Altogether, the announcement
of the misfortune vexed these two ladies very little indeed.
Pen, who was plunged in his shame and grief in London,
and torn with great remorse for thinking of his mother's
sorrow, would have wondered had he seen how easily she
bore the calamity. Indeed, calamity is welcome to women
if they think it will bring truant affection home again : and
if you have reduced your mistress to a crust, depend upon
it that she won't repine, and only take a very little bit of
it for herself, provided you will eat the remainder in her
company.

And directly the Doctor was gone, Laura ordered fires to
be lighted in Mr. Arthur's rooms, and his bedding to be
aired ; and had these preparations completed by the time
Helen had finished a most tender and affectionate letter to
Pen: when the girl, smiling fondly, took her mamma by
the hand, and led her into those apartments where the fires
were blazing so cheerfully, and there the two kind creatures
sate down on the bed, and talked about Pen ever so long.
Laura added a postscript to Helen's letter, in which she
called him her dearest Pen, and bade him come home in-
stantly, with two of the handsomest dashes under the word,
and be happy with his mother and his affectionate sister
Laura.

In the middle of the night — as these two ladies, after
reading their bibles a great deal during the evening, and
after taking just a look into Pen's room as they passed to
their own — in the middle of the night, I say, Laura, whose
head not unfrequently chose to occupy that pillow which
the nightcap of the late Pendennis had been accustomed to
press, cried out suddenly, " Mamma, are you awake? "

Helen stirred and said, "Yes, I'm awake." The truth
is, though she had been lying quite still and silent, she
had not been asleep one instant, but had been looking at
the night-lamp in the chimney, and had been thinking of

Pen for hours and hours.

12 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

260 PENDENNIS.

Then Miss Laura, (who had been acting with similar
hypocrisy, and lying, occupied with her own thoughts, as
motionless as Helen's brooch, with Pen's and Laura's hair
in it, on the frilled white pincushion on the dressing-table)
began to tell Mrs. Pendennis of a notable plan which she
had been forming in her busy little brains ; and by which
all Pen's embarrassments would be made to vanish in a
moment, and without the least trouble to anybody.

"You know, mamma," this young lady said, "that I
have been living with you for ten years, during which time
you have never taken any of my money, and have been
treating me just as if I was a charity girl. Now, this
obligation has offended me very much, because I am proud
and do not like to be beholden to people. And as, if I had
gone to school — only I wouldn't — it must have cost me at
least fifty pounds a year, it is clear that I owe you fifty
times ten pounds, which I know you have put into the
bank at Chatteris for me, and which doesn't belong to me
a bit. Now, to-morrow we will go to Chatteris, and see
that nice old Mr. Eowdy, with the bald head, and ask him
for it, — not for his head, but for the five hundred pounds :
and I dare say he will lend you two more, which we will
save and pay back ; and we will send the money to Pen,
who can pay all his debts without hurting anybody, and
then we will live happy ever after."

What Helen replied to this speech need not be repeated,
as the widow's answer was made up of a great number
of incoherent ejaculations, embraces, and other irrelative
matter. But the two women slept well after that talk ;
and when the night-lamp went out with a splutter, and the
sun rose gloriously over the purple hills, and the birds be-
gan to sing and pipe cheerfully amid the leafless trees and
glistening evergreens on Fairoaks lawn, Helen woke too,
and as she looked at the sweet face of the girl sleeping be-
side her, her lips parted with a smile, blushes on her
cheeks, her spotless bosom heaving and falling with gentle
undulations, as if happy dreams were sweeping over it —
Pen's mother felt happy and grateful beyond all power of

PENDENNIS. 261

words, save such as pious women offer up to the Beneficent
Dispenser of love and mercy — in Whose honour a chorus of
such praises is constantly rising up all round the world.

Although it was January and rather cold weather, so
sincere was Mr. Pen's remorse, and so determined his plans
of economy, that he would not take an inside place in the
coach, but sate up behind with his friend the guard, who re-
membered his former liberality, and lent him plenty of great-
coats. Perhaps it was the cold that made his knees trem-
ble as he got down at the lodge gate, or it may be that he
was agitated at the notion of seeing the kind creature for
whose love he had made so selfish a return. Old John was
in waiting to receive his master's baggage, but he appeared
in a fustian jacket, and no longer wore his livery of drab
and blue. "I'se garner and stable man, and lives in the
ladge now," this worthy man remarked, with a grin of wel-
come to Pen, and something of a blush ; but instantly as
Pen turned the corner of the shrubbery and was out of eye-
shot of the coach, Helen made her appearance, her face
beaming with love and forgiveness — for forgiving is what
some women love best of all.

We may be sure that the widow, having a certain other
object in view, had lost no time in writing off to Pen an
account of the noble, the magnanimous, the magnificent
offer of Laura, filling up her letter with a profusion of
benedictions upon both her children. It was probably the
knowledge of this money-obligation which caused Pen to
blush very much when he saw Laura, who was in waiting
in the hall, and who this time, and for this time only,
broke through the little arrangement of which we have
spoken, as having subsisted between her and Arthur for the
last few years ; but the truth is, there has been a great
deal too much said about kissing in the present chapter.

So the Prodigal came home, and the fatted calf was
killed for him, and he was made as happy as two simple
women could make him. No allusions were made to the
Oxbridge mishap, or questions asked as to his further pro-

262 PENDENNIS.

ceedings, for some time. But Pen debated these anxiously
in his own mind, and up in his own room, where he passed
much time in cogitation.

A few days after he came home, he rode to Chatteris on
his horse, and came back on the top of the coach. He
then informed his mother that he had left the horse to be
sold ; and when that operation was effected, he handed her
over the cheque, which she, and possibly Pen himself,
thought was an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial,
but which Laura pronounced to be only strict justice.

He rarely mentioned the loan which she had made, and
which, indeed, had been accepted by the widow with cer-
tain modifications ; but once or twice, and with great hesi-
tation and stammering, he alluded to it, and thanked her.
It e vidently pained his vanity to be beholden to the orphan
for succour. He was wild to find some means of repay-
ing her.

He left off drinking wine, and betook himself, but with
great moderation, to the refreshment of whisky-aud-water.
He gave up cigar smoking ; but it must be confessed that
of late years he had liked pipes and tobacco as well or even
better, so that this sacrifice was not a very severe one.

He fell asleep a great deal after dinner when he joined
the ladies in the drawing-room, and was certainly very
moody and melancholy. He watched the coaches with
great interest, walked in to read the papers at Clavering
assiduously, dined with anybody who would ask him (and
the widow was glad that he should have any entertainment
in their solitary place), and played a good deal at cribbage
with Captain Glanders.

He avoided Doctor Portman, who, in his turn, whenever
Pen passed, gave him very severe looks from under his
shovel-hat. He went to church with his mother, however,
very regularly, and read prayers for her at home to the
little household. Always humble, it was greatly dimin-
ished now ; a couple of maids did the work of the house of
Fairoaks : the silver dish-covers never saw the light at all.
John put on his livery to go to church, and assert his dig-

PENBENNIS. 263

nity on Sundays, but it was only for form's sake. He was
gardener and out-door man, vice Upton, resigned. There
was but little fire in Fairoaks kitchen, and John and the
maids drank their evening beer there by the light of a
single candle. All this was Mr. Pen's doing, and the
state of things did not increase his cheerfulness.

For some time Pen said no power on earth could induce
him to go back to Oxbridge again, after his failure there ;
but one day Laura said to him, with many blushes, that
she thought, as some sort of reparation, of punishment on
himself for his — for his idleness, he ought to go back and
get his degree, if he could fetch it by doing so ; and so
back Mr. Pen went.

A plucked man is a dismal being in a university ; be-
longing to no set of men there, and owned by no one. Pen
felt himself plucked indeed of all the fine feathers which
he .had won during his brilliant years, and rarely appeared
out of his college ; regularly going to morning chapel, and
shutting himself up in his rooms of nights, away from the
noise and suppers of the undergraduates. There were no
duns about his door, they were all paid — scarcely any cards
were left there. The men of his year had taken their de-
grees, and were gone. He went into a second examination,
and passed with perfect ease. He was somewhat more
easy in his mind when he appeared in his bachelor's gown.

On his way back from Oxbridge he paid a visit to his
uncle in London ; but the old gentleman received him with
very cold looks, and would scarcely give him his forefinger
to shake. He called a second time, but Morgan, the valet,
said his master was from home.

Pen came back to Fairoaks, and to his books and to his
idleness, and loneliness and despair. He commenced sev-
eral tragedies, and wrote many copies of verses of a gloomy
cast. He formed plans of reading and broke them. He
thought about enlisting — about the Spanish legion — about
a profession. He chafed against his captivity, and cursed
the idleness which had caused it. Helen said he was
breaking his heart, and was sad to see his prostration. As

264 PENDENNIS.

soon as they could afford it, he should go abroad — he
should go to London — he should be freed from the dull
society of two poor women. It was dull — very, certainly.
The tender widow's habitual melancholy seemed to deepen
into a sadder gloom ; and Laura saw with alarm that the
dear friend became every year more languid and weary,
and that her pale cheek grew more wan.

PENDENNIS. 265

CHAPTER XXII.

NEW FACES.

THE inmates of Fairoaks were drowsily pursuing this
humdrum existence, while the great house upon the hill, on
the other side of the River Brawl, was shaking off the
slumber in which it had lain during the lives of two gener-
ations of masters, and giving extraordinary signs of re-
newed liveliness.

Just about the time of Pen's little mishap, and when he
was so absorbed in the grief occasioned by that calamity as
to take no notice of events which befell persons less interest-
ing to himself than Arthur Pendennis, an announcement
appeared in the provincial journals which caused no small
sensation in the county at least, and in all the towns, vil-
lages, halls and mansions, and parsonages for many miles
round Clavering Park. At Clavering Market ; at Cackleby
Fair ; at Chatteris Sessions ; on Gooseberry Green, as the
squire's carriage met the vicar's one-horse contrivance, and
the inmates of both vehicles stopped on the road to talk ;
at Tinkleton Church gate, as the bell was tolling in the
sunshine, and the white smocks and scarlet cloaks came
trooping over the green common, to Sunday worship ; in a
hundred societies round about — the word was, that Claver-
ing Park was to be inhabited again.

Some five years before, the county papers had advertised
the marriage at Florence, at the British Legation, of Fran-
cis Clavering, Esq., only son of Sir Francis Clavering, Bart.,
of Clavering Park, with Jemima Augusta, daughter of
Samuel Snell, of Calcutta, Esq., and widow of the late J.
Amory, Esq. At that time the legend in the county was
that Clavering, who had been ruined for many a year, had
married a widow from India with some money. Some of
the county folks caught a sight of the newly-married pair.

266 PENDENNIS

The Kickleburys, travelling in Italy, had seen them.
Clavering occupied the Poggi Palace at Florence, gave
parties, and lived comfortably — but could never come to
England. Another year — young Peregrine, of Cackleby,
making a Long Vacation tour, had fallen in with the Clav-
erings occupying Schloss Schinkenstein, on the Mummel
See. At Rome, at Lucca, at Nice, at the baths and gam-
bling places of the Rhine and Belgium, this worthy couple
might occasionally be heard of by the curious, and rumours
of them came, as it were by gusts, to Clavering' s ancestral
place.

Their last place of abode was Paris, where they appear
to have lived in great fashion and splendour after the news
of the death of Samuel Snell, Esq., of Calcutta, reached
his orphan daughter in Europe.

Of Sir Francis Clavering' s antecedents little can be said
that would be advantageous to that respected baronet.
The son of an outlaw, living in a dismal old chateau near
Bruges, this gentleman had made a feeble attempt to start
in life with a commission in a dragoon regiment, and had
broken down almost at the outset. Transactions at the
gambling-table had speedily effected his ruin ; after a couple
of years in the army he had been forced to sell out, had
passed some time in Her Majesty's prison of the Fleet, and
had then shipped over to Ostend to join the gouty exile,
his father. And in Belgium, France, and Germany, for
some years, this decayed and abortive prodigal might be
seen lurking about billiard-rooms and watering-places,
punting at gambling-houses, dancing at boarding-house
balls, and riding steeple-chases on other folks' horses.

It was at a boarding-house at Lausanne, that Francis
Clavering made what he called the lucky coup of marrying
the widow Amory, very lately returned from Calcutta.
His father died soon after, by consequence of whose de-
mise his wife became Lady Clavering. The title so de-
lighted Mr. Snell of Calcutta, that he doubled his daugh-
ter's allowance; and, dying himself soon after, left a
fortune to her and her children, the amount of which was,

PENDENNH. 267

if not magnified by rumour, something very splendid in-
deed.

Before this time there had been, not rumours unfavour-
able to Lady Clavering's reputation, but unpleasant im-
pressions regarding her ladyship. The best English people
abroad were shy of making her acquaintance ; her manners
were not the most refined ; her origin was lamentably low
and doubtful. The retired East Indians, who are to be
found in considerable force in most of the continental towns
frequented by English, spoke with much scorn of the dis-
reputable old lawyer and indigo-smuggler her father, and
of Amory, her first husband, who had been mate of the
Indiaman in which Miss Snell came out to join her father
at Calcutta. Neither father nor daughter was in society at
Calcutta, or had ever been heard of at Government House.
Old Sir Jasper Rogers, who had been Chief Justice of Cal-
cutta, had once said to his wife, that he could tell a queer
story about Lady Clavering's first husband; bat, greatly
to Lady Rogers' s disappointment, and that of the young
ladies his daughters, the old Judge could never be got to
reveal that mystery.

They were all, however, glad enough to go to Lady
Clavering's parties, when her ladyship took the Hotel
Bouilli in the Rue Grenelle at Paris, and blazed out in the
polite world there in the winter of 183 — . The Faubourg
St. Germain took her up. Viscount Bagwig, our excellent
ambassador, paid her marked attention. The princes of
the family frequented her salons. The most rigid and
noted of the English ladies resident in the French capital
acknowledged and countenanced her; the virtuous Lady
Elderbury, the severe Lady Rockminster, the venerable
Countess of Southdown — people, in a word, renowned for
austerity, and of quite a dazzling moral purity : — so great
and beneficent an influence had the possession of ten
(some said twenty) thousand a-year exercised upon Lady
Clavering's character and reputation. And her munificence
and good-will were unbounded. Anybody (in society) who
had a scheme of charity was sure to find her purse open.

268 PENDENNIS.

The French ladies of piety got money from her to snpport
their schools and convents ; she subscribed indifferently for
the Armenian patriarch ; for Father Barbarossa, who came
to Europe to collect funds for his monastery on Mount
Athos; for the Baptist Mission to Quashyboo, and the
Orthodox Settlement in Feefawfoo, the largest and most
savage of the Cannibal Islands. And it is on record of
her, that, on the same day on which Madame de Cricri got
five napoleons from her in support of the poor persecuted
Jesuits, who were at that time in very bad odour in France,
Lady Budelight put her down in her subscription-list for
the Kev. J. Eamshorn, who had had a vision which or-
dered him to convert the Pope of Rome. And more than
this, and for the benefit of the worldly, her ladyship gave
the best dinners, and the grandest balls and suppers, which
were known at Paris during that season.

And it was during this time, that the good-natured lady
must have arranged matters with her husband's creditors in
England, for Sir Francis reappeared in his native country,
without fear of arrest ; was announced in the Morning Post
and the county paper, as having taken up his residence at
Mivart's Hotel: and one day the anxious old housekeeper
at Clavering House beheld a carriage and four horses drive
up the long avenue and stop before the moss-grown steps
in front of the vast melancholy portico.

Three gentlemen were in the carriage — an open one. On
the back seat was our old acquaintance, Mr. Tatham of
Chatteris, whilst in the places of honour sat a handsome
and portly gentleman enveloped in mustachios, whiskers,
fur-collars, and braiding, and by him a pale languid man,
who descended feebly from the carriage, when the little
lawyer, and the gentleman in fur, had nimbly jumped out
of it.

They walked up the great moss-grown steps to the hall-
door, and a foreign attendant, with ear-rings and a gold-
laced cap, pulled strenuously at the great bell-handle at
the cracked and sculptured gate. The bell was heard clang-
ing loudly through the vast gloomy mansion. Steps re-

PENDENNIS. 269

sounded presently upon the marble pavement of the hall
within; and the doors opened, and finally, Mrs. Blenkin-
sop, the housekeeper, Polly, her aide-de-camp, and Smart,
the keeper, appeared bowing humbly.

Smart, the keeper, pulled the wisp of hay-coloured hair
which adorned his sunburnt forehead, kicked out his left
heel, as if there were a dog biting at his calves, and
brought down his head to a bow. Old Mrs. Blenkinsop
dropped a curtsey. Little Polly, her aide-de-camp, made
a curtsey, and several rapid bows likewise: and Mrs.
Blenkinsop, with a great deal of emotion, quavered out,
" Welcome to Clavering, Sir Francis. It du my poor eyes
good to see one of the family once more."

The speech and the greetings were all addressed to the
grand gentleman in fur and braiding, who wore his hat so
magnificently on one side, and twirled his mustachios so
royally. But he burst out laughing, and said, " You've
saddled the wrong horse, old lady — I'm not Sir Francis
Clavering what's come to revisit the halls of my ancestors.
Friends and vassals ! behold your rightful lord ! "

And he pointed his hand towards the pale, languid gen-
tleman, who said, "Don't be an ass, Ned."

"Yes, Mrs. Blenkinsop, I'm Sir Francis Clavering; I
recollect you quite well. Forgot me, I suppose? — How
dye do? " and he took the old lady's trembling hand; and
nodded in her astonished face, in a not unkind manner.

Mrs. Blenkinsop declared upon her conscience that she
would have known Sir Francis anywhere ; that he was the
very image of Sir Francis his father, and of Sir John who
had gone before.

"0 yes — thanky — of course — very much obliged — and
that sort of thing," Sir Francis said, looking vacantly
about the hall. " Dismal old place, ain't it, Ned? Never
saw it but once, when my governor quarrelled with my
gwandfather, in the year twenty -thwee."

"Dismal?— beautiful !— the Castle of Otranto !— the Mys-
teries of Udolpho, by Jove ! " said the individual addressed
as Ned. " What a fire-place ! You might roast an elephant

270 PENDENNIS.

in it. Splendid carved gallery! Inigo Jones, by Jove!
I'd lay five to two it's Inigo Jones."

" The upper part by Inigo Jones ; the lower was altered
by the eminent Dutch architect, Vanderputty, in George
the First his time, by Sir Richard, fourth baronet," said
the housekeeper.

"0 indeed," said the Baronet. "'Gad, Ned, you know
everything. "

"I know a few things, Frank," Ned answered. "I
know that's not a Snyders over the mantel-piece — bet you
three to one it's a copy. We'll restore it, my boy. A
lick of varnish and it will come out wonderfully, sir. That
old fellow in the red gown, I suppose, is Sir Eichard? "

" Sheriff of the county, and sate in Parliament in the
reign of Queen Anne," said the housekeeper, wondering at
the stranger's knowledge ; " that on the right is Theodosia,
wife of Harbottle, second baronet, by Lely, represented in
the character of Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, — her son
Gregory, the third baronet, by her side, as Cupid, God of
Love, with a bow and arrows ; that on the next panel is
Sir Rupert, made a knight banneret by Charles the First,
and whose property was confuscated by Oliver Crom-
well."

" Thank you — needn't go on, Mrs. Blenkinsop, " said the
Baronet. "We'll walk about the place ourselves. Frosch,
give me a cigar. Have a cigar, Mr. Tatham? "

Little Mr. Tatham tried a cigar which Sir Francis's
courier handed to him, and over which the lawyer splut-
tered fearfully. "Needn't come with us, Mrs. Blenkinsop.
What's-his-name — you — Smart — feed the horses and wash
their mouths. Sha'n't stay long. Come along, Strong, —
I know the way : I was here in twenty- thwee, at the end of
my gwandfather's time." And Sir Francis and Captain
Strong, for such was the style and title of Sir Francis's
friend, passed out of the hall into the reception-rooms,
leaving the discomfited Mrs. Blenkinsop to disappear by a
side-door which led to her apartments, now the only habit-
able rooms in the long-uninhabited mansion.

PENDENNIS. 271

It was a place so big that no tenant could afford to live
in it ; and Sir Francis and his friend walked through room
after room, admiring their vastness and dreary and deserted
grandeur. On the right of the hall door were the saloons
and drawing-rooms, and on the other side the oak room,
the parlour, the grand dining-room, the library, where Pen
had found books in old days. Bound three sides of the
hall ran a gallery, by which, and corresponding passages,
the chief bed-rooms were approached, and of which many
were of stately proportions and exhibited marks of splen-
dour. On the second story was a labyrinth of little dis-
comf ortable garrets, destined for the attendants of the great
folks who inhabited the mansion in the days when it was
first built : and I do not know any more cheering mark of
the increased philanthropy of our own times, than to con-
trast our domestic architecture with that of our ancestors,
and to see how much better servants and poor are cared for
at present, than in times when my lord and my lady slept
under gold canopies, and their servants lay above them in
quarters not so airy or so clean as stables are now.

Up and down the house the two gentlemen wandered, the
owner of the mansion being very silent and resigned about
the pleasure of possessing it; whereas the Captain, his
friend, examined the premises with so much interest and
eagerness that you would have thought he was the master,
and the other the indifferent spectator of the place. "I
see capabilities in it — capabilities in it, sir," cried the Cap-
tain. " Gad, sir, leave it to me, and I'll make it the pride
of the country, at a small expense. What a theatre we
can have in the library here, the curtains between the col-
umns which divide the room ! What a famous room for a
galop! — it will hold the whole shire. We'll hang the
morning parlour with the tapestry in your second salon in
the Rue de Grenelle, and furnish the oak room with the
Moyen-&ge cabinets and the armour. Armour looks splen-
did against black oak, and there's a Venice glass in the
Quai Voltaire, which will suit that high mantel-piece to an
inch, sir. The long saloon, white and crimson, of course;

272 PENDENNIS.

the drawing-room yellow satin: and the little drawing-
room light blue, with lace over — hey? "

"I recollect my old governor caning me in that little
room," Sir Francis said, sententiously ; "he always hated
me, my old governor."

"Chintz is the dodge, I suppose, for my lady's rooms —
the suite in the landing, to the south, the bed-room, the
sitting-room, and the dressing-room. We'll throw a con-
servatory out, over the balcony. Where will you have your
rooms? "

"Put mine in the north wing," said the Baronet, with a
yawn, "and out of the reach of Miss Ainory's confounded
piano. I can't bear it. She's scweeching from morning
till night."

The Captain burst out laughing. He settled the whole
further arrangements of the house in the course of their
walk through it; and, the promenade ended, they went
into the steward's room, now inhabited by Mrs. Blenkin-
sop, and where Mr. Tatham was sitting poring over the
plan of the estate, and the old housekeeper had prepared a
collation in honour of her lord and master.

Then they inspected the kitchen and stables, about both
of which Sir Francis was rather interested, and Captain
Strong was for examining the gardens; but the Baronet
said, " D — the gardens, and that sort of thing ! " and
finally he drove away from the house as unconcernedly as
he had entered it ; and that night the people of Clavering
learned that Sir Francis Clavering had paid a visit to the
Park, and was coming to live in the county.

When this fact came to be known at Chatteris, all the
folks in the place were set in commotion : High Church
and Low Church, half-pay captains and old maids and
dowagers, sporting squireens of the vicinage, farmers,
tradesmen, and factory people — all the population in and
roundabout the little place. The news was brought to
Fairoaks, and received by the ladies there, and by Mr. Pen,
with some excitement. " Mrs. Pybus says there is a very
pretty girl in the family, Arthur," Laura said, who was as

PENDENNIS. 273

kind and thoughtful upon this point as women generally
are: "a Miss Amory, Lady Clavering' s daughter by her
first marriage. Of course, you will fall in love with her
as soon as she arrives."

Helen cried out, "Don't talk nonsense, Laura." Pen
laughed, and said, "Well, there is the young Sir Francis
for you."

" He is but four years old," Miss Laura replied. " But
I shall console myself with that handsome officer, Sir
Francis's friend. He was at church last Sunday, in the
Clavering pew, and his mustachios were beautiful."

Indeed the number of Sir Francis's family (whereof the
members have all been mentioned in the above paragraphs)
was pretty soon known in the town, and everything else,
as nearly as human industry and ingenuity could calculate,
regarding his household. The park avenue and grounds
were dotted now with town folks of the summer evenings,
who made their way up to the great house, peered about
the premises, and criticised the improvements which were
taking place there. Loads upon loads of furniture arrived
in numberless vans from Chatteris and London ; and nu-
merous as the vans were, there was not one but Captain
Glanders knew what it contained, and escorted the baggage
up to the Park House.

He and Captain Edward Strong had formed an intimate
acquaintance by this time. The younger Captain occupied
those very lodgings at Clavering which the peaceful Smirke
had previously tenanted, and was deep in the good graces
of Madame Fribsby, his landlady ; and of the whole town,
indeed. The Captain was splendid in person and raiment;
fresh-coloured, blue-eyed, black- whiskered, broad-chested,
athletic — a slight tendency to fulness did not take away
from the comeliness of his jolly figure — a braver soldier
never presented a broader chest to the enemy. As he
strode down Clavering High Street, his hat on one side, his
eane clanking on the pavement, or waving round him in the
execution of military cuts and soldatesque manoeuvres — his
jolly laughter ringing through the otherwise silent street

274 PENDENNIS.

— he was as welcome as sunshine to the place, and a coin-
fort to every inhabitant in it.

On the first market-day he knew every pretty girl in the
market: he joked with all the women; had a word with
the farmers about their stock, and dined at the Agricul-
tural Ordinary at the Clavering Arms, where he set them
all dying with laughter by his fun and jokes. "Tu be sure
he be a vine feller, tu be sure that he be," was the uni-
versal opinion of the gentlemen in top-boots. He shook
hands with a score of them, as they rode out of the inn-
yard on their old nags, waving his hat to them splendidly
as he smoked his cigar in the inn-gate. In the course of
the evening he was free of the landlady's bar, knew what
rent the landlord paid, how many acres he farmed, how
much malt he put in his strong beer ; and whether he ever
run in a little brandy unexcised by kings from Baymouth,
or the fishing villages along the coast.

He had tried to live at the great house first ; but it was
so dull he couldn't stand it. " I am a creature born for so-
ciety," he told Captain Glanders. "I'm down here to see
Clavering' s house set in order, for between ourselves, Frank
has no energy, sir, no energy : he' s not the chest for it, sir
(and he threw out his own trunk as he spoke) ; but I must
have social intercourse. Old Mrs. Blenkinsop goes to bed
at seven, and takes Polly with her. There was nobody but
me and the Ghost for the first two nights at the great
house, and I own it, sir, I like company. Most old sol-
diers do."

Glanders asked Strong where he had served? Captain
Strong curled his moustache, and said with a laugh, that
the other might almost ask where he had not served. " I
began, sir, as cadet of Hungarian Uhlans, and when the
war of Greek independence broke out, quitted that service
in consequence of a quarrel with my governor, and was
.one of seven who escaped from Missolonghi, and was blown
up in one of Botzaris's fireships, at the age of seventeen.
I'll show you my Cross of the Redeemer, if you'll come
over to my lodgings and take a glass of grog with me, Cap-

PENDENNIS. 275

tain, this evening. I've a few of those baubles in my desk.
I've the White Eagle of Poland ; Skrzynecki gave it me "
(he pronounced Skrzynecki' s name with wonderful accu-
racy and gusto) "upon the field of Ostrolenka. I was a
lieutenant of the fourth regiment, sir, and we marched
through Diebitsch's lines — bang thro' 'em into Prussia, sir,
without firing a shot. Ah, Captain, that was a misman-
aged business. I received this wound by the side of the
King before Oporto — where he would have pounded the
stock-jobbing Pedroites, had Bourmont followed my ad-
vice ; and I served in Spain with the King's troops, until
the death of my dear friend, Zumalacarreguy, when I saw
the game was over, and hung up my toasting-iron, Captain.
Alava offered me a regiment; but I couldn't — damme I
couldn't — and now, sir, you know Ned Strong — the Cheva-
lier Strong, they call me abroad — as well as he knows him-
self."

In this way almost everybody in Clavering came to know
Ned Strong. He told Madame Fribsby, he told the land-
lord of the George, he told Baker at the reading-rooms, he
told Mrs. Glanders and the young ones, at dinner: and
finally, he told Mr. Arthur Pendennis, who, yawning into
Clavering one day, found the Chevalier Strong in company
with Captain Glanders, and who was delighted with his
new acquaintance.

Before many days were over, Captain Strong was as
much at home in Helen's drawing-room as he was in
Madame Fribsby 's first floor; and made the lonely house
very gay with his good humour and ceaseless flow of talk.
The two women had never before seen such a man. He had
a thousand stories about battles and dangers to interest
them — about Greek captives, Polish beauties, and Spanish
nuns. He could sing scores of songs, in half-a-dozen lan-
guages, and would sit down to the piano and troll them off
in a rich manly voice. Both the ladies pronounced him
to be delightful — and so he was : though, indeed, they had
not had much choice of man's society as yet, having seen
in the course of their lives but few persons, except old

276 PENDENNIS.

Portman and the Major, and Mr. Pen, who was a genius,
to be sure ; but then your geniuses are somewhat flat and
moody at home.

And Captain Strong acquainted his new friends at Fair-
oaks, not only with his own biography, but with the whole
history of the family now coming to Clavering. It was he
who had made the marriage between his friend Frank and
the widow Amory. She wanted rank, and he wanted
money. What match could be more suitable? He organ-
ised it ; he made those two people happy. There was no
particular romantic attachment between them ; the widow
was not of an age or a person for romance, and Sir Francis,
if he had his game at billiards and his dinner, cared for
little besides. But they were as happy as people could be.
Clavering would return to his native place and country, his
wife's fortune would pay his encumbrances off, and his
son and heir would be one of the first men in the county.

"And Miss Amory? " Laura asked. Laura was uncom-
monly curious about Miss Amory.

Strong laughed. "Oh, Miss Amory is a muse — Miss
Amory is a mystery — Miss Amory is a femme incomprise. "
" What is that? " asked simple Mrs. Pendennis — but the
Chevalier gave her no answer ; perhaps could not give her
one. "Miss Amory paints, Miss Amory writes poems,
Miss Amory composes music, Miss Amory rides like Diana
Vernon. Miss Amory is a paragon, in a word."

"I hate clever women," said Pen.

"Thank you," said Laura. For her part she was sure
she should be charmed with Miss Amory, and quite longed
to have such a friend. And with this she looked Pen full
in the face, as if every word the little hypocrite said was
Gospel truth.

Thus an intimacy was arranged and prepared beforehand
between the Fairoaks family and their wealthy neighbours
at the Park ; and Pen and Laura were to the full as eager
for their arrival, as even the most curious of the Clavering
folks. A Londoner, who sees fresh faces and yawns at
them every day, may smile at the eagerness with which

PENDENNIS. 277

country people expect a visitor. A cockney comes amongst
them, and is remembered by his rural entertainers for years
after he has left them, and forgotten them, very likely —
floated far away from them on the vast London sea. But
the islanders remember long after the mariner has sailed
away, and can tell you what he said and what he wore,
and how he looked and how he laughed. In fine, a new
arrival is an event in the country not to be understood by
us, who don't, and had rather not, know who lives next door.

When the painters and upholsterers had done their work
in the house, and so beautified it, under Captain Strong's
superintendence, that he might well be proud of his taste,
that gentleman announced that he should go to London,
-where the whole family had arrived by this time, and
should speedily return to establish them in their renovated
mansion.

Detachments of domestics preceded them. Carriages
came down by sea, and were brought over from Baymouth
by horses which had previously arrived under the care of
grooms and coachmen. One day the "Alacrity" coach
brought down on its roof two large and melancholy men,
who were dropped at the Park lodge with their trunks, and
who were Messieurs Frederic and James, metropolitan foot-
men, who had no objection to the country, and brought
with them state and other suits of the Clavering uniform.

On another day, the mail deposited at the gate a foreign
gentleman, adorned with many ringlets and chains. He
made a great riot at the lodge gate to the keeper's wife
(who, being a West country woman, did not understand
his English or his Gascon French), because there was no
carriage in waiting to drive him to the house, a mile off,
and because he could not walk entire leagues in his fatigued
state and varnished boots. This was Monsieur Alcide
Mirobdlant, formerly Chef of His Highness the Due de
Borodino, of His Eminence Cardinal Beccafico, and at pres-
ent Chef of the bouche of Sir Clavering, Baronet : — Mon-
sieur Mirobolant's library, pictures, and piano, had arrived
previously in charge of the intelligent young Englishman,

278 PENDENNIS.

his aide-de-camp. He was, moreover, aided by a professed
female cook, likewise from London, who had inferior fe-
males under her orders.

He did not dine in the steward's room, but took his
nutriment in solitude in his own apartments, where a fe-
male servant was affected to his private use. It was a
grand sight to behold him in his dressing-gown composing
a 'menu. He always sate down and played the piano for
some time before. If interrupted, he remonstrated pathet-
ically. Eveiy great artist, he said, had need of solitude to
perfectionate his works.

But we are advancing matters in the fulness of our love
and respect for Monsieur Mirobolant, and bringing him
prematurely on the stage.

The Chevalier Strong had a hand in the engagement of
all the London domestics, and, indeed, seemed to be the
master of the house. There were those among them who
said he was the house-steward, only he dined with the
family. Howbeit, he knew how to make himself respected,
and two of by no means the least comfortable rooms of the
house were assigned to his particular use.

He was walking upon the terrace finally upon the
eventful day, when, amidst an immense jangling of bells
from Clavering Church, where the flag was flying, an open
carriage and one of those travelling chariots or family arks,
which only English philo-progenitiveness could invent,
drove rapidly with foaming horses through the Park gates,
and up to the steps of the Hall. The two battans of the
sculptured door flew open. Two superior officers in black,
the large and melancholy gentlemen, now in livery with
their hair in powder, the country menials engaged to aid
them, were in waiting in the hall, and bowed like tall elms
when autumn winds wail in the park. Through this avenue
passed Sir Francis Clavering with a most unmoved face :
Lady Clavering, with a pair of bright black eyes, and a
good-humoured countenance, which waggled and nodded
very graciously : Master Francis Clavering, who was hold-
ing his mamma's skirt (and who stopped the procession to

PENDENNIS. 279

look at the largest footman, whose appearance seemed to
strike the young gentleman), and Miss Blandy, governess
to Master Francis, and Miss Amory, her ladyship's daugh-
ter, giving her arm to Captain Strong. It was summer,
but fires of welcome were crackling in the great hall chim-
ney, and in the rooms which the family were to occupy.

Monsieur Mirobolant had looked at the procession from
one of the lime-trees in the avenue. "Elle est la," he
said, laying his jewelled hand on his richly-embroidered
velvet waistcoat with glass buttons, "Jet'ai vue; je te
benis, 0 ma sylphide, 0 mon ange ! " and he dived into the
thicket, and made his way back to his furnaces and sauce-
pans.

The next Sunday the same party which had just made its
appearance at Clavering Park, came and publicly took pos-
session of the ancient pew in the church, where so many of
the Baronet's ancestors had prayed, and were now kneel-
ing in effigy. There was such a run to see the new folks,
that the Low Church was deserted, to the disgust of its
pastor; and as the state barouche, with the greys and
coachman in silver wig, and solemn footmen, drew up at
the old churchyard gate, there was such a crowd assembled
there as had not been seen for many a long day. Captain
Strong knew everybody, and saluted for all the company.
The country people vowed my lady was not handsome, to
be sure, but pronounced her to be uncommon fine dressed,
as indeed she was — with the finest of shawls, the finest of
pelisses, the brilliantest of bonnets and wreaths, and a
power of rings, cameos, brooches, chains, bangles, and
other nameless gimcracks; and ribbons of every breadth
and colour of the rainbow flaming on her person. Miss
Amory appeared meek in dove-colour, like a vestal virgin
— while Master Francis was in the costume then prevalent
of Rob Roy Macgregor, a celebrated Highland outlaw.
The Baronet was not more animated than ordinarily — there
was a happy vacuity about him which enabled him to face
a dinner, a death, a church, a marriage, with the same in-
different ease.

280 PENDENNIS.

A pew for the Clavering servants was filled by these do-
mestics, and the enraptured congregation saw the gentle-
men from London with " viewer on their heeds," and the
miraculous coachman with his silver wig, take their places
in that pew so soon as his horses were put up at the Claver-
ing Arms.

In the course of the service, Master Francis began to
make such a yelling in the pew, that Frederic, the tallest
of the footmen, was beckoned by his master, and rose and
went and carried out Master Francis, who roared and beat
him on the head, so that the powder flew round about, like
clouds of incense. Nor was he pacified until placed on the
box of the carriage, where he played at horses with John's
whip.

" You see the little beggar's never been to church before,
Miss Bell," the Baronet drawled out to a young lady who
was visiting him ; " no wonder he should make a row : I
don't go in town neither, but I think it's right in the coun-
try to give a good example — and that sort of thing."

Miss Bell laughed and said, "The little boy had not
given a particularly good example."

"Gad, I don't know," said the Baronet. "It ain't so
bad, neither. Whenever he wants a thing, Frank always
ewies, and whenever he cwies he gets it."

Here the child in question began to howl for a dish of
sweetmeats on the luncheon table, and making a lunge
across the table-cloth, upset a glass of wine over the best
waistcoat of one of the guests present, Mr. Arthur Pen-
dennis, who was greatly annoyed at being made to look
foolish, and at having his spotless cambric shirt front
blotched with wine.

"We do spoil him so," said Lady Clavering to Mrs. Pen-
dennis fondly gazing at the cherub, whose hands and face
were now frothed over with the species of lather which is
inserted in the confection called meringues a la creme.

"Gad I was quite wight," said the Baronet. "He has
cwied, and he has got it, you see. Go it, Fwank, old
boy."

PENDENNIS. 281

"Sir Francis is a very judicious parent," Miss Amory
whispered. "Don't you think so, Miss Bell? I sha'n't
call you Miss Bell — I shall call you Laura. I admired
you so at church. Your robe was not well made, nor your
bonnet very fresh. But you have such beautiful grey eyes,
and such a lovely tint."

"Thank you," said Miss Bell, laughing.

" Your cousin is handsome, and thinks so. He is uneasy
de sa personne. He has not seen the world yet. Has he
genius? Has he suffered? A lady, a little woman in a
rumpled satin and velvet shoes — a Miss Pybus — came here,
and said he has suffered. I, too, have suffered, — and you,
Laura, has your heart ever been touched? "

Laura said " No ! " but perhaps blushed a little at the
idea or the question, so that the other said, —

"Ah, Laura! I see it all. It is the beau cousin. Tell
me everything. I already love you as a sister."

"You are very kind," said Miss Bell, smiling, "and —
and it must be owned that it is a very sudden attachment."

"All attachments are so. It is electricity — spontaneity.
It is instantaneous. I knew I should love you from the
moment I saw you. Do you not feel it yourself? "
. " Not yet," said Laura ; " but I dare say I shall if I try."

"Call me by my name, then."

"But I don't know it," Laura cried out.

"My name is Blanche — isn't it a pretty name? Call me
by it."

" Blanche — it is very pretty indeed.^'
• " And while mamma talks with that kind-looking lady —
what relation is she to you? She must have been pretty
once, but is rather passee ; she is not well gantee, but she
has a pretty hand — and while mamma talks to her, come
with me to my own room, — my own, own room. It's a
darling room, though that horrid creature, Captain Strong,
did arrange it. Are you eprls of him? He says you are,
but I know better; it is the beau cousin. Yes — il a de
beaiix yeux. Je n'aime pas les blonds, ordinairement. Car
je sui blondet moi—je suis Blanche et blonde," — and she

282 PENDENNIS.

looked at her face and made a moue in the glass; and
never stopped for Laura's answer to the questions which
she had put.

Blanche was fair and like a sylph. She had fair hair
with green reflections in it. But she had dark eyebrows.
She had long black eyelashes, which veiled beautiful brown
eyes. She had such a slim waist, that it was a wonder to
behold; and such slim little feet, that you would have
thought the grass would hardly bend under them. Her
lips were of the colour of faint rosebuds, and her voice
warbled limpidly over a set of the sweetest little pearly
teeth ever seen. She showed them very often, for they were
very pretty. She was always smiling, and a smile not
only showed her teeth wonderfully, but likewise exhib-
ited two lovely little pink dimples, that nestled in either
cheek.

She showed Laura her drawings, which the other thought
charming. She played her some of her waltzes, with a
rapid and brilliant finger, and Laura was still more charmed.
And she then read her some poems, in French and Eng-
lish, likewise of her own composition, and which she kept
locked in her own book — her own dear little book ; it was
bound in blue velvet, with a gilt lock, and on it was printed
in gold the title of "Mes Larmes."

" Mes Larmes ! — isn't it a pretty name? " the young lady
continued, who was pleased with everything that she did,
and did everything very well. Laura owned that it was.
She had never seen anything like it before ; anything so
lovely, so accomplished, so fragile and pretty; warbling
so prettily, and tripping about such a pretty room, with
such a number of pretty books, pictures, flowers, round
about her. The honest and generous country girl forgot
even jealousy in her admiration. "Indeed, Blanche," she
said, " everything in the room is pretty ; and you are the
prettiest of all." The other smiled, looked in the glass,
went up and took both of Laura's hands, and kissed them,
and sat down to the piano, and shook out a little song.

The intimacy between the young ladies sprang up like

PENDENNIS. 283

Jack's Bean-stalk to the skies in a single night. The large
footmen were perpetually walking with little pink notes to
Fairoaks; where there was a pretty housemaid in the
kitchen, who might possibly tempt those gentlemen to so
humble a place. Miss Amory sent music, or Miss Amory
sent a new novel, or a picture from the "Journal des
Modes," to Laura; or my lady's compliments arrived with
flowers and fruit ; or Miss Amory begged and prayed Miss
Bell to come to dinner; and dear Mrs. Pendennis, if she
was strong enough ; and Mr. Arthur, if a humdrum party
were not too stupid for him ; and would send a pony-car-
riage for Mrs. Pendennis ; and would take no denial.

Neither Arthur nor Laura wished to refuse. And Helen,
who was, indeed, somewhat ailing, was glad that the two
should have their pleasure ; and would look at them fondly
as they set forth, and ask in her heart that she might not
be called away until those two beings whom she loved best
in the world should be joined together. As they went out
and crossed over the bridge, she remembered summer even-
ings five-and-twenty years ago, when she, too, had bloomed
in her brief prime of love and happiness. It was all over
now. The moon was looking from the purpling sky, and
the stars glittering there, just as they used in the early
well- remembered evenings. He was lying dead far away,
with the billows rolling between them. Good God! how
well she remembered the last look of his face as they
parted. It looked out at her through the vista of long
years, as sad and as clear as then.

So Mr. Pen and Miss Laura found the society at Clav-
ering Park an uncommonly agreeable resort of summer
evenings. Blanche vowed that she raffoled of Laura; and,
very likely, Mr. Pen was pleased with Blanche. His
spirits came back : he laughed and rattled till Laura won-
dered to hear him. It was not the same Pen, yawning in
a shooting- jacket, in the Fairoaks parlour, who appeared
alert and brisk, and smiling, and well dressed, in Lady
Clavering's drawing-room, Sometimes they had music.

13— Thackeray, Vol. 3

284 PENDENNIS.

Laura had a sweet contralto voice, and sang with Blanche,
who had had the best continental instruction, and was
charmed to be her friend's mistress. Sometimes Mr. Pen
joined in these concerts, or oftener looked sweet upon Miss
Blanche as she sang. Sometimes they had glees, when
Captain Strong's chest was of vast service, and he boomed
out in a prodigious bass, of which he was not a little proud.

" Good fellow, Strong— ain't he, Miss Bell? " Sir Francis
would say to her. " Plays at ecarte with Lady Clavering —
plays anything — pitch and toss, pianoforty, cwibbage if
you like. How long do you think he's been staying with
me? He came for a week with a carpet-bag, and gad, he's
been staying thwee years. Good fellow, ain't he? Don't
know how he gets a shillin', though, by Jove I don't,
Miss Lauwa."

And yet the Chevalier, if he lost his money to Lady
Clavering, always paid it; and if he lived with his friend
for three years, paid for that too — in good humour, in kind-
ness and joviality, in a thousand little services by which
he made himself agreeable. What gentleman could want
a better friend than a man who was always in spirits, never
in the way or out of it, and was ready to execute any com-
mission for his patron, whether it was to sing a song or
meet a lawyer, to fight a duel, or to carve a capon?

Although Laura and Pen commonly went to Clavering
Park together, yet sometimes Mr. Pen took walks there
unattended by her, and about which he did not tell her.
He took to fishing the Brawl, which runs through the Park,
and passes not very far from the garden- wall ; and by the
oddest coincidence, Miss Amory would walk out (having
been to look at her flowers), and would be quite surprised
to see Mr. Pendennis fishing.

I wonder what trout Pen caught while the young lady
was looking on? or whether Miss Blanche was the pretty
little fish which played round his fly, and which Mr. Pen
was endeavouring to hook?

As for Miss Blanche, she had a kind heart ; and having,
as she owned, herself " suffered " a good deal in the course

PENDENNIS. 285

of her brief life and experience — why, she could compas-
sionate other susceptible beings like Pen, who had suffered
too. Her love for Laura and that dear Mrs. Pendennia
redoubled : if they were not at the Pafk, she was not easy
unless she herself was at Fairoaks. She played with
Laura; she read French and German with Laura; and Mr.
Pen read French and German along with them. He turned
sentimental ballads of Schiller and Goethe into English
verse for the ladies, and Blanche unlocked " Mes Larmes "
for him, and imparted to him some of the plaintive out-
pourings of her own tender Muse.

It appeared from these poems that the young creature
had indeed suffered prodigiously. She was familiar with
the idea of suicide. Death she repeatedly longed for. A
faded rose inspired her with such grief that you would
have thought she must die in pain of it. It was a wonder
how a young creature should have suffered so much — should
have found the means of getting at such an ocean of despair
and passion (as a run-away boy who will get to sea), and
having embarked on it, should survive it. What a talent
she must have had for weeping to be able to pour out so
many of " Mes Larmes ! "

They were not particularly briny, Miss Blanche's tears,
that is the truth ; but Pen, who read her verses, thought
them very well for a lady — and wrote some verses him-
self for her. His were very violent and passionate, very
hot, sweet, and strong : and he not only wrote verses ; but
— 0, the villain! 0, the deceiver! he altered and adapted
former poems in his possession, and which had been com-
posed for a certain Miss Emily Fotheringay, for the use
and to the Christian name of Miss Blanche Amory.

286 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A LITTLE INNOCENT.

" EGAD, Strong, " one day the Baronet said, as the pair
were conversing after dinner over the billiard-table, and
that great unbosomer of secrets, a cigar ; " Egad, Strong, I
wish to the doose your wife was dead."

"So do I. That's a cannon, by Jove! But she won't;
she'll live for ever — you see if she don't. Why do you
wish her off the hooks, Frank, my boy? " asked Captain
Strong.

"Because then you might marry Missy. She ain't bad-
looking. She'll have ten thousand, and that's a good bit
of money for such a poor old devil as you," drawled out
the other gentleman. " And egad, Strong, I hate her worse
and worse every day. I can't stand her, Strong; by gad,
I can't."

"I wouldn't take her at twice the figure," Captain
Strong said, laughing. " I never saw such a little devil in
my life."

" I should like to poison her, " said the sententious Baro-
net; "by Jove I should."

" Why, what has she been at now? " asked his friend.

" Nothing particular," answered Sir Francis ; " only her
old tricks. That girl has such a knack of making every-
body miserable that, hang me, it's quite surprising. Last
night she sent the governess crying away from the dinner-
table. Afterwards, as 1 was passing Frank's room I heard
the poor little beggar howling in the dark, and found his
sister had been frightening his soul out of his body, by
telling him stories about the ghost that's in the house. At
lunch she -gave my lady a turn; and though my wife's a
fool, she's a good soul — I'm hanged if she ain't."

" What did Missy do to her? " Strong asked.

PENDENNIS. 287

" Why, hang me, if she didn't begin talking about the
late Amory, my predecessor," the Baronet said, with a
grin. " She got some picture out of 'the Keepsake,' and
said, she was sure it was like her dear father. She wanted
to know where her father's grave was. Hang her father!
Whenever Miss Amory talks about him, Lady Clavering
always bursts out crying: and the little devil will talk
about him in order to spite her mother. To-day when she
began, I got in a confounded rage, said I was her father,
and — and that sort of thing, and then, sir, she took a shy
at me."

" And what did she say about you, Frank? " Mr. Strong,
still laughing, inquired of his friend and patron.

"Gad, she said I wasn't her father; that I wasn't fit to
comprehend her ; that her father must have been a man of
genius, and fine feelings, and that sort of thing ; whereas I
had married her mother for money. "

"Well, didn't you? " asked Strong.

" It don't make it any the pleasanter to hear because it's
true, don't you know," Sir Francis Clavering answered.
" I ain't a literary man and that ; but I ain't such a fool
as she makes me out. I don't know how it is, but she al-
ways manages to — to put me in the hole, don't you under-
stand. She turns all the house round her in her qiiiet way,
and with her confounded sentimental airs. I wish she was
dead, Ned."

"It was my wife whom you wanted dead just now,"
Strong said, always in perfect good humour ; upon which
the Baronet, with his accustomed candour, said, "Well,
when people bore my life out, I do wish they were dead,
and I wish Missy were down a well with all my heart. "

Thus it will be seen from the above report of this candid
conversation that our accomplished little friend had some
peculiarities or defects of character which rendered her not
very popular. She was a young lady of some genius, ex-
quisite sympathies, and considerable literary attainments,
living, like many another genius, with relatives who could
not comprehend her. Neither her mother nor her step-

288 PENDENNIS.

father were persons of a literary turn. "Bell's Life " and
the "Racing Calendar" were the extent of the Baronet's
reading, and Lady Clavering still wrote like a school-girl
of thirteen, and with an extraordinary disregard to gram-
mar and spelling. And as Miss Amory felt very keenly
that she was not appreciated, and that she lived with per-
sons who were not her equals in intellect or conversational
power, she lost no opportunity to acquaint her family cir-
cle with their inferiority to herself, and not only was a
martyr, but took care to let everybody know that she was
so. If she suffered, as she said and thought she did, se-
verely, are we to wonder that a young creature of such
delicate sensibilities should shriek and cry out a good deal?
If a poetess may not bemoan her lot, of what earthly use
is her lyre? Blanche struck hers only to the saddest of
tunes; and sang elegies over her dead hopes, dirges over
her early frost-nipt buds of affection, as became such a
melancholy fate and Muse.

Her actual distresses, as we have said, had not been up
to the present time very considerable : but her griefs lay,
like those of most of us, in her own soul — that being sad
and habitually dissatisfied, what wonder that she should
weep? So "Mes Larmes" dribbled out of her eyes any
day at command : she could furnish an unlimited supply of
tears, and her faculty of shedding them increased by prac-
tice. For sentiment is like another complaint mentioned
by Horace, as increasing by self-indulgence (I am sorry to
say, ladies, that the complaint in question is called the
dropsy), and the more you cry, the more you will be able
and desirous to do so.

Missy had begun to gush at a very early age. Lamartine
was her favourite bard from the period when she first could
feel ; and she had subsequently improved her mind by a
sedulous study of novels of the great modern authors of
the French language. There was not a romance of Balzac
and George Sand which the indefatigable little creature
had not devoured by the time she was sixteen : and, how-
ever little she sympathised with her relatives at home, she

PENDENNIS. 289

had friends, as she said, in the spirit-world, meaning the
tender Indiana, the passionate and poetic Lelia, the ami-
able Trenmor, that high-souled convict, that angel of the
galleys, — the fiery Stenio, — and the other numberless
heroes of the French romances. She had been in love with
Prince Rodolph and Prince Djalma while she was yet at
school, and had settled the divorce question, and the rights
of woman, with Indiana, before she had left off pinafores.
The impetuous little lady played at love with these imag-
inary worthies, as a little while before she had played at
maternity with her doll. Pretty little poetical spirits ! it
is curious to watch them with those playthings. To-day
the blue-eyed one is the favourite, and the black-eyed one
is pushed behind the drawers. To-morrow blue-eyes may
take its turn of neglect : and it may be an odious little
wretch with a burnt nose, or torn head of hair, and no
eyes at all, that takes the first place in Miss's affection,
and is dandled and caressed in her arms.

As novelists are supposed to know everything, even the
secrets of female hearts, which the owners themselves do
not perhaps know, we may state that at eleven years of age
Mademoiselle Betsi, as Miss Amory was then called, had
felt tender emotions towards a young Savoyard organ-
grinder at Paris, whom she persisted in believing to be a
prince carried off from his parents ; that at twelve an old
hideous drawing-master — (but, ah, what age or personal
defects are proof against woman's love?) had agitated her
young heart ; and then, at nineteen, being at Madame de
Caramel's boarding-school, in the Champs Elysees, which,
as everybody knows, is next door to Monsieur Rogron's
(Chevalier 'of the Legion of Honour) pension for young gen-
tlemen, a correspondence by letter took place between the
seduisante Miss Betsi and two young gentlemen of the Col-
lege of Charlemagne, who were pensioners of the Chevalier
Bogron.

In the above paragraph our young friend has been called
by a Christian name, different to that under which we were
lately presented to her. The fact is, that Miss Amory,

290 PENDENNIS.

called Missy at home, had really at the first been christened
Betsy — but assumed the name of Blanche of her own will
and fantasy, and crowned herself with it ; and the weapon
which the Baronet, her stepfather, held in terror over her,
was the threat to call her publicly by her name of Betsy,
by which menace he sometimes managed to keep the young
rebel in order.

Blanche had had hosts of dear, dear, darling friends ere
now, and had quite a little museum of locks of hair in.
her treasure-chest, which she had gathered in the course of
her sentimental progress. Some dear friends had married :
some had gone to other schools : one beloved sister she had
lost from the pension, and found again, 0, horror! her
darling, her Le'ocadie, keeping the books in her father's
shop, a grocer in the Rue du Bac : in fact, she had met
with a number of disappointments, estrangements, disillu-
sionments, as she called them in her pretty French jargon,
and had seen and suffered a great deal for so young a wom-
an. But it is the lot of sensibility to suffer, and of con-
fiding tenderness to be deceived, and she felt that she was
only undergoing the penalties of genius in these pangs and
disappointments of her young career.

Meanwhile, she managed to make the honest lady, her
mother, as uncomfortable as circumstances would permit;
and caused her worthy stepfather to wish she was dead.
"With the exception of Captain Strong, whose invincible
good humour was proof against her sarcasms, the little
lady ruled the whole house with her tongue. If Lady
Clavering talked about Sparrowgrass instead of Asparagus,
or called an object a hobject, as this unfortunate lady
would sometimes do, Missy calmly corrected her, and
frightened the good soul, her mother, into errors only the
more frequent as she grew more nervous under her daugh-
ter's eye.

It is not to be supposed, considering the vast interest
which the arrival of the family at Clavering Park inspired
in the inhabitants of the little town, that Madame Fribsby

PENDENNIS. 291

alone, of all the folks in Clavering, should have remained
unmoved and incurious. At the first appearance of the
Park family in church, Madame noted every article of toi-
lette which the ladies wore, from their bonnets to their
brodequins, and took a survey of the attire of the ladies"
maids in the pew allotted to them. We fear that Doctor
Portman's sermon, though it was one of his oldest and
most valued compositions, had little effect upon Madame
Fribsby on that day. In a very few days afterwards, she
had managed for herself an interview with Lady Claver-
ing's confidential attendant, in the housekeeper's room at
the Park; and her cards in French and English, stating
that she received the newest fashions from Paris from her
correspondent Madame Victorine, and that she was in the
custom of making court and ball dresses for the nobility
and gentry of the shire, were in the possession of Lady
Clavering and Miss Amory, and favourably received, as
she was happy to hear, by those ladies.

Mrs. Bonner, Lady Clavering' s lady, became soon a great
frequenter of Madame Fribsby 's drawing-room, and par-
took of many entertainments at the milliner's expense.
A meal of green tea, scandal, hot Sally-Lunn cakes, and a
little novel-reading, were always at the service of Mrs.
Bonner, whenever she was free to pass an evening in the
town. And she found much more time for these pleasures
than her junior officer, Miss Amory's maid, who seldom
could be spared for a holiday, and was worked as hard as
any factory girl by that inexorable little Muse, her mistress.

And there was another person connected with the Clav-
ering establishment, who became a constant guest of our
friend, the milliner. This was the chief of the kitchen,
Monsieur Mirobolant, with whom Madame Fribsby soon
formed an intimacy.

Not having been accustomed to the appearance or society
of persons of the French nation, the rustic inhabitants of
Clavering were not so favourably impressed by Monsieur
Alcide's manners and appearance, as that gentleman might
have desired that they should be. He walked among them

292 PEKDENNIS.

qnite unsuspiciously upon the afternoon of a summer day,
when his services were not required at the House, in his
usual favourite costume, namely, his light green frock or
paletot, his crimson velvet waistcoat with blue glass buttons,
his pantalon Ecossais of a very large and decided check pat-
tern, his orange satin neckcloth, and his jean-boots, with
tips of shiny leather, — these, with a gold embroidered cap,
and richly-gilt cane, or other varieties of ornament of a
similar tendency, formed his usual holiday costume, in
which he nattered himself there was nothing remarkable
(unless, indeed, the beauty of his person should attract ob-
servation), and in which he considered that he exhibited
the appearance of a gentleman of good Parisian ton.

He walked then down the street, grinning and ogling
every woman he met with glances which he meant should
kill them outright, and peered over the railings, and iii at
the windows, where females were, in the tranquil summer
evening. But Betsy, Mrs. Pybus's maid, shrank back with
a " Lor bless us ! " as Alcide ogled her over the laurel bush ;
the Misses Baker and their mamma, stared with wonder ;
and presently a crowd began to follow the interesting for-
eigner, of ragged urchins and children, who left their dirt-
pies in the street to pursue him.

For some time he thought that admiration was the cause
which led these persons in his wake, and walked on, pleased
himself that he could so easily confer on others so much
harmless pleasure. But the little children and dirt-pie
manufacturers were presently succeeded by followers of a
larger growth, and a number of lads and girls from the
factory being let loose at this hour, joined the mob, and
began laughing, jeering, hooting, and calling opprobrious
names at the Frenchman. Some cried out, "Frenchy!
Frenchy ! " some exclaimed " Frogs ! " one asked for a lock
of his hair, which was long and in richly-flowing ringlets;
and at length the poor artist began to perceive that he was
an object of derision rather than of respect to the rude
grinning mob.

It was at this juncture that Madame Fribsby spied the

PENDENNIS. 293

unlucky gentleman with the train at his heels, and heard
the scornful shouts with which they assailed him. She
ran out of her room, and across the street to the persecuted
foreigner ; she held out her hand, and, addressing him in
his own language, invited him into her abode ; and when
she had housed him fairly within her door, she stood
bravely at the threshold before the gibing factory girls and
boys, and said they were a pack of cowards to insult a poor
man who could not speak their language, and was alone and
without protection. The little crowd, with some ironical
cheers and hootings, nevertheless felt the force of Madame
Fribsby 's vigorous allocution, and retreated before her;
for the old lady was rather respected in the place, and
her oddity and her kindness had made her many friends
there.

Poor Mirobolant was grateful indeed to hear the lan-
guage of his country ever so ill spoken. Frenchmen par-
don our faults tm their language much more readily than
we excuse their bad English ; and will face our blunders
throughout a long conversation, without the least propensity
to grin. The rescued artist vowed that Madame Fribsby
was his guardian angel, and that he had not as yet met
with such suavity and politeness among les Anglaises. He
was as courteous and complimentary to her as if it was the
fairest and noblest of ladies whom he was addressing : for
Alcide Mirobolant paid homage after his fashion to all
womankind, and never dreamed of a distinction of rank in
the realms of beauty, as his phrase was.

A cream, flavoured with pine-apple — a mayonnaise of
lobster, which he flattered himself was not unworthy of
his hand, or of her to whom he had the honour to offer it
as an homage, and a box of preserved fruits of Provence,
were brought by one of the chef's aides-de-camp, in a bas-
ket, the next day to the milliner's, and were accompanied
with a gallant note to the amiable Madame Fribsby. " Her
kindness," Alcide said, "had made a green place in the
desert of his existence, — her suavity would ever contrast in
memory with the grossierete of the rustic population, who

294 PENDENNIS.

were not worthy to possess such a jewel." An intimacy
of the most confidential nature thus sprang up between the
milliner and the chief of the kitchen ; but I do not know
whether it was with pleasure or mortification that Madame
received the declarations of friendship which the young
Alcide proffered to her, for he persisted in calling her,
"La respectable Fribsbi)" "La vertueuse Fribsbi," — and in
stating that he should consider her as his mother, while he
hoped she would regard him as her son. Ah! it was not
very long ago, Fribsby thought, that words had been ad-
dressed to her in that dear French language indicating a
different sort of attachment. And she sighed as she looked
up at the picture of her Carabineer. For it is surprising
how young some people's hearts remain when their heads
have need of a front or a little hair-dye, — and, at this mo-
ment, Madame Fribsby, as she told young Alcide, felt as
romantic as a girl of eighteen.

When the conversation took this turn — and at their first
intimacy Madame Fribsby was rather inclined so to lead it
— Alcide always politely diverged to another subject: it
was as his mother that he persisted in considering the good
milliner. He would recognise her in no other capacity,
and with that relationship the gentle lady was forced to
content herself, when she found how deeply the artist's
heart was engaged elsewhere.

He was not long before he described to her the subject
and origin of his passion.

" I declared myself to her," said Alcide, laying his hand
on his heart, " in a manner which was as novel as I am
charmed to think it was agreeable. Where cannot Love
penetrate, respectable Madame Fribsbi? Cupid is the fa-
ther of invention ! — I inquired of the domestics what were
the plats of which Mademoiselle partook with most pleas-
ure ; and built up my little battery accordingly. On a day
when her parents had gone to dine in the world (and I am
grieved to say that a grosser dinner at a restaurant, on the
Boulevard, or in the Palais Royal, seemed to form the de-
lights of these unrefined persons), the charming Miss en-

PENDENNIS. 295

tertained some comrades of the pension; and I advised
myself to send up a little repast suitable to so delicate
young palates. Her lovely name is Blanche. The veil of
the maiden is white ; the wreath of roses which she wears
is white. I determined that my dinner should be as spot-
less as the snow. At her accustomed hour, and instead of
the rude gigot a I'eau which was ordinarily served at her
too simple table, I sent her up a little potage a la Beine — a
la Heine Blanche I called it, — as white as her own tint
— and confectioned with the most fragrant cream and
almonds. I then offered up at her shrine a filet de merlan
a V Agnes, and a delicate plat, which I have designated as
JSperlan a la Sainte Therese, and of which my charming
Miss partook with pleasure. I followed this by two little
entrees of sweetbread and chicken; and the only brown
thing which I permitted myself in the entertainment was a
little roast of lamb, which I laid in a meadow of spinaches,
surrounded with croustillons, representing sheep, and or-
namented with daisies and other savage flowers. After
this came my second service : a pudding a la Heine Eliza-
beth (who, Madame Fribsbi knows, was a maiden princess) ;
a dish of opal-coloured plovers' eggs, which I called Nid
de tourtereaux a la Houcoule; placing in the midst of them
two of those tender volatiles, billing each other, and con-
fectioned with butter ; a basket containing little gateaux of
apricots, which, I know, all young ladies adore; and a
jelly of marasquin, bland, insinuating, intoxicating as the
glance of beauty. This I designated Ambroisie de Calypso
a la Souveraine de Mon Cceur. And when the ice was
brought in — an ice of plombiere and cherries — how do you
think I had shaped them, Madame Fribsbi? In the form
of two hearts with an arrow, on which I had laid, before
it entered, a bridal veil in cut-paper, surmounted by a
wreath of virginal orange-flowers. I stood at the door to
•watch the effect of this entry. It was but one cry of ad-
miration. The three young ladies filled their glasses with
the sparkling Ay, and carried me in a toast. I heard it — I
heard Miss speak of me — I heard her say, ' Tell Monsieur

296 PENDENNIS.

Mirobolant that we thank him — we admire him — we love
him ! ' My feet almost failed me as she spoke.

" Since that, can I have any reason to doubt that the
young artist has made some progress in the heart of the
English Miss? I am modest, but my glass informs me that
I am not ill-looking. Other victories have convinced me
of the fact."

" Dangerous man ! " cried the milliner.

" The blonde misses of Albion see nothing in the dull
inhabitants of their brumous isle, which can compare with
the ardour and vivacity of the children of the South. We
bring our sunshine with us ; we are Frenchmen, and accus-
tomed to conquer. Were it not for this affair of the heart,
and my determination to marry an Anglaise, do you think I
would stop in this island (which is not altogether ungrate-
ful, since I have found here a tender mother in the respect-
able Madame Fribsbi), in this island, in this family? My
genius would use itself in the company of these rustics —
the poesy of my art cannot be understood by these carniv-
orous insularies. No — the men are odious, but the women
— the women! I own, dear Fribsbi, are seducing! I have
vowed to marry one ; and as I cannot go into your markets
and purchase, according to the custom of the country, I
am resolved to adopt another custom, and fly with one to
Gretna Grin. The blonde Miss will go. She is fascinated.
Her eyes have told me so. The white dove wants but the
signal to fly. "

" Have you any correspondence with her? " asked Fribs-
by, in amazement, and not knowing whether the young
lady or the lover might be labouring under a romantic de-
lusion.

" I correspond with her by means of my art. She par-
takes of dishes which I make expressly for her. I insinu-
ate to her thus a thousand hints, which, as she is perfectly
spiritual, she receives. But I want other intelligences near
her."

"There is Pincott, her maid," said Madame Fribsby,
who, by aptitude or education, seemed to have some knowl-

PENDENNIS. 297

edge of affairs of the heart; but the great artist's brow
darkened at this suggestion.

"Madame," he said, "there are points upon which a gal-
lant man ought to silence himself; though, if he break the
secret, he may do so with the least impropriety to his best
friend — his adopted mother. Know then, that there is a
cause why Miss Pincott should be hostile to me — a cause
not uncommon with your sex — jealousy."

" Perfidious monster ! " said the confidante.

"Ah, no," said the artist, with a deep bass voice, and a
tragic accent worthy of the Porte St. Martin and his fa-
voxirite melo-drames, "Not perfidious, but fatal. Yes, I
am a fatal man, Madame Fribsbi. To inspire hopeless
passion is my destiny. I cannot help it that women love
me. Is it my fault that that young woman deperishes and
languishes to the view of the eye, consumed by a flame
which I cannot return? Listen! There are others in this
family who are similarly unhappy. The governess of the
young Milor has encountered me in my walks, and looked
at me in a way which can bear but one interpretation. And
Milady herself, who is of mature age, but who has oriental
blood, has once or twice addressed compliments to the
lonely artist which can admit of no mistake. I avoid the
household, I seek solitude, I undergo my destiny. I can
marry but one, and am resolved it shall be to a lady of
your nation. And, if her fortune is sufficient, I think Miss
would be the person who would be most suitable. I wish
to ascertain what her means are before I lead her to Getna
Grin."

Whether Alcide was as irresistible a conqueror as his
namesake, or whether he was simply crazy, is a point which
must be left to the reader's judgment. But the latter, if
he has had the benefit of much French acquaintance, has
perhaps met with men amongst them who fancied them-
selves almost as invincible ; and who, if you credit them,
have made equal havoc in the hearts of les Anglaises,

298 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND JEALOUSY.

OUR readers have already heard Sir Francis Clavering's
candid opinion of the lady who had given him her fortune
and restored him to his native country and home, and it
must be owned that the Baronet was not far wrong in his
estimate of his wife, and that Lady Clavering was not the
wisest or the best educated of women. She had had a cou-
ple of years' education in Europe, in a suburb of London,
which she persisted in calling Ackney to her dying day,
whence she had been summoned to join her father at Cal-
cutta at the age of fifteen. And it was on her voyage
thither, on board the Ramchunder East Indiaman, Captain
Bragg, in which ship she had two years previously made
her journey to Europe, that she formed the acquaintance of
her first husband, Mr. Amory, who was third mate of the
vessel in question.

We are not going to enter into the early part of Lady
Clavering' s history, but Captain Bragg, under whose
charge Miss Snell went out to her father, who was one of
the Captain's consignees, and part owner of the Ramchun-
der and many other vessels, found reason to put the rebel-
lious rascal of a mate in irons, until they reached the Cape,
where the Captain left his officer behind : and finally deliv-
ered his ward to her father at Calcutta, after a stormy and
perilous voyage in which the Ramchunder and the cargo
and passengers incurred no small danger and damage.

Some months afterwards Amory made his appearance at
Calcutta, having worked his way out before the mast from
the Cape — married the rich attorney's daughter in spite of
that old speculator — set up as indigo planter and failed —
set up as agent and failed again — set up as editor of the
" Sunderbund Pilot " and failed again— quarrelling cease-

PENDENNI& 299

lessly with his father-in-law and his wife during the prog-
ress of all these mercantile transactions and disasters, and
ending his career finally with a crash which compelled him
to leave Calcutta and go to New South Wales. It was in
the course of these luckless proceedings that Mr. Amory
probably made the acquaintance of Sir Jasper Rogers, the
respected Judge of the Supreme Court of Calcutta, who has
been mentioned before : and, as the truth must out, it was
by making an improper use of his father-in-law's name,
who could write perfectly well, and had no need of an
amanuensis, that fortune finally forsook Mr. Amory and
caused him to abandon all further struggles with her.

Not being in the habit of reading the Calcutta law-re-
ports very assiduously, the European public did not know of
these facts as well as people did in Bengal, and Mr. Amory
and her father, finding her residence in India not a com-
fortable one, it was agreed that the lady should return to
Europe, whither she came with her little daughter Betsy
or Blanche, then four years old. They were accompanied
by Betsy's nurse, who has been presented to the reader in
the last chapter as the confidential maid of Lady Claver-
ing, Mrs. Bonner: and Captain Bragg took a house for
them in the near neighbourhood of his residence in Pock-
lington Street.

It was a very hard bitter summer, and the rain it rained
every day for some time after Mrs. Amory' s arrival.
Bragg was very pompous and disagreeable, perhaps
ashamed, perhaps anxious, to get rid of the Indian lady.
She believed that all the world in London was talking about
her husband's disaster, and that the King and Queen and
the Court of Directors were aware of her unlucky history.
She had a good allowance from her father ; she had no call
to live in England; and she determined to go abroad.
Away she went, then, glad to escape the gloomy surveil-
lance of the odious bully, Captain Bragg. People had no
objection to receive her at the continental towns where she
stopped, and at the various boarding-houses, where she
royally paid her way. She called Hackney, Ackney, to be

300 PENDENNIS.

sure (though other-wise she spoke English with a little
foreign twang, very curious and not unpleasant); she
dressed amazingly; she was conspicuous for her love of
eating and drinking and prepared curries and pilaus at
every boarding-house which she frequented ; but her singu-
larities of language and behaviour only gave a zest to her
society, and Mrs. Amory was deservedly popular. She
was the most good-natured, jovial, and generous of women.
She was up to any party of pleasure by whomsoever pro-
posed. She brought three times more champagne and
fowls and ham to the picnics than anyone else. She took
endless boxes for the play, and tickets for the masked balls,
and gave them away to everybody. She paid the boarding-
house people months beforehand ; she helped poor shabby
mustachioed bucks and dowagers, whose remittances had
not arrived, with constant supplies from her purse; and
in this way she tramped through Europe, and appeared at
Brussels, at Paris, at Milan, at Naples, at Rome, as her
fancy led her. News of Amory 's death reached her at the
latter place, where Captain Clavering was then staying,
unable to pay his hotel bill, as, indeed, was his friend, the
Chevalier Strong, and the good-natured widow married the
descendant of the ancient house of Clavering — professing,
indeed, no particular grief for the scapegrace of a husband
whom she had lost : and thus we have brought her up to
the present time when she was mistress of Clavering Park.
Missy followed her mamma in most of her peregrina-
tions, and so learned a deal of life. She had a governess
for some time; and after her mother's second marriage,
the benefit of Madame de Caramel's select pension in the
Champs Elys^es. When the Claverings came to England,
she of course came with them. It was only within a few
years, after the death of her grandfather, and the birth of
her little brother, that she began to understand that her
position in life was altered, and that Miss Amory, no-
body's daughter, was a very small personage in a house
compared with Master Francis Clavering, heir to an an-
cient baronetcy, and a noble estate. But for little Frank,

PENDENNIS. 301

she would have been an heiress, in spite of her father ; and
though she knew and cared not much about money, of
which she never had any stint, and though she was a ro-
mantic little Muse, as we have seen, yet she could not
reasonably be grateful to the persons who had so contrib-
uted to change her condition : nor, indeed, did she under-
stand what the matter really was, until she had made some
further progress, and acquired more accurate knowledge in
the world.

But this was clear, that her stepfather was dull and
weak: that mamma dropped her H's, and was not refined
in manners or appearance; and that little Frank was a
spoiled quarrelsome urchin, always having his way, always
treading upon her feet, always upsetting his dinner on her
dresses, and keeping her out of her inheritance. None of
these, as she felt, could comprehend her : and her solitary
heart naturally pined for other attachments, and she sought
around her where to bestow the precious boon of her unoc-
cupied affection.

This dear girl, then, from want of sympathy, or other
cause, made herself so disagreeable at home, and fright-
ened her mother, and bored her stepfather so much, that
they were quite as anxious as she could be that she should
settle for herself in life ; and hence Sir Francis Clavering's
desire expressed to his friend, in the last chapter, that
Mrs. Strong should die, and that he- would take Blanche
to himself as a second Mrs. Strong.

But as this could not be, any other person was welcome
to win her: and a smart young fellow, well-looking and
well-educated, like our friend Arthur Pendennis, was quite
free to propose for her if he had a mind, and would have
been received with open arms by Lady Clavering as a son-
in-law, had he had the courage to come forward as a com-
petitor for Miss Amory's hand.

Mr. Pen, however, besides other drawbacks, chose to
entertain an extreme diffidence about himself. He was
ashamed of his late failures, of his idle and nameless con-
dition, of the poverty which he had brought on his mother

302 PENDENNIS.

by his folly, and there was as much of vanity as remorse
in his present state of doubt and distrust. How could he
ever hope for such a prize as this brilliant Blanche Amory,
who lived in a fine park and mansion, and was waited on
by a score of grand domestics, whilst a maid-servant
brought in their meagre meal at Fairoaks, and his mother
was obliged to pinch and manage to make both ends meet?
Obstacles seemed to him insurmountable, which would
have vanished had he marched manfully upon them : and
he preferred despairing, or dallying with his wishes, — or
perhaps he had not positively shaped them as yet, — to at-
tempting to win gallantly the object of his desire. Many
a young man fails by that species of vanity called shyness,
who might, for the asking, have his will.

But we do not pretend to say that Pen had, as yet, ascer-
tained his : or that he was doing much more than thinking
about falling in love. Miss Amory was charming and
lively. She fascinated and cajoled him by a thousand arts
or natural graces or flatteries. But there were lurking
reasons and doubts, besides shyness and vanity, withhold-
ing him. In spite of her cleverness, and her protesta-
tions, and her fascinations, Pen's mother had divined the
girl, and did not trust her. Mrs. Pendennis saw Blanche
light-minded and frivolous, detected many wants in her
which offended the pure and pious-minded lady ; a want of
reverence for her parents, and for things more sacred,
Helen thought : worldliness and selfishness couched under
pretty words and tender expressions. Laura and Pen bat-
tled these points strongly at first with the widow — Laura
being as ye.t enthusiastic about her new friend, and Pen
not far-gone enough in love to attempt any concealment of
his feelings. He would laugh at these objections of
Helen's, and say, "Psha, mother! you are jealous about
Laura — all women are jealous."

But when, hi the course of a month or two, and by
watching the pair with that anxiety with which brooding
women watch over their sons' affections — and in acknowl-
edging which, I have no doubt there is a sexual jealousy on

PENDENNIS. 303

the mother's part, and a secret pang — when Helen saw that
the intimacy appeared to make progress, that the two
young people were perpetually finding pretexts to meet,
and that Miss Blanche was at Fairoaks or Mr. Pen at the
Park every day, the poor widow's heart began to fail her —
her darling project seemed to vanish before her ; and, giv-
ing way to her weakness, she fairly told Pen one day what
her views and longings were ; that she felt herself break-
ing, and not long for this world, and that she hoped and
prayed before she went, that she might see her two chil-
dren one. The late events, Pen's life and career and
former passion for the actress, had broken the spirit of this
tender lady. She felt that he had escaped her, and was in
the maternal nest no more ; and she clung with a sickening
fondness to Laura, Laura who had been left to her by
Francis in Heaven.

Pen kissed and soothed her in his grand patronising way.
He had seen something of this, he had long thought his
mother wanted to make this marriage — did Laura know
anything of it? (Not she, — Mrs. Pendennis said — not for
worlds would she have breathed a word of it to Laura) —
" Well, well, there was time enough, his mother wouldn't
die," Pen said, laughingly : "he wouldn't hear of any such
thing, and as for the Muse, she is too grand a lady to think
about poor little me — and as for Laura, who knows that
she would have me? She would do anything you told her,
to be sure. But am I worthy of her? "

"O, Pen, you might be," was the widow's reply; not
that Mr. Pen ever doubted that he was ; and a feeling of
indefinable pleasure and self-complacency came over him.
as he thought over this proposal, and imaged Laura to
himself, as his memory remembered her for years past, al-
ways fair and open, kindly and pious, cheerful, tender,
and true. He looked at her with brightening eyes as she
came in from the garden at the end of this talk, her cheeks
rather flushed, her looks frank and smiling — a basket of
roses in her hand.

She took the finest of them and brought it to Mrs. Pen-

304 PENDENNIS.

dennis, who was refreshed by the odour and colour of
these flowers ; and hung over her fondly and gave it to her.

" And I might have this prize for the asking ! " Pen
thought, with a thrill of triumph, as he looked at the kindly
girl. "Why, she is as beautiful and as generous as her
roses." The image of the two women remained for ever
after in his mind, and he never recalled it but the tears
came into his eyes.

Before very many weeks' intimacy with her new ac-
quaintance, however, Miss Laura was obliged to give in to
Helen's opinion, and own that the Muse was selfish, un-
kind, and inconstant.

Little Frank, for instance, might be very provoking, and
might have deprived Blanche of her mam ma's affection,
but this was no reason why Blanche should box the child's
ears because he upset a glass of water over her drawing,
and why she should call him many opprobrious names in
the English and French languages ; and the preference ac-
corded to little Frank was certainly no reason why Blanche
should give herself imperial airs of command towards the
boy's governess, and send that young lady upon messages
through the house to bring her book or to fetch her pocket-
handkerchief. When a domestic performed an errand for
honest Laura, she was always thankful and pleased ;
whereas, she could not but perceive that the little Muse had
not the slightest scruple in giving her commands to all the
world round about her, and in disturbing anybody's ease
or comfort, in order to administer to her own. It was
Laura's first experience in friendship; and it pained the
kind creature's heart to be obliged to give up as delusions,
one by one, those charms and brilliant qualities in which
her fancy had dressed her new friend, and to find that
the fascinating little fairy was but a mortal, and not a
very amiable mortal after all. What generous person is
there that has not been so deceived in his time? — what
person, perhaps, that has not so disappointed others in his
turn?

After the scene with little Frank, in which that refrac-

PENDENNIS. 305

tory son and heir of the house of Clavering had received
the compliments in French and English, and the accom-
panying box on the ear from his sister, Miss Laura, who
had plenty of humour, could not help calling to mind some
very touching and tender verses which the Muse had read
to her out of "Mes Larmes," and which began, "My
pretty baby brother, may angels guard thy rest," in which
the Muse, after complimenting the baby upon the station
in life which it was about to occupy, and contrasting it
with her own lonely condition, vowed nevertheless that the
angel boy would never enjoy such affection as hers was, or
find in the false world before him anything so constant and
tender as a sister's heart. "It may be," the forlorn one
said, " it may be, you will slight it, my pretty baby sweet,
You will spurn me from your bosom, I'll cling around your
feet ! 0 let me, let me love you ! the world will prove to
you As false as 'tis to others, but / am ever true." And
behold the Muse was boxing the darling brother's ears in-
stead of kneeling at his feet, and giving Miss Laura her
first lesson in the Cynical philosophy — not quite her first,
however, — something like this selfishness and wayward-
ness, something like this contrast between practice and
poetry, between grand versified aspirations and everyday
life, she had witnessed at home in the person of our young
friend Mr. Pen.

But then Pen was different. Pen was a man. It seemed
natural, somehow, that he should be self-willed and should
have his own way. And under his waywardness and
selfishness, indeed, there was a kind and generous heart.
Oh, it was hard that such a diamond should be changed
away against such a false stone as this. In a word, Laura
began to be tired of her admired Blanche. She had assayed
her and found her not true ; and her former admiration and
delight, which she had expressed with her accustomed gen-
erous artlessuess, gave way to a feeling, which we shall
not call contempt, but which was very near it ; and which
caused Laura to adopt towards Miss Amory a grave and
tranquil tone of superiority, which was at first by no

306 PENDENNIS.

means to the Muse's liking. Nobody likes to be found out,
or, having held a high place, to submit to step down.

The consciousness that this event was impending did not
serve to increase Miss Blanche's good humour, and as it
made her peevish and dissatisfied with herself, it probably
rendered her even less agreeable to the persons round about
her. So there arose, one fatal day, a battle-royal between
dearest Blanche and dearest Laura, in which the friend-
ship between them was all but slain outright. Dearest
Blanche had been unusually capricious and wicked on this
day. She had been insolent to her mother ; savage with
little Frank ; odiously impertinent in her behaviour to the
boy's governess; and intolerably cruel to Pincott, her at-
tendant. Not venturing to attack her friend (for the little
tyrant was of a timid feline nature, and only used her
claws upon those who were weaker than herself), she mal-
treated all these, and especially poor Pincott, who was
menial, confidante, companion (slave always), according to
the caprice of her young mistress.

This girl, who had been sitting in the room with the
young ladies, being driven thence in tears, occasioned by the
cruelty of her mistress, and raked with a parting sarcasm
as she went sobbing from the door, Laura fairly broke out
into a loud and indignant invective — wondered how one so
young could forget the deference owing to her elders as
well as to her inferiors in station ; and professing so much
sensibility of her own, could torture the feelings of others
so wantonly. Laura told her friend that her conduct was
absolutely wicked, and that she ought to ask pardon of
Heaven on her knees for it. And having delivered herself
of a hot and voluble speech whereof the delivery astonished
the speaker as much almost as her auditor, she ran to her
bonnet and shawl, and went home across the park in a
great flurry and perturbation, and to the surprise of Mrs.
Pendennis, who had not expected her until night.

Alone with Helen, Laura gave an account of the scene,
and gave up her friend henceforth. "0 mamma," she
said, "you were right; Blanche, who seems so soft and so

PENDENNIS. 307

kind, is, as you have said, selfish and cruel. She who is
always speaking of her affections can have no heart. No
honest girl would afflict a mother so, or torture a depend-
ant; and — and, I give her up from this day, and I will
have no other friend but you."

On this the two ladies went through the osculatory cere-
mony which they were in the habit of performing, and Mrs.
Pendennis got a great secret comfort from the little quarrel
— for Laura's confession seemed to say, "That girl can
never be a wife for Pen, for she is light-minded and heart-
less, and quite unworthy of our noble hero. He will be
sure to find out her unworthiness for his own part, and
then he will be saved from this flighty creature, and awake
out of his delusion."

But Miss Laura did not tell Mrs. Pendennis, perhaps
did not acknowledge to herself, what had been the real
cause of the day's quarrel. Being in a very wicked mood,
and bent upon mischief everywhere, the little wicked Muse
of a Blanche had very soon begun her tricks. Her darling
Laura had come to pass a long day ; and as they were sit-
ting in her own room together, had chosen to bring the
conversation round to the subject of Mr. Pen.

" I am afraid he is sadly fickle," Miss Blanche observed;
"Mrs. Pybus, and many more Clavering people, have told
us all about the actress."

"I was quite a child when it happened, and I don't
know anything about it," Laura answered, blushing very
much.

"He used her very ill," Blanche said, wagging her little
head. "He was false to her."

"I am sure he was not," Laura cried out; "he acted
most generously by her : he wanted to give up everything
to marry her. It was she that was false to him. He nearly
broke his heart about it : he "

" I thought you didn't know anything about the story,
dearest," interposed Miss Blanche.

"Mamma has said so," said Laura.

"Well, he is very clever," continued the other little

14 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

308 PENDENNIS.

dear. " "What a sweet poet lie is ! Have you ever read his
poems? "

"Only the ' Fisherman and the Diver,' which he trans-
lated for us, and his Prize Poem, which didn't get the
prize ; and, indeed, I thought it very pompous and prosy,"
Laura said, laughing.

"Has he never written you any poems, then, love?"
asked Miss Amory.

"No, my dear," said Miss Bell.

Blanche ran up to her friend, kissed her fondly, called
her my dearest Laura at least three times, looked her
archly in the face, nodded her head, and said, " Promise to
tell no-o-body, and I will show you something. "

And tripping across the room daintily to a little mother-
of-pearl inlaid desk, she opened it with a silver key, and
took out two .or three papers crumpled and rather stained
with green, which she submitted to her friend. Laura took
them and read them. They were love- verses sure enough —
something about Undine — about a Naiad — about a river.
She looked at them for a long time ; but in truth the lines
were not very distinct before her eyes.

"And you have answered them, Blanche?" she asked,
putting them back.

"0 no! not for worlds, dearest," the other said: and
when her dearest Laura had quite done with the verses, she
tripped back, and popped them again into the pretty desk.

Then she went to her piano, and sang two or three songs
of Rossini, whose nourishes of music her flexible little voice
could execute to perfection, and Laura sate by, vaguely
listening, as she performed these pieces. What was Miss
Bell thinking about the while? She hardly knew; but
sate there silent as the songs rolled by. After this con-
cert the young ladies were summoned to the room where
luncheon was served; and whither they of course went
with their arms round each other's waists.

And it could not have been jealousy or anger on Laura's
part which had made her silent : for, after they had tripped
along the corridor and descended the steps, and were about

PENDENNIS. 309

to open the door which leads into the hall, Laura paused,
and looking her friend kindly and frankly in the face,
kissed her with a sisterly warmth.

Something occurred after this — Master Frank's manner
of eating, probably, or mamma's blunders, or Sir Francis
smelling of cigars — which vexed Miss Blanche, and she
gave way to that series of naughtinesses whereof we have
spoken, and which ended in the above little quarrel.

310 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTEK XXV.

A HOUSE FULL OP VISITORS.

THE difference between the girls did not last long.
Laura was always too eager to forgive and be forgiven, and
as for Miss Blanche, her hostilities, never very long or
durable, had not been provoked by the above scene. No-
body cares about being accused of wickedness. No vanity
is hurt by that sort of charge : Blanche was rather pleased
than provoked by her friend's indignation, which never
would have been raised but for a cause which both knew,
though neither spoke of.

And so Laura, with a sigh, was obliged to confess that
the romantic part of her first friendship was at an end,
and that the object of it was only worthy of a very ordi-
nary sort of regard.

As for Blanche, she instantly composed a copy of touch-
ing verses, setting .forth her desertion and disenchantment.
It was only the old story she wrote, of love meeting with
coldness, and fidelity returned by neglect ; and some new
neighbours arriving from London about this time, in whose
family there were daughters, Miss Amory had the advan-
tage of selecting an eternal friend from one of these young
ladies, and imparting her sorrows and disappointments to
this new sister. The tall footmen came but seldom now
with notes to the sweet Laura ; the pony carriage was but
rarely despatched to Fairoaks to be at the orders of the
ladies there. Blanche adopted a sweet look of suffering
martyrdom when Laura came to see her. The other laughed
at her friend's sentimental mood, and treated it with a good
humour that was by no means respectful.

But if Miss Blanche found new female friends to console
her, the faithful historian is also bound to say, that she
discovered some acquaintances of the other sex who seemed

PENDENNIS. 311

to give her consolation too. If ever this artless young
creature met a young man, and had ten minutes' conversa-
tion with him in a garden •walk, in a drawing-room win-
dow, or in the intervals of a waltz, she confided in him, so
to speak — made play with her beautiful eyes — spoke in a
tone of tender interest, and simple and touching appeal,
and left him, to perform the same pretty little drama in
behalf of his successor.

When the Claverings first came down to the Park, there
were very few audiences before whom Miss Blanch could
perform : hence Pen had all the benefits of her glances, and
confidences, and the drawing-room window, or the garden
walk all to himself. In the town of Clavering, it has been
said, there were actually no young men : in the near sur-
rounding country, only a curate or two, or a rustic young
squire, with large feet and ill-made clothes. To the dra-
goons quartered at Chatteris the Baronet made no over-
tures : it was unluckily his own regiment : he had left it
on bad terms with some officers of the corps — an ugly busi-
ness about a horse bargain — a disputed play account at
blind-Hookey — a white feather — who need ask? — it is not
our business to inquire too closely into the bygones of our
characters, except in so far as their previous history apper-
tains to the development of this present story.

The autumn, and the end of the Parliamentary Session,
and the London season, brought one or two county families
down to their houses, and filled tolerably the neighbour-
ing little watering-place of Baymouth, and opened our
friend Mr. Bingley's Theatre Royal at Chatteris, and col-
lected the usual company at the Assizes and Race-balls
there. Up to this time, the old county families had been
rather shy of our friends of Clavering Park. The Fogeys
of Drummington ; the Squares of Dozley Park ; the Wei-
bores of The Barrow, &c. All sorts of stories were current
among these folks regarding the family at Clavering ; — in-
deed, nobody ought to say that people, in the country have
no imagination, who hear them talk about new neighbours.
About Sir Francis and his Lady, and her birth and parent-

312 PENDENNIS.

age, about Miss Ainory, about Captain Strong, there had
been endless histories which need not be recapitulated ; and
the family of the Park had been three months in the county
before the great people around began to call.

But at the end of the season, the Earl of Trehawke,
Lord Lieutenant of the County, coming to Eyrie Castle,
and the Countess Dowager of Eockminster, whose son was
also a magnate of the land, to occupy a mansion on the
Marine Parade at Baymouth — these great folks came pub-
licly, immediately, and in state, to call upon the family of
Clavering Park ; and the carriages of the county families
speedily followed in the track, which had been left in the
avenue by their lordly wheels.

It was then that Mirobolant began to have an opportu-
nity of exercising that skill which he possessed, and of for-
getting, in the occupation of his art, the pangs of love. It
was then that the large footmen were too much employed
at Clavering Park to be able to bring messages, or dally
over the cup of small beer with the poor little maids at
Fairoaks. It was then that Blanche found other dear
friends than Laura, and other places to walk in besides the
river-side, where Pen was fishing. He came day after
day, and whipped the stream, but the " fish, fish ! "
wouldn't do their duty, nor the Peri appear. And here,
though in strict confidence, and with a request that the
matter go no further, we may as well allude to a delicate
business, of which previous hint has been given. Mention
has been made, in a former page, of a certain hollow tree,
at which Pen used to take his station when engaged in
his passion for Miss Fotheringay, and the cavity of which
he afterwards used for other purposes than to insert his
baits and fishing-cans in. The truth is, he converted this
tree into a post-office. Under a piece of moss and a stone,
he used to put little poems, or letters equally poetical,
which were addressed to a certain Undine, or Naiad who
frequented the stream, and which, once or twice, were re-
placed by a receipt in the shape of a flower, or by a modest
little word or two of acknowledgment, written in a delicate

PENDENNIS. 313

hand, in French or English, and on pink scented paper.
Certainly, Miss Amory used to walk by this stream, as we
have seen ; and it is a fact that she used pink scented paper
for her correspondence. But after the great folks had in-
vaded Clavering Park, and the family coach passed out of
the lodge-gates, evening after evening, on their way to the
other great country houses, nobody came to fetch Pen's
letters at the post-office; the white paper was not ex-
changed for the pink, but lay undisturbed under its stone
and its moss, whilst the tree was reflected into the stream,
and the Brawl went rolling by. There was not much in
the letters certainly : in the pink notes scarcely anything —
merely a little word or two, half jocular, half sympathetic,
such as might be written by any young lady. But oh, you
silly Pendennis, if you wanted this one, why did you not
speak? Perhaps neither party was in earnest. You were
only playing at being in love, and the sportive little Undine
was humouring you at the same play.

Nevertheless if a man is baulked at this game, he not
unf requently loses his temper ; and when nobody came any
more for Pen's poems, he began to look upon those com-
positions in a very serious light. He felt almost tragical
and romantic again, as in his first affair of the heart : — at
any rate he was bent upon having an explanation. One
day he went to the Hall, and there was a room-full of vis-
itors : on another, Miss Amory was not to be seen ; she was
going to a ball that night, and was lying down to take a
little sleep. Pen cursed balls, and the narrowness of his
means, and the humility of his position in the county that
caused him to be passed over by the givers of these enter-
tainments. On a third occasion, Miss Amory was in the
garden, and he ran thither ; she was walking there in state
with no less personages than the Bishop and Bishopess of
Chatteris and the episcopal family, who scowled at him,
and drew up in great dignity when he was presented to
them, and they heard his name. The Right Eeverend
Prelate had heard it before, and also of the little transaction
in the Dean's garden.

314 PEPTDENNIS.

"The Bishop says you're a sad young man," good-
natured Lady Clavering whispered to him. " What have
you been a doing of? Nothink, I hope, to vex such a dear
Mar as yours? How is your dear Mar? Why don't she
come and see me? We an't seen her this ever, such a
time. We're a goin about a gaddin, so that we don't see
no neighbours now. Give my love to her and Laurar, and
come all to dinner to-morrow."

Mrs. Pendennis was too unwell to come out, but Laura
and Pen came, and there was a great party, and Pen only
got an opportunity of a hurried word with Miss Amory.
" You never come to the river now," he said.

" I can't," said Blanche, "the house is full of people."

"Undine has left the stream," Mr. Pen went on, choos-
ing to be poetical.

"She never ought to have gone there," Miss Amory
answered. "She won't go again. It was very foolish,
very wrong : it was only play. Besides, you have other
consolations at home," she added, looking him full in the
face an instant, and dropping her eyes.

If he wanted her, why did he not speak then? She
might have said " Yes " even then. But as she spoke of
other consolations at home, he thought of Laura, so affec-
tionate and so pure, and of his mother at home, who had
bent her fond heart upon uniting him with her adopted
daughter. " Blanche ! " he began, in a vexed tone, — " Misa
Amory ! "

"Laura is looking at us, Mr. Pendennis," the young
lady said. " I must go back to the company," and she ran
off, leaving Mr. Pendennis to bite his nails in perplexity,
and to look out into the moonlight in the garden.

Laura indeed was looking at Pen. She was talking with,
or appearing to listen to the talk of, Mr. Pynsent, Lord
Hockminster's son, and grandson of the Dowager Lady,
•who was seated in state in the place of honour, gravely re-
ceiving Lady Clavering' s bad grammar, and patronising the
vacuous Sir Francis, whose interest in the county she was
desirous to secure. Pynsent and Pen had been at Oxbridge

PENDENNIS. 315

together, where the latter, during his heydey of good for-
tune and fashion, had been the superior of the young pa-
trician, and perhaps rather supercilious towards him. They
had met for the first time, since they had parted at the
University, at the table to-day, and given each other that
exceedingly impertinent and amusing demi-nod of recogni-
tion which is practised in England only, and only to per-
fection by University men, — and which seems to say,
"Confound you — what do you do here? "

" I knew that man at Oxbridge," Mr. Pynsent said to
Miss Bell — "a Mr. Pendennis, I think."

"Yes," said Miss Bell.

"He seems rather sweet upon Miss Amory," the gentle-
man went on. Laura looked at them, and perhaps thought
so too, but said nothing.

"A man of large property in the county, ain't he? He
used to talk about representing it.. He used to speak at the
Union. Whereabouts do his estates lie? "

Laura smiled. " His estates lie on the other side of the
river, near the lodge gate. He is my cousin, and I live there."

"Where?" asked Mr. Pynsent, with a laugh.

" Why, on the other side of the river, at Fairoaks," an-
swered Miss Bell.

" Many pheasants there? Cover looks rather good," said
the simple gentleman.

Laura smiled again. " We have nine hens and a cock, a
pig, and an old pointer."

"Pendennis don't preserve then?" continued Mr. Pyn-
sent.

" You should come and see him," the girl said, laughing,
and greatly amused at the notion that her Pen was a great
county gentleman, and perhaps had given himself out to be
such.

"Indeed, I quite long to renew our acquaintance," Mr.
Pynsent said, gallantly, and with a look which fairly
said, " It is you that I would like to come and see " — to
which look and speech Miss Laura vouchsafed a smile, and
made a little bow.

316 PENDENNIS.

Here Blanche came stepping up with her most fascinat-
ing smile and ogle, and begged dear Laura to come and
take the second in a song. Laura was ready to do any-
thing good-natured, and went to the piano ; by which Mr.
Pynsent listened as long as the duet lasted, and until Misa
Amory began for herself, when he strode away.

"What a nice, frank, amiable, well-bred girl that is,
"Wagg," said Mr. Pynsent to a gentleman who had come
over with him from Baymouth — " the tall one I mean, with
the ringlets and the red lips — monstrous red, ain't they? "

" What do you think of the girl of the house? " asked
Mr. Wagg.

"I think she's a lean, scraggy humbug," said Mr. Pyn-
sent, with great candour. " She drags her shoulders out
of her dress : she never lets her eyes alone : and she goes
simpering and ogling about like a French waiting-maid."

"Pynsent, be civil," cried the other, "somebody can
hear."

"Oh, it's Pendennis of Boniface," Mr. Pynsent said.
"Fine evening, Mr. Pendennis; we were just talking of
your charming cousin."

"Any relation to my old friend, Major Pendennis? "
asked Mr. Wagg.

"His nephew. Had the pleasure of meeting you at
Gaunt House," Mr. Pen said with his very best air — the
acquaintance between the gentlemen was made in an instant.

In the afternoon of the next day, the two gentlemen who
were staying at Clavering Park were found by Mr. Pen on
his return from a fishing excursion, in which he had no
sport, seated in his mother's drawing-room in comfortable
conversation with the widow and her ward. Mr. Pynsent,
tall and gaunt, with large red whiskers and an imposing
tuft to his chin, was striding over a chair in the intimate
neighbourhood of Miss Laura. She was amused by his
talk, which was simple, straightforward, rather humorous,
and keen, and interspersed with homely expressions of a
style which is sometimes called slang. It was the first

PENDENNIS. 317

specimen of a young London dandy that Laura had seen or
heard; for she had been but a chit at the time of Mr.
Foker's introduction at Fairoaks, nor indeed was that in-
genuous gentleman much more than a boy, and his refine-
ment was only that of a school and college.

Mr. Wagg, as he entered the Fairoaks premises with
his companion, eyed and noted everything. "Old gar-
dener," he said, seeing Mr. John at the lodge — "old red
livery waistcoat — clothes hanging out to dry on the goose-
berry bushes — blue aprons, white ducks — gad, they must
be young Pendennis's white ducks — nobody else wears 'em
in the family. Bather a shy place for a sucking county
member, ay, Pynsent? "

"Snug little crib," said Mr. Pynsent, "pretty cozy little
lawn. "

" Mr. Pendennis at home, old gentleman? " Mr. Wagg
said to the old domestic. John answered, "No, Master
Pendennis was agone out."

"Are the ladies at home?" asked the younger visitor.
Mr. John answered, " Yes, they be ; " and as the pair
walked over the trim gravel, and by the neat shrubberies,
up the steps to the hall-door, which old John opened, Mr.
Wagg noted everything that he saw; the barometer and
the letter-bag, the umbrellas and the ladies' clogs, Pen's
hats and tartan wrapper, and old John opening the draw-
ing-room door, to introduce the new-comers. Such minutiae
attracted Wagg instinctively ; he seized them in spite of
himself.

" Old fellow does all the work, " he whispered to Pyn-
sent. " Caleb Balderstone. Shouldn't wonder if he's the
housemaid." The next minute the pair were in the pres-
ence of the Fairoaks ladies ; in whom Pynsent could not
help recognising two perfectly well-bred ladies, and to
whom Mr. Wagg made his obeisance, with florid bows, and
extra courtesy, accompanied with an occasional knowing
leer at his companion. Mr. Pynsent did not choose to ac-
knowledge these signals, except by extreme haughtiness
towards Mr. Wagg, and particular deference to the ladies.

318 PENDENTS.

If there was one thing laughable in Mr. Wagg's eyes, it
was poverty. He had the soul of a butler who had been
brought from his pantry to make fun in the drawing-room.
His jokes were plenty, and his good-nature thoroughly
genuine, but he did not seem to understand that a gentle-
man could wear an old coat, or that a lady could be re-
spectable unless she had her carriage, or employed a French
milliner.

"Charming place, ma'am," said he, bowing to the
•widow ; " noble prospect — delightful to us Cockneys, who
seldom see anything but Pall-mall." The widow said,
simply, she had never been in London but once in her life
— before her son was born.

"Fine village, ma'am, fine village," said Mr. Wagg,
"and increasing every day. It'll be quite a large town
soon. It's not a bad place to live in for those who can't
get the country, and will repay a visit when you honour it. "

"My brother, Major Pendennis, has often mentioned
your name to us," the widow said, " and we have been —
amused by some of your droll books, sir," Helen continued,
who never could be brought to like Mr. Wagg's books, and
detested their tone most thoroughly.

" He is my very good friend," Mr. Wagg said, with a
low bow, " and one of the best known men about town, and
where known, ma'am, appreciated — I assure you appre-
ciated. He is with our friend Steyne, at Aix-la-Chapelle.
Steyne has a touch of the gout, and so, between ourselves,
has your brother. I am going to Stillbrook for the pheas-
ant-shooting, and afterwards to Bareacres, where Pendennis
and I shall probably meet : " and he poured out a flood of
fashionable talk, introducing the names of a score of peers,
and rattling on with breathless spirits, whilst the simple
widow listened in silent wonder. What a man! she
thought; are all the men of fashion in London like this?
I am sure Pen will never be like him.

Mr. Pynsent was in the meanwhile engaged with Miss
Laura. He named some of the houses in the neighbour-
hood whither he was going, and hoped very much that he

PENDENNIS. 319

should see Miss Bell at some of them. He hoped that her
aunt would give her a season in London. He said, that in
the next parliament it was probable he should canvass the
county, and he hoped to get Pendennis's interest here.
He spoke of Pen's triumph as an orator at Oxbridge, and
asked was he coming into parliament too? He talked on
very pleasantly, and greatly to Laura's satisfaction, until
Pen himself appeared, and as has been said, found these
gentlemen.

Pen behaved very courteously to the pair, now that they
had found their way into his quarters ; and though he rec-
ollected with some twinges a conversation at Oxbridge,
when Pynsent was present, and in which, after a great
debate at the Union, and in the midst of considerable ex-
citement, produced by a supper and champagne-cup, — he
had announced his intention of coming in for his native
county, and had absolutely returned thanks in a fine speech
as the future member ; yet Mr. Pynsent' s manner was so
frank and cordial, that Pen hoped Pynsent might have for-
gotten his little fanfaronnade, and any other braggadocio
speeches or actions which he might have made. He suited
himself to the tone of the visitors then, and talked about
Plinlimmon and Magnus Charters, and the old set at Ox-
bridge, with careless familiarity and high-bred ease, as if
he lived with marquises every day, and a duke was no more
to him than a village curate.

But at this juncture, and it being then six o'clock in
the evening, Betsy, the maid, who did not know of the
advent of strangers, walked into the room without any pre-
liminary but that of flinging the door wide open before her,
and bearing in her arms a tray, containing three tea-cups,
a tea-pot, and a plate of thick bread-and-butter. All Pen's
splendour and magnificence vanished away at this — and he
faltered and became quite abashed. "What will they
think of us?" he thought: and, indeed, Wagg thrust his
tongue in his cheek, thought the tea utterly contemptible,
and leered and winked at Pynsent to that effect.

But to Mr. Pynsent the transaction appeared perfectly

320 PENDENNIS.

simple — there was no reason present to his mind why people
should not drink tea at six if they were minded, as well as
at any other hour ; and he asked of Mr. Wagg, when they
went away, " What the devil he was grinning and winking
at, and what amused him? "

" Didn't you see how the cub was ashamed of the thick
bread-and-butter? I dare say they're going to have treacle
if they are good. I'll take an opportunity of telling old
Pendennis when we get back to town," Mr. Wagg chuckled
out.

"Don't see the fun," said Mr. Pynsent.

" Never thought you did," growled Wagg between his
teeth ; and they walked home rather sulkily.

Wagg told the story at dinner very smartly, with wonder-
ful accuracy of observation. He described old John, the
clothes that were drying, the clogs in the hall, the drawing-
room, and its furniture and pictures; "Old man with a
beak and bald head — feu Pendennis I bet two to one ; stick-
ing-plaster full-length of a youth in a cap and gown — the
present Marquis of Fairoaks, of course ; the widow when
young in miniature, Mrs. Mee ; she had the gown on when
we came, or in a dress made the year after, and the tips
cut off the fingers of her gloves which she stitches her
son's collars with; and then thesarving maid came in with
their teas ; so we left the Earl and the Countess to their
bread-and-butter. "

Blanche, near whom he sate as he told this story, and
who adored les hommes d' esprit, burst out laughing and
called him such an odd droll creature. But Pynseut, who
began to be utterly disgusted with him, broke out in a loud
voice, and said, " I don't know, Mr. Wagg, what sort of
ladies you are accustomed to meet in your own family,
but by gad, as far as a first acquaintance can show, I never
met two better-bred women in my life, and I hope, ma'am,
you'll call upon 'em," he added, addressing Lady Rock-
minster, who was seated at Sir Francis Clavering's right
hand.

Sir Francis turned to the guest on his left, and whis-

PENDENNI8. 321

pered, "That's what I call a sticker for Wagg." And
Lady C\avering, giving the young gentleman a delighted
tap with her fan, winked her black eyes at him, and said,
"Mr. Pynsent, you're a good feller."

After the affair with Blanche, a difference ever so slight,
a tone of melancholy, perhaps a little bitter, might be per-
ceived in Laura's converse with her cousin. She seemed to
weigh him, and find him wanting too ; the widow saw the
girl's clear and honest eyes watching the young man at
times, and a look of almost scorn pass over her face, as he
lounged in the room with the women, or lazily sauntered
smoking upon the lawn, or lolled under a tree there over
a book, which he was too listless to read.

" What has happened between you? " eager-sighted
Helen asked of the girl. " Something has happened. Has
that wicked little Blanche been making mischief? Tell
me, Laura."

"Nothing has happened at all," Laura said.

"Then why do you look at Pen so? " asked his mother
quickly.

" Look at him, dear mother ! " said the girl. " We two
women are no society for him : we don't interest him ; we
are not clever enough for such a genius as Pen. He wastes
his life and energies away among us, tied to our apron-
strings. He interests himself in nothing : he scarcely cares
to go beyond the garden-gate. Even Captain Glanders
and Captain Strong pall upon him," she added with a bit-
ter laugh ; " and they are men you know, and our superiors.
He will never be happy while he is here. Why is he
not facing the world, and without a profession? "

"We have got enough, with great economy," said the
widow, her heart beginning to beat violently. " Pen has
spent nothing for months. I'm sure he is very good. I
am sure he might be very happy with us."

"Don't agitate yourself so, dear mother," the girl an-
swered. " I don't like to see you so. You should not be
sad because Pen is unhappy here. All men are so. They
must work. They must make themselves names and a

322 PENDENNIS.

place in the world. Look, the two captains have fought
and seen battles : that Mr. Pynsent, who came here, and
who will be very rich, is in a public office ; he works very
hard, he aspires to a name and a reputation. He says
Pen was one of the best speakers at Oxbridge, and had as
great a character for talent as any of the young gentlemen
there. Pen himself laughs at Mr. Wagg's celebrity (and
indeed he is a horrid person), and says he is a dunce, and
that anybody could write his books."

"I am sure they are odious," interposed the widow.

"Yet he has a reputation. — You see the County Chron-
icle says, ' The celebrated Mr. Wagg has been sojourning
at Baymouth — let our fashionables and eccentrics look out
for something from his caustic pen.' If Pen can write bet-
ter than this gentleman, and speak better than Mr. Pynsent,
why doesn't he? Mamma, he can't make speeches to us;
or distinguish himself here. He ought to go away, indeed
he ought."

"Dear Laura," said Helen, taking the girl's hand.* "Is
it kind of you to hurry him so? I have been waiting. I
have been saving up money these many months — to — to
pay back your advance to us."

" Hush, mother ! " Laura cried, embracing her friend
hastily. " It was your money, not mine. Never speak
about that again. How much money have you saved? "

Helen said there were more than two hundred pounds at
the bank, and that she would be enabled to pay off all
Laura's money by the end of the next year.

" Give it him — let him have the two hundred pounds.
Let him go to London and be a lawyer : be something, be
worthy of his mother — and of mine, dearest mamma," said
the good girl ; upon which, and with her usual tenderness
and emotion, the fond widow declared that Laura was a
blessing to her, and the best of girls — and I hope no one
in this instance will be disposed to contradict her.

The widow and her daughter had more than one conver-
sation on this subject : the elder gave way to the superior
reason of the honest and stronger-minded girl ; and, in-

PENDENNIS. 323

deed, whenever there was a sacrifice to be made on her
part, this kind lady was only too eager to make it. But
she took her own way, and did not lose sight of the end
she had in view, in imparting these new plans to Pen.
One day she told him of these projects, and who it was
that had formed them; how it was Laura who insisted
upon his going to London and studying ; how it was Laura
who would not hear of the — the money arrangements when
he came back from Oxbridge — being settled just then : how
it was Laura whom he had to thank, if indeed he thought
he ought to go.

At that news Pen's countenance blazed up with pleasure,
and he hugged his mother to his heart with an ardour that
I fear disappointed the fond lady ; but she rallied when he
said, "By Heaven! she is a noble girl, and may God
Almighty bless her! 0 mother! I have been weary ing my-
self away for months here, longing to work, and not know-
ing how. I've been fretting over the thoughts of my
shame, and my debts, and my past cursed extravagance and
follies. I've suffered infernally. My heart has been half-
broken — never mind about that. If I can get a chance to
redeem the past, and to do my duty to myself and the best
mother in the world, indeed, indeed, I will. I'll be wor-
thy of you yet. Heaven bless you! God bless Laura!
Why isn't she here, that I may go and thank her? " Pen
went on with more incoherent phrases ; paced up and down
the room, drank glasses of water, jumped about his mother
with a thousand embraces — began to laugh — began to sing
— was happier than she had seen him since he was a
boy — since he had tasted of the fruit of that awful Tree
of Life which, from the beginning, has tempted all man-
kind.

Laura was not at home. Laura was on a visit to the
stately Lady Rockminster, daughter to my Lord Bareacres,
sister to the late Lady Pontypool, and by consequence a
distant kinswoman of Helen's, as her ladyship, who was
deeply versed in genealogy, was the first graciously to

324 PENDENNIS.

point out to the modest country lady. Mr. Pen was
greatly delighted at the relationship being acknowledged,
though perhaps not over well pleased that Lady Rockmin-
ster took Miss Bell home with her for a couple of days to
Baymouth, and did not make the slightest invitation to Mr.
Arthur Pendennis. There was to be a ball at Baymouth,
and it was to be Miss Laura's first appearance. The
dowager came to fetch her in her carriage, and she went
off with a white dress in her box, happy and blushing, like
the rose to which Pen compared her.

This was the night of the ball — a public entertainment
at the Baymouth Hotel. " By Jove ! " said Pen, " I'll ride
over — No, I won't ride, but I'll go too." His mother was
charmed that he should do so ; and, as he was debating
about the conveyance in which he should start for Bay-
mouth, Captain Strong called opportunely, said he was
going himself, and that he would put his horse, The Butcher
Boy, into the gig, and drive Pen over.

When the grand company began to fill the house at
Clavering Park, the Chevalier Strong seldom intruded him-
self upon its society, but went elsewhere to seek his relax-
ation. "I've seen plenty of grand dinners in my time,"
he said, " and dined, by Jove, in a company where there
was a king and royal duke at top and bottom, and every
man along the table had six stars on his coat ; but dainmy,
Glanders, this finery don't suit me; and the English ladies
with their confounded buckram airs, and the squires with
their politics after dinner, send me to sleep — sink me dead
if they don't. I like a place where I can blow my cigar
when the cloth is removed, and when I'm thirsty, have my
beer in its native pewter." So on a gala day at Clavering
Park, the Chevalier would content himself with superin-
tending the arrangements of the table, and drilling the
major-domo and servants; and having looked over the bill
of fare with Monsieur Mirobolant, would not care to take
the least part in the banquet. " Send me up a cutlet and
a bottle of claret to my room," this philosopher would say,
and from the windows of that apartment, which com-

PENDENNIS. 325

manded the terrace and avenue, he would survey the com-
pany as they arrived in their carriages, or take a peep at
the ladies in the hall through an reil-de-boeuf which com-
manded it from his corridor. And the guests being seated,
Strong would cross the park to Captain Glanders 's cottage
at Clavering, or to pay the landlady a visit at the Claver-
ing Arms, or to drop in upon Madame Fribsby over her
novel and tea. Wherever the Chevalier went he was wel-
come, and whenever he came away a smell of hot brandy
and water lingered behind him.

The Butcher Boy — not the worst horse in Sir Francis's
stable — was appropriated to Captain Strong's express use;
and the old Campaigner saddled him and brought him
home at all hours of the day or night, and drove or rode
him up and down the country. Where there was a public-
house with a good tap of beer — where there was a tenant
with a pretty daughter who played on the piano — to Chat-
teris, to the play, or the barracks — to Baymouth, if any
fun was on foot there; to the rural fairs or races, the
Chevalier and his brown horse made their way continually ;
and this worthy gentleman lived at free quarters in a
friendly country. The Butcher Boy soon took Pen and the
Chevalier to Baymouth. The latter was as familiar with
the hotel and landlord there as with every other inn round
about ; and having been accommodated with a bed-room to
dress, they entered the ball-room. The Chevalier was
splendid. He wore three little gold crosses in a brochette
on the portly breast of his blue coat, and looked like a
foreign field-marshal.

The ball was public and all sorts of persons were ad-
mitted and encouraged to come, young Pynsent having
views upon the county, and Lady Bockminster being pa-
troness of the ball. There was a quadrille for the aristoc-
racy at one end, and select benches for the people of fash-
ion. Towards this end the chevalier did not care to
penetrate far (as he said he did not care for the nobs)-; but
in the other part of the room he knew everybody — the wine-
merchants', innkeepers', tradesmen's, solicitors', squire-

326 PENDENNIS.

farmers' daughters, their sires and brothers, and plunged
about shaking hands.

" Who is that man with the blue ribbon and the three-
pointed star? " asked Pen. A gentleman in black with
ringlets and a tuft stood gazing fiercely about him, with
one hand in the arm-hole of his waistcoat and the other
holding his claque.

" By Jupiter, it's Mirobolant! " cried Strong, bursting out
laughing. "Bon jour. Chef! — Bon jour, Chevalier!"

" De la croix de Juillet, Chevalier ! " said the Chef, laying
his hand on his decoration.

" By Jove, here's some more ribbon ! " said Pen, amused.

A man with very black hair and whiskers, dyed evi-
dently with the purple of Tyre, with twinkling eyes and
white eyelashes, and a thousand wrinkles in his face, which
was of a strange red colour, with two under-vests, and
large gloves and hands, and a profusion of diamonds and
jewels in his waistcoat and stock, with coarse feet crum-
pled into immense shiny boots, and a piece of particoloured
ribbon in his button-hole, here came up and nodded famil-
iarly to the Chevalier.

The Chevalier shook hands. " My friend Mr. Penden-
nis," Strong said. " Colonel Altamont, of the body-guard
of his Highness the Nawaub of Lucknow." That officer
bowed to the salute of Pen; who was now looking out
eagerly to see if the person he wanted had entered the
room.

Not yet. But the band began presently performing
"See the Conquering Hero comes," and a host of fashion-
ables— Dowager Countess of Kockminster, Mr. Pynsent
and Miss Bell, Sir Francis Clavering, Bart., of Clavering
Park, Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, Sir Horace Fogey,

Bart., Lady Fogey, Colonel and Mrs. Higgs, Wagg,

Esq. (as the county paper afterwards described them)
entered the room.

Pen rushed by Blanche, ran up to Laura, and seized her
hand. "God bless you!" he said, "I want to speak to
you — I must speak to you — Let me dance with you."

PENDENNIS. 327

"Not for three dances, dear Pen," she said, smiling: and
he fell back, biting his nails with vexation, and forgetting
to salute Pynsent.

After Lady Rockminster's party, Lady Clavering's fol-
lowed in the procession.

Colonel Altamont eyed it hard, holding a most musky
pocket-handkerchief up to his face, and bursting with
laughter behind it.

"Who's the gal in green along with 'ein, Cap'n ? " he
asked of Strong.

"That's Miss Amory, Lady Clavering's daughter," re-
plied the Chevalier.

The Colonel could hardly contain himself- for laughing.

328 PEXDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CONTAINS SOME BALL-PRACTISING.

UNDER some calico draperies in the shady embrasure of
a window, Arthur Pendennis chose to assume a very
gloomy and frowning countenance, and to watch Miss Bell
dance her first quadrille with Mr. Pynsent for a partner.
Miss Laura's face was beaming with pleasure and good-
nature. The lights and the crowd and music excited her.
As she spread out her white robes, and performed her part
of the dance, smiling and happy, her brown ringlets flow-
ing back over her fair shoulders from her honest rosy f aoe,
more than one gentleman in the room admired and looked
after her ; and Lady Fogey, who had a house in London,
and gave herself no small airs of fashion when in the
country, asked of Lady Rockminster who the young per-
son was, mentioned a reigning beauty in London whom, in
her ladyship's opinion, Laura was rather like, and pro-
nounced that she would "do."

Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised
if any protegee of hers would not " do," and wondered at
Lady Fogey's impudence in judging upon the point at all.
She surveyed Laura with majestic glances through her eye-
glass. She was pleased with the girl's artless looks, and
gay innocent manner. Her manner is very good, her lady-
ship thought. Her arms are rather red, but that is a de-
fect of her youth. Her ton is far better than that of the
little pert Miss Amory, who is dancing opposite to her.

Miss Blanche was, indeed, the vis-a-vis of Miss Laura,
and smiled most killingly upon her dearest friend, and
nodded to her, and talked to her, when they met during
the quadrille evolutions, and patronised her a great deal.
Her shoulders were the whitest in the whole room : and
they were never easy in her frock for one single instant :

PENDENNIS. 329

nor were her eyes, which rolled about incessantly : nor was
her little figure : — it seemed to say to all the people, " Come
and look at me — not at that pink, healthy, bouncing coun-
try lass, Miss Bell, who scarcely knew how to dance till I
taught her. This is the true Parisian manner — this is the
prettiest little foot in the room, and the prettiest little
chaussure, too. Look at it, Mr. Pynsent. Look at it, Mr.
Pendennis, you who are scowling behind the curtain — I
know you are longing to dance with me."

Laura went on dancing, and keeping an attentive eye
upon Mr. Pen in the embrasure of the window. He did
not quit that retirement during the first quadrille, nor
until the second, when the good-natured Lady Clavering
beckoned to him to come up to her to the dais or place of
honour where the dowagers were, and whither Pen went
blushing and exceedingly awkward, as most conceited
young fellows are. He performed a haughty salutation to
Lady Kockininster, who hardly acknowledged his bow, and
then went and paid his respects to the widow of the late
Amory, who was splendid in diamonds, velvet, lace,
feathers, and all sorts of millinery and goldsmith's
ware.

Young Mr. Fogey, then in the fifth form at Eton, and
ardently expecting his beard and his commission in a dra-
goon regiment, was the second partner who was honoured
with Miss Bell's hand.- He was rapt in admiration of that
young lady. He thought he had never seen so charming
a creature. "I like you much better than the French
girl " (for this young gentleman had been dancing with
Miss Amory before), he candidly said to her. Laura
laughed, and looked more good-humoured than ever ; and
in the midst of her laughter caught a sight of Pen, and
continued to laugh as he, on his side, continued to look
absurdly pompous and sulky. The next dance was a waltz,
and young Fogey thought, with a sigh, that he did not
know how to waltz, and vowed he would have a master the
next holidays.

Mr. Pynsent again claimed Miss Bell's hand for this

330 PENDENNIS.

dance ; and Pen beheld her, in a fury, twirling round the
room, her waist encircled by the arm of that gentleman.
He never used to be angry before when, on summer even-
ings, the chairs and tables being removed, and the govern-
ess called downstairs to play the piano, he and the Cheva-
lier Strong (who was a splendid performer, and could
dance a British hornpipe, a German waltz, or a Spanish
fandango, if need were), and the two young ladies, Blanche
and Laura, improvised little balls at Clavering Park.
Laura enjoyed this dancing so much, and was so animated,
that she even animated Mr. Pynsent. Blanche, who could
dance beautifully, had an unlucky partner, Captain Broad-
foot, of the Dragoons, then stationed at Chatteris. For
Captain Broadfoot, though devoting himself with great
energy to the object in view, could not get round in time:
and, not having the least ear for music, was unaware that
his movements were too slow.

So, in the waltz as in the quadrille, Miss Blanche saw
that her dear friend Laura had ,the honours of the dance,
and was by no means pleased with the latter' s success.
After a couple of turns with the heavy dragoon, she pleaded
fatigue, and requested to be led back to her place, near her
mamma, to whom Pen was talking: and she asked him
why he had not asked her to waltz, and had left her to the
mercies of that great odious man in spurs and a red coat?

" I thought spurs and scarlet were the most fascinating
objects in the world to young ladies, " Pen answered. " I
never should have dared to put my black coat in competi-
tion with that splendid red jacket."

" You are very unkind and cruel and sulky and naughty,"
said Miss Amory, with another shrug of the shoulders.
" You had better go away. Your cousin is looking at us
over Mr. Pynsent' s shoulder."

" Will you waltz with me? " said Pen.

" Not this waltz. I can't, having just sent away that
greet hot Captain Broadfoot. Look at Mr. Pynsent, did
you ever see such a creature? But I will dance the next
waltz with you, and the quadrille too. I am promised,

PENDENNIS. 331

but I will tell Mr. Poole that I had forgotten my engage-
ment to you."

"Women forget very readily," Pendennis said.

"But they always come back, and are very repentant
and sorry for what they've done," Blanche said. "See,
here comes the Poker, and dear Laura leaning on him.
How pretty she looks ! "

Laura came up, and put out her hand to Pen, to whom
Pynsent made a sort of bow, appearing to be not much
more graceful than that domestic instrument to which
Miss Amory compared him.

But Laura's face was full of kindness. "I am so glad
you have come, dear Pen," she said. " I can speak to you
now. How is mamma? The three dances are over, and I
am engaged to you for the next, Pen."

"I have just engaged myself to Miss Amory," said Pen;
and Miss Amory nodded her head, and made her usual little
curtsey. " I don't intend to give him up, dearest Laura,"
she said.

"Well, then, he'll waltz with me, dear Blanche," said
the other. " Won't you, Pen? "

" I promised to waltz with Miss Amory. "

" Provoking ! " said Laura, and making a curtsey in
her turn, she went and placed herself under the ample
wing of Lady Eockniinster.

Pen was delighted with his mischief. The two prettiest
girls in the room were quarrelling about him. He flattered
himself he had punished Miss Laura. He leaned in a dan-
dified air, with his elbow over the wall, and talked to
Blanche : he quizzed unmercifully all the men in the room
— the heavy dragoons in their tight jackets — the country
dandies in their queer attire — the strange toilettes of the
ladies. One seemed to have a bird's nest in her head;
another had six pounds of grapes in her hair beside her
false pearls. " It's a coiffure of almonds and raisins," said
Pen, " and might be served up for dessert." In a word,
he was exceedingly satirical and amusing.

During the quadrille he carried on this kind of conver-

15 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

332 PENDENNIS.

sation with unflinching bitterness and vivacity, and kept
Blanche continually laughing, both at his wickedness and
jokes, which were good, and also because Laura was
again their vis-a-vis, and could see and hear how merry
and confidential they were.

" Arthur is charming to-night," she whispered to Laura,
across Cornet Perch's shell jacket, as Pen was performing
cavalier seul before them, drawling through that figure with
a thumb in the pocket of each waistcoat.

" Who ? " said Laura.

"Arthur," answered Blanche, in French. "Oh, it's
such a pretty name ! " And now the young ladies went
over to Pen's side, and Cornet Perch performed &pas seul
in his turn. He had no waistcoat pocket to put his hands
into, and they looked large and swollen as they hung be-
fore him depending from the tight arms in the jacket.

During the interval between the quadrille and the suc-
ceeding waltz, Pen did not take any notice of Laura, except
to ask her whether her partner, Cornet Perch, was an
amusing youth, and whether she liked him so well as her
other partner, Mr. Pynsent. Having planted which two
daggers in Laura's bosom, Mr. Pendennis proceeded to
rattle on with Blanche Amory, and to make jokes good or
bad, but which were always loud. Laura was at a loss to
account for her cousin's sulky behaviour, and ignorant in
what she had offended him. j however, she was not angry
in her turn at Pen's splenetic mood, for she was the most
good-natured and forgiving of women, and besides, an ex-
hibition of jealousy on a man's part is not always disagree-
able to a lady.

As Pen could not dance with her, she was glad to take
up with the active Chevalier Strong, who was a still better
performer than Pen ; and being very fond of dancing, as
every brisk and innocent young girl should be, when the
waltz music began she set off, and chose to enjoy herself
with all her heart. Captain Broadfoot on this occasion
occupied the floor in conjunction with a lady of proportions
scarcely inferior to his own ; Miss Eoundle, a large young

PENDENNIS. 333

woman in a strawberry-ice coloured crape dress, the daugh-
ter of the lady with the grapes in her head, whose bunches
Pen had admired.

And now taking his time, and with his fair partner
Blanche hanging lovingly on the arm which encircled her,
Mr. Arthur Pendennis set out upon his waltzing career,
and felt, as he whirled round to the music, that he and
Blanche were performing very brilliantly indeed. Very
likely he looked to see if Miss Bell thought so too ; but she
did not or would not see him, and was always engaged
with her partner Captain Strong. But Pen's triumph was
not destined to last long : and it was doomed that poor
Blanche was to have yet another discomfiture on that un-
fortunate night. While she and Pen were whirling round
as light and brisk as a couple of opera-dancers, honest
Captain Broadfoot and the lady round whose large waist
he was clinging, were twisting round very leisurely accord-
ing to their natures, and indeed were in everybody's way.
But they were more in Pendennis's way than in anybody's
else, for he and Blanche, whilst executing their rapid gyra-
tions, came bolt up against the heavy dragoon and his lady,
and with such force that the centre of gravity was lost by
all four of the circumvolving bodies ; Captain Broadfoot
and Miss Koundle were fairly upset, as was Pen himself,
who was less lucky than his partner Miss Amory, who was
only thrown upon a bench against a wall.

But Pendennis came fairly down upon the floor, sprawl-
ing in the general ruin with Broadfoot and Miss Roundle.
The Captain, though heavy, was good-natured, and was
the first to burst out into a loud laugh at his own misfor-
tune, which nobody therefore heeded. But Miss Amory
was savage at her mishap ; Miss Eoundle placed on her
seant, and looking pitifully round, presented an object
which very few people could see without laughing; and
Pen was furious when he heard the people giggling about
him. He was one of those sarcastic young fellows that
did not bear a laugh at his own expense, and of all things
in the world feared ridicule most.

334 PENDENNIS.

As he got up Laura and Strong were laughing at him ;
everybody was laughing; Pynsent and his partner were
laughing ; and Pen boiled with wrath against the pair, and
could have stabbed them both on the spot. He turned
away in a fury from them, and began blundering out apolo-
gies to Miss Amory. It was the other couple's fault —
the woman in pink had done it — Pen hoped Miss Amory
was not hurt — would she not have the courage to take
another turn?

Miss Amory in a pet said she was very much hurt in-
deed, and she would not take another turn; and she
accepted with great thanks a glass of water which a cava-
lier, who wore a blue ribbon and a three-pointed star,
rushed to fetch for her when he had seen the deplorable
accident. She drank the water, smiled upon the bringer
gracefully, and turning her white shoulder at Mr. Pen in
the most marked and haughty manner, besought the gen-
tleman with the star to conduct her to her mamma; and
she held out her hand in order to take his arm.

The man with the star trembled with delight at this
mark of her favour ; he bowed over her hand, pressed it
to his coat fervidly, and looked round him with triumph.

It was no other than the happy Mirobolant whom
Blanche had selected as an escort. But the truth is, that
the young lady had never fairly looked in the artist's face
since he had been employed in her mother's family, and
had no idea but it was a foreign nobleman on whose arm
she was leaning. As she went off, Pen forgot his humilia-
tion in his surprise, and cried out, "By Jove, it's the
cook!"

The instant he had uttered the words, he was sorry for
having spoken them — for it was Blanche who had herself
invited Mirobolant to escort her, nor could the artist do
otherwise than comply with a lady's command. Blanche
in her flutter did not hear what Arthur said ; but Mirobo-
lant heard him, and cast a furious glance at him over his
shoulder, which rather amused Mr. Pen. He was in a
mischievous and sulky humour, wanting perhaps to pick a

PENDENNIS. 335

quarrel with somebody ; but the idea of having insulted a
eook, or that such an individual should have any feeling
of honour at all, did not much enter into the mind of this
lofty young aristocrat, the apothecary's son.

It had never entered that poor artist's head, that he as
a man was not equal to any other mortal, or that there
was anything in his position so degrading as to prevent
him from giving his arm to a lady who asked for it. He
had seen in the f§tes in his own country fine ladies, not
certainly demoiselles (but the demoiselle Anglaise he knew
was a great deal more free than the spinster in France)
join in the dance with Blaise or Pierre ; and he would have
taken Blanche up to Lady Clavering, and possibly have
asked her to dance too, but he heard Pen's exclamation,
which struck him as if it had shot him, and cruelly humili-
ated and angered him. She did not know what caused
him to start, and to grind a Gascon oath between his teeth.

But Strong, who was acquainted with the poor fellow's
state of mind, having had the interesting information from
our friend Madame Fribsby, was luckily in the way when
wanted, and saying something rapidly in Spanish, which
the other understood, the Chevalier begged Miss Amory to
come and take an ice before she went back to Lady Claver-
ing. Upon which the unhappy Mirobolant relinquished
the arm which he had held for a minute, and with a most
profound and piteous bow, fell back. "Don't you know
who it is?" Strong asked of Miss Amory, as he led her
away. " It is the chef Mirobolant. "

"How should I know?" asked Blanche. "He has a
eroix ; he is very distingue; he has beautiful eyes."

" The poor fellow is mad for your beaux yeux, I believe, "
Strong said. " He is a very good cook, but he is not quite
right in the head."

" What did you say to him in the unknown tongue? "
asked Miss Blanche..

" He is a Gascon, and comes from the borders of Spain,"
Strong answered. " I told him he would lose his place if
he walked with you."

336 PENDENNIS.

"Poor Monsieur Mirobolant! " said Blanche.

"Did you see the look he gave Pendennis?" — Strong
asked, enjoying the idea of the mischief — "I think he
would like to run little Pen through with one of his spits."

" He is an odious, conceited, clumsy creature, that Mr.
Pen," said Blanche.

" Broadfoot looked as if he would like to kill him too,
so did Pynsent, " Strong said. " What ice will you have
— water ice or cream ice? "

" Water ice. Who is that odd man staring at me — he is
decor e too."

"That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer
character, in the service of the Nawaub of Lucknow.
Hallo ! what's that noise. I'll be back in an instant," said
the Chevalier, and sprang out of the room to the ball-room,
where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard.

The refreshment-room, in which Miss Amory now found
herself, was a room set apart for the purposes of supper,
which Mr. Kincer the landlord had provided for those who
chose to partake, at the rate of five shillings per head.
Also, refreshments of a superior class were here ready for
the ladies and gentlemen of the county families who came
to the ball ; but the commoner sort of persons were kept
out of the room by a waiter who stood at the portal, and
who said that was a select room for Lady Clavering and
Lady Rockminster's parties, and not to be opened to the
public till supper-time, which was not to be until past mid-
night. Pynsent, who danced with his constituents' daugh-
ters, took them and their mammas in for their refresh-
ment there. Strong, who was manager and master of the
revels wherever he went, had of course the entree — and the
only person who was now occupying the room, was the
gentleman with the black wig and the orders in his button-
hole ; the officer in the service of his Highness the Nawaub
of Lucknow.

This gentleman had established himself very early in the
evening in this apartment, where, saying he was confound-
edly thirsty, he called for a bottle of champagne. At this

PENDENNIS. 337

order, the waiter instantly supposed that he had to do
with a grandee, and the Colonel sate down and began to
eat his supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into
conversation with anybody who entered the room.

Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there ;
when they left the ball-room, which they did pretty early —
Sir Francis to go and smoke a cigar, and look at the people
gathered outside the ball-room on the shore, which he de-
clared was much better fun than to remain within ; Mr.
Wagg to hang on to a Baronet's arm, as he was always
pleased to do on the arm of the greatest man in the com-
pany. Colonel Altamont had stared at these gentlemen in
so odd a manner, as they passed through the "Select"
room, that Clavering made inquiries of the landlord who
he was, and hinted a strong opinion that the officer of the
Nawaub's service was drunk.

Mr. Pynsent, too, had had the honour of a conversation
with the servant of the Indian potentate. It was Pynsent' s
cue to speak to everybody ; (which he did, to do him jus-
tice, in the most gracious manner ;) and he took the gen-
tleman in the black wig for some constituent, some merchant
captain, or other outlandish man of the place. Mr.
Pynsent, then, coming into the refreshment-room with a
lady, the wife of a constituent, on his arm, the Colonel
asked him if he would try a glass of Sham? Pynsent took
it with great gravity, bowed, tasted the wine, and pro-
nounced it excellent, and with the utmost politeness re-
treated before Colonel Altamont. This gravity and deco-
rum routed and surprised the Colonel more than any other
kind of behaviour probably would : he stared after Pynsent
stupidly, and pronounced to the landlord over the counter
that he was a rum one. Mr. Bincer blushed, and hardly
knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was a county Earl's
grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man. Colonel
Altamont, on the other hand, wore orders and diamonds,
jingled sovereigns constantly in his pocket, and paid his
way like a man ; so not knowing what to say, Mr. Rincer
said, " Yes, Colonel — yes, ma'am, did you say tea? Cup

338 PENDENNIS.

of tea for Mrs. Jones, Mrs. R.," and so got off that dis-
cussion regarding Mr. Pynsent's qualities, into which the
Nizam's officer appeared inclined to enter.

In fact, if the truth must be told, Mr. Altamont, having
remained at the buffet almost all night, and employed him-
self very actively whilst there, had considerably flushed
his brain by drinking, and he was still going on drinking
when Mr. Strong and Miss Arnory entered the room.

When the Chevalier ran out of the apartment, attracted
by the noise in the dancing-room, the Colonel rose from
his chair with his little red eyes glowing like coals, and,
with rather an unsteady gait, advanced towards Blanche,
who was sipping her ice. She was absorbed in absorbing
it, for it was very fresh and good ; or she was not curious
to know what was going on in the adjoining room, although
the waiters were, who ran after Chevalier Strong. So that
when she looked up from her glass, she beheld this strange
man staring at her out of his little red eyes, " Who was he?
It was quite exciting."

"And so you're Betsy Amory," said he, after gazing at
her. " Betsy Amory, by Jove? "

"Who — who speaks to me? " said Betsy, alias Blanche.
But the noise in the ball-room is really becoming so loud,
that we must rush back thither, and see what is the cause
of the disturbance.

PENDENNIS. 339

CHAPTER XXVII.

WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL.

CIVIL war was raging, high words passing, people push-
ing and squeezing together in an unseemly manner, round
a window in the corner of the ball-room, close by the door
through which the Chevalier Strong shouldered his way.
Through the open window, the crowd in the street below
was sending up sarcastic remarks, such as "Pitch into
him ! " " Where's the police? " and the like ; and a ring of
individuals, among whom Madame Fribsby was conspicu-
ous, was gathered round Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant on
the one side; whilst several gentlemen and ladies sur-
rounded our friend Arthur Pendennis on the other. Strong
penetrated into this assembly, elbowing by Madame Fribs-
by, who was charmed at the Chevalier's appearance, and
cried, " Save him, save him ! " in frantic and pathetic
accents.

The cause of tile disturbance, it appeared, was the angry
little chef of Sir Francis Clavering's culinary establish-
ment. Shortly after Strong had quitted the room, and
whilst Mr. Pen, greatly irate at his downfall in the waltz,
which had made him look ridiculous in the eyes of the na-
tion, and by Miss Amory's behaviour to him, which had
still further insulted his dignity, was endeavouring to get
some coolness of body and temper, by looking out of win-
dow towards the sea, which was sparkling in the distance,
and murmuring in a wonderful calm — whilst he was really
trying to compose himself, and owning to himself, perhaps,
that he had acted in a very absurd and peevish manner
during the night — he felt a hand upon his shoulder ; and,
on looking round, beheld, to his utter surprise and horror,
that the hand in question belonged to Monsieur Mirobolant,
whose eyes were glaring out of his pale face and ringlets

340 PENDENNIS.

at Mr. Pen. To be tapped on the shoulder by a French
cook was a piece of familiarity which made the blood of
the Pendennises to boil up in the veins of their descendant,
and he was astounded, almost more than enraged, at such
an indignity.

" You speak French? " Mirobolant said in his own lan-
guage, to Pen.

" What is that to you, pray? " said Pen, in English.

"At any rate, you understand it? " continued the other,
with a bow.

" Yes sir," said Pen, with a stamp of his foot ; " I under-
stand it pretty well. "

" Vous me comprendrez alors, Monsieur Pendennis, " re-
plied the other, rolling out his r with Gascon force, " quand
je vous dis que vous §tes un lache. Monsieur Pendennis —
un lache, entendez-vous? "

" What? " said Pen, starting round on him.

" You understand the meaning of the word and its con-
sequences among men of honour? " said the artist, putting
his hand on his hip, and staring at Pen.

" The consequences are, that I will fling you out of win-
dow, you — impudent scoundrel," bawled out Mr. Pen;
and darting upon the Frenchman, he would very likely
have put his threat into execution, for the window was at
hand, and the artist by no means a match for the young
gentleman — had not Captain Broadfoot and another heavy
officer flung themselves between the combatants — had not
the ladies begun to scream, — had not the fiddles stopped,
— had not the crowd of people come running in that direc-
tion,— had not Laura, with a face of great alarm, looked
over their heads and asked for Heaven's sake what was
wrong — had not the opportune Strong made his appearance
from the refreshment-room, and found Alcide grinding his
teeth and jabbering oaths in his Gascon French, and Pen
looking uncommonly wicked, although trying to appear as
calm as possible, when the ladies and the crowd came up.

" What has happened ? " Strong asked of the chef, in
Spanish.

PENDENNIS. 341

"I am Chevalier de Juillet," said the other slapping his
breast, "and he has insulted me."

," What has he said to you? " asked Strong.

" II in' a appele — Cuisinier," hissed out the little French-
man.

Strong could hardly help laughing. " Come away with
me, my poor Chevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel
before ladies. Come away ; I will carry your message to
Mr. Pendennis. — The poor fellow is not right in his head,"
he whispered to one or two people about him ; — and others,
and anxious Laura's face visible amongst these, gathered
round Pen and asked the cause of the disturbance.

Pen did not know. " The man was going to give his arm
to a young lady, on which I said that he was a cook, and
the man called me a coward and challenged me to fight.
I own I was so surprised and indignant, that if you gen-
tlemen had not stopped me, I should have thrown him out
of window," Pen said.

"D him, serve him right, too, — the d impudent

foreign scoundrel," the gentlemen said.

"I — I'm very sorry if I hurt his feelings, though," Pen
added : and Laura was glad to hear him say that ; although
some of the young bucks said, "No, hang the fellow, —
hang those impudent foreigners, a little thrashing would
do them good."

" You will go and shake hands with him before you go
to sleep — won't you, Pen? " said Laura, coming up to
him. " Foreigners may be more susceptible than we are,
and have different manners. If you hurt a poor man's
feelings, I am sure you would be the first to ask his par-
don. Wouldn't you, dear Pen? "

She looked all forgiveness and gentleness, like an angel,
as she spoke, and Pen took both her hands, and looked
into her kind face, and said indeed he would.

" How fond that girl is of me ! " he thought, as she stood
gazing at him. "Shall I speak to her now? No — not
now. I must have this absurd business with the French-
man over."

342 PENDENNIS.

Laura asked — Wouldn't he stop and dance with her?
She was as anxious to keep him in the room as he to quit
it. "Won't you stop and waltz with me, Pen? I'm not
afraid to waltz with you."

This was an affectionate but an unlucky speech. Pen
saw himself prostrate on the ground, having tumbled over
Miss Roundle and the dragoon, and flung Blanche up
against the wall — saw himself on the ground, and all the
people laughing at him, Laura and Pynsent amongst them.

"I shall never dance again," he replied, with a dark and
determined face. " Never. I'm surprised you should ask
me."

" Is it because you can't get Blanche for a partner? n
asked Laura, with a wicked, unlucky captiousness.

" Because I don't wish to make a fool of myself, for
other people to laugh at me," Pen answered — "for you to
laugh at me, Laura. I saw you and Pynsent. By Jove I
no man shall laugh at me ! "

"Pen, Pen, don't be so wicked! n cried out the poor girl,
hurt at the morbid perverseness and savage vanity of Pen.
He was glaring round in the direction of Mr. Pynsent as if
he would have liked to engage that gentleman as he had
done the cook. " Who thinks the worse of you for stum-
bling in a waltz? If Blanche does, we don't. Why are
you so sensitive, and ready to think evil? "

Here again, by ill luck, Mr. Pynsent came up to Laura,
and said, " I have it in command from Lady Eockminster
to ask whether I may take you in to supper? "

" I — I was going in with my cousin," Laura said.

" O — pray, no ! " said Pen. " You are in such good
hands, that I can't do better than leave you: and I'm
going home."

"Good night, Mr. Pendennis," Pynsent said, drily, to
which speech (which in fact meant, " Go to the deuce for
an insolent, jealous, impertinent jackanapes, whose ears I
should like to box ") Mr. Pendeunis did not vouchsafe
any reply, except a bow: and, in spite of Laura's implor-
ing looks, he left the room.

PENDENNIS. 343

" How beautifully calm and bright the night outside is ! "
said Mr. Pynsent ; " and what a murmur the sea is making!
It would be pleasanter to be walking on the beach, than in
this hot room."

"Very," said Laura.

" What a strange congregation of people ! " continued
Pynsent. " I have had to go up and perform the agreeable
to most of them — the attorney's daughters — the apothe-
cary's wife — I scarcely know whom. There was a man in
the refreshment-room, who insisted upon treating me to
champagne — a seafaring looking man — extraordinarily
dressed, and seeming half tipsy. As a public man, one is
bound to conciliate all these people, but it is a hard task —
especially when one would so very much like to be else-
where " — and he blushed rather as he spoke.

" I beg your pardon," said Laura — " I — I was not listen-
ing. Indeed — I was frightened about that quarrel between
my cousin and that — that— French person."

" Your cousin has been rather unlucky to-night/' Pyn-
sent said. " There are three or four persons whom he has
not succeeded in pleasing — Captain Broadwood; what is
his name — the officer — and — the young lady in red with
whom he danced — and Miss Blanche — and the poor chef
— and I don't think he seemed to be particularly pleased
with me."

"Didn't he leave me in charge to you?" Laura said,
looking up into Mr. Pynsent' s face, and dropping her eyes
instantly, like a guilty little story-telling coquette.

"Indeed, I can forgive him a good deal for that," Pyn-
sent 'eagerly cried out, and she took his arm, and he led
off his little prize in the direction of the supper-room.

She had no great desire for that repast, though it was
served in Bincer's well-known style, as the county paper
said, giving an account of the entertainment afterwards;
indeed, she was very distraite ; and exceedingly pained and
unhappy about Pen. Captious and quarrelsome; jealous
and selfish ; fickle and violent and unjust when his anger
led him astray j how could her mother (as indeed Helen

344 PENDENNIS.

had by a thousand words and hints) ask her to give her
heart to such a man? and suppose she were to do so, would
it make him happy?

But she got some relief at length, when, at the end of
half an hour — a long half -hour it had seemed to her — a
waiter brought her a little note in pencil from Pen, who
said, " I met Cooky below ready to fight me ; and I asked
his pardon. I'm glad I did it. I wanted to speak to you
to-night, but will keep what I had to say till you come
home. God bless you. Dance away all night with Pyn-
sent, and be very happy. PEN." — Laura was very thank-
ful for this letter, and to think that there was goodness
and forgiveness still in her mother's boy.

Pen went downstairs, his heart reproaching him for his
absurd behaviour to Laura, whose gentle and imploring
looks followed and rebuked him ; and he was scarcely out
of the ball-room door before he longed to turn back and
ask her pardon. But he remembered that he had left her
with that confounded Pynsent. He could not apologise
before him. He would compromise and forget his wrath,
and make his peace with the Frenchman.

The Chevalier was pacing down below in the hall of the
inn when Pen descended from the ball-room ; and he came
up to Pen, with all sorts of fun and mischief lighting up
his jolly face.

"I have got him in the coffee-room," he said, "with a
brace of pistols and a candle. Or would you like swords
on the beach? Mirobolant is a dead hand with the foils,
and killed four gardes-du-corps with his own point in the
barricades of July."

"Confound it," said Pen, in a fury, "I can't fight a
cook!"

"He is a Chevalier of July," replied the other. "They
present arms to him in his own country."

" And do you ask me, Captain Strong, to go out with a
servant?" Pen asked fiercely; "I'll call a policeman for
him', but — but — "

PENDENNIS. 345

" You'll invite me to hair triggers? " cried Strong, with
a laugh. " Thank you for nothing ; I was but joking. I
came to settle quarrels, not to fight them. I have been
soothing down Mirobolant ; I have told him that you did
not apply the word 'Cook' to him in an offensive sense:
that it was contrary to all the customs of the country that
a hired officer of a household, as I called it, should give
his arm to the daughter of the house." And then he told
Pen the grand secret which he had had from Madame
Fribsby, of the violent passion under which the poor artist
was labouring.

When Arthur heard this tale, he broke out into a hearty
laugh, in which Strong joined, and his rage against the
poor cook vanished at once. He had been absurdly jealous
himself all the evening, and had longed for a pretext to
insult Pynsent. He remembered how jealous he had been
of Oaks in his first affair ; he was ready to pardon any-
thing to a man under a passion like that : and he went into
the coffee-room where Mirobolant was waiting, with an
outstretched hand, and made him a speech in French, in
which he declared that he was " Sincerement f&che' d'avoir
use* une expression qui avait pu blesser Monsieur Mirobo-
lant, et qu'il donnait sa parole comme un gentilhomme
qu'il ne 1'avait jamais, jamais — intend^," said Pen, who
made a shot at a French word for "intended," and was
secretly much pleased with his own fluency and correctness
in speaking that language.

" Bravo, bravo ! " cried Strong, as much amused with
Pen's speech as pleased by his kind manner. "And the
Chevalier Mirobolant of course withdraws, and sincerely
regrets the expression of which he made use."

" Monsieur Pendennis has disproved my words himself,"
said Alcide with great politeness ; " he has shown that he
is a galant homme."

And so they shook hands and parted, Arthur in the first
place dispatching his note to Laura before he and Strong
committed themselves to the Butcher Boy.

As they drove along Strong complimented Pen upon his

346 PENDENNIS.

behaviour, as well as upon his skill in French. " You're
a good fellow, Pendennis, and you speak French like
Chateaubriand, by Jove."

"I've been accustomed to it from my youth upwards,"
answered Pen; and Strong had the grace not to laugh
for five minutes, when he exploded into fits of hilarity
which Pendennis has never, perhaps, understood up to this
day.

It was daybreak when they got to the Brawl, where they
separated. By that time the ball at Baymouth was over
too. Madame Fribsby and Mirobolant were on their way
home in the Clavering fly ; Laura was in bed with an easy
heart and asleep at Lady Rockminster's; and the Claver-
ings at rest at the inn at Baymouth, where they had quar-
ters for the night. A short time after the disturbance be-
tween Pen and the chef, Blanche had come out of the
refreshment-room, looking as pale as a lemon-ice. She
told her maid, having no other confidante at hand, that she
had met with the most romantic adventure — the most
singular man — one who had known the author of her being
— her persecuted — her unhappy — her heroic — her murdered
father ; and she began a sonnet to his manes before she
went to sleep.

So Pen returned to Fairoaks, in company with his friend
the Chevalier, without having uttered a word of the mes-
sage which he had been so anxious to deliver to Laura at
Baymouth. He could wait, however, until her return
home, which was to take place on the succeeding day. He
was not seriously jealous of the progress made by Mr.
Pynsent in her favour ; and he felt pretty certain that in
this, as in any other family arrangement, he had but to
ask and have, and Laura, like his mother, could refuse
him nothing.

When Helen's anxious looks inquired of him what had
happened at Baymouth, and whether her darling project
was fulfilled, Pen, in a gay tone, told of the calamity
which had befallen; laughingly said, that no man could

PENDENNIS. 347

think about declarations under such a mishap, and made
light of the matter. " There will be plenty of time for
sentiment, dear mother, when Laura comes back," he said,
and he looked in the glass with a killing air, and his
mother put his hair off his forehead and kissed him, and
of course thought, for her part, that no woman could resist
him ; and was exceedingly happy that day.

When he was not with her, Mr. Pen occupied himself in
packing books and portmanteaus, burning and arranging
papers, cleaning his gun and putting it into its case: in
fact, in making dispositions for departure. For though he
was ready to marry, this gentleman was eager to go to
London too, rightly considering that at three-and-twenty
it was quite time for him to begin upon the serious busi-
ness of life, and to set about making a fortune as quickly
as possible.

The means to this end he had already shaped out for
himself. "I shall take chambers," he said, "and enter
myself at an Inn of Court. With a couple of hundred
pounds I shall be able to carry through the first year very
well ; and after that I have little doubt my pen will sup-
port me, as it is doing with several Oxbridge men now in
town. I have a tragedy, a comedy, and a novel, all nearly
finished, and for which I can't fail to get a price. And so
I shall be able to live pretty well, without drawing upon my
poor mother, until I have made my way at the bar. Then,
some day I will come back and make her dear soul happy
by marrying Laura. She is as good and as sweet-tempered
a girl as ever lived, besides being really very good-looking,
and the engagement will serve to steady me, — won't it,
Ponto? " Thus smoking his pipe, and talking to his dog
as he sauntered through the gardens and orchards of the
little domain of Fairoaks, this young day-dreamer built
castles in the air for himself: "Yes, she'll steady me,
won't she? And you'll miss me when I've gone, won't
you, old boy? " he asked of Ponto, who quivered his tail
and thrust his brown nose into his master's fist. Ponto
licked his hand and shoe, as they all did in that house,

348 PENDENNIS.

and Mr. Pen received their homage as other folks do the
flattery which they get.

Laura came home rather late in the evening of the sec-
ond day ; and Mr. Pynsent, as ill luck would have it, drove
her from Clavering. The poor girl could not refuse his
offer, but his appearance brought a dark cloud upon the
brow of Arthur Pendennis. Laura saw this, and was
pained by it;» the eager widow, however, was aware of
nothing, and being anxious, doubtless, that the delicate
question should be asked at once, was for going to bed
very soon after Laura's arrival, and rose for that purpose
to leave the sofa where she now generally lay, and where
Laura would come and sit and work or read by her. But
when Helen rose, Laura said, with a blush and rather an
alarmed voice, that she was also very tired and wanted to
go to bed: so that the widow was disappointed in her
scheme for that night at least, and Mr. Pen was left
another day in suspense regarding his fate.

His dignity was offended at being thus obliged to remain
in the ante-chamber when he wanted an audience. Such
a sultan as he, could not afford to be kept waiting. How-
ever, he went to bed and slept upon his disappointment
pretty comfortably, and did not wake until the early morn-
ing, when he looked up and saw his mother standing in his
room.

"Dear Pen, rouse up," said this lady. "Do not be lazy.
It is the most beautiful morning in the world. I have not
been able to sleep since day-break ; and Laura has been
out for an hour. She is in the garden. Everybody ought
to be in the garden and out on such a morning as this. "

Pen laughed. He saw what thoughts were uppermost
in the simple woman's heart. His good-natured laughter
cheered the widow. "Oh you profound dissembler," he
said, kissing his mother. " Oh you artful creature ! Can
nobody escape from your wicked tricks? and will you make
your only son your victim? " Helen too laughed ; she
blushed, she fluttered, and was agitated. She was as

PENDENNIS. 349

happy as she could be — a good tender, matchmaking
woman, the dearest project of whose heart was about to be
accomplished.

So, after exchanging some knowing looks and hasty
words, Helen left Arthur; and this young hero, rising
from his bed, proceeded to decorate his beautiful person,
and shave his ambrosial chin; and in half-an-hour he
issued out from his apartment into the garden in quest of
Laura. His reflections as he made his toilette were rather
dismal. "I am going to tie myself for life," he thought,
" to please my mother. Laura is the best of women, and
— and she has given me her money. I wish to Heaven I
had not received it ; I wish I had not this duty to perform
just yet. But as both the women have set their hearts on
the match, why I suppose I must satisfy them — and now
for it. A man may do worse than make happy two of the
best creatures in the world." So Pen, now he was actually
come to the point, felt very grave and by no means elated,
and, indeed, thought it was a great sacrifice he was going
to perform.

It was Miss Laura's custom, upon her garden excur-
sions, to wear a sort of uniform, which, though homely,
was thought by many people to be not unbecoming. She
had a large straw hat, with a streamer of broad ribbon,
which was useless probably, but the hat sufficiently pro-
tected the owner's pretty face from the sun. Over her
accustomed gown she wore a blouse or pinafore, which,
being fastened round her little waist by a smart belt, looked
extremely well, and her hands were guaranteed from the
thorns of her favourite rose bushes by a pair of gauntlets,
which gave this young lady a military and resolute air.

Somehow she had the very same smile with which she
had laughed at him on the night previous, and the recol-
lection of his disaster again offended Pen. But Laura,
though she saw him coming down the walk looking so
gloomy and full of care, accorded to him a smile of the
most perfect and provoking good-humour, and went to
meet him, holding one of the gauntlets to him, so that he

350 PENDENNIS.

might shake it if he liked — and Mr. Pen condescended to
do so. His face, however, did not lose its tragic expres-
sion in consequence of this favour, and he continued to re-
gard her with a dismal and solemn air.

" Excuse my glove," said Laura, with a laugh, pressing
Pen's hand kindly with it. "We are not angry again, are
we, Pen? " v

" Why do you laugh at me? " said Pen. " You did the
other night, and made a fool of me to the people at Bay-
mouth."

"My dear Arthur, I meant you no wrong," the girl
answered. "You and Miss Roundle looked so droll as
you — as you met with your little accident, that I could
not make a tragedy of it. Dear Pen, it wasn't a serious
fall. And, besides, it was Miss Roundle who was the
most unfortunate."

" Confound Miss Koundlel " bellowed out Pen.

"I'm sure she looked so," said Laura, archly. "You
were up in an instant ; but that poor lady sitting on the
ground in her red crape dress, and looking about her with
that piteous face — can I ever forget her? " — and Laura be-
gan to make a face in imitation of Miss Roundle's under
the disaster, but she checked herself repentantly, saying,
" Well, we must not laugh at her, but I am sure we ought
to laugh at you, Pen, if you were angry about such a
trifle."

" You should not laugh at me, Laura," said Pen, with
some bitterness; "not you, of all people."

" And why not? Are you such a great man? " asked
Laura.

" Ah no, Laura, I'm such a poor one," Pen answered.
" Haven't you baited me enough already? "

" My dear Pen, and how? " cried Laura. " Indeed, in-
deed, I didn't think to vex you by such a trifle. I thought
such a clever man as you could bear a harmless little joke
from his sister," she said, holding her hand out again.
"Dear Arthur, if I have hurt you, I beg your pardon."

" It is your kindness that humiliates me more even than

PENDENNIS. 351

your laughter, Laura," Pen said. "You are always my
superior. "

" What! superior to the great Arthur Pendennis? How
can it be possible? " said Miss Laura, who may have had a
little wickedness as well as a great deal of kindness in her
composition. " You can't mean that any woman is your
equal? "

"Those who confer benefits should not sneer," said Pen.
"I don't like my benefactor to laugh at me, Laura; it
makes the obligation very hard to bear. You scorn me
because I have taken your money, and I am worthy to be
scorned; but the blow is hard coming from you."

" Money ! Obligation ! For shame, Pen ; this is ungen-
erous," Laura said, flushing red. "May not our mother
claim everything that belongs to us? Don't I owe her all
my happiness in this world, Arthur? What matters about
a few paltry guineas, if we can see her tender heart at
rest, and ease her mind regarding you? I would dig in
the fields, I would go out and be a servant — I would die
for her. You know I would," said Miss Laura, kindling
up; " and you call this paltry money an obligation? Oh,
Pen, it's cruel — it's unworthy of you to take it so! If
my brother may not share with me my superfluity, who
may? — Mine? — I tell you it was not mine; it was all
mamma's to do with as she chose, and so is everything I
have," said Laura; "my life is hers." And the enthusi-
astic girl looked towards the windows of the widow's room,
and blessed in her heart the kind creature within.

Helen was looking, unseen, out of that window towards
which Laura's eyes and heart were turned as she spoke,
and was watching her two children with the deepest inter-
est and emotion, longing and hoping that the prayer of
her life might be fulfilled ; and if Laura had spoken as
Helen hoped, who knows what temptations Arthur Pen-
dennis might have been spared, or what different trials he
would have had to undergo? He might have remained at
Fairoaks all his days, and died a country gentleman. But
would he have escaped then? Temptation is an obsequious

352 FENDENNIS.

servant that has no objection to the country, and we know
that it takes up its lodging in hermitages as well as in
cities ; and that in the most remote and inaccessible desert
it keeps company with the fugitive solitary.

"Is your life my mother's?" said Pen, beginning to
tremble, and speak in a very agitated manner. "You
know, Laura, what the great object of hers is? " And he
took her hand once more.

" What, Arthur? " she said, dropping it, and looking at
him, at the window again, and then dropping her eyes to
the ground, so that they avoided Pen's gaze. She, too,
trembled, for she felt that the crisis for which she had
been secretly preparing was come.

" Our mother has one wish above all others in the world,
Laura," Pen said, "and I think you know it. I own to
you that she has spoken to me of it ; and if you will fulfil
it, dear sister, I am ready. I am but very young as yet ;
but I have had so many pains and disappointments, that I
am old and weary. I think I have hardly got a heart to
offer. Before I have almost begun the race in life, I am a
tired man. My career has been a failure; I have been
protected by those whom I by right should have protected.
I own that your nobleness and generosity, dear Laura,
shame me, whilst they render me grateful. When I heard
from our mother what you had done for me : that it was
you who armed me and bade me go out for one struggle
more ; I longed to go and throw myself at your feet, and
say, ' Laura, will you come and share the contest with me?
Your sympathy will cheer me while it lasts. I shall have
one of the tenderest and most generous creatures under
heaven to aid and bear me company.' Will you take me,
dear Laura, and make our mother happy? "

"Do you think mamma would be happy if you were
otherwise, Arthur? " Laura said in a low sad voice.

"And why should I not be," asked Pen eagerly, "with
so dear a creature as you by my side? I have not my first
love to give you. I am a broken man. But indeed I
would love you fondly and truly. I have lost many an

PENDENNIS. 353

illusion and ambition, but I am not without hope still.
Talents I know I have, wretchedly as I have misapplied
them : they may serve me yet : they would, had I a motive
for action. Let me go away and think that I am pledged
to return to you. Let me go and work, and hope that
you will share my success if I gain it. You have given
me so much, dear Laura, will you take from me nothing? "

" What have you got to give, Arthur? " Laura said with
a grave sadness of tone, which made Pen start, and see
that his words had committed him. Indeed, his declara-
tion had not been such as he would have made it two days
earlier, when, full of hope and gratitude, he had run over
to Laura, his liberatress, to thank her for his recovered
freedom. Had he been permitted to speak then, he had
spoken, and she, perhaps, had listened differently. It
would have been a grateful heart asking for hers ; not a
weary one offered to her, to take or to leave. Laura was
offended with the terms in which Pen offered himself to
her. He had, in fact, said that he had no love, and yet
would take no denial. "I give myself to you to please
my mother," he had said: "take me, as she wishes that I
should make this sacrifice." The girl's spirit would brook
a husband under no such conditions : she was not minded
to run forward because Pen chose to hold out the handker-
chief, and her tone, in reply to Arthur, showed her deter-
mination to be independent.

"No, Arthur," she said, "our marriage would not make
mamma happy, as she fancies; for it would not content
you very long. I, too, have known what her wishes were ;
for she is too open to conceal anything she has at heart :
and once, perhaps, I thought — but that is over now — that
I could have made you — that it might have been as she
wished."

" You have seen somebody else," said Pen, angry at her
tone, and recalling the incidents of the past days.

" That allusion might have been spared," Laura replied,
flinging up her head. " A heart which has worn out love
at three-and-twenty, as yours has, you say, should have

354 PENDENNIS.

survived jealousy too. I do not condescend to say whether
I have seen or encouraged any other person. I shall
neither admit the charge, nor deny it : and beg you also to
allude to it no more."

" I ask your pardon, Laura, if I have offended you : but
if I am jealous, does it not prove that I have a heart? "

" Not for me, Arthur. Perhaps you think you love me
now : but it is only for an instant, and because you are
foiled. Were there no obstacle, you would feel no ardour
to overcome it. No, Arthur, you don't love me. You
would weary of me in three months, as — as you do of most
things; and mamma, seeing you tired of me, would be
more unhappy than at my refusal to be yours. Let us be
brother and sister, Arthur, as heretofore — but no more.
You will get over this little disappointment."

" I will try," said Arthur, in a great indignation.

" Have you not tried before? " Laura said, with some
anger, for she had been angry with Arthur for a very long
time, and was now determined, I suppose, to speak her
mind. " And the next time, Arthur, when you offer your-
self to a woman, do not say as you have done to me, ' I
have no heart — I do not love you ; but I am ready to marry
you because my mother wishes for the match.' We re-
quire more than this in return for our love — that is, I
think so. I have had no experience hitherto, and have not
had the — the practice which you supposed me to have,
when you spoke but now of my having seen somebody else.
Did you tell your first love that you had no heart, Arthur?
or your second that you did not love her, but that she
might have you if she liked? "

" What — what do you mean? " asked Arthur, blushing,
and still in great wrath. ,

"I mean Blanche Amory, Arthur Pendennis," Laura
said, proudly. " It is but two months since you were sigh-
ing at her foot — making poems to her — placing them in
hollow trees by the river-side. I knew all. I watched
you — that is, she showed them to me. Neither one nor
the other was in earnest perhaps ; but it is too soon now,

PENDENNIS. 355

Arthur, to begin a new attachment. Go through the time
of your — your widowhood at least, and do not think of
marrying until you are out of mourning." — (Here the girl's
eyes filled with tears, and she passed her hand across
them. ) "I am angry and hurt, and I have no right to be
so, and I ask your pardon in my turn now, dear Arthur.
You had a right to love Blanche. She was a thousand
times prettier and more accomplished than — than any girl
near us here ; and you could not know that she had no
heart; and so you were right to leave her too. I ought
not to rebuke you about Blanche Amory, and because she
deceived you. Pardon me, Pen," — and she held the kind
hand out to Pen once more.

"We were both jealous," said Pen. "Dear Laura, let
us both forgive " — and he seized her hand and would have
drawn her towards him. He thought that she was relent-
ing, and already assumed the airs of a victor.

But she shrank back, and her tears passed away ; and
she fixed on him a look so melancholy and severe, that the
young man in his turn shrank before it. "Do not mistake
me, Arthur," she said, "it cannot be. You do not know
what you ask, and do not be too angry with me for saying
that I think you do not deserve it. What do you offer in
exchange to a woman for her love, honour, and obedience?
If ever I say these words, dear Pen, I hope to say them in
earnest, and by the blessing of God to keep my vow. But
you — what tie binds you? You do not care about many
things which we poor women hold sacred. I do not like to
think or ask how far your incredulity leads you. You
offer to marry to please our mother, and own that you have
no heart to give away. Oh, Arthur, what is it you offer
me? What a rash compact would you enter into so lightly?
A month ago, and you would have given yourself to
another. I pray you do not trifle with your own or others'
hearts so recklessly. Go and work; go and mend, dear
Arthur, for I see your faults, and dare speak of them now :
go and get fame, as you say that you can, and I will pray
for my brother, and watch our dearest mother at home."

16— Thackeray, Vol. 3

356 PENDENNIS.

" Is that your final decision, Laura? " Arthur cried.

"Yes," said Laura, bowing her head; and once more
giving him her hand, she went away. He saw her pass
under the creepers of the little porch, and disappear into
the house. The curtains of his mother's window fell at
the same minute, but he did not mark that, or suspect that
Helen had been witnessing the scene.

Was he pleased, or was he angry at its termination? He
had asked her, and a secret triumph filled his heart to
think that he was still free. She had refused him, but
did she not love him? That avowal of jealousy made him
still think that her heart was his own, whatever her lips
might utter.

And now we ought, perhaps, to describe another scene
which took place at Fairoaks, between the widow and
Laura, when the latter had to tell Helen that she had re-
fused Arthur Pendennis. Perhaps it was the hardest task
of all which Laura had to go through in this matter : and
the one which gave her the most pain. But as we do not
like to see a good woman unjust, we shall not say a word
more of the quarrel which now befel between Helen and
her adopted daughter, or of the bitter tears which the poor
girl was made to shed. It was the only difference which
she and the widow had ever had as yet, and the more cruel
from this cause. Pen left home whilst it was as yet pend-
ing— and Helen, who could pardon almost everything,
could not pardon an act of justice in Laura.

PENDENNIS. 357

CHAPTEK XXVIII.

BABYLON.

OUR reader must now please to quit the woods and sea-
shore of the west, and the gossip of Clavering, and the
humdrum life of poor little Fairoaks, and transport him-
self with Arthur Pendennis, on the " Alacrity " coach, to
London, whither he goes once for all to face the world and
to make his fortune. As the coach whirls through the
night away from the friendly gates of home, many a plan
does the young man cast in his mind of future life and con-
duct, prudence, and peradventure, success and fame. He
knows he is a better man than many who have hitherto
been ahead of him in the race : his first failure has caused
him remorse, and brought with it reflection; it has not
taken away his courage, or, let us add, his good opinion of
himself. A hundred eager fancies and busy hopes keep
him awake. How much older his mishaps and a year's
thought and self-communion have made him, than when,
twelve months since, he passed on this road on his way to
and from Oxbridge ! His thoughts turn in the night with
inexpressible fondness and tenderness towards the fond
mother, who blessed him when parting, and who, in spite
of all his past faults and follies, trusts him and loves him
still. Blessings be on her ! he prays, as he looks up to the
stars overhead. 0 Heaven, give him strength to work, to
endure, to be honest, to avoid temptation, to be worthy of
the loving soul who loves him so entirely ! Very likely
ehe is awake too, at that moment, and sending up to the
same Father purer prayers than his for the welfare of her
boy. That woman's love is a talisman by which he holds
and hopes to get his safety. And Laura's — he would have
fain carried her affection with him too, but she has denied
it, as he is not worthy of iL He owns as much with

358 PENDENNIS.

shame and remorse ; confesses how much better and loftier
her nature is than his own — confesses it, and yet is glad
to be free. "I am not good enough for such a creature,"
he owns to himself. , He draws back before her spotless
beauty and innocence, as from something that scares him.
He feels he is not fit for such a mate as that ; as many a
wild prodigal who has been pious and guiltless in early
days, keeps away from a church which he used to frequent
once — shunning it, but not hostile to it — only feeling that
he has no right in that pure place.

With these thoughts to occupy him, Pen did not fall
asleep until the nipping dawn of an October morning, and
woke considerably refreshed when the coach stopped at

the old breakfasting place at B , where he had had a

score of merry meals on his way to and from school and
college many times since he was a boy. As they left that
place, the sun broke out brightly, the pace was rapid, the
horn blew, the milestones flew by, Pen smoked and joked
with guard and fellow-passengers and people along the
familiar road ; it grew more busy and animated at every

instant ; the last team of greys came out at H , and

the coach drove into London. What young fellow has not
felt a thrill as he entered the vast place? Hundreds of
other carriages, crowded with their thousands of men, were
hastening to the great city. " Here is my place," thought
Pen ; " here is my battle beginning, in which I must fight
and conquer, or fall. I have been a boy and a dawdler as
yet. Oh, I long, I long to show that I can be a man. "
And from his place on the coach-roof the eager young fel-
low looked down upon the city, with the sort of longing
desire which young soldiers feel on the eve of a campaign.

As they came along the road, Pen had formed acquaint-
ance with a cheery fellow-passenger in a shabby cloak,
who talked a great deal about men of letters with whom
he was very familiar, and who was, in fact, the reporter
of a London newspaper, as whose representative he had
been to attend a great wrestling-match in the west. This
gentleman knew intimately, as it appeared, all the leading

PENDENNIS. 359

men of letters of his day, and talked about Tom Campbell,
and Tom Hood, and Sydney Smith, and this and the other,
as if he had been their most intimate friend. As they
passed by Brompton, this gentleman pointed out to Pen
Mr. Hurtle, the reviewer, walking with his umbrella.
Pen craned over the coach to have a long look at the great
Hurtle. He was a Boniface man, said Pen. And Mr.
Doolan, of the " Tom and Jerry " newspaper (for such was
the gentleman's name and address upon the card which he
handed to Pen), said "Faith he was, and he knew him
very well." Pen thought it was quite an honour to have
seen the great Mr. Hurtle, whose works he admired. He
believed fondly, as yet, in authors, reviewers, and editors
of newspapers. Even Wagg, whose books did not appear
to him to be masterpieces of human intellect, he yet
secretly revered as a successful writer. He mentioned
that he had met Wagg in the country, and Doolan told him
how that famous novelist received three hundther pounds
a volume for every one of his novels. Pen began to calcu-
late instantly whether he might not make five thousand a
year.

The very first acquaintance of his own whom Arthur
met, as the coach pulled up at the Gloster Coffee House,
was his old friend Harry Foker, who came prancing down
Arlington Street behind an enormous cab-horse. He had
white kid gloves and white reins, and nature had by this
time decorated him with a considerable tuft on the chin.
A very small cab-boy, vice Stoopid retired, swung on be-
hind Foker's vehicle; knock-kneed and in the tightest
leather breeches. Foker looked at the dusty coach, and
the smoking horses of the "Alacrity" by which he had
made journeys in former times. — "What, Foker!" cried
out Pendennis — " Hullo ! Pen, my boy ! " said the other,
and he waved his whip by way of amity and salute to
Arthur, who was very glad to see his queer friend's kind
old face. Mr. Doolan had a great respect for Pen who
had an acquaintance in such a grand cab ; and Pen was
greatly excited and pleased to be at liberty and in London.

360 PENDENNIS.

He asked Doolan to come and dine with him at the Covent
Garden Coffee House, where he put up : he called a cab
and rattled away thither in the highest spirits. He was
glad to see the bustling waiter and polite bowing landlord
again; and asked for the landlady, and missed the old
Boots, and would have liked to shake hands with every-
body. He had a hundred pounds in his pocket. He
dressed himself in his very best ; dined in the coffee-room
with a modest pint of sherry (for he was determined to be
very economical), and went to the theatre adjoining.

The lights and the music, the crowd and the gaiety,
charmed and exhilarated Pen, as those sights will do
young fellows from college and the country, to whom they
are tolerably new. He laughed at the jokes ; he applauded
the songs to the delight of some of the dreary old habitues
of the boxes, who had ceased long ago to find the least
excitement in their place of nightly resort, and were
pleased to see any one so fresh, and so much amused. At
the end of the first piece, he went and strutted about the
lobbies of the theatre, as if he was in a resort" of the high-
est fashion. What tired frequenter of the London pave* is
there that cannot remember having had similar early delu-
sions, and would not call them back again? Here was
young Foker again, like an ardent votary. of pleasure as he
was. He was walking with Granby Tip toff, of the House-
hold Brigade, Lord Tiptoff's brother, and Lord Colchicum,
Captain Tiptoff's uncle, a venerable peer, who had been a
man of pleasure since the first French Ke volution. Foker
rushed upon Pen with eagerness, and insisted that the
latter should come into his private box, where a lady with
the longest ringlets, and the fairest shoulders, was seated.
This was Miss Blenkinsop, the eminent actress of high
comedy ; and in the back of the box snoozing in a wig, sate
old Blenkinsop, her papa. He was described in the theat-
rical prints as the " veteran Blenkinsop " — " the useful
Blenkinsop " — " that old favourite of the public, Blenkin-
sop : " those parts in the drama, which are called the heavy
fathers, were usually assigned to this veteran, who,

PENDENNIS. 361

indeed, acted the heavy father in public, as in private
life.

At this time, it being about eleven o'clock, Mrs. Pen-
dennis was gone to bed at Fairoaks, and wondering whether
her dearest Arthur was at rest after his journey. At this
time Laura, too, was awake. And at this time yesterday
night, as the coach rolled over silent commons, where cot-
tage windows twinkled, and by darkling woods under calm
starlit skies, Pen was vowing to reform and to resist temp-
tation, and his heart was at home Meanwhile the

farce was going on very successfully, and Mrs. Leary, in
a hussar jacket and braided pantaloons, was enchanting the
audience with her archness, her lovely figure, and her de-
lightful ballads.

Pen, being new to the town, would have liked to listen
to Mrs. Leary ; but the other people in the box did not
care about her song or her pantaloons, and kept up an in-
cessant chattering. Tiptoff knew where her maillots came
from. Colchicum saw her when she came out in '14. Miss
Blenkinsop said she sang out of all tune, to the pain and
astonishment of Pen, who thotight that she was as beau-
tiful as an angel, and that she sang like a nightingale;
and when Hoppus came on as Sir Harcourt Featherby, the
young man of the piece, the gentlemen in the box declared
that Hoppus was getting too stale, and Tiptoff was for
flinging Miss Blenkinsop' s bouquet to him.

" Not for the world," cried the daughter of the veteran
Blenkinsop; "Lord Colchicum gave it to me."

Pen remembered that nobleman's name, and with a bow
and a blush said he believed he had to thank Lord Colchi-
cum for having proposed him at the Polyanthus Club, at
the request of his uncle Major Pendennis.

" What, you're Wigsby's nephew, are you? " said the
peer. "I beg your pardon, we always call him Wigsby."
Pen blushed to hear his venerable uncle called by such a
familiar name. " We balloted you in last week, didn't
we? Yes, last Wednesday night. Your uncle wasn't
there."

362 PENDENNIS.

Here was delightful news for Pen ! He professed him-
self very much obliged indeed to Lord Colchicum, and
made him a handsome speech of thanks, to which the other
listened, with his double opera-glass up to his eyes. Pen
was full of excitement at the idea of being a member of
this polite Club.

"Don't be always looking at that box, you naughty
creature," cried Miss Blenkinsop.

"She's a dev'lish fine woman, that Mirabel," said Tip-
toff; "though Mirabel was a d — d fool to marry her."

"A stupid old spooney," said the peer.

" Mirabel ! " cried out Pendennis.

"Ha! ha!" laughed out Harry Foker. "We've heard
of her before, haven't we, Pen? "

It was Pen's first love. It was Miss Fotheringay. The
year before she had been led to the altar by Sir Charles
Mirabel, G.C.B.,. and formerly envoy to the Court of
Pumpernickel, who had taken so active a part in the nego-
tiations before the Congress of Swammerdan, and signed,
on behalf of H. B. M., the Peace of Pultusk.

"Emily was always as stupid as an owl," said Miss
Blenkinsop.

"Eh! eh! pas si b§te," the old peer said.

" Oh, for shame ! " cried the actress, who did not in the
least know what he meant.

And Pen looked out and beheld his first love once again
— and wondered how he ever could have loved her.

Thus, on the very first night of his arrival in London,
Mr. Arthur Pendennis found himself introduced to a Club,
to an actress of genteel comedy and a heavy father of the
Stage, and to a dashing society of jovial blades, old and
young; for my Lord Colchicum, though stricken in years,
bald of head and enfeebled in person, was still indefatiga-
ble in the pursuit of enjoyment, and it was the venerable
Viscount's boast that he could drink as much claret as the
youngest member of the society which he frequented. He
lived with the youth about town : he gave them countless

PENDENNIS. 363

dinners at Kichmond and Greenwich: an enlightened
patron of the drama in all languages and of the Terpsicho-
rean art, he received dramatic professors of all nations at
his banquets — English from the Covent Garden and Strand
houses, Italians from the Haymarket, French from their
own pretty little theatre, or the boards of the Opera where
they danced. And at his villa on the Thames, this pillar
of the State gave sumptuous entertainments to scores of
young men of fashion, who very affably consorted with the
ladies and gentlemen of the green-room — with the former
chiefly, for Viscount Colchicum preferred their society as
more polished and gay than that of their male brethren.

Pen went the next day and paid his entrance money at
the Club, which operation carried off exactly one-third of
his hundred pounds: and took possession of the edifice,
and ate his luncheon there with immense satisfaction. He
plunged into an easy-chair in the library, and tried to read
all the magazines. He wondered whether the members
were looking at him, and that they could dare to keep on
their hats in such fine rooms. He sate down and wrote a
letter to Fairoaks on the Club paper, and said, what a
comfort this place would be to him after his day's work
was over. He went over to his uncle's lodgings in Bury
Street with some considerable tremor, and in compliance
with his mother's earnest desire, that he should instantly
call on Major Pendennis; and was not a little relieved to
find that the Major had not yet returned to town. His
apartments were blank. Brown Hollands covered his
library-table, and bills and letters lay on the mantel-piece,
grimly awaiting the return of their owner. The Major
was on the continent, the landlady of the house said, at
Badn-Badn, with the Marcus of Steyne. Pen left his card
upon the shelf with the rest. Fairoaks was written on it
still. When the Major returned to London, which he did
in time for the fogs of November, after enjoying which he
proposed to spend Christmas with some friends in the
country, he found another card of Arthur's, on which
Lamb Court, Temple, was engraved, and a note from that

364 PENDENNIS.

young gentleman and from his mother, stating that he was
come to town, was entered a member of the Upper Temple,
and was reading hard for the bar.

Lamb Court, Temple : — where was it? Major Pendennis
remembered that some ladies of fashion used to talk of
dining with Mr. Ayliffe, the barrister, who was in " socie-
ty," and who lived there in the King's Bench, of which
prison there was probably a branch in the Temple, and
Ayliffe was very likely an officer. Mr. Deuceace, Lord
Crab's son, had also lived there, he recollected. He dis-
patched Morgan to find out where Lamb Court was, and to
report upon the lodging selected by Mr. Arthur. That
alert messenger had little difficulty in discovering Mr.
Pen's abode. Discreet Morgan had in his time traced peo-
ple far more difficult to find than Arthur.

" What sort of a place is it, Morgan? " asked the Major
out of the bed-curtains in Bury Street the next morning,
as the valet was arranging his toilette in the deep yellow
London fog.

" I should say rayther a shy place," said Mr. Morgan.
"The lawyers lives there, and has their names on the
doors. Mr. Harthur lives three pair high, sir. Mr. War-
rington lives there too, sir."

"Suffolk Warringtons! I shouldn't wonder: a good
family," thought the Major. " The cadets of many of our
good families follow the robe as a profession. Comfort-
able rooms, eh? "

" Honly saw the outside of the door, sir, with Mr. War-
rington's name and Mr. Arthur's painted up, and a piece
of paper with 'Back at 6; ' but I couldn't see no servant,
sir."

"Economical at any rate," said the Major.

"Very, sir. Three pair, sir. Nasty black staircase as
ever I see. Wonder how a gentleman can live in such a
place."

"Pray, who taught you where gentlemen should or
should not live, Morgan? Mr. Arthur, sir, is going to
study for the bar, sir; " the Major said with much dignity;

PENDENNIS. 365

and closed the conversation and began to array himself in
the yellow fog.

"Boys will be boys," the mollified uncle thought to him-
self. " He has written to me a devilish good letter. Col-
chicum says he has had him to dine, and thinks him a
gentlemanlike lad. His mother is one of the best creatures
in the world. If he has sown his wild oats, and will stick
to his businses, he may do well yet. Think of Charley
Mirabel, the old fool, marrying that flame of his; that
Fotheringay ! He doesn't like to come here till I give him
leave, and puts it in a very manly nice way. I was deuced
angry with him, after his Oxbridge escapades — and showed
it, too, when he was here before — Gad, I'll go and see
him, hang me, if I don't."

And having ascertained from Morgan that he could reach
the Temple without much difficulty, and that a city omni-
bus would put him down at the gate, the Major one day
after breakfast at his Club — not the Polyanthus, whereof
Mr. Pen was just elected a member, but another Club : for
the Major was too wise to have a nephew as a constant in-
mate of any house where he was in the habit of passing
his time — the Major one day entered one of those public
vehicles, and bade the conductor to put him down at the
gate of the Upper Temple.

When Major Pendennis reached that dingy portal it was
about twelve o'clock in the day ; and he was directed by a
civil personage with a badge and a white apron, through
some dark alleys, and under various melancholy archways
into courts each more dismal than the other, until finally
he reached Lamb Court. If it was dark in Pall Mall, what
was it in Lamb Court. Candles were burning in many of
the rooms there — in the pupil-room of Mr. Hodgeman, the
special pleader, whose six pupils were scribbling declara-
tions under the tallow; in Sir Hokey Walker's clerk's
room, where the clerk, a person far more gentlemanlike
and cheerful in appearance than the celebrated counsel, his
master, was conversing in a patronising manner with the
managing clerk of an attorney at the door j and in Curling,

366 PENDENNIS.

the wig-maker's melancholy shop, where, from behind the
feeble glimmer of a couple of lights, large Serjeants' and
judges' wigs were looming drearily, with the blank blocks
looking at the lamp-post in the court. Two little clerks
were playing at toss-halfpenny under that lamp. A laun-
dress in pattens passed in at one door, a newspaper boy
issued from another. A porter, whose white apron was
faintly visible, paced up and down. It would be impossi-
ble to conceive a place more dismal, and the Major shud-
dered to think that any one should select such a residence.
" Good Ged ! " he said, " the poor boy mustn't live on here. "

The feeble and filthy oil-lamps, with which the stair-
cases of the Upper Temple are lighted of nights, were of
course not illuminating the stairs by day, and Major Pen-
dennis, having read with difficulty his nephew's name
under Mr. Warrington's on the wall of No. 6, found still
greater difficulty in climbing the abominable black stairs,
up the banisters of which, which contributed their damp
exudations to his gloves, he groped painfully until he came
to the third story. A candle was in the passage of one of
the two sets of rooms ; the doors were open, and the names
of Mr. Warrington and Mr. A. Pendennis were very clearly
visible to the Major as he went in. An Irish charwoman,
with a pail and broom, opened the door for the Major.

"Is that the beer?" cried out a great voice: "give us
hold of it."

The gentleman who was speaking was seated on a table,
unshorn and smoking a short pipe ; in a farther chair sate
Pen, with a cigar, and his legs near the fire. A little boy,
who acted as the clerk of these gentlemen, was grinning in
the Major's face, at the idea of his being mistaken for
beer. Here, upon the third floor, the rooms were some-
what lighter, and the Major could see the place.

"Pen, my boy, it's I — it's your uncle," he said, chok-
ing with the smoke. But as most young men of fashion
used the weed, he pardoned the practice easily enough.

Mr. Warrington got up from the table, and Pen, in a
very perturbed manner, from his chair. " Beg your par-

PENDENNIS.

don for mistaking you," said Warrington, in a frank, loud
voice. " Will you take a cigar, sir? Clear those things
off the chair, Pidgeon, and pull it round to the fire."

Pen flung his cigar into the grate ; and was pleased with
the cordiality with which his uncle shook him by the hand.
As soon as he could speak for the stairs and the smoke,
the Major began to ask Pen very kindly about himself and
about his mother ; for blood is blood, and he was pleased
once more to see the boy.

Pen gave his news, and then introduced Mr. Warrington
— an old Boniface man — whose chambers he shared. •

The Major was quite satisfied when he heard that Mr.
Warrington was a younger son of Sir Miles Warriugton of
Suffolk. He had served with an uncle of his in "India and
in New South Wales, years ago.

" Took a sheep-farm there, sir, made a fortune — better
thing than law or soldiering, " Warrington said. " Think
I shall go there, too." And here, the expected beer com-
ing in, in a tankard with a glass bottom, Mr. Warrington,
with a laugh, said he supposed the Major would not have
any, and took a long, deep draught himself, after which
he wiped his wrist across his beard with great satisfaction.
The young man was perfectly easy and unembarrassed.
He was dressed in a ragged old shooting-jacket, and had a
bristly blue beard. He was drinking beer like a coal-
heaver, and yet you couldn't but perceive that he was a
gentleman.

When he had sate for a minute or two after his draught
he went out of the room, leaving it to Pen and his uncle,
that they might talk over family affairs were they so in-
clined.

" Rough and ready, your chum seems," the Major said.
"Somewhat different from your dandy friends at Ox-
bridge."

"Times are altered," Arthur replied, with a blush.
" Warrington is only just called, and has no business, but
he knows law pretty well ; and until I can afford to read
with a pleader, I use his books and get his help."

368 PENDENNIS.

"Is that one of the books?" the Major asked, with a
smile. A French novel was lying at the foot of Pen's
chair.

" This is not a working day, sir," the lad said. " We
were out very late at a party last night — at Lady Whis-
ton's," Pen added, knowing his uncle's weakness. " Every-
body in town was there except you, sir ; Counts, Ambassa-
dors, Turks, Stars and Garters — I don't know who — it's
all in the paper — and my name, too," said Pen, with great
glee. " I met an old flame of mine there, sir," he added,
with a laugh. "You know whom I mean, sir, — Lady
Mirabel — to whom I was introduced over again. She
shook hands, and was gracious enough. I may thank you
for being out of that scrape, sir. She presented me to the
husband, too — an old beau in a star and a blonde wig.
He does not seem very wise. She has asked me to call on
her, sir : and I may go now without any fear of losing my
heart."

" What, we have had some new loves, have we? " the
Major asked, in high good-humour.

"Some two or three," Mr. Pen said, laughing. "But I
don't put oh my grand serieux any more, sir. That goes
off after the first flame."

" Very right, my dear boy. Flames and darts and pas-
sion, and that sort of thing, do very well for a lad : and
you were but a lad when that affair with the Fotheringill
— Fotheringay — (what's her name?) came off. But a
man of the world gives up those follies. You still may do
very well. You have been hit, but you may recover. You
are heir to a little independence, which everybody fancies
is a doosid deal more. You have a good name, good wits,
good manners, and a good person — and, begad! I don't
see why you shouldn't marry a woman with money — get
into Parliament — distinguish yourself, and — and, in fact,
that sort of thing. Kemember, it's as easy to marry a rich
woman as a poor woman : and a devilish deal pleasanter to
sit down to a good dinner than to a scrag of mutton in
lodgings. Make up your mind to that. A woman with a

PENDENNIS. 369

good jointure is a doosid deal easier a profession than the
law, let me tell you. Look out ; I shall be on the watch
for you : and I shall die content, my boy, if I can see you
with a good lady-like wife, and a good carriage, and a
good pair of horses, living in society, and seeing your
friends, like a gentleman." It was thus this affectionate
uncle spoke, and expounded to Pen his simple philosophy.

" What would my mother and Laura say to this, I won-
der? " thought the lad. Indeed, old Pendennis's morals
were not their morals, nor was his wisdom theirs.

This affecting conversation between uncle and nephew
had scarcely concluded, when Warrington came out of his
bed-room, no longer in rags, but dressed like a gentleman,
straight and tall, and perfectly frank and good-humoured.
He did the honours of his ragged sitting-room with as
much ease as if it had been the finest apartment in Lon-
don. And queer rooms they were in which the Major
found his nephew. The carpet was full of holes — the
table stained with many circles of Warrington's previous
ale-pots. There was a small library of law-books, books
of poetry, and of mathematics, of which he was very fond.
(He had been one of the hardest livers and hardest readers
of his time at Oxbridge, where the name of Stunning War-
rington was yet famous for beating bargemen, pulling
matches, winning prizes, and drinking milk-punch.) A
print of the old college hung up over the mantel-piece,
and some battered volumes of Plato, bearing its well-known
arms, were on the book-shelves. There were two easy-
chairs; a standing reading-desk piled with bills; a couple
of very meagre briefs on a broken-legged study-table. In-
deed, there was scarcely any article of furniture that had
not been in the wars, and was not wounded. " Look here,
sir, here is Pen's room. He is a dandy, and has got cur-
tains to his bed, and wears shiny boots, and has a silver
dressing-case." Indeed, Pen's room was rather coquet-
tishly arranged, and a couple of neat prints of opera-
dancers, besides a drawing of Fairoaks, hung on the walls.
In Warrington's room there was scarcely any article of

370 PEN DENNIS.

furniture, save a great shower-bath, and a heap of books
by the bedside ; where he lay upon straw like Margery
Daw, and smoked his pipe, and read half through the
night his favourite poetry or mathematics.

When he had completed his simple toilette, Mr. War-
rington came out of this room, and proceeded to the cup-
board to search for his breakfast.

" Might I offer you a mutton-chop, sir? We cook 'em
ourselves, hot and hot; and I am teaching Pen the first
principles of law, cooking, and morality at the same time.
He's a lazy beggar, sir, and too much of a dandy."

And so saying Mr. Warrington wiped a gridiron with a
piece of paper, put it on the fire, and on it two mutton
chops, and took from the cupboard a couple of plates, and
some knives and silver forks, and castors.

"Say but a word, Major Pendennis," he said; "there's
another chop in the cupboard, or Pidgeon shall go out and
get you anything you like."

Major Pendennis sate in wonder and amusement, but he
said he had just breakfasted, and wouldn't have any lunch.
So Warrington cooked the chops, and popped them hissing
hot upon the plates.

Pen fell to at his chop with a good appetite, after look-
ing up at his uncle, and seeing that gentleman was still in
good-humour.

" You see, sir," Warrington said, " Mrs. Flanaghan isn't
here to do 'em, and we can't employ the boy, for the lit-
tle beggar is all day occupied cleaning Pen's boots. And
now for another swig at the beer. Pen drinks tea; it's
only fit for old women. "

"And so you were at Lady Whiston's last night," the
Major said, not in truth knowing what observation to make
to his rough diamond.

"I at Lady Whiston's! not such a flat, sir. I don't
care for female society. In fact it bores me. I spent my
evening philosophically at the Back Kitchen."

" The Back Kitchen? indeed ! " said the Major.

"I see you don't know what it means," Warrington

PENDENNIS. 371

said. "Ask Pen. He was there after Lady Winston's.
Tell Major Pendennis about the Back Kitchen, Pen — don't
be ashamed of yourself."

So Pen said it was a little eccentric society of men of
letters and men about town, to which he had been pre-
sented; and the Major began to think that the young fel-
low had seen a good deal of the world since his arrival in
London.

372 PENDENNIS

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE KNIGHTS OP THE TEMPLE.

COLLEGES, schools, and inns of courts, still have some
respect for antiquity, and maintain a great number of the
customs and institutions of our ancestors, with which those
persons who do not particularly regard their forefathers,
or perhaps are not very well acquainted with them, have
long since done away. A well-ordained workhouse or
prison is much better provided with the appliances of
health, comfort, and cleanliness, than a respectable Foun-
dation School,, a venerable College, or a learned Inn. In
the latter place of residence men are contented to sleep in
dingy closets, and to pay for the sitting-room and the cup-
board, which is their dormitory, the price of a good villa
and garden in the suburbs, or of a roomy house in the
neglected squares of the town. The poorest mechanic in
Spitalfields has a cistern and an unbounded supply of
water at his command ; but the gentlemen of the inns of
court, and the gentlemen of the universities, have their
supply of this cosmetic fetched in jugs by laundresses and
bedmakers, and live in abodes which were erected long be-
fore the custom of cleanliness and decency obtained among
us. There are individuals still alive who sneer at the
people, and speak of them with epithets of scorn. Gen-
tlemen, there can be but little doubt that your ancestors
were the Great Unwashed : and in the Temple especially,
it is pretty certain, that only under the greatest difficulties
and restrictions, the virtue which has been pronounced to
be next to godliness could have been practised at all.

Old Grump, of the Norfolk Circuit, who had lived for
more than thirty years in the chambers under those occu-
pied by Warrington and Pendennis, and who used to be
awakened by the roaring of the shower-baths which those

PENDENNIS. 373

gentlemen had erected in their apartments, — part of the
contents of which occasionally trickled through the roof
into Mr. Grump's room, — declared that the practice was
an absurd, new-fangled, dandyfied folly, and daily cursed
the laundress who slopped the staircase by which he had
to pass. Grump, now much more than half a century old,
had indeed never used the luxury in question. He had
done without water very well, and so had our fathers before
him. Of all those knights and baronets, lords and gentle-
men, bearing arms, whose escutcheons are painted upon
the walls of the famous hall of the Upper Temple, was
there no philanthropist good-natured enough to devise a
set of Hummums for the benefit of the lawyers, his fellows
and successors? The Temple historian makes no mention
of such a scheme. There is Pump Court and Fountain
Court, with their hydraulic apparatus, but one never heard
of a bencher disporting in the fountain; and can't but
think how many a counsel learned in the law of old days
might have benefitted by the pump.

Nevertheless, those venerable Inns which have the Lamb
and Flag and the Winged Horse for their ensigns, have
attractions for persons who inhabit them, and a share of
rough comforts and freedom, which men always remember
with pleasure. I don't know whether the student of law
permits himself the refreshment of enthusiasm, or indulges
in poetical reminiscences as he passes by historical cham-
bers, and says, " Yonder Eldon lived — upon this site Coke
mused upon Lyttleton — here Chitty toiled — here Barnwell
and Alderson joined in their famous labours — here Byles
composed his great work upon bills, and Smith compiled
his immortal leading cases — here Gustavus still toils, with
Solomon to aid him : " but the man of letters can't but
love the place which has been inhabited by so many of
his brethren, or peopled by their creations as real to us at
this day as the authors whose children they were — and
Sir Roger de Coverley walking in the Temple Garden, and
discoursing with Mr. Spectator about the beauties in hoops
and patches who are sauntering over the grass, is just as

374 PENDENNIS.

lively a figure to me as old Samuel Johnson rolling through
the fog with the Scotch gentleman at his heels on their way
to Dr. Goldsmith's chambers in Brick Court; or Harry
Fielding, with inked ruffles and a wet towel round his
head, dashing off articles at midnight for the Covent Gar-
den Journal, while the printer's boy is asleep in the
passage.

If we could but get the history of a single day as it
passed in any one of those four-storied houses in the dingy
court where our friends Pen and Warrington dwelt, some
Temple Asmodeus might furnish us with a queer volume.
There may be a great parliamentary counsel on the ground-
floor, who drives off to Belgravia at dinner-time, when his
clerk, too, becomes a gentleman, and goes away to enter-
tain his friends, and to take his pleasure. But a short
time since he was hungry and briefless in some garret of
the Inn ; lived by stealthy literature ; hoped, and waited,
and sickened, and no clients came; exhausted his own
means and his friends' kindness ; had to remonstrate hum-
bly with duns, and to implore the patience of poor credit-
ors. Ruin seemed to be staring him in the face, when,
behold a turn of the wheel of fortune, and the lucky wretch
in possession of one of those prodigious prizes which are
sometimes drawn in the great lottery of the Bar. Many
a better lawyer than himself does not make a fifth part of
the income of his clerk, who, a few months since, could
scarcely get credit for blacking for his master's unpaid
boots. On the first-floor, perhaps, you will have a vener-
able man whose name is famous, who has lived for half a
century in the Inn, whose brains are full of books, and
whose shelves are stored with classical and legal lore. He
has lived alone all these fifty years, alone and for himself,
amassing learning, and compiling a fortune. He comes
home at night only from the club, where he has been din-
ing freely, to the lonely chambers where he lives a godless
old recluse. When he dies, his Inn will erect a tablet to
his honour, and his heirs burn a part of his library.
Would you like to have such a prospect for your old age,

PENDENNIS. 375

to store up learning and money, and end so? But we
must not linger too long by Mr. Doomsday's door. Worthy
Mr. Grump lives over him, who is also an ancient inhabi-
tant of the Inn, and who, when Doomsday comes to read
Catullus, is sitting down with three steady seniors of his
standing, to a steady rubber at whist, after a' dinner at
which they have consumed their three steady bottles of
Port. You may see the old boys asleep at the Temple
Church of a Sunday. Attornies seldom trouble them, and
they have small fortunes of their own. On the other side
of the third landing, where Pen and Warrington live, till
long after midnight, sits Mr. Paley, who took the highest
honours, and who is a fellow of his college, who will sit
and read and note cases until two o'clock in the morning;
who will rise at seven and be at the pleader's chambers as
soon as they are open, where he will work until an hour
before dinner-time ; who will come home from Hall and
read and note cases again until dawn next day, when per-
haps Mr. Arthur Pendennis and his friend Mr. Warring-
ton are returning from some of their wild expeditions.
How differently employed Mr. Paley has been ! He has
not been throwing himself away : he has only been bring-
ing a great intellect laboriously down to the comprehension
of a mean subject, and in his fierce grasp of that, resolutely
excluding from his mind all higher thoughts, all better
things, all the wisdom of philosophers and historians, all
the thoughts of poets ; all wit, fancy, reflection, art, love,
truth altogether — so that he may master that enormous leg-
end of the law, which he proposes to gain his livelihood
by expounding. Warrington and Paley had been competi-
tors for university honours in former days, and had run
each other hard ; and everybody said now that the former
was wasting his time and energies, whilst all people praised
Paley for his industry. There may be doubts, however,
as to which was using his time best. The one could afford
time to think, and the other never could. The one could
have sympathies and do kindnesses ; and the other must
needs be always selfish. He could not cultivate a friend-

376 PENDENNIS.

ship or do a charity, or admire a work of genius, or kindle
at the sight of beauty or the sound of a sweet song — he
had no time, and no eyes for anything but his law books.
All was dark outside his reading-lamp. Love, and Na-
ture, and Art, (which is the expression of our praise and
sense of the beautiful world of God), were shut out from
him. And as he turned off his lonely lamp at night, he
never thought but that he had spent the day profitably,
and went to sleep alike thankless and remorseless. But
he shuddered when he met his old companion Warrington
on the stairs, and shunned him as one that was doomed to
perdition.

It may have been the sight of that cadaverous ambition
and self-complacent meanness, which showed itself in
Paley's yellow face, and twinkled in his narrow eyes, or it
may have been a natural appetite for pleasure and joviality,
of which it must be confessed Mr. Pen was exceedingly
fond, which deterred that luckless youth from pursuing
his designs upon the Bench or the Woolsack with the
ardour, or rather steadiness, which is requisite in gentlemen
who would climb to those seats of honour. He enjoyed
the Temple life with a great deal of relish : his worthy
relatives thought he was reading as became a regular stu-
dent : and his uncle wrote home congratulatory letters to
the kind widow at Fairoaks, announcing that the lad had
sown his wild oats, and was becoming quite steady. The
truth is, that it was a new sort of excitement to Pen the
life in which he was now engaged, and having given up
some of the dandyfied pretensions, and fine-gentleman airs
which he had contracted among his aristocratic college
acquaintances, of whom he now saw but little, the rough
pleasures and amusements of a London bachelor were very
novel and agreeable to him, and he enjoyed them all.
Time was he would have envied the dandies their fine
horses in Rotten Row, but he was contented now to walk
in the Park and look at them. He was too young to suc-
ceed in London society without a better name and a larger
fortune than he had, and too lazy to get on without these

PENDENNIS. 377

adjuncts. Old Pendennis fondly thought he was busied
with law because he neglected the social advantages pre-
sented to him, and, having been at half a dozen balls and
evening parties, retreated before their dulness and same-
ness ; and whenever anybody made enquiries of the worthy
Major about his nephew, the old gentleman said the young
rascal was reformed, and could not be got away from his
books. But the Major would have been almost as much
horrified as Mr. Paley was, had he known what was Mr.
Pen's real course of life, and how much pleasure entered
into his law studies.

A long morning's reading, a walk in the park, a pull on
the river, a stretch up the hill to Hampstead, and a mod-
est tavern dinner ; a bachelor night passed here or there,
in joviality, not vice (for Arthur Pendennis admired women
so heartily that he could never bear the society of any of
them that were not, in his fancy at least, good and pure) ;
a quiet evening at home, alone with a friend and a pipe or
two, and a humble potation of British spirits, whereof Mrs.
Flanagan, the laundress, invariably tested the quality ; —
these were our young gentleman's pursuits, and it must be
owned that his life was not unpleasant. In term-time,
Mr. Pen showed a most praiseworthy regularity in per-
forming one part of the law-student's course of duty, and
eating his dinners in Hall. Indeed, that Hall of the
Upper Temple is a sight not uninteresting, and with the
exception of some trifling improvements and anachronisms
which have been introduced into the practice there, a man
may sit down and fancy that he joins in a meal of the
seventeenth century. The bar have their messes, the stu-
dents their tables apart ; the benchers sit at the high table
on the raised platform, surrounded by pictures of judges
of the law and portraits of royal personages who have
honoured its festivities with their presence and patronage.
Pen looked about, on his first introduction, not a little
amused with the scene which he witnessed. Among his
comrades of the student class there were gentlemen of all
ages, from sixty to seventeen } stout grey-headed attornies

378 PENDENNIS.

who were proceeding to take the superior dignity, — dan-
dies and men-about-town who wished for some reason to
be barristers of seven years' standing, — swarthy, black-
eyed natives of the Colonies, who came to be called here
before they practised in their own islands, — and many gen-
tlemen of the Irish nation, who make a sojourn in Middle
Temple Lane before they return to the green country of
their birth. There were little squads of reading students
who talked law all dinner-time ; there were rowing men,
whose discourse was of sculling matches, the Red House,
Vauxhall, and the Opera ; there were others great in poli-
tics, and orators of the students' debating clubs ; with all
of which sets, except the first, whose talk was an almost
unknown and a quite uninteresting language to him, Mr.
Pen made a gradual acquaintance, and had many points of
sympathy.

The ancient and liberal inn of the Upper Temple pro-
vides in its Hall, and for a most moderate price, an excel-
lent wholesome dinner of soup, meat, tarts, and port wine
or sherry, for the barristers and students who attend that
place of refection. The parties are arranged in messes of
four, each of which quartets has its piece of beef or leg of
mutton, its sufficient apple-pie, and its bottle of wine.
But the honest habitue's of the hall, amongst the lower
rank of students, who have a taste for good living, have
many harmless arts by which they improve their banquet,
and innocent " dodges " (if we may be permitted to use an
excellent phrase that has become vernacular since the ap-
pearance of the last dictionaries) by which they strive to
attain for themselves more delicate food than the common
e very-day roast meatvof the student's table.

"Wait a bit," said Mr. Lowton, one of these Temple
gourmands. " Wait a bit," said Mr. Lowton, tugging at
Pen's gown — "the tables are very full, and there's only
three benchers to eat ten side dishes — if we wait, perhaps
we shall get something from their table. " And Pen looked
with some amusement, as did Mr. Lowton with eyes of
fond desire, towards the benchers' high table, where three

PENDENNIS. 379

old gentlemen were standing up before a dozen silver dish-
covers, while the clerk was quavering out a grace.

Lowton was great in the conduct of the dinner. His
aim was to manage so as to be first, or captain of the mess,
and to secure for himself the thirteenth glass of the bottle
of port wine. Thus he would have the command of the
joint on which he operated his favourite cuts, and made
rapid dexterous appropriations of gravy, which amused
Pen infinitely. Poor Jack Lowton ! thy pleasures in life
were very harmless ; an eager epicure, thy desires did not
go beyond eighteen-pence.

Pen was somewhat older than many of his fellow-stu-
dents, and there was that about his style and appearance,
which, as we have said, was rather haughty and imperti-
nent, that stamped him as a man of ton — very unlike those
pale students who were talking law to one another, and
those ferocious dandies, in rowing shirts and astonishing
pins and waistcoats, who represented the idle part of the
little community. The humble and good-natured Lowton
had felt attracted by Pen's superior looks and presence —
and had made acquaintance with him at the mess by open-
ing the conversation.

" This is boiled beef day, I believe, sir," said Lowton to
Pen.

"Upon my word, sir, I'm not aware," said Pen, hardly
able to contain his laughter, but added, " I'm a stranger ;
this is my first term ; " on which Lowton began to point
out to him the notabilities in the Hall.

"That's Boosey the bencher, the bald one sitting under
the picture and aving soup; I wonder whether it's tur-
tle? They often ave turtle. Next is Balls, the King's
Counsel, and Swettenham — Hodge and Swettenham, you
know. That's old Grump, the senior of the bar; they say
he's dined here forty years. They often send 'em down
their fish from the benchers to the senior table. Do you
see those four fellows seated opposite us? They are regu-
lar swells — tip-top fellows, I can tell you — Mr. Trail, the
Bishop of Baling' s son, Honourable Fred. Eingwood, Lord

17 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

380 PENDEN1STS.

Cinqbar's brother, you know. He'll have a good place, I
bet any money : and Bob Suckling, who' s always with him
— a high fellow too. Ha ! ha ! " Here Lowton burst into
a laugh.

" What is it? " said Pen, still amused.

"I say, I like to mess with those chaps," Lowton said,
winking his eye knowingly, and pouring out his glass of
wine.

"And why? " asked Pen.

"Why! they don't come down here to dine you know,
they only make believe to dine. They dine here, Law
bless you ! They go to some of the swell clubs, or else to
some grand dinner party. You see their names in the
'Morning Post ' at all the fine parties in London. Why,
I bet anything that Ringwood has his cab, or Trail his
brougham (he's a devil of a fellow, and makes the bishop's
money spin, I can tell you) at the corner of Essex Street
at this minute. They dine ! They won't dine these two
hours, I dare say."

" But why should you like to mess with them, if they
don't eat any dinner? " Pen asked, still puzzled. " There's
plenty, isn't there? "

"How green you are," said Lowton. "Excuse me, but
you are green. They don't drink any wine, don't you see,
and a fellow gets the bottle to himself if he likes it, when
he messes with those three chaps. That's why Corkoran
got in with 'em."

"Ah, Mr. Lowton, I see you are a sly fellow," Pen
said, delighted with his acquaintance : on which the other
modestly replied, that he had lived in London the better
part of his life, and of course had his eyes about him ; and
went on with his catalogue to Pen.

"There's a lot of Irish here," he said: "that Corkoran's
one, and I can't say I like him. You see that handsome
chap with the blue neckcloth, and pink shirt, and yellow
waistcoat, that's another; that's Molloy Maloney, of Bal-
lymaloney, and nephew to Major-General Sir Hector
O'Dowd, he, he," Lowton said, trying to imitate the Hiber-

PENDENNIS. 381

nian accent. "He's always bragging about his uncle; and
came into Hall in silver-striped trowsers the day he had
been presented. That other near him, with the long black
hair, is a tremendous rebel. By Jove, sir, to hear him at
the Forum it makes your blood freeze ; and the next is an
Irishman, too, Jack Finucane, reporter of a newspaper.
They all stick together, those Irish. It's your turn to fill
your glass. What? you won't have any port? Don't
like port with your dinner? Here's your health." And
this worthy man found himself not the less attached to
Pendennis because the latter disliked port wine at din-
ner.

It was while Pen was taking his share of one of these
dinners with his acquaintance Lowton as the captain of his
mess, that there came to join them a gentleman in a bar-
rister's gown, who could not find a seat, as it appeared,
amongst the persons of his own degree, and who strode
over to the table and took his place on the bench where
Pen sate. He was dressed in old clothes and a faded
gown, which hung behind him, and he wore a shirt which,
though clean, was extremely ragged, and very different to
the magnificent pink raiment of Mr. Molloy Maloney, who
occupied a commanding position in the next mess. In
order to notify their appearance at dinner, it is the custom
of the gentlemen who eat in the Upper Temple Hall to
write down their names upon slips of paper, which are
provided for that purpose, with a pencil for each mess.
Lowton wrote his name first, then came Arthur Pendennis,
and the next was that of the gentleman in the old clothes.
He smiled when he saw Pen's name, and looked at him.
"We ought to know each other," he said. "We're both
Boniface men; my name's Warrington."

" Are you St— - — Warrington? " Pen said, delighted to
see this hero.

Warrington laughed — " Stunning Warrington — yes," he
said. " I recollect you in your freshman's term. But you
appear to have quite cut me out."

"The college talks about you still," said Pen, who had

382 PENDENNIS.

a generous admiration for talent and pluck. " The barge-
man you thrashed, Bill Simes, don't you remember, wants
you up again at Oxbridge. The Miss Notleys, the haber-
dashers "

"Hush!" said Warrington — "glad to make your ac-
quaintance, Pendennis. Heard a good deal about you."

The young men were friends immediately, and at once
deep in college-talk. And Pen, who had been acting
rather the fine gentleman on a previous day, when he pre-
tended to Lowton that he could not drink port wine at din-
ner, seeing Warrington take his share with a great deal of
gusto, did not scruple about helping himself any more,
rather to the disappointment of honest Lowton. When
the dinner was over, Warrington asked Arthur where he
was going.

" I thought of going home to dress, and hear Grisi in
Norma," Pen said.

" Are you going to meet anybody there? " he asked.

Pen said, "No — only to hear the music, of which he
was very fond."

"You had much better come home and smoke a pipe
with me," said Warrington, — " a very short one. Come,
I live close by in Lamb Court, and we'll talk over Boniface
and old times."

They went away ; Lowton sighed after them. He knew
that Warrington was a baronet's son, and he looked up
with simple reverence to all the aristocracy. Pen and
Warrington became sworn friends from that night. War-
rington's cheerfulness and jovial temper, his good sense,
his rough welcome, and his never-failing pipe of tobacco
charmed Pen, who found it more pleasant to dive into
shilling taverns with him than to dine in solitary state
amongst the silent and polite frequenters of the Poly-
anthus.

Ere long Pen gave up his lodgings in St. James's, to
which he had migrated on quitting his hotel, and found it
was much more economical to take up his abode with War-
rington in Lamb Court, and furnish and occupy his friend's

PENDENNIS. 383

vacant room there. For it must be said of Pen, that no
man was more easily led than he to do a thing, when it
was a novelty, or when he had a mind to it. And Pidgeon,
the youth, and Flanagan, the laundress, divided their alle-
giance now between Warrington and Pen.

384 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXX.

OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

ELATED with the idea of seeing life, Pen went into a
hundred queer London haunts. He liked to think he was
consorting with all sorts of men — so he beheld coalheavers
in their tap-rooms; boxers in their inn-parlours; honest
citizens disporting in the suburbs or on the river ; and he
would have liked to hob and nob with celebrated pick-
pockets or drink a pot of ale with a company of burglars
and cracksmen, had chance afforded him an opportunity of
making the acquaintance of this class of society. It was
good to see the gravity with which Warrington listened to
the Tutbury Pet or the Brighton Stunner at the Cham-
pion's Arms, and behold the interest which he took in the
coalheaving company assembled at the Fox-under-the-Hill.
His acquaintance with the public-houses of the metropolis
and its neighbourhood, and with the frequenters of their
various parlours, was prodigious. He was the personal
friend of the landlord and landlady, and welcome to the
bar as to the club-room. He liked their society, he said,
better than that of his own class, whose manners annoyed
him, and whose conversation bored him. "In society,"
he used to say, "everybody is the same, wears the same
dress, eats and drinks, and says the same things; one
young dandy at the club talks and looks just like another,
one Miss at a ball exactly resembles another, whereas
there's character here. I like to talk with the strongest
man in England, or the man who can drink the most beer
in England, or with that tremendous republican of a hat-
ter, who thinks Thistlewood was the greatest character in
history. I like gin-and-water better than claret. I like a
sanded floor in Carnaby Market better than a chalked one
in Mayfair. I prefer Snobs, I own it." Indeed, this gen-

PENDENNIS. 385

tleman was a social republican ; and it never entered his
head while conversing with Jack and Tom that he was in
any respect their better ; although, perhaps, the deference
which they paid him might secretly please him.

Pen followed him then to these various resorts of men
with great glee and assiduity. But he was considerably
younger, and therefore much more pompous and stately
than Warrington ; in fact, a young prince in disguise, visit-
ing the poor of his father's kingdom. They respected him
as a high chap, a fine fellow, a regular young swell. He
had somehow about him an air of imperious good-humour,
and a royal frankness and majesty, although he was only
heir apparent to twopence-half-penny, and but one in de-
scent from a gallipot. If these positions are made for us,
we acquiesce in them very easily ; and are always pretty
ready to assume a superiority over those who are as good
as ourselves. Pen's condescension at this time of his life
was a fine thing to witness. Amongst men of ability this
assumption and impertinence passes off with extreme
youth ; but it is curious to watch the conceit of a generous
and clever lad — there is something almost touching in that
early exhibition of simplicity and folly.

So, after reading pretty hard of a morning, and, I fear,
not law merely, but politics and general history and litera-
ture, which were as necessary for the advancement and in-
struction of a young man as mere dry law, after applying
with tolerable assiduity to letters, to reviews, to elemental
books of law, and, above all, to the newspaper, until the
hour of dinner was drawing nigh, these young gentlemen
would sally out upon the town with great spirits and appe-
tite, and bent upon enjoying a merry night as they had
passed a pleasant forenoon. It was a jovial time, that of
f our-and-twenty, when every muscle of mind and body was
in healthy action, when the world was new as yet, and one
moved over it spurred onwards by good spirits and the de-
lightful capability to enjoy. If ever we feel young after-
wards, it is with the comrades of that time : the tunes we
hum in our old age, are those we learned then. Some-

386 PENDENNIS.

times, perhaps, the festivity of that period revives in our
memory ; but how dingy the pleasure-garden has grown,
how tattered the garlands look, how scant and old the
company, and what a number of the lights have gone out
since that day ! Grey hairs have come on like daylight
streaming in — daylight and a headache with it. Pleasure
has gone to bed with the rouge on her cheeks. Well,
friend, let us walk through the day, sober and sad, but
friendly.

I wonder what Laura and Helen would have said, could
they have seen, as they might not unf requently have done
had they been up and in London, in the very early morn-
ing when the bridges began to blush in the sunrise, and
the tranquil streets of the city to shine in the dawn, Mr.
Pen and Mr. Warrington rattling over the echoing flags
towards the Temple, after one of their wild nights of
carouse — nights wild, but not so wicked as such nights
sometimes are, for Warrington was a woman-hater; and
Pen, as we have said, too lofty to stoop to a vulgar in-
trigue. Our young Prince of Fairoaks never could speak
to one of the sex but with respectful courtesy, and shrank
from a coarse word or gesture with instinctive delicacy —
for though we have seen him fall in love with a fool, as
his betters and inferiors have done, and as it is probable
that he did more than once in his life, yet for the time of
the delusion it was always as a Goddess that he considered
her, and chose to wait upon her. Men serve women kneel-
ing— when they get on their feet, they go away.

That was what an acquaintance of Pen's said to him in
his hard homely way ; — an old friend with whom he had
fallen in again in London — no other than honest Mr. Bows
of the Chatteris Theatre, who was now employed as piano-
forte player, to accompany the eminent lyrical talent which
nightly delighted the public at the Fielding's Head in
Covent Garden : and where was held the little club called
the Back Kitchen.

Numbers of Pen's friends frequented this very merry
meeting. The Fielding's Head had been a house of enter-

PENDENNIS. 387

tainment, almost since the time when the famous author
of " Tom Jones " presided as magistrate in the neighbour-
ing Bow Street ; his place was pointed out, and the chair
said to have been his, still occupied by the president of
the night's entertainment. The worthy Cutts, the land-
lord of the Fielding's Head, generally occupied this post
when not disabled by gout or other illness. His jolly ap-
pearance and fine voice may be remembered by some of my
male readers ; he used to sing profusely in the course of
the harmonic meeting, and his songs were of what may be
called the British Brandy and Water School of Song — such
as "The Good Old English Gentleman," "Dear Tom, this
Brown Jug," and so forth — songs in which pathos and
hospitality are blended, and the praises of good liquor and
the social affections are chanted in a barytone voice. The
charms of our women, the heroic deeds of our naval and
military commanders, are often sung in the ballads of this
school, and many a time in my youth have I admired how
Cutts the singer, after he had worked us all up to patriotic
enthusiasm, by describing the way in which the brave
Abercrombie received his death- wound, or made us join
him in tears, which he shed liberally himself, as in falter-
ing accents he told "how autumn's falling leaf proclaimed
the old man he must die " — how Cutts the singer became
at once Cutts the landlord, and, before the applause which
we were making with our fists on his table, in compliment
to his heart-stirring melody, had died away, was calling,
"Now, gentlemen, give your orders, the waiter's in the
room — John, a champagne cup for Mr. Green. I think,
sir, you said sausages and mashed potatoes? John, attend
on the gentleman."

" And I'll thank ye give me a glass of punch too, John,
and take care the wather boils," a voice would cry not un-
frequently, a well-known voice to Pen, which made the lad
blush and start when he heard it first — that of the vener-
able Captain Costigan ; who was now established in London,
and one of the great pillars of the harmonic meetings at
the Fielding's Head.

388 PENDENNIS.

The Captain's manners and conversation brought very
many young men to the place. He was a character, and
his fame had begun to spread soon after his arrival in the
metropolis, and especially after his daughter's marriage.
He was great in his conversation to the friend for the time
being (who was the neighbour drinking by his side), about
"me daughter." He told of her marriage, and of the
events previous and subsequent to that ceremony ; of the
carriages she kept; of Mirabel's adoration for her and for
him ; of the hunther pounds which he was at perfect liberty
to draw from his son-in-law, whenever necessity urged
him. And having stated that it was his firm intention to
" dthraw next Sathurday, I give ye me secred word and
honour, next Sathurday, the fourteenth, when ye'll see the
money will be handed over to me at Coutts's, the very
instant I present the cheque," the Captain would not un-
frequently propose to borrow half-a-crown of his friend
until the arrival of that day of Greek Calends, when, on
the honour of an officer and a gentleman, he would repee
the thrifling obligetion.

Sir Charles Mirabel had not that enthusiastic attach-
ment to his father-in-law, of which the latter sometimes
boasted (although in other stages of emotion Cos would in-
veigh, with tears in his eyes, against the ingratitude of the
child of his bosom, and the stinginess of the wealthy old
man who had married her) ; but the pair had acted not un-
kindly towards Costigan ; had settled a small pension ou
him, which was paid regularly, and forestalled with even
more regularity by poor Cos ; and the period of the pay-
ments was always well known by his friends at the Field-
ing's Head, whither the honest Captain took care to repair,
bank-notes in hand, calling loudly for change in the midst
of the full harmonic meeting. "I think ye'll find that
note won't be refused at the Bank of England, Cutts, my
boy," Captain Costigan would say. "Bows, have a glass?
Ye needn't stint yourself to-night, anyhow ; and a glass of
punch will make ye play con spirito." For he was lavishly
free with his money when it came to him, and was scarcely

PENDENNIS. 389

known to button his breeches pocket, except when the coin
was gone, or sometimes, indeed, when a creditor came by.

It was in one of these moments of exultation that Pen
found his old friend swaggering at the singers' table at the
Back Kitchen of the Fielding's Head, and ordering glasses
of brandy and water for any of his acquaintances who
made their appearance in the apartment. Warrington, who
was on confidential terms with the bass singer, made his
way up to this quarter of the room, and Pen walked at his
friend's heels.

Pen started and blushed to see Costigan. He had just
come from Lady Whiston's party, where he had met and
spoken with the Captain's daughter again for the first time
after very old old days. He came up with outstretched
hand, very kindly and warmly to greet the old man ; still
retaining a strong remembrance of the time when Costi-
gan's daughter had been everything in the world to him.
For though this young gentleman may have been some-
what capricious in his attachments, and occasionally have
transferred his affections from one woman to another, yet
he always respected the place where Love had dwelt, and,
like the Sultan of Turkey, desired that honours should be
paid to the lady towards whom he had once thrown the
royal pocket-handkerchief.

The tipsy Captain returned the clasp of Pen's hand with
all the strength of a palm which had become very shaky
by the constant lifting up of weights of brandy and water,
looked hard in Pen's face, and said, " Grecious heavens,
is it possible? Me dear boy, me dear fellow, me dear
friend ; " and then with a look of muddled curiosity, fairly
broke down with, " I know your face, me dear dear friend,
but, bedad, I've forgot your name." Five years of con-
stant punch had passed since Pen and Costigan met.
Arthur was a good deal changed, and the Captain may
surely be excused for forgetting him ; when a man at the
actual moment sees things double, we may expect that his
view of the past will be rather muzzy.

Pen saw his condition and laughed, although, perhaps,

390 FENDENOTS.

he was somewhat mortified. " Don't you remember me,
Captain? " he said. " I am Pendennis — Arthur Pendennis,
of Clavering."

The sound of the young man's friendly voice recalled
' and steadied Cos's tipsy remembrance, and he saluted
Arthur, as soon as he knew him, with a loud volley of
friendly greetings. Pen was his dearest boy, his gallant
young friend, his noble collagian, whom he had held in his
inmost heart ever since they had parted — how was his
fawther, no, his mother, and his guardian, the General, the
Major. " I preshoom, from your appearance, that you've
come into your prawpertee ; and, bedad, yee'll spend it like
a man of spirit — I' 11 go bail for that. No ! not yet come into
your estete? If ye want any thrifle, heark ye, there's poor
old Jack Costigan has got a guinea or two in his pocket —
and, be heavens I you shall never want, Awthur, me dear
boy. What' 11 ye have? John, come hither, and look
aloive ; give this gentleman a glass of punch, and I'll pay
for't. — Your friend? I've seen him before. Permit me
to have the honour of making meself known to ye, sir, and
requesting ye' 11 take a glass of punch."

"I don't envy Sir Charles Mirabel his father-in-law,"
thought Pendennis. "And how is my old friend, Mr.
Bows, Captain? Have you any news of him, and do yon
see him still? "

"No doubt he's very well," said the Captain, jingling
his money, and whistling the air of a song — " The Little
Doodeen " — for the singing of which he was celebrated at
the Fielding's Head. "Me dear boy — I've forgot your
name again — but me name's Costigan, Jack Costigan, and
I'd loike ye to take as many tumblers of punch in me
name as ever ye loike. Ye know me name ; I'm not
ashamed of it." And so the Captain went maundering on.

"It's pay-day with the General," said Mr. Hodgen, the
bass singer, with whom Warrington was in deep conversa-
tion: "and he's a precious deal more than half -seas over.
He has already tried that ' Little Doodeen ' of his, and
broke it, too, just before I sang ' King Death.' Have you

PENDENNIS. 391

heard my new song, ' The Body Snatcher,' Mr. Warring-
ton? — angcored at St. Bartholomew's the other night —
composed expressly for me. Per'aps you or your friend
would like a copy of the song, sir? John, just 'ave the
kindness to 'and over a ' Body Snatcher ' 'ere, will yer? —
There's a portrait of me, sir, as I sing it — as the Snatcher
— considered rather like."

"Thank you," said Warrington; "heard it nine times —
know it by heart, Hodgen."

Here the gentleman who presided at the pianoforte be-
gan to play upon his instrument, and Pen, looking in the
direction of the music, beheld that very Mr. Bows, for
whom he had been asking but now, and whose existence
Costigan had momentarily forgotten. The little old man
sate before the battered piano (which had injured its con-
stitution wofully by sitting up so many nights, and spoke
with a voice, as it were, at once hoarse and faint), and
accompanied the singers, or played with taste and grace in
the intervals of the songs.

Bows had seen and recollected Pen at once when the
latter came into the room, and had remarked the eager
warmth of the young man's recognition of Costigan. He
now began to play an air, which Pen instantly remembered
as one which used to be sung by the chorus of villagers in
"The Stranger," just before Mrs. Haller came in. It
shook Pen as he heard it. He remembered how his heart
used to beat as that air was played, and before the divine
Emily made her entry. Nobody, save Arthur, took any
notice of old Bows' s playing : it was scarcely heard amidst
the clatter of knives and forks, the calls for poached eggs
and kidneys, and the tramp of guests and waiters.

Pen went up and kindly shook the player by the hand
at the end of his performance ; and Bows greeted Arthur
with great respect and cordiality. "What, you haven't
forgot the old tune, Mr. Pendennis?" he said: "I thought
you'd remember it. I take it, it was your first tune of
that sort you ever heard played — wasn't it, sir? You
were quite a young chap then. I fear the Captain's very

392 PENDENNIS.

bad to-night. He breaks out on a pay-day; and I shall
have the deuce's own trouble in getting him home. We
live together. We still hang on, sir, in partnership,
though Miss Em — though my Lady Mirabel has left the
firm. — And so you remember old times, do you? Wasn't
she a beauty, sir? — Your health and my service to you," —
and he took a sip at the pewter measure of porter which
stood by his side as he played.

Pen had many opportunities of seeing his early acquaint-
ances afterwards, and of renewing his relations with Cos-
tigan and the old musician.

As they sate thus in friendly colloquy, men of all sorts
and conditions entered and quitted the house of entertain-
ment ; and Pen had the pleasure of seeing as many differ-
ent persons of his race, as the most eager observer need
desire to inspect. Healthy country tradesmen and farmers,
in London for their business, came and recreated them-
selves with the jolly singing and suppers of the Back
Kitchen, — squads of young apprentices and assistants, the
shutters being closed over the scene of their labours, came
hither, for fresh air doubtless, — rakish young medical stu-
dents, gallant, dashing, what is called " loudly " dressed,
and (must it be owned?) somewhat dirty, — were here
smoking and drinking, and vociferously applauding the
songs; — young university bucks were to be found here,
too, with that indescribable genteel simper which is only
learned at the knees of Alma Mater; — and handsome
young guardsmen, and florid bucks from the St, James's
Street Clubs ; — nay, senators English and Irish : and even
members of the House of Peers.

The bass singer had made an immense hit with his song
of "The Body Snatcher," and the town rushed to listen to
it. A curtain drew aside, and Mr. Hodgen appeared in
the character of the Snatcher, sitting on a coffin, with a
flask of gin before him, with a spade, and a candle stuck
in a skull. The song was sung with a really admirable
terrific humour. The singer's voice went down so low,

PENDENNIS. 393

that its grumbles rumbled into the hearer's awe-stricken
soul ; and in the chorus he clamped with his spade and
gave a demoniac " Ha ! ha ! " which caused the very glasses
to quiver on the table, as with terror. None of the other
singers, not even Cutts himself, as that high-minded man
owned, could stand up before the Shatcher, and he com-
monly used to retire to Mrs. Cutts' s private apartments,
or into the bar, before that fatal song extinguished him.
Poor Cos's ditty, "The Little Doodeen," which Bows ac-
companied charmingly on the piano, was sung but to a few
admirers, who might choose to remain after the tremen-
dous resurrectionist chant. The room was commonly emp-
tied after that, or only left in possession of a very few and
persevering votaries of pleasure.

Whilst Pen and his friend were sitting here together
one night, or rather morning, two habitue's of the house
entered almost together. " Mr. Hoolan and Mr. Doolan,"
whispered Warrington to Pen, saluting these gentlemen,
and in the latter Pen recognised his friend of the Alac-
rity coach, who could not dine with Pen on the day on
which the latter had invited him, being compelled by his
professional duties to decline dinner-engagements on Fri-
days, he had stated, with his compliments to Mr. Penden-
nis.

Doolan's paper, the "Dawn," was lying on the table
much bestained by porter, and cheek-by-jowl with Hoolan' s
paper, which we shall call the " Day ; " the " Dawn " was
liberal — the " Day " was ultra conservative. Many of our
Journals are officered by Irish gentlemen, and their gallant
brigade does the penning among us, as their ancestors used
to transact the fighting in Europe ; and engage under many
a flag, to be good friends when the battle is over.

"Kidneys, John, and a glass of stout," says Hoolan.
"How are you, Morgan? how's Mrs. Doolan?"

"Doing pretty well, thank ye, Mick, my boy — faith
she's accustomed to it," said Doolan. "How's the lady
that owns ye? Maybe I'll step down Sunday, and have a
glass of punch, Kilburn way."

394 PENDENNIS.

"Don't bring Patsey with you, Morgan, for our Georgy's
got the measles," said the friendly Mick, and they straight-
way fell to talk about matters connected with their trade
— about the foreign mails — about who was correspondent
at Paris, and who wrote from Madrid — about the expense
the "Morning Journal" was at in sending couriers, about
the circulation of the "Evening Star," and so forth.

Warrington, laughing, took the " Dawn," which was lying
before him, and pointed to one of the leading articles in
that journal, which commenced thus —

" As rogues of note in former days who had some wicked
work to perform, — an enemy to put out of the way, a
quantity of false coin to be passed, a lie to be told or a
murder to be done, — employed a professional perjurer or
assassin to do the work, which they were themselves too
notorious or too cowardly to execute ; our notorious con-
temporary, the ' Day,' engages smashers out of doors to
utter forgeries against individuals, and calls in auxiliary
cut-throats to murder the reputation of those who offend
him. A black vizarded ruffian (whom we will unmask),
who signs the forged name of Trefoil, is at present one of
the chief bravoes and bullies in our contemporary's estab-
lishment. He is the eunuch who brings the bowstring,
and strangles at the order of the ' Day. ' We can convict
this cowardly slave, and propose to do so. The charge
which he has brought against Lord Bangbanagher, because
he is a liberal Irish peer, and against the Board of Poor
Law Guardians of the Bangbanagher Union, is," etc.

" How did they like the article at your place, Mick? "
asked Morgan ; " when the Captain puts his hand to it he's
a tremendous hand at a smasher. He wrote the article in
two hours — in — whew — you know where, while the boy
was waiting."

" Our governor thinks the public don't mind a straw
about these newspaper rows, and has told the Docther to
stop answering," said the other. "Them two talked it
out together in my room. The Docther would have liked
a turn, for he says it's such easy writing, and requires no

PENDENNIS. 395

reading up of a subject : but the governor put a stopper
on him."

"The taste for eloquence is going out, Mick," said
Morgan.

"'Deed then it is, Morgan," said Mick. "That was
fine writing when the Docther wrote in the ' Phaynix,'
and he and Condy Eoony blazed away at each other day
after day."

" And with powder and shot, too, as well as paper, " said
Morgan. " Faith, the Docther was out twice, and Condy
Roony winged his man."

"They are talking about Doctor Boyne and Captain
Shandon," Warrington said, 'who are the two Irish con-
troversialists of the ' Dawn ' and the ' Day,' Dr. Boyne
being the Protestant champion, and Captain Shandon the
liberal orator. They are the best friends in the world, I
believe, in spite of their newspaper controversies; and
though they cry out against the English for abusing their
country, by Jove they abuse it themselves more in a single
article than we should take the pains to do in a dozen vol-
umes. How are you, Doolan? "

"Your servant, Mr. Warrington — Mr. Pendennis, I am
delighted to have the honour of seeing ye again. The
night's journey on the top of the Alacrity was one of the
most agreeable I ever enjoyed in my life, and it was your
liveliness and urbanity that made the trip so charming. I
have often thought over that happy night, sir, and talked
over it to Mrs. Doolan. I have seen your elegant young
friend, Mr. Foker, too, here, sir, not unfrequently. He is
an occasional frequenter of this hostelry, and a right good
one it is. Mr. Pendennis, when I saw you I was on the
' Tom and Jerry ' weekly paper ; I have now the honour to
be sub-editor of the ' Dawn, ' one of the best written papers
of the empire " — and he bowed very slightly to Mr. War-
rington. His speech was unctuous and measured, his cour-
tesy oriental, his tone, when talking with the two English-
men, quite different to that with which he spoke to his
comrade.

396 PENDENNIS.

" Why the devil will the fellow compliment so? " growled
Warrington, with a sneer which he hardly took the pains
to suppress. "Psha — who comes here? — all Parnassus is
abroad to-night : here's Archer. We shall have some fun.
Well, Archer, House up? "

"Haven't been there. I have been," said Archer, with
an air of mystery, "where I was wanted. Get me some
supper, John — something substantial. I hate your gran-
dees who give you nothing to eat. If it had been at Aps-
ley House, it would have been quite different. The Duke
knows what I like, and says to the Groom of the Cham-
bers, ' Martin, you will have some cold beef, not too much
done, and a pint bottle of pale ale, and some brown sherry,
ready in my study as usual ; Archer is coming here this
evening.' The Duke doesn't eat supper himself, but he
likes to see a man enjoy a hearty meal, and he knows that
I dine early. A man can't live upon air, be hanged to
him."

"Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Pendennis,"
Warrington said, with great gravity. " Pen, this is Mr.
Archer, whom you have heard me talk about. You must
know Pen's uncle, the Major, Archer, you who know
everybody? "

" Dined with him the day before yesterday at Gaunt
House," Archer said. " We were four — the French Am-
bassador, Steyne, and we two commoners."

" Why, my uncle is in Scot — " Pen was going to break
out, but Warrington pressed his foot under the table as a
signal for him to be quiet.

" It was about the same business that I have been to the
palace to-night," Archer went on simply, "and where I've
been kept four hours, in an anteroom, with nothing but
yesterday's ' Times,' which I knew by heart, as I wrote
three of the leading articles myself; and though the Lord
Chamberlain came in four times, and once holding the
royal teacup and saucer in his hand, he did not so much as
say to me, 'Archer, will you have a cup of tea? '

"Indeed! what is in the wind now? " asked Warring-

PENDENNIS. 397

ton — and turning to Pen, added, " You know, I suppose,
that when there is anything wrong at court they always
send for Archer."

"There is something wrong," said Mr. Archer, "and as
the story will be all over the town in a day or two I don't
mind telling it. At the last Chantilly races, where I rode
Brian Boru for my old friend the Duke de St. Cloud — the
old King said to me, Archer, I'm uneasy about St. Cloud.
I have arranged his marriage with the Princess Marie
Cune'gonde; the peace of Europe depends upon it — for
Russia will declare war if the marriage does not take place,
and the young fool is so mad about Madame Massena,
Marshal Massena' s wife, that he actually refuses to be a
party to the marriage. Well, sir, I spoke to St. Cloud,
and having got him into pretty good humour by winning
the race, and a good bit of money into the bargain, he said
to me, 'Archer, tell the Governor I'll think of it.' "

" How do you say Governor in French? " asked Pen,
who piqued himself on knowing that language.

" Oh, we speak in English — I taught him when we were
boys, and I saved his life at Twickenham, when he fell
out of a punt," Archer said. "I shall never forget the
Queen's looks as I brought him out of the water. She
gave me this diamond ring, and always calls me Charles
to this day."

"Madame Massena must be rather an old woman,
Archer," Warrington said.

"Dev'lish old — old enough to be his grandmother; I
told him. so," Archer answered at once. "But those at-
tachments for old women are the deuce and all. That's
what the King feels: that's what shocks the poor Queen
so much. They went away from Paris last Tuesday night,
and are living at this present moment at Jaunay's hotel."

" Has there been a private marriage, Archer? " asked
Warrington.

" Whether there has or not I don't know," Mr. Archer
replied ; " all I know is that I was kept waiting four hours
at the palace ; that I never saw a man in such a state of

398 PENDENNIS.

agitation as the King of Belgium when he came out to
speak to me, and that I'm devilish hungry — and here
comes some supper."

" He has been pretty well to-night," said Warrington, as
the pair went home together : " but I have known him in
much greater force, and keeping a whole room in a state
of wonder. Put aside his archery practice, that man is
both able and honest — a good man of business, an excel-
lent friend, admirable to his family as husband, father,
and son."

" What is it makes him pull the long bow in that won-
derful manner? "

"An amiable insanity," answered Warrington. "He
never did anybody harm by his talk, orj said evil of any-
body. He is a stout politician too, and would never write
a word or do an act against his party, as many of us do."

"Of us.' Who are we?" asked Pen. " Of what profes-
sion is Mr. Archer? "

" Of the Corporation of the Goosequill — of the Press,
my boy," said Warrington ; " of the fourth estate."

"Are you, too, of the craft, then?" Pendennis said.

"We will talk about that another time," answered the
other. They were passing through the Strand as they
talked, and by a newspaper office, which was all lighted
up and bright. Reporters were coming out of the place, or
rushing up to it hi cabs ; there were lamps burning in the
editors' rooms, and above where the compositors were at
work : the windows of the building were in a blaze of gas.

" Look at that, Pen," Warrington said. " There she is —
the great engine — she never sleeps. She has her ambassa-
dors in every quarter of the world — her couriers upon
every road. Her officers march along with armies, and
her envoys walk into statesmen's cabinets. They are
ubiquitous. Yonder journal has an agent, at this minute,
giving bribes at Madrid ; and another inspecting the price
of potatoes in Covent Garden. Look! here comes the
Foreign Express galloping in. They will be able to give
news to Downing Street to-morrow : funds will rise or fall,

PENDENNIS. 399

fortunes be made or lost ; Lord B. will get up, and, hold-
ing the paper in his hand, and seeing the noble marquis in
his place, will make a great speech ; and — and Mr. Doolan
vill be called away from his supper at the Back Kitchen ;
for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees the mail on the news-
paper sheet before he goes to his own."

And so talking the friends turned into their chambers,
as the dawn was beginning to peep.

400 PENDENNIS.

IN WHICH THE PRINTER'S DEVIL COMES TO THE
DOOR

PEN, in the midst of his revels and enjoyments, humble
as they were, and moderate in cost if not in kind, saw an
awful sword hanging over him which must drop down be-
fore long and put an end to his frolics and feasting. His
money was very nearly spent. His club subscription had
carried away a third part of it. He had paid for the chief
articles of furniture with which he had supplied his little
bed-room : in fine, he was come to the last five-pound note
in his pocket-book, and could think of no method of pro-
viding a successor : for our friend had been bred up like a
young prince as yet, or as a child in arms whom his mother
feeds when it cries out.

Warrington did not know what his comrade's means*
were. An only child with a mother at her country house,
and an old dandy of an uncle who dined with a great man
every day, Pen might have a large bank at his command
for anything that the other knew. He had gold chains
and a dressing-case fit for a lord. His habits were those
of an aristocrat, — not that he was expensive upon any par-
ticular point, for he dined and laughed over the pint of
porter and the plate of beef from the cook's shop with
perfect content and good appetite, — but he could not adopt
the penny-wise precautions of life. He could not give
twopence to a waiter ; he could not refrain from taking a
cab if he had a mind to do so, or if it rained, and as surely
as he took the cab he overpaid the driver. He had a scorn
for cleaned gloves and minor economies. Had he been
bred to ten thousand a-year he could scarcely have been
more free-handed ; and for a beggar, with a sad story, or
a couple of pretty piteous-faced children, he never could

PENDENNIS. . 401

resist putting his hand into his pocket. It was a sump-
tuous nature, perhaps, that could not be brought to regard
money ; a natural generosity and kindness ; and possibly a
petty vanity that was pleased with praise, even with the
praise of waiters and cabmen. I doubt whether the wisest
of us know what our own motives are, and whether some
of the actions of which we are the very proudest will not
surprise us when we trace them, as we shall one day, to
their source.

Warrington then did not know, and Pen had not thought
proper to confide to his friend, his pecuniary history.
That Pen had been wild and wickedly extravagant at col-
lege, the other was aware ; everybody at college was ex-
travagant and wild; but how great the son's expenses had
been, and how small the mother's means, were points
which had not been as yet submitted to Mr. Warrington' s
examination.

At last the story came out, while Pen was grimly sur-
veying the change for the last five-pound note, as it lay
upon the tray from the public-house by Mr. Warrington' s
pot of ale.

"It is the last rose of summer," said Pen; "it's bloom-
ing companions have gone long ago ; and behold the last
one of the garland has shed its leaves ; " and he told War-
rington the whole story which we know of his mother's
means, of his own follies, of Laura's generosity; during
which time Warrington smoked his pipe and listened intent.

" Impecuniosity will do you good," Pen's friend said,
knocking out the ashes at the end of the narration; "I
don't know anything more wholesome for a man — for an
honest man, mind you — for another, the medicine loses its
effect — than a state of tick. It is an alterative and a
tonic ; it keeps your moral man in a perpetual state of ex-
citement : as a man who is riding at a fence, or has his
opponent's single stick before him, is forced to look his
obstacle steadily in the face, and brace himself to repulse
or overcome it ; a little necessity brings out your pluck if
you have any, and nerves you to grapple with fortune.

402 PENDENNIS.

You will discover what a number of things you can do
without when you have no money to buy them. You
won't want new gloves and varnished boots, eau de Co-
logne, and cabs to ride in. You have been bred up as a
molly-coddle, Pen, and spoilt by the women. A single
man who has health and brains, and can't find a livelihood
in the world, doesn't deserve to stay there. Let him pay
his last halfpenny and jump over Waterloo Bridge. Let
him steal a leg of mutton and be transported and get out
of the country — he is not fit to live in it. Dixi ; I have
spoken. Give us another pull at the pale ale."

" You have certainly spoken ; but how is one to live? n
said Pen. " There is beef and bread in plenty in England,
but you must pay for it with work or money. And who
will take my work? and what work can I do? "

Warrington burst out laughing. " Suppose we advertise
in the 'Times,' " he said, "for an usher's place at a classi-
cal and commercial academy — A gentleman, B.A. of St.
Boniface College, Oxbridge, and who was plucked for his
degree — "

"Confound you," cried Pen.

" — Wishes to give lessons in classics and mathematics,
and the rudiments of the French language; he can cut hair,
attend to the younger pupils, and play a second on the
piano with the daughters of the principal. Address A. P.,
Lamb Court, Temple."

" Go on," said Pen, growling.

" Men take to all sorts of professions. Why, there is
your friend Bloundell — Bloundell is a professional black-
leg, and travels the continent, where he picks up young
gentlemen of fashion and fleeces them. There is Bob
O'Toole, with whom I was at school, who drives the Bal-
lynafad mail now, and carries honest Jack Finucane's own
correspondence to that city. I know a man, sir, a doctor's
son, like — well, don't be angry, I meant nothing offensive
— a doctor's son, I say, who was walking the hospitals
here, and quarrelled with his governor . on questions of
finance, and what did he do when he came to his last five-

PENDENNIS. 403

pound note? he let his mustachios grow, went into a pro-
vincial town, where he announced himself as Professor
Spineto, chiropodist to the Emperor of All the Eussias,
and by a happy operation on the editor of the county news-
paper, established himself in practice, and lived reputably
for three years. He has been reconciled to his family, and
has now succeeded to his father's gallypots."

" Hang gallypots ! " cried Pen. " I can't drive a coach,
cut corns, or cheat at cards. There's nothing else you
propose."

" Yes ; there's our own correspondent," Warrington said.
"Every man has his secrets, look you. Before you told
me the story of your money-matters, I had no idea but
that you were a gentleman of fortune, for, with your con-
founded airs and appearance, anybody would suppose you
to be so. From what you tell me about your mother's in-
come, it is clear that you must not lay any more hands on
it. You can't go on sponging upon the women. You
must pay off that trump of a girl. Laura is her name? —
here's your health, Laura! — and carry a hod rather than
ask for a shilling from home."

" But how earn one? " asked Pen.

"How do I live, think you? " said the other. "On my
younger brother's allowance, Pendennis? I have secrets
of my own, my boy;" and here Warrington' s countenance
fell. " I made away with that allowance five years ago :
if I had made away with myself a little time before, it
woiild have been better. I have played off my own bat,
ever since. I don't want much money. When my purse
is out, I go to work and fill it, and then lie idle like a ser-
pent or an Indian, until I have digested the mass. Look,
I begin to feel empty," Warrington said, and showed Pen
a long lean purse, with but a few sovereigns at one end
of it.

"But how do you fill it? " said Pen.

"I write," said Warrington. "I don't tell the world
that I do so," he added with a blush. "I do not choose
that questions should be asked : or, perhaps, I am an ass,

18— Thackeray, Vol. 3

404 PENDENNIS.

and don't wish it to be said that George Warrington writes
for bread. But I write in the Law Reviews : look here,
these articles are mine. " And he turned over some sheets.
" I write in a newspaper now and then, of which a friend
of mine is editor. " And Warrington, going with Penden-
nis to the club one day, called for a file of the " Dawn, n
and pointed with his finger silently to one or two articles,
which Pen read with delight. He had no difficulty in
recognising the style afterwards — the strong thoughts and
curt periods, the sense, the satire, and the scholarship.

"I am not up to this," said Pen, with a genuine admira-
tion of his friend's powers. "I know very little about
politics or history, Warrington ; and have but a smattering
of letters. I can't fly upon such a wing as yours."

" But you can on your own, my boy, which is lighter,
and soars higher, perhaps, "the other said, good-naturedly.
" Those little scraps and verses which I have seen of yours
show me, what is rare in these days, a natural gift, sir.
You needn't blush, you conceited young jackanapes. You
have thought so yourself any time these ten years. You
have got the sacred flame — a little of the real poetical fire,
sir, I think; and all our oil-lamps are nothing, compared
to that, though ever so well trimmed. You are a poet,
Pen, my boy," and so speaking, Warrington stretched out
his broad hand, and clapped Pen on the shoulder.

Arthur was so delighted that the tears came into his
eyes. " How kind you are to me, Warrington ! " he said.

"I like you, old boy," said the other. "I was dev'lish
lonely in chambers and wanted somebody, and the sight of
your honest face somehow pleased me. I liked the way
you laughed at Lowton — that poor good little snob. And,
in fine, the reason why I cannot tell — but so it is, young
'un. I'm alone in the world, sir; and I wanted some one
to keep me company ;" and a glance of extreme kindness
and melancholy passed out of Warrington's dark eyes.

Pen was too much pleased with his own thoughts to
perceive the sadness of the friend who was complimenting
him. " Thank you, Warringtou," he said, " thank you for

PENDENNIS. 405

your friendship to me, and — and what you say about me.
I have often thought I was a poet. I will be one — I think
I am oiie, as you say so, though the world mayn't. Is it
— is it the Ariadne in Naxos which you liked (I was only
eighteen when I wrote it), or the Prize Poem? "

Warrington burst into a roar of laughter. " Why, you
young goose," he yelled out — "of all the miserable weak
rubbish I ever tried, Ariadne in Naxos is the most mawk-
ish and disgusting. The Prize Poem is so pompous and
feeble, that I'm positively surprised, sir, it didn't get the
medal. You don't suppose that you are a serious poet, do
you, and are going to cut out Milton and ^Eschylus? Are
you setting up to be a Pindar, you absurd little torn-tit,
and fancy you have the strength and pinion which the
Theban eagles bear, sailing with supreme dominion through
the azure fields of air? No, my boy, I think you can write
a magazine article, and turn out a pretty copy of verses ;
that's what I think of you."

" By Jove ! " said Pen, bouncing up and stamping his
foot, " I'll show you that I am a better man than you think
for."

Warrington only laughed the more, and blew twenty-
four puffs rapidly out of his pipe by way of reply to
Pen.

An opportunity for showing his skill presented itself
before very long. That eminent publisher, Mr. Bacon (for-
merly Bacon and Bungay) of Paternoster Row, besides
being the proprietor of the "Legal Review," in which Mr.
Warrington wrote, and of other periodicals of note and
gravity, used to present to the world every year a beauti-
ful gilt volume called the " Spring Annual," edited by the
Lady Violet Lebas, and numbering among its contributors
not only the most eminent, but the most fashionable, poets
of our time. Young Lord Dodo's poems first appeared in
this miscellany — the Honourable Percy Popjoy, whose
chivalrous ballads have obtained him such a reputation —
Bedwin Sands's Eastern Ghazuls, and many more of the

406 PENDENNIS.

works of our young nobles were first given to the world
in the " Spring Annual," which has since shared the fate
of other vernal blossoms, and perished out of the world.
The book was daintily illustrated with pictures of reigning
beauties, or other prints of a tender and voluptuous char-
acter ; and, as these plates were prepared long beforehand,
requiring much time in engraving, it was the eminent poets
who had to write to the plates, and not the painters who
illustrated the poems.

One day, just when this volume was on the eve of pub-
lication, it chanced that Mr. Warrington called in Pater-
noster Row to talk with Mr. Hack, Mr. Bacon's reader
and general manager of publications — for Mr. Bacon, not
having the least taste in poetry or in literature of any kind,
wisely employed the services of a professional gentleman.
Warrington, then, going into Mr. Hack's room on business
of his own, found that gentleman with a number of proof
plates and sheets of the " Spring Annual " before him, and
glanced at some of them

Percy Popjoy had written some verses to illustrate one
of the pictures, which was called the Church Porch. A
Spanish damsel was hastening to church with a large
prayer-book ; a youth in a cloak was hidden in a niche
watching this young woman. The picture was pretty: but
the great genius of Percy Popjoy had deserted him, for he
had made the most execrable verses which ever were per-
petrated by a young nobleman.

Warrington burst out laughing as he read the poem : and
Mr. Hack laughed too, but with rather a rueful face. — "It
won't do," he said, "the public won't stand it. Bungay's
people are going to bring out a very good book, and have
set up Miss Bunion against Lady Violet. We have most
titles to be sure — but the verses are too bad. Lady Violet
herself owns it; she's busy with her own poem; what's to
be done? We can't lose the plate. The governor gave
sixty pounds for it ! "

" I know a fellow who would do some verses, I think,"
said Warrington. "Let me take the plate home in my

PENDENNIS. 407

pocket : and send to my chambers in the morning for the
verses. You'll pay well, of course? "

"Of course," said Mr. Hack; and "Warrington, having
dispatched his own business, went home to Mr. Pen, plate
in hand.

"Now, boy, here's a chance for you. Turn me off a
copy of verses to this."

" What's this? A Church Porch — A lady entering it,
and a youth out of a wine-shop window ogling her. — What
the deuce am I to do with it? "

"Try," said Warrington. "Earn your livelihood for
once, you who long so to do it."

" Well, I will try," said Pen.

"And I'll go out to dinner," said Warrington, and left
Mr. Pen in a brown study.

When Warrington came home that night at a very late
hour, the verses were done.

" There they are, " said Pen. " I screwed 'em out at last.
I think they'll do."

"I think they will," said Warrington, after reading
them ; they ran as follows :

<Ibc Cburcb porcb.

Although I enter not,
Yet around about the spot,

Sometimes I hover,
And at the sacred gate,
"With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

The Minster bell tolls out
Above the city's rout

And noise and humming :
They've stopp'd the chiming bell,
I hear the organ's swell —

She's coming, she's coming.

My lady comes at last,
Timid and stepping fast,
And hastening hither.

408 PENDENNIS.

With modest eyes downcast.
She comes — she's here— she's past.
May Heaven go with her I

Kneel undisturb'd, fair saint,
Pour out your praise or plaint

Meekly and duly.
I will not enter there,
To sully your pure prayer

With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute,
Like outcast spirits, who wait,
And see through Heaven's gate,

Angels within it.

"Have you got any more, young fellow?" asked War-
ringtou. " I must make them give you a couple of guineas
a page; and if the verses are liked, why, you'll get an en-
tree into Bacon's magazines, and may turn a decent penny."

Pen examined his portfolio and found another ballad
which he thought might figure with advantage in the
"Spring Annual," and consigning these two precious docu-
ments to Warrington, the pair walked from the Temple,
to the famous haunt of the Muses and their masters, Pa-
ternoster Row. Bacon's shop was an ancient low-browed
building with a few of the books published by the firm dis-
played in the windows, under a bust of my Lord of Veru-
lam', and the name of Mr. Bacon in brass on the private
door. Exactly opposite to Bacon's house was that of
Mr. Bungay, which was newly painted and elaborately deco-
rated in the style of the seventeenth century, so that you
might have fancied stately Mr. Evelyn passing over the
threshold, or curious Mr. Pepys examining the books in
the window. Warrington went into the shop of Mr. Bacon,
but Pen stayed without. It was agreed that his ambas-
sador should act for him entirely; and the young fellow
paced up and down the street in a very nervous condition
until he should learn the result of the negotiation. Many

PENDENNIS. 409

a poor devil before him has trodden those flags, with simi-
lar cares and anxieties at his heels, his bread and his fame
dependent upon the sentence of his magnanimous patrons
of the Row. Pen looked at all the windows of all the
shops; and the strange variety of literature which they
exhibit. In this were displayed black-letter volumes and
books in the clear pale types of Aldus and Elzevir : in the
next, you might see the " Penny Horrific Register ; " the
"Halfpenny Annals of Crime," and "History of the most
celebrated murderers of all countries," "The Raff's Maga-
zine," "The Larky Swell," and other publications of the
penny press ; whilst at the next window, portraits of ill-
favoured individuals, with facsimiles of the venerated sig-
natures of the Reverend Grimes Wapshot, the Reverend
Elias Howie, and the works written and the sermons
preached by them, showed the British Dissenter where he
could find mental pabulum. Hard by would be a little
casement hung with emblems, with medals and rosaries,
with little paltry prints of saints gilt and painted, and
books of controversial theology, by which the faithful of
the Roman opinion might learn a short way to deal with
Protestants, at a penny a piece or ninepence the dozen for
distribution ; whilst in the very next window you might see
" Come out of Rome," a sermon preached at the opening
of the Shepherds' Bush College, by John Thomas Lord
Bishop of Ealing. Scarce an opinion but has its expositor
and its place of exhibition in this peaceful old Paternoster
Row, under the toll of the bells of Saint Paul.

Pen looked in at all the windows and shops, as a gentle-
man who is going to have an interview with the dentist,
examines the books on the waiting-room table. He re-
membered them afterwards. It seemed to him that War-
rington would never come out ; and indeed the latter was
engaged for some time in pleading his friend's cause.

Pen's natural conceit would have swollen immensely if
he could but have heard the report which Warrington gave
of him. It happened that Mr. Bacon himself had occasion
to descend to Mr. Hack's room whilst Warrington was

410 PENDENNIS.

talking there, and Warrington knowing Bacon's weaknesses,
acted upon them with great adroitness in his friend's be-
half. In the first* place, he put on his hat to speak to
Bacon, and addressed him from the table on which he
seated himself. Bacon liked to be treated with rudeness
by a gentleman, and used to pass it on to his inferiors as
boys pass the mark. "What! not know Mr. Pendennis,
Mr. Bacon? " Warrington said. " You can't live much in
the world, or you would know him. A man of property
in the West, of one of the most ancient families in
England, related to half the nobility in the empire — he's
cousin to 'Lord Pontypool — he was one of the most dis-
tinguished men at Oxbridge; he dines at Gaunt House
every week."

" Law bless me, you don't say so, sir. Well, — really—
really — Law bless me now," said Mr. Bacon.

" I have just been showing Mr. Hack some of his verses,
which he sat up last night, at my request, to write ; and
Hack talks about giving him a copy of the book — the what-
d'-you-call-'em."

"Law bless me now, does he? The what-d'-you-call-
'em. Indeed ! "

"'The Spring Annual 'is its name, — as payment for
these verses. You don't suppose that such a man as Mr.
Arthur Pendennis gives up a dinner at Gaunt House for
nothing? You know, as well as anybody, that the men of
fashion want to be paid."

"That they do, Mr. Warrington, sir," said the publisher.

"I tell you he's a star; he'll make a name, sir. He's
anew man, sir."

"They've said that of so many of those young swells,
Mr. Warrington," the publisher interposed with a sigh.
" There was Lord Viscount Dodo, now ; I gave his Lord-
ship a good bit of money for his poems, and only sold
eighty copies. Mr. Popjoy 's Hadgincourt, sir, fell dead."

" Well, then, I'll take my man over to Bungay," War-
rington said, and rose from the table. This threat was
too much for Mr. Bacon, who was instantly ready to accede

PENDENNIS. 411

to any reasonable proposal of Mr. Warrington 's, and finally
asked his manager what those proposals were. When he
heard that the negotiation only related as yet to a couple
of ballads, which Mr. Warrington offered for the " Spring
Annual," Mr. Bacon said, "Law bless you, give him a
cheque directly ; " and with this paper Warrington went
out to his friend, and placed it, grinning, in Pen's hands.
Pen was as elated as if somebody had left him a fortune.
He offered Warrington a dinner at Richmond instantly.
" What should he go and buy for Laura and his mother?
He must buy something for them."

"They'll like the book better than anything else," said
Warrington, "with the young one's name to the verses
printed among the swells."

"Thank God; thank God!" cried Arthur, "I needn't
be a charge upon the old mother. I can pay off Laura
now. I can get my own living. I can make my own
way. "

" I can marry the grand vizier's daughter : I can pur-
chase a house in Belgrave Square ; I can build a fine castle
in the air; " said Warrington, pleased with the other's ex-
ultation. "Well, you may get bread and cheese, Pen;
and I own it tastes well, the bread which you earn your-
self."

They had a magnum of claret at dinner at the club that
day, at Pen's charges. It was long since he had indulged
in such a luxury, but Warrington would not baulk him :
and they drank together to the health of the "Spring
Annual. "

It never rains but it pours, according to the proverb ; so
very speedily another chance occurred, by which Mr. Pen
was to be helped in his scheme of making a livelihood.
Warrington one day threw him a letter across the table,
which was brought by a printer's boy, "from Captain
Shandon, sir " — the little emissary said : and then went
and fell asleep on his accustomed bench in the passage.
He paid many a subsequent visit there, and brought many
a message to Pen.

412 PENDENNIS.

"F.P. Tuesday Morning.
"Mr DEAR SIB,

" Bungay will be here to-day, about the ' Pall-Mall
Gazette.' You would be the very man to help us with a
genuine West-end article, — you understand — dashing, tren-
chant, and d aristocratic. Lady Hipshaw will write:

but she's not much you know, and we've two lords; but
the less they do the better. We must have you. We'll
give you your own terms, and we'll make a hit with the
' Gazette.'

" Shall B. come and see you, or can you look in upon me
here? Ever yours,

"C. S."

"Some more opposition," Warrington said, when Pen
had read the note. " Bungay and Bacon are at daggers
drawn ; each married the sister of the other, and they were
for some time the closest friends and partners. Hack
says it was Mrs. Bungay who caused all the mischief be-
tween the two ; whereas Shandon, who reads for Bungay a
good deal, says Mrs. Bacon did the business ; but I don't
know which is right, Peachum or Lockit. Since they have
separated it is a furious war between the two publishers ;
and no sooner does one bring out a book of travels, or
poems, a magazine or periodical, quarterly, or monthly, or
weekly, or annual, but the rival is in the field with some-
thing similar. I have heard poor Shandon tell with great
glee hoAv he made Bungay give a grand dinner at Black-
wall to all his writers, by saying that Bacon had invited
his corps to an entertainment at Greenwich. When Bun-
gay engaged your celebrated friend Mr. Wagg to edit the
' Londoner,' Bacon straightway rushed off and secured Mr.
Grindle to give his name to the ' Westminster Magazine.'
When Bacon brought out his comic Irish novel of Bar-
ney Brallagan,' off went Bungay to Dublin, and produced
his rollicking Hibernian story of ' Looney Mac Twolter.'
When Doctor Hicks brought out his ' Wanderings in Meso-
potamia' under Bacon's auspices, Bungay produced Pro-

PENDENNIS. 413

fessor Sadiman's ' Researches in Zahara;' and Bungay is
publishing his ' Pall-Mall Gazette ' as a counterpoise to
Bacon's ' Whitehall Review.' Let us go and hear about
the ' Gazette.' There may be a place for you in it, Pen, ,
my boy. We will go and see Shandon. We are sure to
find him at home."

" Where does he live? " asked Pen.

"In the Fleet Prison," Warrington said. "And very
much at home he is there, too. He is the king of the
place."

Pen had never seen this scene of London life, and walked
with no small interest in at the grim gate of that dismal
edifice. They went through the ante-room, where the
officers and janitors of the place were seated, and passing
in at the wicket, entered the prison. The noise and the
crowd, the life and the shouting, the shabby bustle of the
place, struck and excited Pen. People moved about cease-
lessly and restless, like caged animals in a menagerie.
Men were playing at fives. Others pacing and tramping :
this one in colloquy with his lawyer in dingy black — that
one walking sadly, with his wife by his, side, and a child
on his arm. Some were arrayed in tattered dressing-gowns,
and had a look of rakish fashion. Everybody seemed to
be busy, humming, and on the move. Pen felt as if he
choked in the place, and as if the door being locked upon
him they never would let him out.

They went through a court up a stone staircase, and
through passages full of people, and noise, and cross lights,
and black doors clapping and banging; — Pen feeling as
one does in a feverish morning-dream. At last the same
little runner who had brought Shandon' s note, and had
followed them down Fleet Street munching apples, and
who showed the way to the two gentlemen through the
prison, said, "This is the Captain's door," and Mr. Shan-
don's voice from within bade them enter.

The room, though bare, was not uncheerful. The sun
was shining in at the window — near which sate a lady at
work, who had been gay and beautiful once, but in whose

414 PENDENNIS.

faded face kindness and tenderness still beamed. Through
all his errors and reckless mishaps and misfortunes, this
faithful creature adored her husband, and thought him. the
best and cleverest, as indeed he was one of the kindest of
men. Nothing ever seemed to disturb the sweetness of his
temper ; not debts ; not duns : not misery : not the bottle :
not his wife's unhappy position, or his children's ruined
chances. He was perfectly fond of wife and children after
his fashion ; he always had the kindest words and smiles
for them, and ruined them with the utmost sweetness of
temper. He never could refuse himself or any man any
enjoyment which his money could purchase; he would
share his last guinea with Jack and Tom, and we may be
sure he had a score of such retainers. He would sign his
name at the back of any man's bill, and never pay any
debt of his own. He would write on any side, and attack
himself or another man with equal indifference. He was
one of the wittiest, the most amiable, and the most incor-
rigible of Irishmen. Nobody could help liking Charley
Shandon who saw him once, and those whom he ruined
could scarcely be angry with him.

When Pen and Warrington arrived, the Captain (he had
been in an Irish militia regiment once, and the title re-
mained with him) was sitting on his bed in a torn dressing-
gown, with a desk on his knees, at which he was scribbling
as fast as his rapid pen could write. Slip after slip of
paper fell off the desk wet on to the ground. A picture of
his children was hung up over his bed, and the youngest
of them w«s pattering about the room.

Opposite the Captain sate Mr. Bungay, a portly man of
stolid countenance, with whom the little child had been
trying a conversation.

"Papa's a very clever man," said she; "mamma says
so."

"Oh, very," said Mr. Bungay.

"And you're a very rich man, Mr. Bundy," cried the
child, who could hardly speak plain.

"Mary! " said Mamma, from her work.

PENDENNIS. 415

"Oh, never mind," Bungay roared out with a great
laugh ; " no harm in saying I'm rich — he, he — I am pretty
well off, my little dear."

"If you're rich, why don't you take papa out of piz'n? "
asked the child.

Mamma at this began to wipe her eyes with the work on
which she was employed. (The poor lady had hung cur-
tains up in the room, had brought the children's picture
and placed it there, and had made one or two attempts to
ornament it. ) Mamma began to cry ; Mr. Bungay turned
red, and looked fiercely out of his bloodshot little eyes;
Shandon's pen went on, and Pen and Warrington arrived
with their knock.

Captain Shandon looked up from his work. " How do
you do, Mr. Warrington? " he said. " I'll speak to you in
a minute. Please sit down, gentlemen, if you can find
places," and away went the pen again.

Warrington pulled forward an old portmanteau — the
only available seat — and sate down on it with a bow to
Mrs. Shandon, and a nod to Bungay ; the child came and
looked at Pen solemnly ; and in a couple of minutes the
swift scribbling ceased; and Shandon, turning the desk
over on the bed, stooped and picked up the papers.

"I think this will do," said he. "It's the prospectus
for the ' Pall-Mall Gazette.' "

"And here's the money for it," Mr. Bungay said, laying
down a five-pound note. " I'm as good as my word, I am.
When I say I'll pay, I pay."

"Faith that's more than some of us can say," said Shan-
don, and he eagerly clapped the note into his pocket.

416 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXXII.

WHICH IS PASSED IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OP
LUDGATE HILL.

OUR imprisoned Captain announced, in smart and em-
phatic language in his prospectus, that the time had come
at last when it was necessary for the gentlemen of England
to band together in defence of their common rights and
their glorious order, menaced on all sides by foreign revo-
lutions, by intestine radicalism, by the artful calumnies of
mill-owners and cotton-lords, and the stupid hostility of
the masses whom they gulled and led. "The ancient
monarchy was insulted," the Captain said, "by a ferocious
republican rabble. The Church was deserted by envious
dissent, and undermined by stealthy infidelity. The good
institutions, which had made our country glorious, and
the name of English Gentlemen the proudest in the world,
were left without defence, and exposed to assault and con-
tumely from men to whom no sanctuary was sacred, for
they believed in nothing holy; no history venerable, for
they were too ignorant to have heard of the past ; and no
law was binding which they were strong enough to break,
when their leaders gave the signal for plunder. It was
because the kings of France mistrusted their gentlemen,"
Mr. Shandou remarked, " that the monarchy of Saint Louis
went down : it was because the people of England still be-
lieved in their gentlemen, that this country encountered
and overcame the greatest enemy a nation ever met: it
was because we were headed by gentlemen that the Eagles
retreated before us from the Douro to the Garonne : it was
a gentleman who broke the line at Trafalgar, and swept
tha plain of Waterloo."

Bungay nodded his head in a knowing manner, and

PENDENNIS. 417

winked his eyes when the Captain came to the Waterloo
passage : and Warrington burst out laughing.

"You see how our venerable friend Bungay is affected,"
Shandon said, slily looking up from his papers — "that's
your true sort of test. I have used the Duke of Welling-
ton and the battle of Waterloo a hundred times: and I
never knew the Duke to fail."

The Captain then went on to confess, with much can-
dour, that up to the present time the gentlemen of Eng-
land, confident of their right, and careless of those who
questioned it, had left the political interest of their order,
as they did the management of their estates, or the settle-
ment of their legal affairs, to persons affected to each pecul-
iar service, and had permitted their interests to be repre-
sented in the press by professional proctors and advocates.
That time Shandon professed to consider was now gone
by : the gentlemen of England must be their own cham-
pions: the declared enemies of their order were brave,
strong, numerous, and uncompromising. They must meet
their foes in the field : they must not be belied and mis-
represented by hireling advocates: they must not have
Grub Street publishing Gazettes from Whitehall; "that's
a dig at Bacon's people, Mr. Bungay," said Shandon, turn-
ing round to the publisher.

Bungay clapped his stick on the floor. "Hang him,
pitch into him, Capting," he said with exultation: and
turning to Warrington, wagged his dull head more vehe-
mently than ever, and said, " For a slashing article, sir,
there's nobody like the Capting — no-obody like him."

The prospectus-writer went on to say that some gentle-
men, whose names were, for obvious reasons, not brought
before the public (at which Mr. Warrington began to laugh
again), had determined to bring forward a journal, of
which the principles were so and so. " These men are proud
of their order, and anxious to uphold it," cried out Captain
Shandon, flourishing his paper with a grin. "They are
loyal to their sovereign, by faithful conviction and ances-
tral allegiance ; they love their Church, where they would

418 PENDENNIS.

have their children worship, and for which their fore-
fathers bled ; they love their country, and would keep it
what the gentlemen of England — yes, the gentlemen of
England (we'll have that in large caps., Bungay, niy boy)
have made it — the greatest and freest in the world : and
as the names of some of them are appended to the deed
which secured our liberties at Kunnymede — "

" What's that? " asked Mr. Bungay.

"An ancestor of mine sealed it with his sword hilt,"
Pen said, with great gravity.

"It's the Habeas Corpus, Mr. Bungay," Warrington
said, on which the publisher answered, " All right, I dare
say," and yawned, though he said, "Go on, Capting."

— " at Runnymede ; they are ready to defend that free-
dom to-day with sword and pen, and now, as then, to rally
round the old laws and liberties of England. "

"Bravo!" cried Warrington. The little child stood
wondering; the lady was working silently, and looking
with fond admiration. "Come here, little Mary," said
Warrington, and patted the child's fair curls with his large
hand. But she shrank back from his rough caress, and
preferred to go and take refuge at Pen's knee, and play
with his fine watch-chain : and Pen was very much pleased
that she came to him ; for he was very soft-hearted and
simple, though he concealed his gentleness under a shy
and pompous demeanour. So she clambered up on his lap
whilst her father continued to read his programme.

" You were laughing," the Captain said to Warrington,
" about ' the obvious reasons ' which I mentioned. Now,
I'll show ye what they are, ye unbelieving heathen. ' We
have said,' " he went on, "' that we cannot give the names
of the parties engaged in this undertaking, and that there
were obvious reasons for that concealment. We number
influential friends in both Houses of the Senate, and have
secured allies in every diplomatic circle in Europe. Our
sources of intelligence are such as cannot, by any possi-
bility, be made public — and, indeed, such as no other Lon-
don or European journal could, by any chance, acquire.

PENDENNIS. 419

But this we are free to say, that the very earliest informa-
tion connected with the movement of English and Conti-
nental politics, will be found ONLY in the columns of the
"Pall Mall Gazette." The Statesman and the Capitalist,
the Country Gentleman, and the Divine, will be amongst
our readers, because our writers are amongst them. We
address ourselves to the higher circles of society : we care
not to disown it — the " Pall Mall Gazette " is written by
gentlemen for gentlemen; its conductors speak to the
classes in which they live and were born. The field-
preacher has his journal, the radical free-thinker has his
journal : why should the Gentlemen of England be unrep-
resented in the Press? ' "

Mr. Shandon then went on with much modesty to des-
cant upon the literary and fashionable departments of the
"Pall Mall Gazette," which were to be conducted by gen-
tlemen of acknowledged reputation; men famous at the
Universities (at which Mr. Pendennis could scarcely help
laughing and blushing), known at the Clubs and of the
Society which they described. He pointed out delicately
to advertisers that there would be no such medium as the
" Pall Mall Gazette " for giving publicity to their sales ; and
he eloquently called upon the nobility of England, the
baronetage of England, the revered clergy of England, the
bar of England, the matrons, the daughters, the homes
and hearths of England, to rally round the good old cause ;
and Bungay at the conclusion of the reading woke up from
a second snooze in which he had indulged himself, and
again said it was all right.

The reading of the prospectus .concluded, the gentlemen
present entered into some details regarding the political
and literary management of the paper, and Mr. Bungay
sate by listening and nodding his head, as if he understood
what was the subject of their conversation, and approved
of their opinions. Bungay' s opinions, in truth, were pretty
simple. He thought the Captain could write the best
smashing article in England. He wanted the opposition
house of Bacon smashed, and it was his opinion that the

420 PENDENNIS.

Captain could do that business. If the Captain had written
a letter of Junius on a sheet of paper, or copied a part of
the Church Catechism, Mr. Bungay would have been per-
fectly contented, and have considered that the article was
a smashing article. And he pocketed the papers with the
greatest satisfaction: and he not only paid for the MS., as
we have seen, but he called little Mary to him, and gave
her a penny as he went away.

The reading of the manuscript over, the party engaged
in general conversation, Shan don leading with a jaunty
fashionable air in compliment to the two guests who sate
with him, and who, by their appearance and manner, he
presumed to be persons of the beau monde. He knew very
little indeed of the great world, but he had seen it, and
made the most of what he had seen. He spoke of the
characters of the day, and great personages of the fashion,
with easy familiarity and jocular allusions, as if it was his
habit to live amongst them. He told anecdotes of their
private life, and of conversations he had had, and enter-
tainments at which he had been present, and at which such
and such a thing occurred. Pen was amused to hear the
shabby prisoner in a tattered dressing-gown talking glibly
about the great of the land. Mrs. Shandon was always
delighted when her husband told these tales, and believed
in them fondly every one. She did not want to mingle in
the fashionable world herself, she was not clever enough ;
but the great Society was the very place for her Charles :
he shone in it : he was respected in it. Indeed, Shandon
had once been asked to dinner by the Earl of X ; his wife
treasured the invitation-card in her work-box at that very
day.

Mr. Bungay presently had enough of this talk, and got
up to take leave, whereupon Warriugton and Pen rose to
depart with the publisher, though the latter would have
liked to stay to make a further acquaintance with this
family, who interested him and touched him. He said
something about hoping for permission to repeat his visit,
upon which Shandon, with a rueful grin, said he was

PENDENNIS. 421

always to be found at home, and should be delighted to
see Mr. Pennington.

" I'll see you to my park-gate, gentlemen," said Captain
Shandon, seizing his hat in spite of a deprecatory look,
and a faint cry of " Charles " from Mrs. Shandon. And
the Captain, in shabby slippers, shuffled out before his
guests, leading the way through the dismal passages of the
prison. His hand was already fiddling with his waistcoat
pocket, where Bungay's five-pound note was, as he took
leave of the three gentlemen at the wicket ; one of them,
Mr. Arthur Pendennis, being greatly relieved when he was
out of the horrid place, and again freely treading the flags
of Farringdon Street.

Mrs. Shandon sadly went on with her work at the win-
tdow looking into the court. She saw Shandon with a
couple of men at his heels run rapidly hi the direction of
the prison tavern. She had hoped to have had him to din-
ner herself that day : there was a piece of meat, and some
salad in a basin, on the ledge outside of the window of
their room which she had expected that she and little
Mary were to share with the child's father. But there
was no chance of that now. He would be in that tavern
until the hours for closing it ; then he would go and play
at cards or drink hi some other man's room, and come back
silent, with glazed eyes, reeling a little in his walk, that
his wife might nurse him. Oh, what varieties of pain do
we not make our women suffer !

So Mrs. Shandon went to the cupboard, and, in lieu of
a dinner, made herself some tea. And in those varieties
of pain of which we spoke anon, what a part of confidante
has that poor tea-pot played ever since the kindly plant
was introduced among us ! What myriads of women have
cried over it, to be sure ! What sick beds it has smoked
by ! What fevered lips have received refreshment from
out of it ! Nature meant very gently by women when she
made that tea-plant. With a little thought what a series
of pictures and groups the fancy may conjure up and
assemble round the tea-pot and cup. Melissa and Saccha-

422 PENDENNIS.

rissa are talking love secrets over it. Poor Polly has it
and her lover's letters upon the table; his letters who was
her lover yesterday, and when it was with pleasure, not
despair, she wept over them. Mary comes tripping noise-
lessly into her mother's bedroom, bearing a cup of the con-
soler to the widow who will take no other food. Ruth is
busy concocting it for her husband, who is coming home
from the harvest field — one could fill a page with hints for
such pictures ; — finally, Mrs. Shandon and little Mary sit
down and drink their tea together, while the Captain goes
out and takes his pleasure. She cares for nothing else but
that, when her husband is away.

A gentleman with whom we are already slightly ac-
quainted, Mr. Jack Finucane, a townsman of Captain
Shandon' s, found the Captain's wife and little Mary (for
whom Jack always brought a sweetmeat in his pocket)
over this meal. Jack thought Shandon the greatest of
created geniuses, had had one or two helps from the good-
natured prodigal, who had always a kind word, and some-
times a guinea for any friend in need ; and never missed a
day in seeing his patron. He was ready to run Shandon's
errands and transact his money-business with publishers
and newspaper editors, duns, creditors, holders of Shan-
don's acceptances, gentlemen disposed to speculate in those
securities, and to transact the thousand little affairs of an
embarrassed Irish gentleman. I never knew an em-
barrassed Irish gentleman yet, but he had an aide-de-
camp of his own nation, likewise in circumstances of pecu-
niary discomfort. That aide-de-camp has subordinates of
his own, who again may have other insolvent dependents
— all through his life our Captain marched at the head of
a ragged staff, who shared in the rough fortunes of their
chieftain.

"He won't have that five-pound note very long, I bet a
guinea," Mr. Bungay said of the Captain, as he and his
two companions walked away from the prison ; and the
publisher judged rightly, for when Mrs. Shandon came to
empty her husband's pockets, she found but a couple of

PENDENNIS. 423

shillings, and a few half-pence out of the morning's remit-
tance. Shandon had given a pound to one follower ; had
sent a leg of mutton and potatoes and beer to an acquaint-
ance in the poor side of the prison ; had paid an outstand-
ing bill at the tavern where he had changed his five-pound
note ; had had a dinner with two friends there, to whom
he lost sundry half-crowns at cards afterwards ; so that the
night left him as poor as the morning had found him.

The publisher and the two gentlemen had had some talk
together after quitting Shandon, and Warrington reiter-(
ated to Bungay what he had said to his rival, Bacon, viz.,
that Pen was a high fellow, of great genius, and what was
more, well with the great world, and related to " no end "
of the peerage. Bungay replied that he should be happy
to have dealings with Mr. Pendennis, and hoped to have
the pleasure of seeing both gents to cut mutton with him
before long, and so, with mutual politeness and protesta-
tions, they parted.

"It is hard to see such a man as Shandon," Pen said,
musing, and talking that night over the sight which he had
witnessed, "of accomplishments so multifarious, and of
such an undoubted talent and humour, an inmate of a gaol
for half his time, and a bookseller's hanger-on when out
of prison."

"lam a bookseller's hanger-on — you are going to try
your paces as a hack," Warrington said with a laugh.
" We are all hacks upon some road or other. I would
rather be myself, than Paley our neighbour in chambers :
who has as much enjoyment of his life as a mole. A
deuced deal of undeserved compassion has been thrown
away upon what you call your bookseller's drudge."

" Much solitary pipes and ale make a cynic of you," Pen
said. " You are a Diogenes by a beer-barrel, Warrington.
No man shall tell me that a man of genius, as Shandon is,
ought to be driven by such a vulgar slave-driver as yonder
Mr. Bungay, whom we have just left, who fattens on the
profits of the other's brains, and enriches himself out of

424 PENDENNIS.

his journeyman's labour. It makes me indignant to see a
gentleman the serf of such a creature as that, of a man
who can't speak the language that he lives by, who is not
fit to black Shandon's boots."

" So you have begun already to gird at the publishers
and to take your side amongst our order. Bravo, Pen, my
boy ! " Warrington answered, laughing still. " What
have you got to say against Bungay's relations with Shan-
don? Was it the publisher, think you, who sent the
author to prison? Is it Bungay who is tippling away the
five-pound note which we saw just now, or Shandon? "

" Misfortune drives a man into bad company," Pen said.
" It is easy to cry 'Fie ! ' against a poor fellow who has no
society but such as he finds in a prison ; and no resource
except forgetfulness and the bottle. We must deal
kindly with the eccentricities of genius, and remember
that the very ardour and enthusiasm of temperament
which makes the author delightful often leads the man
astray."

" A fiddlestick about men of genius ! " Warrington cried
out, who was a very severe moralist upon some points,
though possibly a very bad practitioner. "I deny that
there are so many geniuses as people who whimper about
the fate of men of letters assert there are. There are
thousands of clever fellows in the world who could, if they
would, turn verses, write articles, read books, and deliver
a judgment upon them ; the talk of professional critics and
writers is not a whit more brilliant, or profound, or amus-
ing, than that of any other society of educated people. If
a lawyer, or a soldier, or a parson, outruns his income,
and does not pay his bills, he must go to gaol ; and an
author must go, too. If an author fuddles himself, I don't
know why he should be let off a headache the next morn-
ing,— if he orders a coat from the tailor's, why he shouldn't
pay for it."

"I would give him more money to buy coats," said Pen,
smiling. " I suppose I should like to belong to a well-
dressed profession. I protest against that wretch of a

PENDENNIS. 425

middle-man whom I see between Genius and his great
landlord, the Public, and who stops more than half of the
labourer's earnings and fame."

"I am a prose labourer," Warrington said: "you, my
boy, are a poet in a small way, and so, I suppose, consider
you are authorised to be flighty. What is it you want?
Do you want a body of capitalists that shall be forced to
purchase the works of all authors, who may present them-
selves, manuscript in hand? Everybody who writes his
epic, every driveller who can or can't spell, and produces
his novel or his tragedy, — are they all to come and find a
bag of sovereigns in exchange for their worthless reams of
paper? Who is to settle what is good or bad, saleable or
otherwise? Will you give the buyer leave, in fine, to pur-
chase or not? Why, sir, when Johnson sate behind the
screen at Saint John's Gate, and took his dinner apart, be-
cause he was too shabby and poor to join the literary big-
wigs who were regaling themselves round Mr. Cave's best
table cloth, the tradesman was doing him no wrong. You
couldn't force the publisher to recognise the man of genius
in the young man who presented himself before him, ragged,
gaunt, and hungry. Eags are not a proof of genius;
whereas capital is absolute, as times go, and is perforce
the bargain-master. It has a right to deal with the literary
inventor as with any other ; — if I produce a novelty in the
book trade, I must do the best I can with it ; but I can no
more force Mr. Murray to purchase my book of travels or
sermons, than I can compel Mr. Tattersall to give me a
hundred guineas for my horse. I may have my own ideas
of the value of my Pegasus and think him the most won-
derful of animals ; but the dealer has a right to his opinion,
too, and may want a lady's horse, or a cob for a heavy
timid rider, or a sound hack for the road, and my beast
won't suit him."

"You deal in metaphors, Warrington," Pen said; "but
you rightly say that you are very prosaic. Poor Shandon!
There is something about the kindness of that man, and
the gentleness of that sweet creature of a wife, which

426 PENDENKIS.

touches me profoundly. I like him, I am afraid, better
than a better man."

"And so do I," Warrington said. "Let us give him the
benefit of our sympathy, and the pity that is due to his
weakness : though I fear that sort of kindness would be
resented as contempt by a more high-minded man. You
see he takes his consolation along with his misfortune, and
one generates the other or balances it, as is the way of the
world. He is a prisoner, but he is not unhappy."

" His genius sings within his prison bars," Pen said.

"Yes," Warrington said, bitterly; "Shandon accom-
modates himself to a cage pretty well. He ought to be
wretched, but he has Jack and Tom to drink with, and
that consoles him : he might have a high place, but, as he
can't, why he can drink with Tom and Jack ; — he might
be providing for his wife and children, but Thomas and
John have got a bottle of brandy which they want him to
taste; — he might pay poor Snip, the tailor, the twenty
pounds which the poor devil wants for his landlord, but
John and Thomas lay their hands upon his purse ; — and
so he drinks whilst his tradesman goes to gaol and his
family to ruin. Let us pity the misfortunes of genius, and
conspire against the publishing tyrants who oppress men
of letters."

" What ! are you going to have another glass of brandy-
and-water? " Pen said, with a humorous look. It was at
the Back Kitchen that the above philosophical conversa-
tion took place between the two young men.

Warrington began to laugh as usual. " Video meliora
proboqiw — I mean, bring it me hot, with sugar, John," he
said to the waiter.

" I would have some more, too, only I don't want it,"
said Pen. " It does not seem to me, Warrington, that we
are much better than our neighbours." And Warrington's
last glass having been dispatched, the pair returned to
their chambers.

They found a couple of notes in the letter-box, on their
return, which had been sent by their acquaintance of the

PENDENNIS. 427

morning, Mr. Bungay. That hospitable gentleman pre-
sented his compliments to each of the gentlemen, and re-
quested the pleasure of their company at dinner on an early
day, to meet a few literary friends.

"We shall have a grand spread," said Warrington.
" We shall meet all Bun gay's corps. "

"All except poor Shandon," said Pen, nodding a good-
night to his friend, and he went into his own little room.
The events and acquaintances of the day had excited him
a good deal, and he lay for some time awake thinking over
them, as Warrington's vigorous and regular snore from
the neighbouring apartment pronounced that that gentle-
man was engaged in deep slumber.

Is it true, thought Pendennis, lying on his bed and gaz-
ing at a bright moon without, that lighted up a corner of
his dressing-table, and the frame of a little sketch of Fair-
oaks drawn by Laura, that hung over his drawers — is it
true that I am going to earn my bread at last, and with
my pen? that I shall impoverish the dear mother no-
longer ; and that I may gain a name and reputation in the
world, perhaps? These are welcome if they come, thought
the young visionary, laughing and blushing to himself,
though alone and in the night, as he thought how dearly
he would relish honour and fame if they could be his. If
fortune favours me, I laud her; if she frowns, I resign
her. I pray Heaven I may be honest if I fail, or if I suc-
ceed. I pray Heaven I may tell the truth as far as I know
it: that I mayn't swerve from it through flattery, or inter-
est, or personal enmity, or party prejudice. Dearest old
mother, what a pride will you have, if I can do anything
worthy of our name! and you, Laura, you won't scorn
me as the worthless idler and spendthrift, when you
see that I — when I have achieved a — psha ! what an Alnas-
char I am because I have made five pounds by my poems,
and am engaged to write half a dozen articles for a news-
paper. He went on with these musings, more happy
and hopeful, and in a humbler frame of mind, than he had

19 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

428 PENDENNIS.

felt to be for many a day. He thought over the errors
and idleness, the passions, extravagances, disappointments,
of his wayward yonth : he got up from the bed : threw
open the window, and looked out into the night : and then,
by some impulse, which we hope was a good one, he went
up and kissed the picture of Fairoaks, and flinging himself
down on his knees by khe bed, remained for some time in
that posture of hope and submission. When he rose, it
was with streaming eyes. He had found himself repeat-
ing, mechanically, some little words which he had been
accustomed to repeat as a child at his mother's side, after
the saying of which she would softly take him to his bed
and close the curtains round him, hushing him with a
benediction.

The next day, Mr. Pidgeon, their attendant, brought in
a large brown paper parcel, directed to G. Warrington,
Esq., with Mr. Trotter's compliments, and a note which
Warrington read.

" Pen, you beggar ! " roared Warrington to Pen, who
was in his own room.

" Hullo ! " sung out Pen.

"Come here, you're wanted," cried the other, and Pen
came out. " What is it? " said he.

" Catch ! " cried Warrington, and flung the parcel at
Pen's head, who would have been knocked down had he
not caught it.

"It's books for review for the 'Pall Mall Gazette;'
pitch into 'em," Warrington said. As for Pen, he had
never been so delighted in his life : his hand trembled as
he cut the string of the packet, and beheld within a smart
set of new neat calico-bound books, travels, and novels,
and poems.

"Sport the oak, Pidgeon," said he. "I'm not at home
to anybody to-day." And he flung into his easy-chair,
and hardly gave himself time to drink his tea, so eager
was he to begin to read and to review.

PENDENNIS. 429

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN WHICH THE HISTORY STILL HOVERS ABOUT
FLEET STREET.

CAPTAIN SHANDON, urged on by his wife, who seldom
meddled in business matters, had stipulated that John
Fiuucane, Esquire, of the Upper Temple, should be ap-
pointed sub-editor of the forthcoming " Pall Mall Gazette,"
and this post was accordingly conferred upon Mr. Finucane
by the spirited proprietor of the Journal. Indeed he de-
served any kindness at the hands of Shandon, so fondly
attached was he, as we have said, to the Captain and his
family, and so eager to do him a service. It was in Finu-
cane's chambers that Shandon used in former days to hide
when danger was near and bailiffs abroad : until at length
his hiding-place was known, and the sheriff's officers came
as regularly to wait for the Captain on Finucane' s stair-
case as at his own door. It was to Finucane' s chambers
that poor Mrs. Shandon came often and often to explain
her troubles and griefs, and devise means of rescue for her
adored Captain. Many a meal did Finucane furnish for
her and the child there. It was an honour to his little
rooms to be visited by such a lady ; and as she went down
the staircase with her veil over her face, Fin would lean
over the balustrade looking after her, to see that no Tem-
ple Lovelace assailed her upon the road, perhaps hoping
that some rogue might be induced to waylay her, so that
he, Fin, might have the pleasure of rushing to her rescue,
and breaking the rascal's bones. It was a sincere pleasure
to Mrs. Shandon when the arrangements were made by
which her kind honest champion was appointed her hus-
band's aide-de-camp in the newspaper.

He would have sate with Mrs. Shandon as late as the
prison hours permitted, and had indeed many a time wit-

430 PENDENNIS.

nessed the putting to bed of little Mary, who occupied a
crib in the room ; and to whose evening prayers that God
might bless papa, Finucane, although of the Romish faith
himself, had said Amen with a great deal of sympathy —
but he had an appointment with Mr. Bungay regarding the
affairs of the paper which they were to discuss over a
quiet dinner. So he went away at six o'clock from Mrs.
Shandon, but made his accustomed appearance at the Fleet
Prison next morning, having arrayed himself in his best
clothes and ornaments, which, though cheap as to cost,
were very brilliant as to colour and appearance, and having
in his pocket four pounds two shillings, being the amount
of his week's salary at the "Daily Journal," minus two
shillings expended by him in the purchase of a pair of
gloves on his way to the prison.

He had cut his mutton with Mr. Bungay, as the latter
gentleman phrased it, and Mr. Trotter, Bungay 's reader
and literary man of business, at Dick's Coffee-House on
the previous day, and entered at large into his views re-
specting the conduct of the "Pall Mall Gazette." In a
masterly manner he had pointed out what should be the
sub-editorial arrangements of the paper : what should be
the type for the various articles : who should report the
markets ; who the turf and ring ; who the Church intelli-
gence; and who the fashionable chit-chat. He was ac-
quainted with gentlemen engaged in cultivating these vari-
ous departments of knowledge, and in communicating them
afterwards to the public — in fine, Jack Finucane was, as
Shandon had said of him, and, as he proudly owned him-
self to be, one of the best sub-editors of a paper in London.
He knew the weekly earnings of every man connected with
the Press, and was up to a thousand dodges, or ingenious
economic contrivances, by which money could be saved to
spirited capitalists, who were going to set up a paper.
He at once dazzled and mystified Mr. Bungay, who was
slow of comprehension, by the rapidity of the calcula-
tions which he exhibited on paper, as they sate in the
box. And Bungay afterwards owned to his subordi-

PENDENNIS. 431

nate Mr. Trotter, that that Irishman seemed a clever
fellow.

And now having succeeded in making this impression
upon Mr. Bungay, the faithful fellow worked round to the
point which he had very neav at heart, viz., the liberation
from prison of his admired friend and chief, Captain Shan-
don. He knew to a shilling the amount of the detainers
which were against the Captain at the porter's lodge of
the Fleet; and, indeed, professed to know all his debts,
though this was impossible, for no man in England, cer-
tainly not the Captain himself, was acquainted with them.
He pointed out what Shan don's engagements already were;
and how much better he would work if removed from con-
finement (though this Mr. Bungay denied, for, " when the
Captain's locked up," he said, "we are sure to find him at
home; whereas, when he's free, you can never catch hold
of him ") ; finally, he so worked on Mr. Bungay 's feelings,
by describing Mrs. Shandon pining away in the prison,
and the child sickening there, that the publisher was in-
duced to promise that, if Mrs. Shandon would come to him
in the morning, he would see what could be done. And
the colloquy ending at this time with the second round of
brandy and water, although Finucane, who had four guineas
in his pocket, would have discharged the tavern reckoning
with delight, Bungay said, "No, sir, — this is my affair,
sir, if you please. James, take the bill, and eighteenpence
for yourself," and he handed over the necessary funds to
the waiter. Thus it was that Finucane, who went to bed
at the Temple after the dinner at Dick's, found himself
actually with his week's salary intact upon Saturday
morning.

He gave Mrs. Shandon a wink so knowing and joyful,
that that kind creature knew some good news was in store
for her, and hastened to get her bonnet and shawl, when
Fin asked if he might have the honour of taking her a
walk, and giving her a little fresh air. And little Mary
jumped for joy at the idea of this holiday, for Finucane
never neglected to give her a toy, or to take her to a show,

432 PENDENNIS.

and brought newspaper orders in his pocket for all sorts of
London diversions to amuse the child. Indeed, he loved
them with all his heart, and would cheerfully have dashed
out his rambling brains to do them, or his adored Captain,
a service.

" May I go, Charley? or shall I stay with you, for you're
poorly, dear, this morning? He's got a headache, Mr.
Finucane. He suffers from headaches, and I persuaded
him to stay in bed," Mrs. Shan don said.

"Go along with you, and Polly. Jack, take care of
'em. Hand me over the Burton's Anatomy, and leave me
to my abominable devices," Shandon said, with perfect
good-humour. He was writing, and not uncommonly took
his Greek and Latin quotations (of which he knew the use as
a public writer) from that wonderful repertory of learning.

So Fin gave his arm to Mrs. Shandon, and Mary went
skipping down the passages of the prison, and through the
gate into the free air. From Fleet Street to Paternoster
Row is not very far. As the three reached Mr. Bungay's
shop, Mrs. Bmigay was also entering at the private door,
holding in her hand a paper parcel and a manuscript
volume bound in red, and, indeed, containing an account
of her transactions with the butcher in the neighbouring
market. Mrs. Buugay was in a gorgeous shot silk dress,
which flamed with red and purple; she wore a yellow
shawl, and had red flowers inside her bonnet, and a bril-
liant light blue parasol. Mrs. Shandon was in an old
black watered silk ; her bonnet had never seen very bril-
liant days of prosperity any more than its owner, but she
could not help looking like a lady whatever her attire was.
The two women curtsied to each other, each according to
her fashion.

" I hope you're pretty well, Mum? " said Mrs. Bungay.

"It's a very fine day," said Mrs. Shandon.

"Won't you step in, Mum? " said Mrs. Bungay, looking
so hard at the child as almost to frighten her.

" I — I came about business with Mr. Bungay — I — I hope
he's pretty well? " said timid Mrs. Shandon.

PENDENNIS. 433

" If you go to see him in the counting-house, couldn't
you — couldn't you leave your little gurl with me? " said
Mrs. Bungay, in a deep voice, and with a tragic look, as
she held out one finger towards the child.

"I want to stay with mamma," cried little Mary, bury-
ing her face in her mother's dress.

" Go with this lady, Mary, my dear," said the mother.

"I'll show you some pretty pictures," said Mrs. Bun-
gay, with the voice of an ogress, " and some nice things
besides ; look here " — and opening her brown paper parcel,
Mrs. Bungay displayed some choice sweet biscuits, such as
her Bungay loved after his wine. Little Mary followed
after this attraction, the whole party entering at the pri-
vate entrance, from which a side door led into Mr. Bun-
gay's commercial apartments. Here, however, as the
child was about to part from her mother, her courage again
failed her, and again she ran to the maternal petticoat;
upon which the kind and gentle Mrs. Shandon, seeing the
look of disappointment in Mrs. Bungay 's face, good-
naturedly said, " If you will let me, I will come up too,
and sit for a few minutes," and so the three females as-
cended the stairs together. A second biscuit charmed
little Mary into perfect confidence, and in a minute or two
she prattled away without the least restraint.

Faithful Finucane meanwhile found Mr. Bungay in a
severer mood than he had been on the night previous,
when two-thirds of a bottle of port, and two large glasses
of brandy and water, had warmed his soul into enthusiasm,
and made him generous in his promises towards Captain
Shandon. His impetuous wife had rebuked him on his
return home. She had ordered that he should give no
relief to the Captain ; he was a good-for-nothing fellow,
whom no money would help ; she disapproved of the plan
of the "Pall Mall Gazette," and expected that Bungay
would only lose his money in it as they were losing over
the way (she always called her brother's establishment
"over the way,") by the "Whitehall Journal." Let Shan-
don stop in prison and do his work ; it was the best place

434 PENDENNIS.

for him. In vain Finucane pleaded and promised and im-
plored, for his friend Bungay had had an hour's lecture in
the morning and was inexorable.

But what honest Jack failed to do below stairs in the
counting-house, the pretty faces and manners of the
mother and child were effecting in the drawing-room,
where they were melting the fierce but really soft Mrs.
Bungay. There was an artless sweetness in Mrs. Shan-
don's voice, and a winning frankness of manner, which
made most people fond of her, and pity her : and taking
courage by the rugged kindness with which her hostess re-
ceived her, the Captain's lady told her story, and described
her husband's goodness and virtues, and her child's failing
health (she was obliged to part with two of them, she said,
and send them to school, for she could not have them in
that horrid place) — that Mrs. Bungay, though as grim as
Lady Macbeth, melted under the influence of the simple
tale, and said she would go down and speak to Bungay.
Now in this household to speak was to command, with
Mrs. Bungay ; and with Bungay, to hear was to obey.

It was just when poor Finucane was in despair about
his negotiation, that the majestic Mrs. Bungay descended
upon her spouse, politely requested Mr. Finucane to step
up to his friends in her drawing-room, while she held a
few minutes' conversation with Mr. B., and when the pair
were alone the publisher's better half informed him of her
intentions towards the Captain's lady.

"What's in the wind now, my dear?" Maecenas asked,
surprised at his wife's altered tone. "You wouldn't hear
of my doing anything for the Captain this morning: I
wonder what has been a changing of you. "

"The Capting is an Irishman," Mrs. Buugay replied;
"and those Irish I have always said I couldn't abide.
But his wife is a lady, as any one can see ; and a good
woman, and a clergyman's daughter, and a West of Eng-
land woman, B., which I am myself, by my mother's side
— and, O Mannaduke, didn't you remark her little gurl? n

"Yes, Mrs. B. I saw the little girl."

PENDENNIS. 435

"And didn't you see how like she was to our angel,
Bessy, Mr. B.?" — and Mrs. Bungay's thoughts flew back
to a period eighteen years back, when Bacon and Bungay
had just set up in business as small booksellers in a coun-
try town, and when she had had a child, named Bessy,
something like the little Mary who had just moved her
compassion.

"Well, well, my dear," Mr. Bungay said, seeing the
little eyes of his wife begin to twinkle and grow red; "the
Captain ain't in for much. There's only a hundred and
thirty pound against him. Half the money will take him
out of the Fleet, Finucane says, and we'll pay him half
salaries till he has made the account square. When the
little 'un said, 'Why don't you take Par out of pizn? ' I
did feel it, Flora, upon my honour I did, now. " And the •
upshot of this conversation was, that Mr. and Mrs. Bungay
both ascended to the drawing-room, and Mr. Bungay made
a heavy and clumsy speech, in which he announced to
Mrs. Shandon, that, hearing sixty-five pounds would set
her husband free, he was ready to advance that sum of
money, deducting it from the Captain's salary, and that
he would give it to her on condition that she would person-
ally settle with the creditors regarding her husband's
liberation.

I think this was the happiest day that Mrs. Shandon
and Mr. Finucane had had for a long time. " Bedad, Bun-
gay, you're a trump ! " roared out Fin, in an overpowering
brogue and emotion. "Give us your fist, old boy: and
won't we send the 'Pall Mall Gazette ' up to ten thousand
a- week, that's all!" and he jumped about the room, and
tossed up little Mary, with a hundred frantic antics.

" If I could drive you anywhere in my carriage, Mrs.
Shandon — I'm sure it's quite at your service," Mrs. Bun-
gay said, looking out at a one-horsed vehicle which had
just driven up, and in which this lady took the air consid-
erably— and the two ladies, with little Mary between them
(whose tiny hand Maecenas's wife kept fixed in her great
grasp), with the delighted Mr. Finucane on the back seat,

436 PENDENNIS.

drove away from Paternoster Kow, as the owner of the
vehicle threw triumphant glances at the opposite windows
at Bacon's.

"It won't do the Captain any good," thought Bun gay,
going back to his desk and accounts, " but Mrs. B. becomes
reglar upset when she thinks about her misfortune. The
child would have been of age yesterday, if she'd lived.
Flora told me so : " and he wondered how women did re-
member things.

We are happy to say that Mrs. Shandon sped with very
good success upon her errand. She who had had to mollify
creditors when she had no money at all, and only tears and
entreaties wherewith to soothe them, found no difficulty
in making them relent by means of a bribe of ten shillings
in the pound ; and the next Sunday was the last, for some
time at least, which the Captain spent in prison.

PENDENNIS. 437

CHAPTER XXXIV

A DINNER IN THE ROW.

UPON the appointed day our two friends made their ap-
pearance at Mr. Bungay's door in Paternoster Row; not
the public entrance through which booksellers' boys issued
with their sacks full of Bungay's volumes, and around
which timid aspirants lingered with their virgin manu-
scripts ready for sale to Sultan Bungay, but at the private
door of the house, whence the splendid Mrs. Bungay would
come forth to step into her chaise and take her drive, set-
tling herself on the cushions, and casting looks of defiance
at Mrs. Bacon's opposite windows — at Mrs. Bacon, who
was as yet a chaiseless woman.

On such occasions, when very much wroth at her sister-
in-law's splendour, Mrs. Bacon would fling up the sash of
her drawing-room window, and look out with her four chil-
dren at the chaise, as much as to say, " Look at these four
darlings, Flora Bungay! This is why I can't drive in my
carriage; you would give a coach and four to have the
same reason." And it was with these arrows out of her
quiver that Emma Bacon shot Flora Bungay as she sate in
her chariot envious and childless.

As Pen and Warrington came to Bungay's door, a car-
riage and a cab drove up to Bacon's. Old Dr. Slocurn de-
scended heavily from the first; the Doctor's equipage was
as ponderous as his style, but both had a fine sonorous
effect upon the publishers in the Row. A couple of daz-
zling white waistcoats stepped out of the cab.

Warrington laughed. " You see Bacon has his dinner
party too. That is Dr. Slocum, author of 'Memoirs of the
Poisoners.' You would hardly have recognised our friend
Hoolan in that gallant white waistcoat. Doolan is one of
Buugay's men, and faith, here he coines." Indeed Messrs.

438 PENDENNIS.

Hoolan and Doolan had come from the Strand in the
same cab, tossing up by the way which should pay the
shilling; and Mr. D. stepped from the other side of the
way, arrayed in black, with a large pair of white gloves
which were spread out on his hands, and which the owner
could not help regarding with pleasure.

The house porter in an evening coat, and gentlemen with
gloves as large as Doolan' s, but of the famous Berlin web,
were in the passage of Mr. Bungay's house to receive the
guests' hats and coats, and bawl their names up the stair.
Some of the latter had arrived when the three new visitors
made their appearance ; but there was only Mrs. Bungay,
in red satin and a turban, to represent her own charming
sex. She made curtsies to each new comer as he entered
the drawing-room, but her mind was evidently pre-occupied
by extraneous thoughts. The fact is, Mrs. Bacon's din-
ner party was disturbing her, and as soon as she had re-
ceived each individual of her own company, Flora Bungay
flew back to the embrasure of the window, whence she
could rake the carriages of Emma Bacon's friends as they
came rattling up the Kow. The sight of Dr. Slocum's
large carriage, with the gaunt job-horses, crushed Flora:
none but hack cabs had driven up to her own door on that
day.

They were all literary gentlemen, though unknown as
yet to Pen. There was Mr. Bole, the real editor of the
magazine of which3Ir. Wagg was the nominal chief; Mr.
Trotter, who, from having broken out on the world as a
poet of a tragic and suicidal cast, had now subsided into
one of Mr. Bungay's back shops as reader for that gentle-
man ; and Captain Sumph, an ex-beau still about town, and
related in some indistinct manner to Literature and the
Peerage. He was said to have written a book once, to
have been a friend of Lord Byron, to be related to Lord
Sumphington ; in fact, anecdotes of Byron formed his staple,
and he seldom spoke but with the name of that poet or
some of his contemporaries in his mouth, as thus : " I re-
member poor Shelley at school being sent up for good for

PENDENNIS. 439

a copy of verses, every line of which I wrote, by Jove ; "
or, " I recollect, when I was at Missolonghi with Byron,
offering to bet Gamba," and so forth. This gentleman,
Pen remarked, was listened to with great attention by Mrs.
Bungay ; his anecdotes of the aristocracy, of which he was
a middle-aged member, delighted the publisher's lady;
and he was almost a greater man than the great Mr. Wagg
himself in her eyes. Had he but come in his own carriage
Mrs. Bungay would have made her Bungay purchase any
given volume from his pen.

Mr. Bungay went about to his guests as they arrived,
and did the honours of his house with much cordiality.
" How are you, sir? Fine day, sir. Glad to see you year,
sir. Flora, my love, let me 'ave the honour of introducing
Mr. Warrington to you. Mr. Warrington, Mrs. Bungay;
Mr. Pendennis, Mrs. Bungay. Hope you've brought good
appetites with you, gentlemen. You, Doolan, I know ave,
for you've always ad a deuce of a twist."

"Lor, Bungay!" said Mrs. Bungay.

"Faith, a man must be hard to please, Bungay, who
can't eat a good dinner in this house," Doolan said, and he
winked and stroked his lean chops with his large gloves;
and made appeals of friendship to Mrs. Bungay, which
that honest woman refused with scorn from the timid man.
" She couldn't abide that Doolan," she said in confidence
to her friends. Indeed, all his flatteries failed to win her.

As they talked, Mrs. Bungay surveying mankind from
her window, a magnificent vision of an enormous grey cab-
horse appeared, and neared rapidly. A pair of white
reins, held by small white gloves, were visible behind it;
a face pale, but richly decorated with a chin-tuft, the
head of an exiguous groom bobbing over the cab-head —
these bright things were revealed to the delighted Mrs.
Bungay. "The Honourable Percy Popjoy' s quite punc-
tual, I declare," she said, and sailed to the door to be in
waiting at the nobleman's arrival.

"It's Percy Popjoy," said Pen, looking out of window,
and seeing an individual in extremely lacquered boots,

440 PENDENNIS.

descend from the swinging cab : and, in fact, it was that
young nobleman — Lord Falconet's eldest son, as we all
very well know, who was come to dine with the publisher
— his publisher of the Row.

"He was my fag at Eton," Warrington said. "I ought
to have licked him a little more." He and Pen had had
some bouts at the Oxbridge Union debates, in which Pen
had had very much the better of Percy : who presently ap-
peared, with his hat under his arm, and a look of inde*
scribable good humour and fatuity in his round dimpled
face, upon which Nature had burst out with a chin-tuft,
but, exhausted with the effort, had left the rest of the
countenance bare of hair.

The temporary groom of the chambers bawled out, " The
Honourable Percy Popjoy," much to that gentleman's dis-
composure at hearing his titles announced.

" What did the man want to take away my hat for,
Bungay? " he asked of the publisher. "Can't do without
my hat — want it to make my bow to Mrs. Bungay. How
well you look, Mrs. Bungay, to-day. Haven't seen your
carriage in the Park: why haven't you been there? I
missed you; indeed, I did."

"I'm afraid you're a sad quiz," said Mrs. Bungay.

"Quiz! Never made a joke in my — hullo! who's here?
How d'ye do, Pendennis? How d'ye do, Warrington?
These are old friends of mine, Mrs. Bungay. I say, how
the doose did you come here? " he asked of the two young
men, turning his lacquered heels upon Mrs. Bungay, who
respected her husband's two young guests, now that she
found they were intimate with a lord's son.

" What ! do they know him? " she asked rapidly of Mr. B.

" High fellers, I tell you — the young one related to all
the nobility," said the publisher; and both ran forward,
smiling and bowing, to greet almost as great personages as
the young lord — no less characters, indeed, than the great
Mr. Wenharn and the great Mr. Wagg, who were now
announced.

Mr. Wenharn entered, wearing the usual demure look

PENDENOTS.

and stealthy smile with which he commonly surveyed the
tips of his neat little shining boots, and which he but sel-
dom brought to bear upon the person who addressed him.
Wagg's white waistcoat, spread out, on the contrary, with
profuse brilliancy; his burly, red face shone resplendent
over it, lighted up with the thoughts of good jokes and a
good dinner. He liked to make his entree into a drawing-
room with a laugh, and, when he went away at night, to
leave a joke exploding behind him. No personal calami-
ties or distresses (of which that humourist had his share in
common with the unjocular part of mankind) could alto-
gether keep his humour down. Whatever his griefs might
be, the thought of a dinner rallied his great soul; and
when he saw a lord, he saluted him with a pun.

Wenham went up, then, with a smug smile and whisper,
to Mrs. Bungay, and looked at her from under his eyes,
and showed her the tips of his shoes. Wagg said she
looked charming, and pushed on straight at the young
nobleman, whom he called Pop ; and to whom he instantly
related a funny story, seasoned with what the French call
gros sel. He was delighted to see Pen, too, and shook
hands with him, and slapped him on the back cordially ;
for he was full of spirits and good-humour. And he talked
in a loud voice about their last place and occasion of meet-
ing at Baymouth ; and asked how their friends of Clavering
Park were, and whether Sir Francis was not coming to
London for the season ; and whether Pen had been to see
Lady Rockminster, who had arrived — fine old lady, Lady
Rockminster ! These remarks Wagg made not for Pen' s ear
so much as for the edification of the company, whom he was
glad to inform that he paid visits to gentlemen's country
seats, and was on intimate terms with the nobility.

Wenham also shook hands with our young friend — all of
which scenes Mrs. Bungay remarked with respectful pleas-
ure, and communicated her ideas to Bungay, afterwards,
regarding the importance of Mr. Pendennis — ideas by
which Pen profited much more than he was aware.

Pen, who had read, and rather admired some of her

442 PENDENNIS.

works (and expected to find in Miss Bunion a person some-
what resembling her own description of herself in the
" Passion-Flowers," in which she stated that her youth
resembled —

."A violet shrinking meanly
When blows the March wind keenly ;
A timid fawn, on wild-wood lawn,
Where oak -boughs rustle greenly, — "

and that her maturer beauty was something very different,
certainly, to the artless loveliness of her prime, but still
exceedingly captivating and striking), beheld, rather to his
surprise and amusement, a large and bony woman in a
crumpled satin dress, who came creaking into the room
with a step as heavy as a grenadier's. Wagg instantly
noted the straw which she brought in at the rumpled skirt
of her dress, and would have stooped to pick it up, but
Miss Bunion disarmed all criticism by observing this orna-
ment herself, and, putting down her own large foot upon
it, so as to separate it from her robe, she stooped and
picked up the straw, saying to Mrs. Bungay, that she was
very sorry to be a little late, but that the omnibus was very
slow, and what a comfort it was to get a ride all the way
from Brompton for sixpence. Nobody laughed at the
poetess's speech, it was uttered so simply. Indeed, the
worthy woman had not the least notion of being ashamed
of an action incidental upon her poverty.

"Is that 'Passion-Flowers? ' " Pen said to Wenham, by
whom he was standing. " Why, her picture in the volume
represents her as a very well-looking young woman. "

" You know passion-flowers, like all others, will run to
seed," Wenham said; "Miss Bunion's portrait was prob-
ably painted some years ago."

" Well, I like her for not being ashamed of her poverty. "

"So do I," said Mr. Wenham, who would have starved
rather than have come to dinner in an omnibus; "but I
don't think that she need flourish the straw about, do you,
Mr. Pendennis? My dear Miss Bunion, how do you do?

PENDENNIS. 443

I was in a great lady's drawing-room this morning, and
everybody was charmed with your new volume. Those
lines on the christening of Lady Fanny Fantail brought
tears into the Duchess's eyes. I said that I thought I
should have the pleasure of meeting you to-day, and she
begged me to thank you, and say how greatly she was
pleased."

This history, told in a bland, smiling manner, of a
Duchess whom Wenham had met that very morning, too,
quite put poor Wagg's dowager and baronet out of court,
and placed Wenham beyond Wagg as a man of fashion.
Wenham kept this inestimable advantage, and having the
conversation to himself, ran on with a number of anecdotes
regarding the aristocracy. He tried to bring Mr. Popjoy
into the conversation by making appeals to him, and say-
ing, "I was telling your father this morning, "or, "I think
you' were present at W. house the other night when the
Duke said so and so," but Mr. Popjoy would not gratify
him by joining in the talk, preferring to fall back into the
window recesses with Mrs. Bungay, and watch the cabs
that drove up to the opposite door. At least, if he would
not talk, the hostess hoped that those odious Bacons would
see how she had secured the noble Percy Popjoy for her
party.

And now the bell of Saint Paul's tolled half an hour
later than that for which Mr. Bungay had invited his
party, and it was complete with the exception of two
guests, who at last made their appearance, and in whom
Pen was pleased to recognise Captain and Mrs. Shandon.

When these two had made their greetings to the master
and mistress of the house, and exchanged nods of more or
less recognition with most of the people present, Pen and
Warrington went up and shook hands very warmly with
Mrs. Shandon, who, perhaps, was affected to meet them, and
think where it was she had seen them but a few days be-
fore. Shandon was brushed up, and looked pretty smart,
in a red velvet waistcoat, and a frill, into which his wife
had stuck her best brooch. In spite of Mrs. Bungay'a

444 PENDENNIS.

kindness, perhaps in consequence of it, Mrs. Shandon felt
great terror and timidity in approaching her : indeed, she
was more awful than ever in her red satin and bird of
paradise, and it was not until she had asked in her great
voice about the dear little gurl, that the latter was some-
what encouraged, and ventured to speak.

"Nice-looking woman," Popjoy whispered to Warring-
ton. " Do introduce me to Captain Shandon, Warrington.
I'm told he's a tremendous clever fellow; and, dammy, I
adore intellect, by Jove I do ! " This was the truth :
Heaven had not endowed young Mr. Popjoy with much in-
tellect of his own, but had given him a generous faculty
for admiring, if not for appreciating, the intellect of others.
" And introduce me to Miss Bunion. I'm told she's very
clever too. She's rum to look at, certainly, but that don't
matter. Dammy, I consider myself a literary man, and
wish to know all the clever fallows." So Mr. Popjoy and
Mr. Shandon had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with
one another; and now the doors of the adjoining dining-
room being flung open, the party entered and took their
seats at table. Pen found himself next to Miss Bunion on
one side, and to Mr. Wagg — the truth is, Wagg fled
alarmed from the vacant place by the poetess, and Pen was
compelled to take it.

The gifted being did not talk much during dinner, but
Pen remarked that she ate with a vast appetite, and never
refused any of the supplies of wine which were offered to
her by the butler. Indeed, Miss Bunion having considered
Mr. Pendennis for a minute, who gave himself rather grand
airs, and who was attired in an extremely fashionable
style, with his very best chains, shirt studs, and cambric
fronts, he was set down, and not without reason, as a prig
by the poetess ; who thought it was much better to attend
to her dinner than to take any notice of him. She told
him as much in after days with her usual candour. " I
took you for one of the little Mayfair dandies," she said to
Pen. "You looked as solemn as a little undertaker; and
as I disliked, beyond measure, the odious creature who was

PENDENNIS. 445

on the other side of me, I thought it was best to eat my
dinner and hold my tongue."

" And you did both very well, my dear Miss Bunion,"
Pen said with a laugh.

" Well, so I do, but I intend to talk to you the next
time a great deal : for you are neither so solemn, nor so
stupid, nor so pert, as you look. "

" Ah, Miss Bunion, how I pine for that ' next time ' to
come," Pen said, with an air of comical gallantry : — But
we must return to the day and the dinner at Paternoster
Row.

The repast was of the richest description — " What I call
of the florid Gothic style," Wagg whispered to Pen, who
sate beside the humourist, in his side-wing voice. The
men in creaking shoes and Berlin gloves were numerous
and solemn, carrying on rapid conversations behind the
guests, as they moved to and fro with the dishes. Doolan
called out, " Waither," to one of them, and blushed when
he thought of his blunder. Mrs. Bungay's own footboy
was lost amidst those large and black-coated attendants.

"Look at that very bow-windowed man," Wagg said.
"He's an undertaker in Amen Corner, and attends fu-
nerals and dinners. Cold meat and hot, don't you perceive?
He's the sham butler here, and I observe, my dear Mr.
Pendennis, as you will through life, that wherever there is
a sham butler at a London dinner, there is sham wine —
this sherry is filthy. Bungay, my boy, where did you get
this delicious brown sherry? "

" I'm glad you like it, Mr. Wagg; glass with you," said
the publisher. " It's some I got from Alderman Benning's
store, and gave a good figure for it, I can tell you. Mr.
Peudennis, will you join us? Your 'ealth, gentlemen."

" The old rogue, where does he expect to go to? It came
from the public-house," Wagg said. " It requires two men
to carry off that sherry, 'tis so uncommonly strong. I
wish I had a bottle of old Steyne's wine here, Pendennis:
your uncle and I have had many a one. He sends it about
to people where he is in the habit of dining. I remember

446 PENDENNIS.

at poor Rawdon Crawley's, Sir Pitt Crawley's brother — he
was Governor of Coventry Island — Steyne's chef always
came in the morning, and the butler arrived with the
champagne from Gaunt House, in the ice-pails ready."

"How good this is!" said Popjoy, good-naturedly.
u You must have a cordon bleii in your kitchen."

" 0 yes," Mrs. Bungay said, thinking he spoke of a jack-
chain very likely.

" I mean a French chef," said the polite guest.

" O yes, your lordship, " again said the lady.

"Does your artist say he's a Frenchman, Mrs. B.?w
called out Wagg.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know, "answered the publisher's
lady.

"Because, if he does, he's a quizzin yer," cried Mr.
Wagg ; but nobody saw the pun, which disconcerted some-
what the bashful punster. " The dinner is from Griggs' in.
St. Paul's Churchyard; so is Bacon's," he whispered Pen.
"Bungay writes to give half-a-crown a head more than
Bacon, — so does Bacon. They would poison each other's
ices if they could get near them ; and as for the made-
dishes — they are poison. This — hum — ha — this Brim-
borion a la Sevigne is delicious, Mrs. B.," he said, helping
himself to a dish which the undertaker handed to him.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," Mrs. Bungay answered,
blushing, and not knowing whether the name of the dish
was actually that which Wagg gave to it, but dimly con-
scious that that individual was quizzing her. Accordingly
she hated Mr. Wagg with female ardour ; and would have
deposed him from his command over Mr. Bun gay's periodi-
cal, but that his name was great in the trade, and his
reputation in the land considerable.

By the displacement of persons, Warrington had found
himself on the right hand of Mrs. Shandon, who sate in
plain silk and faded ornaments by the side of the florid
publisher. The sad smile of the lady moved his rough
heart to pity. Nobody seemed to interest himself about
her: she sate looking at her husband, who himself seemed

PENDENNIS. 447

rather abashed in the presence of some of the company.
Wenham and Wagg both knew him and his circumstances.
He had worked with the latter, and was immeasurably
his superior in wit, genius, and acquirements; but Wagg's
star was brilliant in the world, and poor Shandon was un-
known there. He could not speak before the noisy talk of
the coarser and more successful man ; but drank his wine
in silence, and as much of it as the people would give him.
He was under surveillance. Bungay had warned the under-
taker not to fill the Captain's glass too often or too full.
It was a melancholy precaution that, and the more melan-
choly that it was necessary. Mrs. Shandon, too, cast
alarmed glances across the table to see that her husband
did not exceed.

Abashed by the failure of his first pun, for he was im-
pudent and easily disconcerted, Wagg kept his conversa-
tion pretty much to Pen during the rest of dinner, and of
course chiefly spoke about their neighbours. "This is one
of Bungay 's grand field-days," he said. "We are all
Bungavians here. — Did you read Popjoy's novel? It was
an old magazine story written by poor Buzzard years ago,
and forgotten here until Mr. Trotter (that is Trotter with
the large shirt collar) fished it out and bethought him that
it was applicable to the late elopement ; so Bob wrote a
few chapters apropos — Popjoy permitted the use of his
name, and I dare say supplied a page here and there —
and ' Desperation, or the Fugitive Duchess ' made its ap-
pearance. The great fun is to examine Popjoy about his
own work, of which he doesn't know a word. — I say, Pop-
joy, what a capital passage that is in Volume Three —
where the Cardinal in disguise, after being converted by
the Bishop of London, proposes marriage to the Duchess's
daughter. "

"Glad you like it," Popjoy answered; "it's a favourite
bit of my own."

"There's no such thing in the whole book," whispered
Wagg to Pen. "Invented it myself. Gad! it wouldn't
be a bad plot for a high-church novel. "

448 PENDENNI8.

"I remember poor Byron, Hobhouse, Trelawney, and
myself, dining with. Cardinal Mezzocaldo, at Rome," Cap-
tain Sumph began, " and we had some Orvieto wine for
dinner, which Byron liked very much. And I remember
how the Cardinal regretted that he was a single man. We
went to Civita Vecchia two days afterwards, where Byron's
yacht was — and, by Jove, the Cardinal died within three
weeks; and Byron was very sorry, for he rather liked
him."

"A devilish interesting story, Sumph, indeed," Wagg
said.

"You should publish some of those stories, Captain
Sumph, you really should. Such a volume would make
our friend Bungay's fortune," Shandon said.

"Why don't you ask Suinph to publish 'em in your new
paper — the what-d'ye-call'em — hay, Shandon? " bawled
out Wagg.

"Why don't you ask him to publish 'em in your old
magazine, the Thingumbob? " Shandon replied.

"Is there going to be a new paper?" asked Wenham,
who knew perfectly well; but was ashamed of his con-
nexion with the press.

"Bungay going to bring out a paper?" cried Popjoy,
who, on the contrary, was proud of his literary reputation
and acquaintances. " You must employ me. Mrs. Bun-
gay, use your influence with him, and make him employ
me. Prose or verse — what shall it be? Novels, poems,
travels, or leading articles, begad. Anything or every-
thing— only let Bungay pay me, and I'm ready — I am now,
my dear Mrs. Bungay, begad now."

"It's to be called the ' Small Beer Chronicle,' " growled
Wagg, " and little Popjoy is to be engaged for the infant-
ine department."

" It is to be called the ' Pall Mall Gazette,' sir, and we
shall be very happy to have you with us," Shandon said.

" 'Pall Mall Gazette '—why ' Pall Mall Gazette ' ? " asked
Wagg.

" Because the editor was born at Dublin, the sub-editor

PENDENNIS. 449

at Cork, because the proprietor lives in Paternoster Kow,
and the paper is published in Catherine Street, Strand.
Won't that reason suffice you, Wagg? " Shandon said;
he was getting rather angry. " Everything must have a
name. My dog Ponto has got a name. You've got a
name, and a name which you deserve, more or less, bedad.
Why d'ye grudge the name to our paper? "

" By any other name it would smell as sweet, " said Wagg.

"I'll have ye remember it's name's not whatdyecallem,
Mr. Wagg," said Shandon. "You know its name well
enough, and — and you know mine."

"And I know your address, too," said Wagg, but this
was spoken in an undertone, and the good-natured Irish-
man was appeased almost in an instant after his ebullition
of spleen, and asked Wagg to drink wine with him in a
friendly voice.

When the ladies retired from the table, the talk grew
louder still; and presently Wenham, in a courtly speech,
proposed that everybody should drink to the health of the
new Journal, eulogising highly the talents, wit, and learn-
ing of its editor, Captain Shandon. It was his maxim
never to lose the support of a newspaper man, and in the
course of that evening, he went round and saluted every
literary gentleman present with a privy compliment spe-
cially addressed to him ; informing this one how great an
impression had been made in Downing Street by his last
article, and telling that one how profoundly his good friend,
the Duke of So and So, had been struck by the ability of
the late numbers.

The evening came to a close, and in spite of all the pre-
cautions to the contrary, poor Shandon reeled in his walk,
and went home to his new lodgings, with his faithful wife
by his side, and the cabman on his box jeering at him.
Wenham had a chariot of his own, which he put at Pop-
joy's service; and the timid Miss Bunion seeing Mr. Wagg,
who was her neighbour, about to depart, insisted upon a
seat in his carriage, much to that gentleman's discomfiture.

Pen and Warrington walked home together in the moon-

450 PENDENNIS.

light. "And now," Warrington said, "that you have seen
the men of letters, tell me, was I far wrong in saying that
there are thousands of people in this town, who don't write
books, who are, to the full, as clever and intellectual as
people who do? "

Pen was forced to confess that the literary personages
with whom he had become acquainted had not said much,
in the course of the night's conversation, that was worthy
to be remembered or quoted. In fact, not one word about
literature had been said during the whole course of the
night: — and it may be whispered to those uninitiated
people who are anxious to know the habits and make the
acquaintance of men of letters, that there are no race of
people who talk about books, or perhaps, who read books,
so little as literary men.

PENDENNIS. 451

CHAPTEK XXXV.

THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE."

CONSIDERABLE success at first attended the new journal.
It was generally stated, that an influential political party
supported the paper ; and great names were cited amongst
the contributors to its columns. Was there any foundation
for these rumours? We are not at liberty to say whether
they were well or ill founded; but this much we may
divulge, that an article upon foreign policy, which was gen-
erally attributed to a noble Lord, whose connexion with
the Foreign Office is very well known, was in reality com-
posed by Captain Shandon, in the parlour of the Bear
and Staff public-house near Whitehall Stairs, whither the
printer's boy had tracked him, and where a literary ally
of his, Mr. Bludyer, had a temporary residence ; and that
a series of papers on finance questions, which were univer-
sally supposed to be written by a great Statesman of the
House of Commons, were in reality composed by Mr.
George Warrington of the Upper Temple.

That there may have been some dealings between the
" Pall Mall Gazette " and this influential party, is very pos-
sible. Percy Popjoy (whose father, Lord Falconet, was a
member of the party) might be seen not unfrequently
ascending the stairs to Warrington' s chambers; and some
information appeared in the paper which gave it a charac-
ter, and could only be got from very peculiar sources.
Several poems, feeble in thought, but loud and vigorous in
expression, appeared in the "Pall Mall Gazette," with the
signature "P.P."; and it must be owned that his novel
was praised in the new journal in a very outrageous manner.

In the political department of the paper Mr. Pen did
not take any share ; but he was a most active literary con-
tributor. The " Pall Mall Gazette " had its offices, as we

20 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

452 PENDENNIS.

have heard, in Catherine Street in the Strand, and hither
Pen often came with his manuscripts in his pocket, and
with a great deal of bustle and pleasure ; such as a man
feels at the outset of his literary career, when to see him-
self in print is still a novel sensation, and he yet pleases
himself to think that his writings are creating some noise
in the world.

Here it was that Mr. Jack Finucane, the sub-editor, com-
piled with paste and scissors the journal of which he was
supervisor. With an eagle eye he scanned all the para-
graphs of all the newspapers which had anythi g to do
with the world of fashion over which he presided. He
didn't let a death or a dinner-party of the aristocracy pass
without having the event recorded in the columns of his
journal; and from the most recondite provincial prints,
and distant Scotch and Irish newspapers, he fished out
astonishing paragraphs and intelligence regarding the upper
classes of society. It was a grand, nay, a touching sight,
for a philosopher to see Jack Finucaue, Esquire, with a
plate of meat from the cookshop, and a glass of porter
from the public-house, for his meal, recounting the feasts
of the great, as if he had been present at them ; and in
tattered trousers and dingy shirt-sleeves, cheerfully describ-
ing and arranging the most brilliant fetes of the world of
fashion. The incongruity of Finucane 's avocation, and his
manners and appearance, amused his new friend Pen.
Since he left his own native village, where his rank prob-
ably was not very lofty, Jack had seldom seen any society
but such as used the parlour of the taverns which he fre-
quented, whereas from his writings you would have sup-
posed that he dined with ambassadors, and that his com-
mon lounge was the bow- window of White's. Errors of
description, it is true, occasionally slipped from his pen;
but the "Ballinafad Sentinel," of which he was own corre-
spondent, suffered by these, not the "Pall Mall Gazette,"
in which Jack was not permitted to write much, his Lon-
don chiefs thinking that the scissors and the paste were
better wielded by him than the pen.

PENDENNIS. 453

Pen took a great deal of pains with the writing of his
reviews, and having a pretty fair share of desultory read-
ing, acquired in the early years of his life, an eager fancy
and a keen sense of fun, his articles pleased his chief and
the public, and he was proud to think that he deserved the
money which he earned. We may be sure that the "Pall
Mall Gazette " was taken in regularly at Fairoaks, and read
with delight by the two ladies there. It was received at
Clavering Park, too, where we know there was a young
lady of great literary tastes; and old Doctor Portman
himself, to whom the widow sent her paper after she had
got her son's articles by heart, signified his approval of
Pen's productions, saying that the lad had spirit; taste, and
fancy, and wrote, if not like a scholar, at any rate like a
gentleman.

And what was the astonishment and delight of our
friend Major Pendennis, on walking into one of his clubs,
the Regent, where Wenham, Lord Falconet, and some
other gentlemen of good reputation and fashion were assem-
bled, to hear them one day talking over a number of the
" Pall Mall Gazette," and of an article which appeared in
its columns, making some bitter fun of a book recently pub-
lished by the wife of a celebrated member of the opposition
party. The book in question was a Book of Travels in
Spain and Italy, by the Countess of Muffborough, in which
it was difficult to say which was the most wonderful, the
French or the English, in which languages her ladyship
wrote indifferently, and upon the blunders of which the
critic pounced with delighted mischief. The critic was no
other than Pen : he jumped and danced round about his
subject with the greatest jocularity and high spirits : he
showed up the noble lady's faults with admirable mock
gravity and decorum. There was not a word in the article
which was not polite and gentleman-like ; and the unfor-
tunate subject of the criticism was scarified and laughed at
during the operation. Wenham 's bilious countenance
was puckered up with malign pleasure as he read the
critique. Lady Muffborough had not asked him to her

454 PENDENNIS.

parties during the last year. Lord Falconet giggled and
laughed with all his heart ; Lord Muffborough and he had
been rivals ever since they began life ; and these compli-
mented Major Pendeunis, who until now had scarcely paid
any attention to some hints which his Fairoaks correspond-
ence threw out of "dear Arthur's constant and severe liter-
ary occupations, which I fear may undermine the poor
boy's health," and had thought any notice of Mr. Pen and
his newspaper connexions quite below his dignity as a
Major and a gentleman.

But when the oracular Wenham praised the boy's pro-
duction ; when Lord Falconet, who had had the news from.
Percy Popjoy, approved of the genius of young Pen;
when the great Lord Steyne himself, to whom the Major
referred the article, laughed and sniggered over it, swore
it was capital, and that the Muffborough would writhe
under it, like a whale under a harpoon, the Major, as in
duty bound, began to admire his nephew very much, said,
"By gad, the young rascal had some stuff in him, and
would do something; he had always said he would do
something ; " and with a hand quite tremulous with pleas-
ure, the old gentleman sate down to write to the widow at
Fairoaks all that the great folks had said in praise of Pen ;
and he- wrote to the young rascal, too, asking when he
would come and eat a chop with his old uncle, and saying
that he was commissioned to take him to dinner at Gaunt
House, for Lord Steyne likea anybody who could entertain
him, whether by his folly, wit, or by his dulness, by his
oddity, affectation, good spirits, or any other quality.
Pen flung his letter across the table to Warrington ; per-
haps he was disappointed that the other did not seem to be
much affected by it.

The courage of young critics is prodigious : they clamber
up to the judgment seat, and, with scarce a hesitation, give
their opinion upon works the most intricate or profound.
Had Macaulay's History or Herschel's Astronomy been
put before Pen at this period, he would have looked
through the volumes, meditated his opinion over a cigar,

PENDENNIS. 455

and signified his august approval of either author, as if the
critic had been their born superior and indulgent master
and patron. By the help of the Biographie Universelle
or the British Museum, he would be able to take a rapid
resume of a historical period, and allude to names, dates,
and facts, in such a masterly, easy way, as to astonish his
mamma at home, who wondered where her boy could have
acquired such a prodigious store of reading, and himself,
too, when he came to read over his articles two or three
months after they had been composed, and when he had
forgotten the subject and the books which he had consulted.
At that period of his life Mr. Pen owns, that he would not
have hesitated, at twenty-four hours' notice, to pass an
opinion upon the greatest scholars, or to give a judgment
upon the Encyclopaedia. Luckily he had Warringtou to
laugh at him and to keep down his impertinence by a con-
stant and wholesome ridicule, or he might have become
conceited beyond all sufferance ; for Shandon liked the dash
and flippancy of his young aide-de-camp, and was, indeed,
better pleased with Pen's light and brilliant flashes, than
with the heavier metal which his elder coadjutor brought
to bear.

But though he might justly be blamed on the score of
impertinence and a certain prematurity of judgment, Mr.
Pen was a perfectly honest critic ; a great deal too candid
for Mr. Bungay's purposes, indeed, who grumbled sadly at
his impartiality. Pen and his chief, the Captain, had a dis-
pute upon this subject one day. " In the name of common
sense, Mr. Pendennis," Shandon asked, "what have you
been doing — praising one of Mr. Bacon's books? Bungay
has been with me in a fury this morning, at seeing a laud-
atory article upon one of the works of the odious firm over
the way."

Pen's eyes opened with wide astonishment. "Do you
mean to say," he asked, " that we are to praise no books
that Bacon publishes : or that, if the books are good, we
are to say they are bad? "

"My good young friend — for what do you suppose a

456 PENDENNIS.

benevolent publisher undertakes a critical journal, to bene-
fit his rival? " Shandon inquired.

"To benefit himself certainly, but to tell the truth too,"
Pen said — "ruat ccelum, to tell the truth."

"And my prospectus," said Shandon, with a laugh and
a sneer ; " do you consider that was a work of mathemati-
cal accuracy of statement? "

"Pardon me, that is not the question," Pen said; "and
I don't think you very much care to argue it. I had some
qualms of conscience about that same prospectus, and
debated the matter with my friend Warrington. We
agreed, however," Pen said, laughing, "that because the
prospectus was rather declamatory and poetical, and the
giant was painted upon the show-board rather larger than
the original, who was inside the caravan, we need not be
too scrupulous about this trifling inaccuracy, but might do
our part of the show, without loss of character or remorse
of conscience. We are the fiddlers, and play our tunes
only ; you are the showman. "

"And leader of the van," said Shandon. "Well, I am
glad that your conscience gave you leave to play for us."

" Yes, but," said Pen, with a fine sense of the dignity of
his position, " we are all party men in England, and I will
stick to my party like a Briton. I will be as good-natured
as you like to our own side, he is a fool who quarrels with
his own nest ; and I will hit the enemy as hard as you
like — but with fair play, Captain, if you please. One
can't tell all the truth, I suppose; but one can tell nothing
but the truth: and I would rather starve, by Jove, and
never earn another penny by my pen " (this redoubted in-
strument had now been in use for some six weeks, and
Pen spoke of it with vast enthusiasm and respect) " than
strike an opponent an unfair blow, or, if called upon to
place him, rank him below his honest desert."

" Well, Mr. Pendennis, when we want Bacon smashed,
we must get some other hammer to do it," Shandon said,
with fatal good-nature; and very likely thought within
himself, " A few years hence perhaps the young gentleman

PENDENNIS. 457

won't be so squeamish." The veteran Condottiere himself
was no longer so scrupulous. He had fought and killed on
so many a side for many a year past, that remorse had long
left him. "Gad," said he, "you've a tender conscience,
Mr. Pendennis. It's the luxury of all novices, and I may
have had one once myself ; but that sort of bloom wears
off with the rubbing of the world, and I'm. not going to
the trouble myself of putting on an artificial complexion,
like our pious friend Wenham, or our model of virtue,
Wagg."

"I don't know whether some people's hypocrisy is not
better, Captain, than others' cynicism."

"It's more profitable, at any rate," said the Captain,
biting his nails. " That Wenham is as dull a quack as
ever quacked : and you see the carriage in which he drove
to dinner. 'Faith, it'll be a long time before Mrs. Shan-
don will take a drive in her own chariot. God help her,
poor thing ! " And Pen went away from his chief, after
their little dispute and colloquy, pointing his own moral to
the Captain's tale, and thinking to himself, "Behold this
man, stored with genius, wit, learning, and a hundred
good natural gifts : see how he has wrecked them, by pal-
tering with his honesty, and forgetting to respect himself.
Wilt thou remember thyself, 0 Pen? thou art conceited
enough! Wilt thou sell thy honour for a bottle? No, by
heaven's grace, we will be honest whatever befalls, and
our mouths shall only speak the truth when they open. "

A punishment, or, at least, a trial, was in store for Mr.
Pen. In the very next Number of the " Pall Mall Ga-
zette," Warrington read out, with roars of laughter, an
article which by no means amused Arthur Pendennis, who
was himself at work with a criticism for the next week's
Number of the same journal; and in which the "Spring
Annual" was ferociously maltreated by some unknown
writer. The person of all most cruelly mauled was Pen
himself. His verses had not appeared with his own name
in the "Spring Annual," but under an assumed signature.
As he had refused to review the book, Shandon had handed

458 PENDENNIS.

it over to Mr. Bludyer, with directions to that author to
dispose of it. And he had done so effectually. Mr. Blud-
yer, who was a man of very considerable talent, and of a
race which, I believe, is quite extinct in the press of our
time, had a certain notoriety in his profession, and reputa-
tion for savage humour. He smashed and trampled down
the poor spring flowers with no more mercy than a bull
would have on a parterre ; and having cut up the volume
to his heart's content, went and sold it at a bookstall, and
purchased a pint of brandy with the proceeds of the vol-
ume.

PENDENNIS. 459

CHAPTER XXXVI.

WHERE PEN APPEARS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY.

LET us be allowed to pass over a few months of the his-
tory of Mr. Arthur Pendenuis's lifetime, during the which,
many events may have occurred which were more interest-
ing and exciting to himself, than they would be likely to
prove to the reader of his present memoirs. We left him,
in the last chapter, regularly entered upon his business as
a professional writer, or literary hack, as Mr. Warrington
chooses to style himself and his friend ; and we know how
the life of any hack, legal or literary, in a curacy, or in a
marching regiment, or at a merchant's desk, is full of
routine, and tedious of description. One day's labour
resembles another much too closely. A literary man has
often to work for his bread against time, or against his
will, or in spite of his health, or of his indolence, or of
his repugnance to the subject on which he is called to exert
himself, just like any other daily toiler. When you want
to make money by Pegasus (as he must, perhaps, who has
no other saleable property), farewell poetry and aerial
nights : Pegasus only rises now like Mr. Green' s balloon,
at periods advertised beforehand, and when the spectator's
money has been paid. Pegasus trots in harness, over the
stony pavement, and pulls a cart or a cab behind him.
Often Pegasus does his work with panting sides and trem-
bling knees, and not seldom gets a cut of the whip from
his driver.

Do not let us, however, be too prodigal of our pity upon
Pegasus. There is no reason why this animal should be
exempt from labour, or illness, or decay, any more than
any of the other creatures of God's world. If he gets the
whip, Pegasus very often deserves it, and I for one am
quite ready to protest with my friend, George Warrington,

460 PENDENNIS.

against the doctrine which some poetical sympathisers are
inclined to put forward, viz., that men of letters, and what
is called genius, are to be exempt from the prose duties of
this daily, bread-wanting, tax-paying life, and are not to
be made to work and pay like their neighbours.

Well then, the " Pall Mall Gazette " being duly estab-
lished, and Arthur Pendennis's merits recognized as a flip-
pant, witty, and amusing critic, he worked away hard
every week, preparing reviews of such works as came into
his department, and writing his reviews with flippancy
certainly, but with honesty, and to the best of his power.
It might be that a historian of threescore, who had spent
a quarter of a century in composing a work of which our
young gentleman disposed in the course of a couple of
days' reading at the British Museum, was not altogether
fairly treated by such a facile critic ; or that a poet, who
had been elaborating sublime sonnets and odes until he
thought them fit for the public and for fame, was annoyed
by two or three dozen pert lines in Mr. Pen's review, in
which the poet's claims were settled by the critic, as if the
latter were my lord on the bench, and the author a miser-
able little suitor trembling before him. The actors at the
theatres complained of him wofully, too, and very likely
he was too hard upon them. But there was not much harm
done after all. It is different now, as we know ; but there
were so few great historians, or great poets, or great
actors, in Pen's time, that scarce any at all came up for
judgment before his critical desk. Those who got a little
whipping, got what in the main was good for them ; not
that the judge was any better or wiser than the persons
whom he sentenced, or indeed ever fancied himself so.
Pen had a strong sense of humour and justice, and had not
therefore an overweening respect for his own works; be-
sides, he had his friend Warrington at his elbow — a terri-
ble critic if the young man was disposed to be conceited,
and more savage over Pen than ever he was to those whom
he tried at his literary assize.

By these critical labours, and by occasional contributions

PENDENNIS. 461

to leading articles of the journal, when, without wounding
his paper, this eminent publicist could conscientiously
speak his mind, Mr. Arthur Pendennis gained the sum of
four pounds four shillings weekly, and with no small pains
and labour. Likewise he furnished Magazines and Reviews
with articles of his composition, and is believed to have
been (though on this score he never chooses to speak) Lon-
don correspondent of the " Chatteris Champion, " which at
that time contained some very brilliant and eloquent letters
from the metropolis. By these labours the fortunate youth
was enabled to earn a sum very nearly equal to four hun-
dred pounds a-year; and on the second Christmas after
his arrival in London, he actually brought a hundred pounds
to his mother, as a dividend upon the debt which he owed
to Laura. That Mrs. Pendennis read every word of her
son's works, and considered him to be the profoundest
thinker and most elegant writer of the day; that she
thought his retribution of the hundred pounds an act of
angelic virtue ; that she feared he was ruining his health
by his labours, and was delighted when he told her of the
society which he met, and of the great men of letters and
fashion whom he saw, will be imagined by all readers who
have seen son- worship amongst mothers, and that charm-
ing simplicity of love with which women in the country
watch the career of their darlings in London. If John has
held such and such a brief; if Tom has been invited to such
and such a ball ; or George has met this or that great and
famous man at dinner ; what a delight there is in the hearts
of mothers and sisters at home in Somersetshire! How
young Hopeful's letters are read and remembered! What
a theme for village talk they give, and friendly congratu-
lation ! In the second winter, Pen came for a very brief
space, and cheered the widow's heart, and lightened up the
lonely house at Fairoaks. Helen had her son all to her-
self ; Laura was away on a visit to old Lady Eockminster ;
the folks of Clavering Park were absent ; the very few old
friends of the house, Doctor Portmau at their head, called
upon Mr. Pen, and treated him with marked respect ; be-

462 PENDENNIS.

tween mother and son, it was all fondness, confidence, and
affection. It was the happiest fortnight of the widow's
whole life ; perhaps in the lives of both of them. The
holiday was gone only too quickly ; and Pen was back in
the busy world, and the gentle widow alone again. She
sent Arthur's money to Laura: I don't know why this
young lady took the opportunity of leaving home when
Pen was coming thither, or whether he was the more piqued
or relieved by her absence.

He was by this time, by his own merits and his uncle's
introductions, pretty well introduced into London, and
known both in literary and polite circles. Amongst the
former his fashionable reputation stood him in no little
stead ; he was considered to be a gentleman of good pres-
ent means and better expectations, who wrote for his
pleasure, than which there cannot be a greater recommen-
dation to a young literary aspirant. Bacon, Bungay, and
Co., were proud to accept his articles; Mr. Wenham asked
him to dinner ; Mr. Wagg looked upon him with a favour-
able eye ; and they reported how they met him at the houses
of persons of fashion, amongst whom he was pretty wel-
come, as they did not trouble themselves about his means,
present or future; as his appearance and address were
good ; and as he had got a character for being a clever fel-
low. Finally, he was asked to one house, because he was
seen at another house : and thus no small varieties of Lon-
don life were presented to the young man : he was made
familiar with all sorts of people from Paternoster Row to
Pimlico, and was as much at home at Mayfair dining-
tables as at those tavern boards where some of his com-
panions of the pen were accustomed to assemble.

Full of high spirits and curiosity, easily adapting him-
self to all whom he met, the young fellow pleased himself
in this strange variety and jumble of men, and made him-
self welcome, or at ease at least, wherever he went. He
would breakfast, for instance, at Mr. Plover's of a morn-
ing, in company with a Peer, a Bishop, a parliamentary
orator, two blue ladies of fashion, a popular preacher, the

PENDENNIS. 463

author of the last new novel, and the very latest lion im-
ported from Egypt or from America ; and would quit this
distinguished society for the back room at the newspaper
office, where pens and ink and the wet proof sheets were
awaiting him. Here would be Finucane, the sub-editor,
with the last news from the Row : and Shandon would come
in presently, and giving a nod to Pen, would begin scrib-
bling his leading article at the other end of the table,
flanked by the pint of sherry, which, when the attendant
boy beheld him, was always silently brought for the Cap-
tain: or Mr. Bludyer's roaring voice would be heard in the
front room, where that truculent critic would impound
the books on the counter in spite of the timid remonstrances
of Mr. Midge, the publisher, and after looking through the
volumes would sell them at his accustomed bookstall, and
having drunken and dined upon the produce of the sale
in a tavern box, would call for ink and paper, and proceed
to " smash " the author of his dinner and the novel. To-
wards evening Mr. Pen would stroll in the direction of his
club, and take up Warrington there for a constitutional
walk. This exercise freed the lungs, and gave an appetite
for dinner, after which Pen had the privilege to make his
bow at some very pleasant houses which were opened to
him ; or the town before him for amusement. There was
the Opera; or the Eagle Tavern; or a ball to go to in May
Fair ; or a quiet night with a cigar and a book and a long
talk with Warrington; or a wonderful new song at the
Back Kitchen ; — at this time of his life Mr. Pen beheld
all sorts of places and men ; and very likely did not know
how much he enjoyed himself until long after, when balls
gave him no pleasure, neither did farces make him laugh ;
nor did the tavern joke produce the least excitement in
him ; nor did the loveliest dancer that ever showed her
ancles cause him to stir from his chair after dinner. At
his present mature age all these pleasures are over : and
the times have passed away too. It is but a very very few
years since — but the time is gone, and most of the men.
Bludyer will no more bully authors or cheat landlords of

464 PENDENNIS.

their score. Shandon, the learned and thriftless, the witty
and unwise, sleeps his last sleep. They buried honest
Doolan the other day : never will he cringe or natter, never
pull long-bow or empty whiskey -noggin any more.

The London season was now blooming in its full vigour,
and the fashionable newspapers abounded with information
regarding the grand banquets, routs, and balls which were
enlivening the polite world. Our gracious Sovereign was
holding levees and drawing-rooms at St. James's: the bow-
windows of the clubs were crowded with the heads of re-
spectable red-faced newspaper-reading gentlemen : along
the Serpentine trailed thousands of carriages : squadrons of
dandy horsemen trampled over Rotten Row: everybody
was in town in a word ; and of course Major Arthur Pen-
dennis, who was somebody, was not absent.

With his head tied up in a smart bandana handkerchief,
and his meagre carcass enveloped in a brilliant Turkish
dressing-gown, the worthy gentleman sate on a certain
morning by his fireside, letting his feet gently simmer in a
bath, whilst he took his early cup of tea, and perused his
"Morning Post." He could not have faced the day with-
out his two hours' toilet, without his early cup of tea,
without his " Morning Post. " I suppose nobody in the
world except Morgan, not even Morgan's master himself,
knew how feeble and ancient the Major was growing, and
what numberless little comforts he required.

If men sneer, as our habit is, at the artifices of an old
beauty, at her paint, perfumes, ringlets; at those innu-
merable, and to us unknown, stratagems with which she is
said to remedy the ravages of time and reconstruct the
charms whereof years have bereft her ; the ladies, it is to
be presumed, are not on their side altogether ignorant that
men are vain as well as they, and that the toilets of old
bucks are to the full as elaborate as their own. How is it
that old Blushington keeps that constant little rose-tint on
his cheeks ; and where does old Blondel get the preparation
which makes his silver hair pass for golden? Have you

PENDENNIS. 465

ever seen Lord Hotspur get off his horse when he thinks
nobody is looking? Taken out of his stirrups, his shiny
boots can hardly totter up the steps of Hotspur House.
He is a dashing young nobleman still as you see the back
of him in Rotten Row: when you behold him on foot,
what an old, old fellow ! Did you ever form to yourself
any idea of Dick Lacy (Dick has been Dick these sixty
years) in a natural state, and without his stays? All
these men are objects whom the observer of human life and
manners may contemplate with as much profit as the most
elderly Belgravian Venus, or inveterate Mayfair Jezebel.
An old reprobate daddy long-legs, who has never said his
prayers (except perhaps in public) these fifty years : an old
buck who still clings to as many of the habits of youth
as his feeble grasp of health can hold by : who has given
up the bottle, but sits with young fellows over it, and tells
naughty stories upon toast and water — who has given up
beauty, but still talks about it as wickedly as the youngest
roue in company — such an old fellow, I say, if any parson
in Pimlico or St. James's were to order the beadles to
bring him into the middle aisle, and there set him in an
armchair, and make a text of him, and preach about him
to the congregation, could be turned to a wholesome use
for once in his life, and might be surprised to find that
some good thoughts came out of him. But, we are wan-
dering from our text, the honest Major, who sits all this
while with his feet cooling in the bath : Morgan takes them
out of that place of purification, and dries them daintily,
and proceeds to set the old gentleman on his legs, with
waistband and wig, starched cravat, and spotless boots and
gloves.

It was during these hours of the toilet that Morgan and
his employer had their confidential conversations, for they
did not meet much at other times of the day — the Major
abhorring the society of his own chairs and tables in his
lodgings; and Morgan, his master's toilet over and letters
delivered, had his time very much on his own hands.

This spare time the active and well-mannered gentle-

466 PENDENNIS.

man bestowed among the valets and butlers of the nobility,
his acquaintance : and Morgan Pendennis, as he was
styled, for, by such compound names, gentlemen's gentle-
men are called in their private circles, was a frequent and
welcome guest at some of the very highest tables in this
town. He was a member of two influential clubs in May-
fair and Pimlico ; and he was thus enabled to know the
whole gossip of the town, and entertain his master very
agreeably during the two hours' toilet conversation. He
knew a hundred tales and legends regarding persons of the
very highest ton, whose valets canvass their august se-
crets, just, my dear madam, as our own parlour-maids and
dependents in the kitchen discuss our characters, our stingi-
ness and generosity, our pecuniary means or embarrass-
ments, and our little domestic or connubial tiffs and quar-
rels. If I leave this manuscript open on my table, I have
not the slightest doubt Betty will read it, and they will
talk it over in the lower regions to-night ; and to-morrow
she will bring in my breakfast with a face of such entire
imperturbable innocence, that no mortal could suppose her
guilty of playing the spy. If you and the Captain have
high words upon any subject, which is just possible, the
circumstances of the quarrel, and the characters of both of
you, will be discussed with impartial eloquence over the
kitchen tea-table; and if Mrs. Smith's maid should by
chance be taking a dish of tea with yours, her presence
will not undoubtedly act as a restraint upon the discus-
sion in question ; her opinion will be given with candour ;
and the next day her mistress will probably know that
Captain and Mrs. Jones have been a quarrelling as usual.
Nothing is secret. Take it as a rule that John knows
everything : and as in our humble world so in the greatest :
a duke is no more a hero to his valet-de-chambre than
you or I; and his Grace's Man at his club, in company
doubtless with other Men of equal social rank, talks over
his master's character and affairs with the ingenuous truth-
fulness which befits gentlemen who are met together in
confidence. Who is a niggard and screws up his money-

PENDENNIS. 467

boxes : who is in the hands of the money-lenders, and is
putting his noble name on the back of bills of exchange :
•who is intimate with whose wife: who wants whom to
marry her daughter, and which he won't, no not at any
price: — all these facts gentlemen's confidential gentlemen
discuss confidentially, and are known and examined by
every person who has any claim to rank in genteel society.
In a word, if old Pendennis himself was said to know
everything, and was at once admirably scandalous and
delightfully discreet ; it is but justice to Morgan to say,
that a great deal of his master's information was supplied
to that worthy man by his valet, who went out and foraged
knowledge for him. Indeed, what more effectual plan is
there to get a knowledge of London society, than to begin
at the foundation — that is, at the kitchen-floor?

So Mr. Morgan and his employer conversed as the lat-
ter's toilet proceeded. There had been a Drawing-room
on the day previous, and the Major read among the pres-
entations that of Lady Claveriug by Lady Rockrninster,
and of Miss Amory by her mother, Lady Clavering, — and
in a further part of the paper their dresses were described,
with a precision and in a jargon which will puzzle and
amuse the antiquary of future generations. The sight
of these names carried Pendennis back to the country.
"How long have the Claverings been in London?" he
asked; "pray, Morgan, have you seen any of their
people? "

" Sir Francis have sent away his foring man, sir," Mr.
Morgan replied ; " and have took a friend of mine as own
man, sir. Indeed he applied on my reckmendation. You
may recklect Towler, sir, — tall red-aired man — but dyes
his air. Was groom of the chambers in Lord Levant's
famly till his Lordship broke hup. It's a fall for Towler,
sir; but pore men can't be particklar," said the valet with
a pathetic voice.

"Devilish hard on Towler, by gad!" said the Major,
anmsed, "and not pleasant for Lord Levant — he, he."

" Always knew it was coming, sir. I spoke to you of

468 PENDENNIS.

it Michaelmas was four years : when her Ladyship put the
diamonds in pawn. It was Towler, sir, took 'em in two
cabs to Dobree's — and a good deal of the plate went the
same way. Don't you remember seeing of it at Blackwall,
with the Levant arms and corouick, and Lord Levant'setn
oppsit to it at the Marquis of Steyne's dinner? Beg your
pardon : did I cut you, sir? "

Morgan was now operating upon the Major's chin — he
continued the theme while strapping the skilful razor.
"They've took a house in Grosvenor Place, and are com-
ing out strong, sir. Her ladyship's going to give three
parties, besides a dinner a-week, sir. Her fortune won't
stand it — can't stand it."

" Gad, she had a devilish good cook when I was at Fair-
oaks," the Major said, with very little compassion for the
widow Amory's fortune.

" Marobblan was his name, sir ; — Marobblan's gone away,
sir ; " Morgan said, — and the Major, this time with hearty
sympathy, said, "he was devilish sorry to lose him."

"There's been a tremenjuous row about that Mosseer
Marobblan," Morgan contiuued. " At a ball at Baymouth,
sir, bless his irnpadence, he challenged Mr. Harthur to
fight a jewel, sir, which Mr. Harthur was very near knock-
ing him down, and pitchin' him outawinder, and serve him
right ; but Chevalier Strong, sir, came up and stopped the
shindy — I beg pardon, the holtercation, sir — them French
cooks has as much pride and hinsolence as if they was real
gentlemen."

"I heard something of that quarrel," said the Major;
"but Mirobolant was not turned off for that? "

"No, sir — that affair, sir, which Mr. Harthur forgave it
him and beaved most handsome, was hushed hup : it was
about Miss Hamory, sir, that he ad his disrnissial. Those
French fellers, they fancy every body is in love with 'em;
and he climbed up the large grape vine to her winder,
sir, and was a trying to get in, when he was caught, sir ;
and Mr. Strong came out, and they got the garden-engine
and played on him, and there was no end of a row, sir."

PENDENNIS. 469

"Confound his impudence! You don't mean to say
Miss Amory encouraged him? " cried the Major, amazed
at a peculiar expression in Mr. Morgan's countenance.

Morgan resumed his imperturbable demeanour. " Know
nothing about it, sir. Servants don't know them kind of
things the least. Most probbly there was nothing in it —
so many lies is told about families — Marobblan went away,
bag and baggage, saucepans, and pianna, and all — the fel-
ler ad a pianna, and wrote potry in French, and he took a
lodging at Clavering, and he hankered about the primises,
and it was said that Madame Fribsby, the milliner, brought
letters to Miss Hamory, though I don't believe a word
about it ; nor that he tried to pison hisself with charcoal,
which it was all a humbug betwigst him and Madame
Fribsby ; and he was nearly shot by the keeper in the
park."

In the course of that very day, it chanced that the
Major had stationed himself in the great window of Bays's
Club in St. James's Street, at the hour in the afternoon
when you see a half-score of respectable old bucks simi-
larly recreating themselves (Bays's is rather an old-fash-
ioned place of resort now, and many of its members more
than middle-aged; but in the time of the Prince Regent,
these old fellows occupied the same window, and were
some of the very greatest dandies in this empire) — Major
Pendennis was looking from the great window, and spied
his nephew Arthur walking down the street in company
with his friend Mr. Popjoy.

"Look! " said Popjoy to Pen, as they passed, "did you
ever pass Bays's at four o'clock, without seeing that col-
lection of old fogies? It's a regular museum. They
ought to be cast in wax, and set up at Madame Tussaud's — "

" — In a chamber of old horrors by themselves," Pen
said, laughing.

" — In the chamber of horrors ! Gad, dooced good ! "
Pop cried. " They are old rogues, most of 'em, and no
mistake. There's old Blondel; there's my uncle Colchi-

470 PENDENNIS.

cum, the most confounded old sinner in Europe ; there's —
hullo ! there's somebody rapping the window and nodding
at us."

"It's my uncle, the Major," said Pen. "Is he an old
sinner too?"

"Notorious old rogue," Pop said, wagging his head.
("Notowious old wogue," he pronounced the words, there-
by rendering them much more emphatic.) "He's beckon-
ing you in ; he wants to speak to you. "

"Come in too," Pen said,

" — Can't," replied the other. "Cut uncle Col. two
years ago, about Mademoiselle Frangipane — Ta, ta," and
the young sinner took leave of Pen, and the ciub of the
elder criminals, and sauntered into Blacquiere's, an adja-
cent establishment, frequented by reprobates of his own
age.

Colchicum, Blondel, and the senior bucks had just been
conversing about the Clavering family, whose appearance
in London had formed the subject of Major Pendennis's
morning conversation with his valet. Mr. Blondel' s house
was next to that of Sir Francis Clavering, in Grosvenor
Place : giving very good dinners himself, he had remarked
some activity in his neighbour's kitchen. Sir Francis, in-
deed, had a new chef, who had come in more than once
and dressed Mr. Blondel' s dinner for him ; that gentleman
having only a remarkably expert female artist permanently
engaged in his establishment, and employing such chefs of
note as happened to be free on the occasion of his grand
banquets. " They go to a devilish expense and see devil-
ish bad company as yet, I hear," Mr. Blondel said, —
41 they scour the streets, by gad, to get people to dine with
'em. Champignon says it breaks his heart to serve up a
dinner to their society. What a shame it is that those low
people should have money at all! " cried Mr. Blondel,
whose grandfather had been a reputable leather-breeches
maker, and whose father had lent money to the Princes.

" I wish I had fallen in with the widow myself," sighed
Lord Colchicum, " and not been laid up with that con-

PENDENNIS. 471

founded gout at Leghorn. — I would have married the
woman myself. — I'm told she has six hundred thousand
pounds in the Threes."

"Not quite so much as that, — I knew her family in
India," Major Pendennis said. — "I knew her family in
India; her father was an enormously rich old indigo-
planter, — know all about her, — Clavering has the next
estate to ours in the country. — Ha! there's my nephew
walking with " — " With mine, — the infernal young scamp,"
said Lord Colchicum, glowering at Popjoy out of his heavy
eyebrows; and he turned away from the window as Major
Pendennis tapped upon it.

The Major was in high good-humour. The sun was
bright, the air brisk and invigorating. He had determined
upon a visit to Lady Clavering on that day, and bethought
him that Arthur would be a good companion for the walk
across the Green Park to her ladyship's door. Master
Pen was not displeased to accompany his illustrious rela-
tive, who pointed out a dozen great men in their brief
transit through St. James's Street, and got bows from a
Duke, at a crossing, a Bishop (on a cob), and a Cabinet
Minister with an umbrella. The Duke gave the elder
Pendennis a finger of, a pipe-clayed glove to shake, which
the Major embraced with great veneration; and all Pen's
blood tingled, as he found himself in actual communica-
tion, as it were, with this famous man (for Pen had pos-
session of the Major's left arm, whilst that gentleman's
other wing was engaged with his Grace's right), and he
wished all Grey Friars' School, all Oxbridge University,
all Paternoster Kow and the Temple, and Laura and
his mother at Fairoaks, could be standing on each side of
the street, to see the meeting between him and his uncle,
and the most famous duke in Christendom.

"How do, Pendennis? — fine day," were his Grace's
remarkable words, and with a nod of his august head he
passed on — in a blue frock-coat and spotless white duck
trousers, in a white stock, with a shining buckle behind.

Old Pendennis, whose likeness to his Grace has been re-

472 PENDENNIS.

marked, began to imitate him unconsciously, after they
had parted, speaking with curt sentences, after the manner
of the great man. We have all of us, no doubt, met with
more than one military officer who has so imitated the
manner of a certain Great Captain of the Age ; and has,
perhaps, changed his own natural character and disposi-
tion, because Fate had endowed him with an aquiline nose.
In like manner have we not seen many another man pride
himself on having a tall forehead and a supposed likeness
to Mr. Canning? many another go through life swelling
with self -gratification on account of an imagined resem-
blance (we say "imagined," because that anybody should
be really like that most beautiful and perfect of men is
impossible) to the great and revered George IV.? many
third parties, who wore low necks to their dresses because
they fancied that Lord Byron and themselves were similar
in appearance? and has not the grave closed but lately
upon poor Tom Bickerstaff, who having no more imagina-
tion than Mr. Joseph Hume, looked in the glass and
fancied himself like Shakspeare, shaved his forehead so as
further to resemble the immortal bard, wrote tragedies
incessantly, and died perfectly crazy — actually perished
of his forehead? These or similar freaks of vanity most
people who have frequented the world must have seen in
their experience. Pen laughed in his roguish sleeve at the
manner in which his uncle began to imitate the great man
from whom they had just parted: but Mr. Pen was as
vain in his own way, perhaps, as the elder gentleman, and
strutted, with a very consequential air of his own, by the
Major's side.

"Yes, my dear boy," said the old bachelor, as they
sauntered through the Green Park, where many poor
children were disporting happily, and errand boys were
playing at toss halfpenny, and black sheep were grazing
in the sunshine, and an actor was learning his part on a
bench, and nursery-maids and their charges sauntered here
and there, and several couples were walking in a leisurely
manner; "yes, depend on it, my boy, for a poor man,

PENDENNIS. 473

there is nothing like having good acquaintances. Who
were those men, with whom you saw me in the bow win-
dow at Bays' s? Two were Peers of the realm. Hoband-
nob will be a Peer, as soon as his grand-uncle dies, and he
has had his third seizure ; and of the other four, not one
has less than his seven thousand a-year. Did you see
that dark blue brougham, with that tremendous stepping
horse, waiting at the door of the club? You'll know it
again. It is Sir Hugh Trumpington's; he was never
known to walk in his life ; never appears in the streets on
foot — never : and if he is going two doors off, to see his
mother, the old dowager (to whom I shall certainly intro-
duce you, for she receives some of the best company in
London), gad, sir, he mounts his horse at No. 23, and dis-
mounts again at No. 25A. He is now upstairs, at Bays's,
playing picquet with Count Punter : he is the second-best
player in England — as well he may be ; for he plays every
day of his life, except Sundays (for Sir Hugh is an uncom-
monly religious man), from half -past three till half -past
seven, when he dresses for dinner."

"A very pious manner of spending his time," Pen said,
laughing, and thinking that his uncle was falling into the
twaddling state.

" Gad, sir, that is not the question. A man of his estate
may employ his time as he chooses. * When you are a
baronet, a county member, with ten thousand acres of the
best land in Cheshire, and such a place as Trumpington
(though he never goes there), you may do as you like."

"And so that was his brougham, sir, was it?" the
nephew said, with almost a sneer.

" His brougham — 0 ay, yes ! — and that brings me back
to my point — revenons £ nos moutons. Yes, begad!
revenons a nos moutons. Well, that brougham, is mine if
I choose, between four and seven. Just as much mine as
if I jobbed it from Tilbury's, begad, for thirty pound
a-month. Sir Hugh is the best-natured fellow in the
world; and if it hadn't been so fine an afternoon as
it is, you and I would have been in that brougham at

474 PENDENNIS.

this very minute, on our way to Grosvenor Place. That
is the benefit of knowing rich men; — I dine for nothing,
sir; — I go into the country, and I'm mounted for nothing.
Other fellows keep hounds and gamekeepers for me. Sic
vos non vobis, as we used to say at Grey Friars, hey?
I'm of the opinion of my old friend Leech, of the Forty-
fourth ; and a devilish good shrewd fellow he was, as most
Scotchmen are. Gad, sir, Leech used to say, ' He was
so poor that he couldn't afford to know a poor man.' '

" You don't act up to your principles, uncle," Pen said
good-naturedly.

"Up to my principles; how, sir?" the Major asked,
rather testily.

" You would have cut me in St. James's Street, sir," Pen
said, " were your practice not more benevolent than your
theory; you who live with dukes and magnates of the
land, and would take no notice of a poor devil like me."
By which speech we may see that Mr. Pen was getting on
in the world, and could natter as well as laugh in his
sleeve.

Major Pendennis was appeased instantly, and very much
pleased. He tapped affectionately his nephew's arm on
which he was leaning, and said, — " You, sir, you are my
flesh and blood! Hang it, sir, I've been very proud of
you and very fond of you, but for your confounded follies
and extravagances — and wild oats, sir, which I hope
you've sown. Yes, begad! I hope you've sown 'em; I
hope you've sown 'em begad! My object, Arthur, is to
make a man of you — to see you well placed in the world,
as becomes one of your name and my own, sir. You have
got yourself a little reputation by your literary talents,
which I am very far from undervaluing, though in my
time, begad, poetry and genius and that sort of thing
were devilish disreputable. There was poor Byron, for
instance, who ruined himself, and contracted the worst
habits by living with poets and newspaper-writers, and
people of that kind. But the times are changed now —
there's a run upon literature — clever fellows get into the

PENDENNIS. 475

best houses in town, begad! Tempora mutantur, sir, and,
by Jove, I suppose whatever is is right, as Shakspeare
says."

Pen did not think fit to tell his uncle who was the
author who had made use of that remarkable phrase, and
here descending from the Green Park, the pair made their
way into Grosvenor Place, and to the door of the mansion
occupied there by Sir Francis and Lady Clavering.

The dining-room shutters of this handsome mansion
were freshly gilded ; the knockers shone gorgeous upon the
newly-painted door ; the balcony before the drawing-room
bloomed with a portable garden of the most beautiful
plants, and with flowers, white, and pink, and scarlet ; the
windows of the upper room (the sacred chamber and dress-
ing-room of my lady, doubtless), and even a pretty little
casement of the third story, which keen-sighted Mr. Pen
presumed to belong to the virgin bedroom of Miss Blanche
Amory, were similarly adorned with floral ornaments, and
the whole exterior face of the house presented the most
brilliant aspect which fresh new paint, shining plate glass,
newly cleaned bricks, and spotless mortar, could offer to
the beholder.

" How Strong must have rejoiced in organising all this
splendour," thought Pen. He recognised the Chevalier's
genius in the magnificence before him.

" Lady Clavering is going out for her drive," the Major
said. "We shall only have to leave our pasteboards,
Arthur." He used the word "pasteboards," having heard
it from some of the ingenious youth of the nobility about
town, and as a modern phrase suited to Pen's tender
years. Indeed, as the two gentlemen reached the door, a
landau drove up, a magnificent yellow carriage, lined with
brocade or satin of a faint cream colour, drawn by wonder-
ful grey horses, with flaming ribbons, and harness blazing
all over with crests : no less than three of these heraldic
emblems surmounted the coats of arms on the panels, and
these shields contained a prodigious number of quarterings,

betokening the antiquity and splendour of the houses of

21 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

476 PENDENNIS.

Clavering and Snell. A coachman in a tight silver wig
surmounted the magnificent hammercloth (whereon the
same arms were worked in bullion), and controlled the
prancing greys — a young man still, but of a solemn counte-
nance, with a laced waistcoat and buckles in his shoes —
little buckles, unlike those which John and Jeames, the
footmen, wear, and which we know are large, and spread
elegantly over the foot.

One of the leaves of the hall door was opened, and John
— one of the largest of his race — was leaning against the
door pillar, with his ambrosial hair powdered, his legs
crossed; beautiful, silk-stockinged; in his hand his cane,
gold-headed, dolichoskion. Jeames was invisible, but near
at hand, waiting in the hall, with the gentleman who
does not wear livery, and ready to fling down the roll
of hair-cloth over which her ladyship was to step to her
carriage. These things and men, the which to tell of de-
mands time, are seen in the glance of a practised eye:
and, in fact, the Major and Pen had scarcely crossed the
street, when the second battant of the door flew open ; the
horse-hair carpet tumbled down the door-steps to those of
the carriage ; John was opening it on one side of the em-
blazoned door, and Jeames on the other, and two ladies,
attired in the highest style of fashion, and accompanied by
a third, who carried a Blenheim spaniel, yelping in a light
blue ribbon, came forth to ascend the carriage.

Miss Amory was the first to enter, which she did with
aerial lightness, and took the place which she liked best.
Lady Clavering next followed, but her ladyship was more
mature of age and heavy of foot, and one of those feet,
attired in a green satin boot, with some part of a stocking,
which was very fine, whatever the ancle might be which it
encircled, might be seen swaying on the carriage-step, as
her ladyship leaned for support on the arm of the unbend-
ing Jeames, by the enraptured observer of female beauty
who happened to be passing at the time of this imposing
ceremonial.

The Pendennises senior and junior beheld those charms

PENDENNIS. 477

as they came up to the door — the Major looking grave
and courtly, and Pen somewhat abashed at the carriage
and its owners ; for he thought of sundry little passages at
Clavering, which made his heart beat rather quick.

At that moment Lady Clavering, looking round, saw
the pair — she was on the first carriage -step, and would
have been in the vehicle in another second, but she gave a
start backwards (which caused some of the powder to fly
from the hair of ambrosial Jeames), and crying out,
"Lor, if it isn't Arthur Pendennis and the old Major!"
jumped back to terra firnia directly, and holding out two
fat hands, encased in tight orange-coloured gloves, the
good-natured woman warmly greeted the Major and his
nephew.

"Come in both of you. — Why haven't you been before?
— Get out, Blanche, and come and see your old friends. —
O, I'm so glad to see you. We've been watin and watin
for you ever so long. Come in, luncheon ain't gone down,"
cried out this hospitable lady, squeezing Pen's hand in both
hers (she had dropped the Major's after a brief wrench of
recognition), and Blanche, casting up her eyes towards the
chimneys, descended from the carriage presently, with a
timid, blushing, appealing look, and gave a little hand to
Major Pendennis.

The companion with the spaniel looked about irresolute,
and doubting whether she should not take Fido his airing ;
but she too turned right about face and entered the house,
after Lady Clavering, her daughter, and the two gentle-
men. And the carriage, with the prancing greys, was left
unoccupied, save by the coachman in the silver wig.

478 PENDENNIS.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

IN WHICH THE SYLPH REAPPEARS.

BETTER folks than Morgan, the valet, were not so well
instructed as that gentleman, regarding the amount of
Lady Clavering's riches; and the legend in London, upon
her Ladyship's arrival in the polite metropolis, was, that
her fortune was enormous. Indigo factories, opium clip-
pers, banks overflowing with rupees, diamonds and jewels
of native princes, and vast sums of interest paid by them
for loans contracted by themselves or their predecessors to
Lady Clavering's father, were mentioned as sources of her
wealth. Her account at her London banker's was posi-
tively known, and the sum embraced so many cyphers as to
create as many O's of admiration in the wondering hearer.
It was a known fact that an envoy from an Indian Prince,
a Colonel Altamont, the Nawaub of Lucknow's prime
favourite, an extraordinary man, who had, it was said, em-
braced Mahometanism, and undergone a thousand wild and
perilous adventures, was at present in this country, trying
to negotiate with the Begum Clavering, the sale of the
Nawaub's celebrated nose-ring diamond, "the light of the
Dewan."

Under the title of the Begum, Lady Clavering's fame
began to spread in London before she herself descended
upon the Capital, and as it has been the boast of Delolrne,
and Blackstone, and all panegyrists of the British Con-
stitution, that we admit into our aristocracy merit of every
kind, and that the lowliest-born man, if he but deserve it,
may wear the robes of a peer, and sit alongside of a Cav-
endish or a Stanley : so it ought to be the boast of our
good society, that haughty though it be, naturally jealous
of its privileges, and careful who shall be admitted into its
circle, yet, if an individual be but rich enough, all barriers

PENDENNIS. 479

are instantly removed, and lie or she is welcomed, as from
his wealth he merits to be. This fact shows our British
independence and honest feeling — our higher orders are
not such mere haughty aristocrats as the ignorant repre-
sent them : on the contrary, if a man have money they will
hold out their hands to him, eat his dinners, dance at his
balls, marry his daughters, or give their own lovely girls
to his sons, as affably as your commonest roturier would
do.

As he had superintended the arrangements of the coun-
try mansion, our friend, the Chevalier Strong, gave the
benefit of his taste and advice to the fashionable London
upholsterers, who prepared the town house for the recep-
tion of the Clavering family. In the decoration of this
elegant abode, honest Strong's soul rejoiced as much as if
he had been himself its proprietor. He hung and re-hung
the pictures, he studied the positions of sofas, he had in-
terviews with wine merchants and purveyors who were to
supply the new establishment ; and at the same time the
Baronet's factotum and confidential friend took the oppor-
tunity of furnishing his own chambers, and stocking his
snug little cellar : his friends complimented him upon the
neatness of the former ; and the select guests who came in
to share Strong's cutlet now found a bottle of excellent
claret to accompany the meal. The Chevalier was now, as
he said, " in clover : " he had a very comfortable set of
rooms in Shepherd's Inn. He was waited on by a former
Spanish Legionary and comrade of his whom he had left at
a breach of a Spanish fort, and found at a crossing in Tot-
tenham-court Road, and whom he had elevated to the rank
of body-servant to himself and to the chum who, at pres-
ent, shared his lodgings. This was no other than the
favourite of the Nawaub of Lucknow, the valiant Colonel
Altamont.

No man was less curious, or at any rate, more discreet,
than Ned Strong, and he did not care to enquire into the
mysterious connection which, very soon after their first
meeting at Baymouth, was established between Sir Francis

480 PENDENNIS.

Clavering and the envoy of the Nawaub. The latter knew
some secret regarding the former, which put Clavering into
his power, somehow ; and Strong, who knew that his pa-
tron's early life had been rather irregular, and that his
career with his regiment in India had not been brilliant,
supposed that the Colonel, who swore he knew Clavering
well at Calcutta, had some hold upon Sir Francis to which
the latter was forced to yield. In truth, Strong had long
understood Sir Francis Clavering' s character, as that of a
man utterly weak in purpose, in principle, and intellect,
a moral and physical trifler and poltroon.

With poor Clavering his Excellency had had one or two
interviews after their Baymouth meeting, the nature of
which conversations the Baronet did not confide to Strong ;
although he sent letters to Altamont by that gentleman,
who was his ambassador in all sorts of affairs. On one of
these occasions the Nawaub' s envoy must have been in an
exceeding ill -hum our; for he crushed Clavering' s letter in
his hand, and said with his own particular manner and
emphasis :

"A hundred be hanged. I'll have no more letters nor
no more shilly-shally. Tell Clavering I'll have a thou-
sand, or by Jove I'll split, and burst him all to atoms. Let
him give me a thousand and I'll go abroad, and I give you
my honour as a gentleman, I'll not ask him for no more
for a year. Give him that message from me, Strong, my
boy; and tell him if the money ain't here next Friday at
12 o'clock, as sure as my name's what it is, I'll have a
paragraph in the newspaper on Saturday, and next week
I'll blow up the whole concern."

Strong carried back these words to his principal, on
whom their effect was such that actually on the day and
hour appointed, the Chevalier made his appearance once
more at Altamont's hotel at Baymouth, with the sum of
money required. Altamont was a gentleman, he said, and
behaved as such ; he paid his bill at the Inn, and the Bay-
mouth paper announced his departure on a foreign tour.
Strong saw him embark at Dover. " It must be forgery

PENDENNIS. 481

at the very least, "he thought, "that has put C layering into
this fellow's power, and the Colonel has got the bill."

Before the year was out, however, this happy country
saw the Colonel once more upon its shores. A confounded
run on the red had finished him, he said, at Baden Baden :
no gentleman could stand against a colour coining up four-
teen times. He had been obliged to draw upon Sir Francis
Clavering for means of returning home : and Clavering,
though pressed for money (for he had election expenses,
had set up his establishment in the country, and was en-
gaged in furnishing his London house), yet found means
to accept Colonel Altatnont's bill, though evidently very
much against his will ; for iu Strong' s hearing, Sir Francis
wished to heaven, with many curses, that the Colonel could
have been locked up in a debtor's gaol in Germany for life,
so that he might never be troubled again.

These sums for the Colonel Sir Francis was obliged to
raise without the knowledge of his wife ; for though per-
fectly liberal, nay, sumptuous in her expenditure, the good
lady had inherited a tolerable aptitude for business along
with the large fortune of her father, Snell, and gave to her
husband only such a handsome allowance as she thought
befitted a gentleman of his rank. Now and again she would
give him a present or pay an outstanding gambling debt;
but she always exacted a pretty accurate account of the
moneys so required ; and respecting the subsidies to the
Colonel, Clavering fairly told Strong that he couldn't speak
to his wife.

Part of Mr. Strong's business in life was to procure this
money and other sums for his patron. And in the Chev-
alier's apartments, in Shepherd's Inn, many negotiations
took place between gentlemen of the moneyed world and
Sir Francis Clavering ; and many valuable bank-notes and
pieces of stamped paper were passed between them. When
a man has been in the habit of getting in debt from his
early youth, and of exchanging his promises to pay at
twelve months against present sums of money, it would
seem as if no piece of good fortune ever permanently bene-

482 PENDENNIS.

fited him : a little while after the advent of prosperity, the
money-lender is pretty certain to be in the house again, and
the bills with the old signature in the market. Clavering
found it more convenient to see these gentry at Strong's
lodgings than at his own; and such was the Chevalier's
friendship for the Baronet, that although he did not pos-
sess a shilling of his own, his name might be seen as the
drawer of almost all the bills of exchange which Sir Fran-
cis Clavering accepted. Having drawn Clavering' s bills,
he got them discounted "in the City." When they be-
came due he parleyed with the bill-holders, and gave them
instalments of their debt, or got time in exchange for fresh
acceptances. Regularly or irregularly, gentlemen must
live somehow : and as we read how, the other day, at Co-
morn, the troops forming that garrison were gay and lively,
acted plays, danced at balls, and consumed their rations;
though menaced with an assault from the enemy without
the walls, and with a gallows if the Austrians were suc-
cessful,— so there are hundreds of gallant spirits in this
town, walking about in good spirits, dining every day in
tolerable gaiety and plenty, and going to sleep comfort-
ably ; with a bailiff always more or less near, and a rope of
debt round their necks — the which trifling inconveniences,
Ned Strong, the old soldier, bore very easily.

But we shall have another opportunity of making ac-
quaintance with these and some other interesting inhabi-
tants of Shepherd's Inn, and in the meanwhile are keeping
Lady Clavering and her friends too long waiting on the door-
steps of Grosvenor Place.

First they went into the gorgeous dining-room, fitted up,
Lady Clavering couldn't for goodness gracious tell why, in
the middle-aged style, "unless," said her good-natured
ladyship, laughing, "because me and Clavering are middle-
aged people ; " — and here they were offered the copious
remains of the luncheon of which Lady Clavering and
Blanche had just partaken. When nobody was near, our
little sylphide, who scarcely ate at dinner more than the
six grains of rice of Amina, the friend of the Ghouls in the

PENDENNIS. 483

Arabian Nights, was most active with her knife and fork,
and consumed a very substantial portion of mutton cutlets :
in which piece of hypocrisy it is believed she resembled
other young ladies of fashion. Pen and his uncle declined
the refection, but they admired the dining-room with fitting
compliments, and pronounced it "very chaste," that being
the proper phrase. There were, indeed, high-backed Dutch
chairs of the seventeenth century ; there was a sculptured
carved buffet of the sixteenth ; there was a sideboard robbed
out of the carved work of a church in the Low Countries,
and a large brass cathedral lamp over the round oak table ;
there were old family portraits from Wardour Street, and
tapestry from France, bits of armour, double-handed
swords and battle-axes made of carton-jrierre, looking-
glasses, statuettes of saints, and Dresden china — nothing,
in a word, could be chaster. Behind the dining-room was
the library, fitted with busts and books all of a size, and
wonderful easy-chairs, and solemn bronzes in the severe
classic style. Here it was that, guarded by double doors,
Sir Francis smoked cigars and read "Bell's Life in Lon-
don," and went to sleep after dinner, when he was not
smoking over the billiard-table at his clubs, or punting at
the gambling-houses in Saint James's.

But what could equal the chaste splendour of the draw-
ing-rooms? the carpets were so magnificently fluffy that
your foot made no more noise on them than your shadow :
on their white ground bloomed roses and tulips as big as
warming-pans : about the room were high chairs and low
chairs, bandy-legged chairs, chairs so attenuated that it
was a wonder any but a sylph could sit upon them, mar-
queterie-tables covered with marvellous gimcracks, china
ornaments of all ages and countries, bronzes, gilt daggers,
Books of Beauty, yataghans, Turkish papooshes and boxes
of Parisian bon-bons. Wherever you sate down there were
Dresden shepherds and shepherdesses convenient at your
elbow ; there were, moreover, light blue poodles and ducks
and cocks and hens in porcelain ; there were nymphs by
Boucher, and shepherdesses by Greuze, very chaste indeed ;

484 PENDENNIS.

there were muslin curtains aud brocade curtains, gilt cages
with parroquets and love birds, two squealing cockatoos,
each out-squealing and out-chattering the other; a clock
singing tunes on a console-table, and another booming the
hours like Great Tom, on the mantel-piece — there was, in
a word, everything that comfort could desire, and the most
elegant taste devise. A London drawing-room, fitted up
without regard to expense, is surely one of the noblest and
most curious sights of the present day. The Romans of
the Lower Empire, the dear Marchionesses and Countesses
of Louis XV. , could scarcely have had a finer taste than
our modern folks exhibit; and everybody who saw Lady
Clavering's reception-rooms was forced to confess that
they were most elegant; and that the prettiest rooms
in London — Lady Harley Quin's, Lady Hanway War-
dour' s, Mrs. Hodge-Podgson's own, the great Eailroad
Croesus' wife, were not fitted up with a more consummate
"chastity."

Poor Lady Clavering, meanwhile, knew little regarding
these things, and had a sad want of respect for the splen-
dours around her. " I only know they cost a precious deal
of money, Major," she said to her guest, "and that I don't
advise you to try one of them gossamer gilt chairs : / came
down on one the night we gave our second dinner party.
Why didn't you come and see us before? We'd have
asked you to it."

"You would have liked to see Mamma break a chair,
wouldn't you, Mr. Pendennis? " dear Blanche said with a
sneer. She was angry because Pen was talking and laugh-
ing with Mamma, because Mamma had made a number of
blunders in describing the house — for a hundred other good
reasons.

" I should like to have been by to give Lady Clavering
my arm if she had need of it," Pen answered, with a bow
and a blush.

" Quel pretix Chevalier ! " cried the Sylphide, tossing up
her little head.

"I have a fellow-feeling with those who fall, remember,"

PENDENNIS. 485

Pen said. " I suffered myself very much from doing so
once."

"And you went home to Laura to console you," said
Miss Amory. Pen winced. He did not like the remem-
brance of the consolation which Laura had given to him,
nor was he very well pleased to find that his rebuff in that
quarter was known to the world : so as he had nothing to
say in reply, he began to be immensely interested in the
furniture round about him, and to praise Lady Clavering's
taste with all his might.

"Me, don't praise me," said honest Lady Clavering,
"it's all the upholsterer's doings and Captain Strong's;
they did it all while we was at the Park — and — and — Lady
Rockminster has been here and says the salongs are very
well," said Lady Clavering, with an air and tone of great
deference.

"My cousin Laura has been staying with her," Pen said.

"It's not the dowager: it is the Lady Eockminster."

" Indeed ! " cried Major Pendennis, when he heard this
great name of fashion. " If you have her ladyship's ap-
proval, Lady Clavering, you cannot be far wrong. No,
no, you cannot be far wrong. Lady Rgckminster, I should
say, Arthur, is the very centre of the circle of fashion and
taste. The rooms are beautiful indeed! " and the Major's
voice hushed as he spoke of this great lady, and he looked
round and surveyed the apartments awfully and respect-
fully, as if he had been at church.

"Yes, Lady Rockininster has took us up," said Lady
Clavering.

" Taken us up, Mamma," cried Blanche, in a shrill voice.

"Well, taken us up, then," said my lady; "it's very
kind of her, and I dare say we shall like it when we git
used to it, only at first one don't fancy being took — well,
taken up, at all. She is going to give our balls for us ; and
wants to invite all our diners. But I won't stand that. I
will have my old friends and I won't let her send all the
cards out, and sit mum at the head of my own table. You
must come to me, Arthur and Major — come, let me see, on

486 PENDENNTS.

the 14th. — It ain't one of our grand dinners, Blanche," she
said, looking round at her daughter, who bit her lips and
frowned very savagely for a sylphide.

The Major, with a smile and a bow, said he would much
rather come to a quiet meeting than to a grand dinner. He
had had enough of those large entertainments, and pre-
ferred the simplicity of the home circle.

"I always think a dinner's the best the second day,"
said Lady Clavering, thinking to mend her first speech.
" On the 14th we'll be quite a snug little party ; " at
which second blunder, Miss Blanche clasped her hands
in despair, and said"0 Mamma, v<ws etes incorrigible."
Major Pendennis vowed that he liked snug dinners of all
things in the world, and confounded her ladyship's impu-
dence for daring to ask such a man as him to a second
day's dinner. But he was a man of an economical turn of
mind, and bethinking himself that he could throw over
these people if anything better should offer, he accepted
with the blandest air. As for Pen, he was not a diner
out of thirty years' standing as yet, and the idea of a fine
feast in a fine house was still perfectly welcome to him.

"What was that pretty little quarrel which engaged
itself between your worship and Miss Amory? " the Major
asked of Pen, as they walked away together. " I thought
you used to be au mieux in that quarter. "

"Used to be," answered Pen, with a dandified air, "is
a vague phrase regarding a woman. Was and is are two
very different terms, sir, as regards women's hearts espe-
cially."

" Egad, they change as we do," cried the elder. " When
we took the Cape of Good Hope, I recollect there was a
lady who talked of poisoning herself for your humble ser-
vant ; and, begad, in three months, she ran away from her
husband with somebody else. Don't get yourself entangled
with that Miss Amory. She is forward, affected, and
underbred; and her character is somewhat — never mind
what. But don't think of her ; ten thousand pound won't
do for yon. What, my good fellow, is ten thousand

PENDENNIS. 487

pound? I would scarcely pay that girl's milliner's bill
with the interest of the money. "

"You seem to be a connoisseur in millinery, Uncle,"
Pen said.

"I was, sir, I was," replied the senior; "and the old
war-horse, you know, never hears the sound of a trumpet,
but he begins to he, he ! — you understand," — and he gave
a killing though somewhat superannuated leer and bow to
a carriage that passed them and entered the Park.

"Lady Catherine Martingale's carriage," he said,
"mons'ous fine girls the daughters, though, gad, I remem-
ber their mother a thousand times handsomer. No,
Arthur, my dear fellow, with your person and expecta-
tions, you ought to make a good coup in marriage some
day or other; and though I wouldn't have this repeated
at Fairoaks, you rogue, ha ! ha ! a reputation for a little
wickedness, and for being an homme dangereux, don't hurt
a young fellow with the women. They like it, sir — they
hate a milksop . . . young men must be young men, you
know. But for marriage," continued the veteran moralist,
" that is a very different matter. Marry a woman with
money. I've told you before it is as easy to get a rich
wife as a poor one ; and a doosed deal more comfortable to
sit down to a well-cooked dinner, with your little entrees
nicely served, than to have nothing but a damned cold leg
of mutton between you and your wife. We shall have a
good dinner on the 14th, when we dine with Sir Francis
Clavering: stick to that, my boy, in your relations with
the family. Cultivate 'em, but keep 'em for dining. No
more of your youthful follies and nonsense about love in
a cottage."

" It must be a cottage with a double coach-house, a cot-
tage of gentility, sir," said Pen, quoting the hackneyed
ballad of the Devil's Walk: but his uncle did not know
that poem (though, perhaps, he might be leading Pen upon
the very promenade in question), and went on with his
philosophical remarks, very much pleased with the aptness
of the pupil to whom he addressed them. Indeed Arthur

488

PENDENNIS.

Pendennis was a clever fellow, who took his colour very
readily from his neighbour and found the adaptation only
too easy.

Warrington, the grumbler, growled out that Pen was
becoming such a puppy that soon there would be no bear-
ing him. But the truth is, the young man's success and
dashing manners pleased his elder companion. He liked
to see Pen gay and spirited, and brimfull of health, and
life, and hope ; as a man who has long since left off being
amused with clown and harlequin, still gets a pleasure in
watching a child at a pantomime. Mr. Pen's former
sulkiness disappeared with his better fortune: and he
bloomed as the sun began to shine upon him.

PENDENNIS. 489

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

IN WHICH COLONEL ALTAMONT APPEARS AND DIS-
APPEARS.

ON the day appointed, Major Pendennis, who had formed
no better engagement, and Arthur, who desired none,
arrived together to dine with Sir Francis Clavering. The
only tenants of the drawing-room when Pen and his uncle
reached it, were Sir Francis and his wife, and our friend
Captain Strong, whom Arthur was very glad to see,
though the Major looked very sulkily at Strong, being by
no means well pleased to sit down to dinner with Claver-
ing's d — house-steward, as he irreverently called Strong.
But Mr. Welbore Welbore, Clavering' s country neighbour
and brother member of Parliament, speedily arriving, Pen-
dennis the elder was somewhat appeased, for Welbore,
though perfectly dull, and taking no more part in the con-
versation at dinner than the footman behind his chair, was
a respectable country gentleman of ancient family and
seven thousand a year ; and the Major felt always at ease
in such society. To these were added other persons of
note: the Dowager Lady Rockminster, who had her
reasons for being well with the Clavering family, and the
Lady Agnes Foker, with her son Mr. Harry, our old
acquaintance. Mr. Pynsent could not come, his parlia-
mentary duties keeping him at the House, duties which
sate upon the two other senators very lightly. Miss
Blanche Amory was the last of the company who made her
appearance. She was dressed in a killing white silk dress,
which displayed her pearly shoulders to the utmost advan-
tage. Foker whispered to Pen, who regarded her with,
eyes of evident admiration, that he considered her "a
stunner." She chose to be very gracious to Arthur upon
this day, and held out her hand most cordially, and talked

490 PENDENNIS.

about dear Fairoaks, and asked for dear Laura and his
mother, and said she was longing to go back to the coun-
try, and in fact was entirely simple, affectionate, and art-
less.

Harry Foker thought he had never seen anybody so
amiable and delightful. Not accustomed much to the
society of ladies, and ordinarily being dumb in their pres-
ence, he found that he could speak before Miss Amory,
and became uncommonly lively and talkative, even before
the dinner was announced and the party descended to the
lower rooms. He would have longed to give his arm to
the fair Blanche, and conduct her down the broad carpeted
stair; but she fell to the lot of Pen upon this occasion,
Mr. Foker being appointed to escort Mrs. Welbore Welbore,
in consequence of his superior rank as an earl's grandson.

But though he was separated from the object of his
desire during the passage downstairs, the delighted Foker
found himself by Miss Amory 's side at the dinner-table,
and flattered himself that he had manoeuvred very well in
securing that happy place. It may be that the move was
not his, but that it was made by another person. Blanche
had thus the two young men, one on each side of her,
and each tried to render himself gallant and agreeable.

Foker' s mamma, from her place, surveying her darling
boy, was surprised at his vivacity. Harry talked con-
stantly to his fair neighbour about the topics of the day.

" Seen Taglioni in the Sylphide, Miss Amory? Bring
me that souprame of Volile again, if you please (this was
addressed to the attendant near him); very good: can't
think where the soupranies come from ; what becomes of
the legs of the fowls, I wonder? She's clipping in the
Sylphide, ain't she? " and he began very kindly to hum
the pretty air which pervades that prettiest of all ballets,
now faded into the past with that most beautiful and gra-
cious of all dancers. Will the young folks ever see any-
thing so charming, anything so classic, anything like Tag-
lioni?

"Miss Amory is a sylph herself," said Mr. Pen.

PENDENNIS. 491

" What a delightful tenor voice you have, Mr. Foker ! "
said the young lady. " I am sure you have been well
taught. I sing a little myself. I should like to sing with
you."

Pen remembered that words very similar had been ad-
dressed to himself by the young lady, and that she had
liked to sing with him in former days. And sneering
within himself, he wondered with how many other gentle-
men she had sung duets since his time? But he did not
think fit to put this awkward question aloud : and only
said, with the very tenderest air which he could assume,
" I should like to hear you sing again, Miss Blanche. I
never heard a voice I liked so well as yours, I think."

"I thought you liked Laura's," said Miss Blanche.

"Laura's is a contralto : and that voice is very often out,
you know," Pen said, bitterly. "I have heard a great
deal of music, in London," he continued. " I'm tired of
those professional people — they sing too loud — or I have
grown too old or too blase*. One grows old very soon, in
London, Miss Amory. And like all old fellows, I only
care for the songs I heard in my youth."

" I like English music best. I don't care for foreign
songs much. Get me some saddle of mutton," said Mr.
Foker.

"I adore English ballads of all things," said Miss
Amory.

" Sing me one of the old songs after dinner, will you? "
said Pen, with an imploring voice.

" Shall I sing you an English song, after dinner? "
asked the Sylphide, turning to Mr. Foker. " I will, if
you will promise to come up soon : " and she gave him a
perfect broadside of her eyes.

" I'll come up after dinner, fast enough," he said sim-
ply. " I don't care about much wine afterwards — I take
my whack at dinner — I mean my share, you know ; and
when I have had as much as I want, I toddle up to tea.
I'm a domestic character, Miss Amory — my habits are
simple — and when I'm pleased I'm generally in a good

492 PENDENNIS.

humour, ain't I, Pen? — that jelly, if you please — not that
one, the other with the cherries inside. How the doose do
they get those cherries inside the jellies? " In this way
the artless youth prattled on : and Miss Amory listened to
him with inexhaustible good humour. When the ladies
took their departure for the upper regions, Blanche made
the two young men promise faithfully to quit the table
soon, and departed with kind glances to each. She
dropped her gloves on Foker's side of the table, and her
handkerchief on Pen's. Each had some little attention
paid to him ; her politeness to Mr. Foker was perhaps a
little more encouraging than her kindness to Arthur : but
the benevolent little creature did her best to make both the
gentlemen happy. Foker caught her last glance as she
rushed out of the door ; that bright look passed over Mr.
Strong's broad white waistcoat, and shot straight at Harry
Foker's. The door closed on the charmer: he sate down
with a sigh, and swallowed a bumper of claret.

As the dinner at which Pen and his uncle took their
places was not one of our grand parties, it had been served
at a considerably earlier hour than those ceremonial ban-
quets of the London season, which custom has ordained
shall scarcely take place before nine o'clock; and the
company being small, and Miss Blanche, anxious to betake
herself to her piano in the drawing-room, giving constant
hints to her mother to retreat, — Lady Clavering made that
signal very speedily, so that it was quite daylight yet when
the ladies reached the upper apartments, from the flower-
embroidered balconies of which they could command a
view of the two Parks, of the poor couples and children
still sauntering in the one, and of the equipages of ladies
and the horses of dandies passing through the arch of the
other. The sun, in a word, had not set behind the elms of
Kensington Gardens, and was still gilding the statue
erected by the ladies of England in honour of his Grace the
Duke of Wellington, when Lady Clavering and her female
friends left the gentlemen drinking wine.

PENDENNIS. 493

The windows of the dining-room were opened to let in
the fresh air, and afforded to the passers-by in the street
a pleasant or, perhaps, tantalising view of six gentlemen
in white waistcoats, with a quantity of decanters and a
variety of fruits " before them — little boys, as they passed
and jumped up at the area railings, and took a peep, said
to one another, "Mi hi, Jim, shouldn't you like to be
there, and have a cut of that there pine-apple? " — the
horses and carriages of the nobility and gentry passed by,
conveying them to Belgravian toilets : the policeman, with
clamping feet, patrolled up and down before the mansion ;
the shades of evening began to fall : the gasman came and
lighted the lamps before Sir Francis's door: the butler
entered the dining-room, and illuminated the antique
gothic chandelier over the antique carved oak dining-table :
so that from outside the house you looked inwards upon a
night scene of feasting and wax candles ; and from within
you beheld a vision of a calm summer evening, and the
wall of Saint James's Park, and the sky above, in which
a star or two was just beginning to twinkle.

Jeames, with folded legs, leaning against the door-pillar
of his master's abode, looked forth musingly upon the
latter tranquil sight : whilst a spectator, clinging to the
railings, examined the former scene. Policeman X, pass-
ing, gave his attention to neither, but fixed it upon the
individual holding by the railings, and gazing into Sir
Francis Clavering's dining-room, where Strong was laugh-
ing and talking away, making the conversation for the
party.

The man at the railings was very gorgeously attired with
chains, jewellery, and waistcoats, which the illumination
from the house lighted up to great advantage ; his boots
were shiny ; he had brass buttons to his coat, and large
white wristbands over his knuckles ; and indeed looked so
grand, that X imagined he beheld a member of parliament,
or a person of consideration before him. Whatever his
rank, however, the M.P., or person of consideration, was
considerably excited by wine ; for he lurched and reeled

494 PENDENNIS.

somewhat in his gait, and his hat was cocked over his
wild and blood-shot eyes in a manner which no sober hat
ever could assume. His copious black hair was evidently
surreptitious, and his whiskers of the Tyrian purple.

As Strong's laughter, following after one of his own
gros mots, came ringing out of window, this gentleman
without laughed and sniggered in the queerest way like-
wise, and he slapped his thigh and winked at Jeames pen-
sive in the portico, as much as to say, "Plush, my boy,
isn't that a good story? "

Jeames' s attention had been gradually drawn from the
moon in the heavens to this sublunary scene ; and he was
puzzled and alarmed by the appearance of the man in shiny
boots. " A holtercation," he remarked, afterwards, in the
servants' -hall — "a holtercation with a feller in the streets
is never no good ; and indeed, he was not hired for any
such purpose." So, having surveyed the man for some
time, -who went on laughing, reeling, nodding his head
with tipsy knowingness, Jeames looked out of the portico
and softly called " Pleaceman," and beckoned to that officer.

X marched up resolute, with one Berlin glove stuck in
his belt-side, and Jeames simply pointed with his index
finger to the individual who was laughing against the
railings. Not one single word more than "Pleaceman"
did he say, but stood there in the calm summer evening,
pointing calmly : a grand sight.

X advanced to the individual and said, " Now, sir, will
you have the kindness to move hon? "

The individual, who was in perfect good humour, did
not appear to hear one word which Policeman X uttered,
but nodded and waggled his grinning head at Strong, until
his hat almost fell from his head over the area railings.

" Now, sir, move on, do you hear? " cries X, in a much
more peremptory tone, and he touched the stranger gently
with one of the fingers inclosed in the gauntlets of the
Berlin woof.

He of the many rings instantly started, or rather stag-
gered back, into what is called an attitude of self-defence,

PENDENNIS. 495

and in that position began the operation which is entitled
"squaring," at Policeman X, and showed himself brave
and warlike, if unsteady. " Hullo ! keep your hands off a
gentleman," he said, with an oath which need not be re-
peated.

"Move on out of this," said X, "and don't be a block-
ing up the pavement, staring into gentlemen's dining-
rooms."

"Not stare — ho, ho, — not stare — that is a good one,"
replied the other, with a satiric laugh and sneer, — "Who's
to prevent me from staring, looking at my friends, if I
like? not you, old highlows."

"Friends! I dessay. Move on," answered X.

" If you touch me, I'll pitch into you, I will," roared the
other. "I tell you I know 'em all — That's Sir Francis
Clavering, Baronet, M.P. — I know him, and he knows
me — and that's Strong, and that's the young chap that
made the row at the ball. I say, Strong, Strong ! "

"It's that d Altamont," cried Sir Francis within,

with a start and a guilty look ; and Strong also, with a look
of annoyance, got up from the table, and ran out to the
intruder.

A gentleman in a white waistcoat, running out from a
dining-room bare-headed, a policeman, and an individual
decently attired, engaged in almost fistycuffs on the pave-
ment, were enough to make a crowd, even in that quiet
neighbourhood, at half-past eight o'clock in the evening,
and a small mob began to assemble before Sir Francis
Clavering's door. "For God's sake, come in," Strong
said, seizing his acquaintance's arm. "Send for a cab,
James, if you please," he added in an under voice to that
domestic ; and carrying the excited gentleman out of the
street, the other door was closed upon him, and the small
crowd began to move away.

Mr. Strong had intended to convey the stranger into Sir
Francis's private sitting-room, where the hats of the male
guests were awaiting them, and having there soothed his
friend by bland conversation, to have carried him off as

496 PENDENNIS.

soon as the cab arrived — but the new comer was in a great
state of wrath at the indignity which had been put upon
him ; and when Strong would have led him into the second
door, said in a tipsy voice, " That ain't the door — that's
the dining-room door — where the drink's going on — and
I'll go and have some, by Jove; I'll go and have some."
At this audacity the butler stood aghast in the hall, and
placed himself before the door : but it opened behind him,
and the master of the house made his appearance, with
anxious looks.

"I will have some, — by I will," the intruder was

roaring out, as Sir Francis came forward. "Hullo!
Clavering, I say I'm come to have some wine with you ;
hay! old boy — hay, old corkscrew? Get us a bottle of
the yellow seal, you old thief — the very best — a hundred
rupees a dozen, and no mistake. "

The host reflected a moment over his company. There
is only Welbore, Pendennis, and those two lads, he thought
— and with a forced laugh and piteous look, he said,
" Well, Altamont, come in. I am very glad to see you,
I'm sure."

Colonel Altamont, for the intelligent reader has doubt-
less long ere this discovered in the stranger His Excel-
lency the Ambassador of the Nawaub of Lucknow, reeled
into the dining-room, with a triumphant look towards
Jeames, the footman, which seemed to say, " There, sir,
what do you think of that? Now, am I a gentleman or
no?" and sank down into the first vacant chair. Sir
Francis Clavering timidly stammered out the Colonel's
name to his guest % Mr. Welbore Welbore, and his Excel-
lency began drinking wine forthwith and gazing round
upon the company, now with the most wonderful frowns,
and anon with the blandest smiles, and hiccupped remarks
encomiastic of the drink which he was imbibing.

"Very singular man. Has resided long in a native
court in India," Strong said, with great gravity, the
Chevalier's presence of mind never deserting him — "in
those Indian courts they get very singular habits."

PENDENNIS. 497

"Very," said Major Pendennis, drily, and wondering
what in goodness' name was the company into which he
had got.

Mr. Foker was pleased with the new comer. " It's the
man who would sing the Malay song at the Back-Kitchen,"
he whispered to Pen. " Try this pine, sir," he then said
to Colonel Altamont, "it's uncommonly fine."

"Pines — I've seen 'em feed pigs on pines," said the
Colonel.

"All the Nawaub of Lucknow's pigs are fed on pines,"
Strong whispered to Major Pendennis.

"Oh, of course," the Major answered. Sir Francis
Clavering was, in the meanwhile, endeavouring to make
an excuse to his brother guest, for the new comer's condi-
tion, and muttered something regarding Altamont, that he
was an extraordinary character, very eccentric, very — had
Indian habits — didn't understand the rules of English
society ; to which old Welbore, a shrewd old gentleman,
who drank his wine with great regularity, said, "that
seemed pretty clear. "

Then, the Colonel seeing Pen's honest face, regarded
it for a while with as much steadiness as became his con-
dition; and said, "I know you, too, young fellow. I
remember you. Baymouth ball, by Jingo. Wanted to
fight the Frenchman. / remember you ; " and he laughed,
and he squared with his fists, and seemed hugely amused
in the drunken depths of his mind, as these recollections
passed, or, rather, reeled across it.

"Mr. Pendennis, you remember Colonel Altamont, at
Baymouth? " Strong said: upon which Pen, bowing rather
stiffly, said, "he had the pleasure of remembering that
circumstance perfectly."

" What's his name? " cried the Colonel. Strong named
Mr. Pendennis again.

" Pendennis ! — Pendennis be hanged ! " Altamont roared
out to the surprise of every one, and thumping with hia
fist on the table.

"My name is also Pendennis, sir," said the Major,

498 PENDENNIS.

whose dignity was exceedingly mortified by the evening's
events — that he, Major Pendennis, should have been asked
to such a party, and that a drunken man should have been
introduced to it. " My name is Pendennis, and I will be
obliged to you not to curse it too loudly. "

The tipsy man turned round to look at him, and as he
looked, it appeared as if Colonel Altamont suddenly grew
sober. He put his hand across his forehead, and in doing
so, displaced somewhat the black wig which he wore ; and
his eyes stared fiercely at the Major, who, in his turn, like
a resolute old warrior as he was, looked at his opponent
very keenly and steadily. At the end of the mutual in-
spection, Altamont began to button up his brass-buttoned
coat, and rising up from his chair suddenly, and to the
company's astonishment, reeled towards the door, and is-
sued from it, followed by Strong : all that the latter heard
him utter was — " Captain Beak! Captain Beak, by jingo ! "

There had not passed above a quarter of an hour from
his strange appearance to his equally sudden departure.
The two young men and the Baronet's other guest won-
dered at the scene, and could find no explanation for it.
Clavering seemed exceedingly pale and agitated, and
turned with looks of almost terror towards Major Penden-
nis. The latter had been eyeing his host keenly for a min-
ute or two. "Do you know him? " asked Sir Francis of
the Major.

"I am sure I have seen the fellow," the Major replied,
looking as if he, too, was puzzled. " Yes, I have it. He
was a deserter from the Horse Artillery, who got into the
Nawaub's service. I remember his face quite well."

" Oh ! " said Clavering, with a sigh which indicated im-
mense relief of mind, and the Major looked at him with a
twinkle of his sharp old eyes. The cab which Strong had
desired to be called, drove away with the Chevalier and
Colonel Altamont; coffee was brought to the remaining
gentlemen, and they went up stairs to the ladies in the
drawing-room, Foker declaring confidentially to Pen that
"this was the rummesfc go he ever saw," which decision

PENDENNIS. 499

Pen said, laughing, " showed great discrimination on Mr.
Poker's part."

Then, according to her promise, Miss Amory made music
for the young men. Foker was enraptured with her per-
formance, and kindly joined in the airs which she sang,
when he happened to be acquainted with them. Pen
affected to talk aside with others of the party, but Blanche
brought him quickly to the piano, by singing some of his
own words, those which we have given in a previous num-
ber, indeed, and which the Sylphide had herself, she said,
set to music. I don't know whether the air was hers, or
how much of it was arranged for her by Signer Twanki-
dillo, from whom she took lessons : but good or bad, origi-
nal or otherwise, it delighted Mr. Pen, who remained by
her side, and turned the leaves now for her most assidu-
ously— " Gad ! how I wish I could write verses like you,
Pen," Foker sighed afterwards to his companion. "If I
could do 'em, wouldn't I, that's all! But I never was a
dab at writing, you see, and I'm sorry I was so idle when
I was at school."

No mention was made before the ladies of the curious
little scene which had been transacted below stairs;
although Pen was just on the point of describing it to Miss
Amory, when that young lady enquired for Captain Strong,
who she wished should join her in a duet. But chancing
to look up towards Sir Francis Clavering, Arthur saw a
peculiar expression of alarm in the Baronet's ordinarily
vacuous face, and discreetly held his tongue. It was
rather a dull evening. Welbore went to sleep, as he
always did at music and after dinner : nor did Major Pen-
dennis entertain the ladies with copious anecdotes and
endless little scandalous stories, as his wont was, but sate
silent for the most part, and appeared to be listening to
the music, and watching the fair young performer.

The hour of departure having arrived, the Major rose,
regretting that so delightful an evening should have
passed away so quickly, and addressed a particularly fine
compliment to Miss Amory, upon her splendid taleuts as a

22 — Thackeray, Vol. 3

500 PENDENNI8.

singer. " Your daughter, Lady Clavering," he said to that
lady, "is a perfect nightingale — a perfect nightingale,
begad ! I have scarcely ever heard anything equal to her,
and her pronunciation of every language — begad, of every
language — seems to me to be perfect ; and the best houses
in London must open before a young lady who has such
talents, and, allow an old fellow to say, Miss Amory, such
a face."

Blanche was as much astonished by these compliments
as Pen was, to whom his uncle, a little time since, had beeu
speaking in very disparaging terms of the Sylph. The
Major and the two young men walked home together, after
Mr. Foker had placed his mother in her carriage, and
procured a light for an enormous cigar.

The young gentleman's company or his tobacco did not
appear to be agreeable to Major Pendennis, who eyed him
askance several times, and with a look which plainly indi-
cated that he wished Mr. Foker would take his leave ; but
Foker hung on resolutely to the uncle and nephew, even
until they came to the former's door in Bury Street,
where the Major wished the lads good night.

"And I say, Pen," he said in a confidential whisper, call-
ing his nephew back, " mind you make a point of calling in
Grosvenor Place to-morrow. They've been uncommonly
civil; mons'ously civil and kind."

Pen promised and wondered, and the Major's door hav-
ing been closed upon him by Morgan, Foker took Pen's
arm, and walked with him for some time silently puffing
his cigar. At last when they had reached Charing Cross
on Arthur's way home to the Temple, Harry Foker re-
lieved himself, and broke out with that eulogium upon,
poetry, and those regrets regarding a misspent youth,
which have just been mentioned. And all the way along
the Strand, and up to the door of Pen's very staircase, in
Lamb Court, Temple, young Harry Foker did not cease to
speak about singing and Blanche Amory.

END OF VOL. I.

PR

5600,

Works .FOO

Pehdennis Part 1 v.3