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PROGRESS AND PREJUDICE. 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 
 
 ' Aloof, with hermit eye, I scan 
 The present deeds of present man." 
 
 COLEKIDGE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHEES, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MAELBOROUGH STREET. 
 1854. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
PROGRESS AND PREJUDICE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was a happy day at Meadowes Court ; — 
 a day long looked for, come at last ; — the seven- 
 teenth birthday of the only daughter, — nay, the 
 only child — of the house ; who, from her earliest 
 girlhood, had been promised that, on entering 
 her eighteenth year, she should be emancipated 
 from the trammels of the governess, and in- 
 troduced into society ; that is, as far as comported 
 with the facilities of a neighbourhood, where 
 society, according to fashionable interpretation, 
 there was none. 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 PROGRESS 
 
 There was, however, all that Amy Meadowes 
 desh'ed. She had heard no description, and by 
 indiscriminate reading acquired no suspicion of 
 any species of social order more brilliant than 
 was presented by their obscure parish ; and 
 what she chiefly ambition ed, in emerging from 
 the school-room and getting rid of Miss 
 Honeywood, was to devote herself exclusively 
 to a dear, good mother, who had been prevented 
 by prolonged ill-health from usurping the 
 functions of the unpopular individual, in whose 
 disappearance from Meadowes Court, the pre- 
 ceding day, more than half poor Amy's present 
 delight originated. 
 
 So long as she could remember, Lady Mea- 
 dowes had been confined to a suite of rooms 
 on the ground-floor of her old-fashioned home : 
 so long as she could remember, — because the 
 delicacy of constitution which rendered her 
 mother so close a prisoner, dated from the hour 
 of her birth. But though a recluse, that kind 
 mother was by no means a gloomy one. In- 
 capable of physical exertion, she was fully equal 
 to the management of their small household; 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 3 
 
 and all that could be accomplished by pen and 
 ink, by careful computation and careful regu- 
 lation, was done to perfect the economy of a 
 moderate fortune, in connection with an honour- 
 able name and a residence of ancient repute in 
 the county. 
 
 The baronets of England are in general a 
 wealthy race, and predominate among our 
 landed gentry. Unluckily, Sir Mark Meadowes 
 was an exception. His daughter Amy knew 
 only that his income was limited; and that 
 hence arose the scantiness of their household, 
 and shabbiness of their household gear. Their 
 neighbours, had she been permitted to gossip 
 with them, could, however, have informed her 
 that, on attaining his majority, the rent-roll of 
 her father trebled its present amount. At that 
 time, he was involved in a vortex of fashionable 
 dissipation, dicing, drinking, and squandering, 
 in rivalship or imitation of Fox, Sheridan, and 
 the orgies of Carlton House ; so that it was as 
 wonderful as fortunate that even Meadowes 
 Court, and its eight hundred acres, remained 
 for the support of the family. That they did 
 
 B 2 
 
4 PROGRESS 
 
 SO, was generally ascribed to the influence of 
 his wife. From the day of their marriage, Sir 
 Mark had become an altered man ; contenting 
 himself with the homely, homestaying, happy 
 life of a sporting country squire. 
 
 Many people asserted, on the other hand, that 
 the old family mansion would have passed into 
 the hands of usurers and Jews with the rest of 
 the property, but for a strict entail upon his 
 heirs male. This, however, could scarcely be 
 the case. For when, after ten long years of 
 expectation, little Amy made her appearance, 
 so far from lamenting, as was generally ex- 
 pected, their disappointment of a son and heir, 
 the parents welcomed their little girl as the 
 greatest of blessings. 
 
 Nothing therefore was left for officious neigh- 
 bours but to take it for granted that, though the 
 old baronetcy, failing male issue to Sir Mark, 
 would devolve upon a distant cousin, the 
 estates must be heritable in the female line. 
 And when it became apparent, from the infirm 
 health of Lady Meadowes, that there was no 
 likelihood of future olive-branches to exclude 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 5 
 
 the sunshine dawning upon the Httle heiress, 
 they eventually adopted her, as her parents had 
 done from love at first sight, as their pet and 
 darling. 
 
 From the period of her birth, the health of 
 Lady Meadowes never rallied. Though cheerful, 
 and at times capable of carriage-exercise, she 
 was chiefly confined to her sofa ; and her 
 husband lost in her that daily companion of 
 his rides and walks, who had rendered his 
 first ten years of married life an earthly 
 paradise. 
 
 But from the moment Amy was able to 
 manage a pony, or adapt her little steps to 
 his own, she had been promoted by Sir Mark 
 to the vacant place by his side; and soon 
 progressed into just such an active, lithe- 
 limbed being, as constant exercise, in all wea- 
 thei's, was likely to create. 
 
 To her mother, meanwhile, the cheerful, 
 bright-eyed child was an invaluable companion. 
 The pursuits of Sir Mark, both as a sportsman 
 and farmer, were of too engrossing a nature 
 not to leave the invalid frequently alone ; and 
 
PROGRESS 
 
 the prattle of the little girl served to lighten 
 her solitude, till that serious age arrived, when 
 the formation of her daughter's character af- 
 forded a still more interesting occupation. 
 WilHngly would Lady Meadowes have mono- 
 polized the task, and wholly undertaken her 
 education. But Dr. Burnahy, a neighbour- 
 ing physician, whose authority at Meadowes 
 Court was secondary only to its master's, 
 pronounced the task too trying for one so 
 delicate ; and a competent governess was found, 
 who, for ten ensuing years, had experienced 
 some difficulty in obtaining as much of her 
 pupil's time and attention as would enable her 
 to do what she considered credit to them both. 
 It was a hard matter to withdraw little x\my 
 from the ailing mother, who wanted to be 
 talked to, and read to, and fondled ; and still 
 harder, to convince the rough outspoken Sir 
 Mark, that a lesson of Ancient History sig- 
 nified more than a wholesome gallop on the 
 banks of the Severn; and it is questionable, 
 on the whole, w^iether the parents or their 
 child experienced most satisfaction, on seeing 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 7 
 
 the carriage return empty after conveying Miss 
 Honeywood, for the last time, to the neigh- 
 bouring station. 
 
 They had parted, however, with mutual kind- 
 ness, and mutual respect. The good woman, 
 so large a portion of whose life had been 
 devoted to inform the mind of the heiress of 
 Meadowes Court, carried away with her the 
 best proof of the gratitude of the family, in the 
 shape of an annuity as liberal as comported 
 with their moderate means ; and there was 
 consequently no drawback upon Amy's delight- 
 ful consciousness of liberation. Miss Honey- 
 wood was gone to be idle ana happy, among 
 her relations ; and she remained free and happy 
 — oh ! how free, oh ! how happy, — among her 
 own. Her mother never would feel lonely 
 again ; her father would never plead vainly 
 for her company in his rides and walks. She 
 should be always with one or the other : 
 doubly enjoying her sedentary pursuits by her 
 mother's side, — doubly enjoying the pleasures 
 of a country-life, under the protection of the 
 kind, merry, jovial Sir Mark. 
 
8 PROGRESS 
 
 Any body intent upon her movements might 
 have fancied that Amy was viewing for the 
 first time the beauties of Meadowes Court, on 
 the sunny morning in June we have been de- 
 scribing. While the dew was yet on the grass, 
 she had visited every nook in the shrubberies ; 
 every flowery parterre, glowing like an inserted 
 gem amid the rich verdure of the western lawn. 
 She had stood gazing, with her arms resting 
 on the iron fence, upon the well-wooded pad- 
 dock, which a more pretending man than Sir 
 Mark would have dignified with the name of 
 park ; admiring the morning light that tinged 
 with silver the glossy bolls of the ancient beech- 
 trees, forming not only the beautiful avenue, 
 but, in scattered groups, the most picturesque 
 ornament of the domain. The summer grass was 
 high ; — noisy with insects, fragrant with clover, 
 and enamelled with the blue blossoms of the 
 wild veronica. All was gay, all was sweet ; as 
 if to do honour to the auspicious epoch of Amy's 
 birthday. 
 
 It was the seventeenth she had spent upon 
 that self-same spot. But of those within her 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 9 
 
 memory, which had been so bright as this ? 
 The same flowers must have been in bloom : — 
 the same birds singing in the bushes : — the same 
 insects chirping in the grass, or hovering in the 
 sunshine: — the same cows grouped heavily under 
 the beech-trees : — the same pale water-flowers 
 cresting the stagnant old moat. But till now, 
 they had been mute and colourless. Till now, 
 nothing had knocked at Amy's heart with the 
 earnestness which, at that moment, brought a 
 flush to her cheek, and a tremour to her lip, 
 as she acknowledged to herself that she had 
 not a wish unfulfilled in the world. 
 
 By the time her parents were astir, and 
 she had been embraced and congratulated, she 
 was almost tired out by the varying emotions agi- 
 tating her frame. The good-will of the faithful 
 old servants, the noisy caresses of her father's 
 favourite dogs, even the importunities of her pet 
 mare, accustomed to be fed from her hand and 
 thrust its nose in search of sugar into her apron- 
 pocket, seemed to demonstrate their sympathy in 
 the grand event of the day ; and when required 
 to be grateful for a beautiful pearl necklace — a 
 
 B 3 
 
10 PROGRESS 
 
 family treasure, bestowed by her father, and 
 a charming writing-desk prepared and filled 
 for her by the dearest of mothers, Amy had 
 scarcely voice to be thankful. After taking 
 part with both in the breakfast to which her 
 hives furnished the honey-comb, and her dairy 
 contributed the butter and cream, she felt as if 
 Time could yield no second birthday equal to 
 that which brought such tears of joy into the 
 eyes of her darling invalid, — such smiles of 
 exultation into the joyous face of Sir Mark. 
 
 As the day progressed from dewy morn 
 into burning noon, and from burning noon into 
 that gradual lengthening of the shadows which 
 enabled the neighbouring families to afford their 
 tribute of gratulation on a family event so 
 long anticipated in their little circle, there 
 arrived the clergyman of the parish of Radens- 
 ford, old Mr. Henderson, with the young 
 though widowed daughter who kept house 
 for him ; and soon afterwards, the pony- chaise 
 and barouche of the Tremenheeres and Warne- 
 fords, — the only two families within visiting 
 distance of Meadowes Court ; the former con- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 1 1 
 
 taining Admiral Tremenheere and his spinster 
 niece ; — the latter, Lady Harriet Warneford and 
 a batch of grandchildren. Amy had to be kissed 
 again and again, and passed from hand to hand 
 like a picture-book or a new toy. For the 
 cadeaux, lavished upon her by these kind friends, 
 she felt perhaps less grateful than she ought. 
 The one great gift of liberty,- — the right of 
 being allowed, henceforward, to think and feel for 
 herself, — to think and feel as a woman, — super- 
 seded all other joys ; and when she sat down 
 quietly to dinner with her father and mother, 
 after the departure of their guests, she could 
 scarcely believe, the excitement of the day 
 being over, that she had attained a new phase 
 of her existence. Except that her cheeks w^ere 
 burnino; from too much talking and her ears 
 confused by too much listening, she was obliged 
 to admit that she felt very much as she had 
 done the preceding day. 
 
 Her father, indeed, saw her in a different 
 light ; and on crowning his Amy's health, when 
 the servants left the room, with a fond embrace, 
 wondered he had never before noticed the ex- 
 
12 PROGRESS 
 
 quisite beauty of the daughter who seemed 
 suddenly to have started into life. Lady 
 Meadowes, on the contrary, though she united 
 her pious benediction with that of her husband, 
 scarcely seemed to see that Amy was present. 
 She felt it, however, to the innermost core of 
 her heart. 
 
 When her sofa was rolled nearer the win- 
 dows opening to the lawn, that she might 
 enjoy the fragrant twilight, and the single vivid 
 evening star, whose reflection trembled on the 
 surface of the old moat, she gathered up her 
 darling's hand into her own, and thought she had 
 never in her life felt so completely happy. 
 
 Amy's birthdays had usually been days of 
 pleasantness and peace. But this, oh ! this 
 was the sweetest and pleasantest of them all ! — 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 13 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Had the neighbourhood of Meadowes Court 
 contained within its range any people of what 
 is called the world, right puzzled would they 
 have been to discover in what consisted the 
 new charm which poor Amy discovered in her 
 daily hfe It could not be the privilege of con- 
 ferring with the old housekeeper, and patiently 
 balancing her perplexed accounts. It could not 
 be the pleasure of ambling by her father's side 
 on her beautiful mare, for that she had enjoyed 
 for more than a year past. As to the sensation 
 of being what is called " out," so eventful to 
 young ladies on the eve of presentation, and the 
 brilliant fetes of which that ceremony constitutes 
 
14 PROGRESS 
 
 the initiatory rite, what could it signify to a girl 
 within reach of only a few homely family-dinners ; 
 where nothing of the male gender ever appeared 
 more attractive than the lame curate of a 
 neighbouring parish, or younger than Sir Mark 
 Meadowes and Dr. Burnaby. 
 
 But if this absence of recreation or excite- 
 ment rendered it difficult to conceive the rapture 
 of Miss Meadowes on finding herself a privi- 
 leged member of society, it accounted for the 
 perfect satisfaction of her parents. They hailed 
 her as a woman, without fear of losing her as a 
 child. No Romeo was at hand, to climb 
 their orchard wall, in search of their idolised 
 Juliet ! Not a regiment quartered within fifty 
 miles of Meadowes Court ! Not an assize 
 town within ten miles' distance. She might as 
 well have been immured in a convent, for any 
 danger of a hero to the romance of her girlish 
 life. Even the distant cousin, who, on the 
 demise of Sir Mark, was to succeed to his 
 baronetcy, was a married colonel of Militia, 
 residing in a remote county. 
 
 There was, consequently, no drawback upon 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 15 
 
 Lady Meadowes's satisfaction when the Tremen- 
 heeres and the Rector.'s daughter, Mrs. Burton, 
 remarked, almost every time they found her 
 alone, that Amy was daily growing prettier and 
 prettier. The happy mother knew that all 
 this youthful loveliness was expanding only for 
 the delight of her parents. No fear, at present, 
 of losing their pet lamb. 
 
 Lady Harriet Warneford, who resided on a 
 small estate, divided from that of Meadovves 
 Court by a ragged strip of the royal forest of 
 Burdans — a woman so advanced in life as to 
 have survived her husband and eldest son, and 
 to be presiding over the education of the three 
 orphans of the latter, — could not help wondering, 
 at times, at the indifference exhibited by Lady 
 Meadowes and her husband, to their daughter's 
 establishment in life. For her own sad experience 
 of the uncertainty of life suggested that the 
 death of Amy's parents might leave this fair 
 young girl alone in a world, where youth and 
 beauty so rare as hers demand a double share of 
 protection. 
 
 She had not yet ventured, however, to broach 
 
1 6 PROGRESS 
 
 the subject to the invahd. The amiable, un- 
 complaining Lady Meadowes was a person to 
 whom her friends, nay, even her acquaintances, 
 were careful to avoid risking a moment's pain. 
 As to Sir Mark, you might as well have at- 
 tempted to fling a black crape veil over the face of 
 the sun as to pretend to darken his joyous im- 
 pulses by a serious reflection. While Amy her- 
 self, whenever Lady Harriet came to pass a day 
 with them, was so full of devices to amuse and 
 please her little grandchildren, that it was im- 
 possible to hazard a word capable of overcloud- 
 ing her innocent heart. 
 
 It was really a happy and sociable neighbour- 
 hood ; happy and sociable because limited in 
 extent, and assimilated in rank and fortune. No 
 disproportion, no envy, no jealousy. A country 
 circle of this description is now rare to be 
 found in wealthy, fussy, railroad-riven England . 
 People go too much to London, too often to the 
 continent, to maintain those obsolete district 
 sympathies which, in the days of our grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers, were fostered by inter- 
 change of newspapers — recipes — patterns of man- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 17 
 
 tuas and tambouring — and cuttings of myrtles 
 and thrift. We are grown more locomotive, 
 more enlightened, more grand, and more selfish. 
 
 Miss Tremenheere, a damsel on the peevish 
 side of thirty, and much addicted to moral re- 
 flection, sometimes whispered primly to Mrs. 
 Burton, who, though a widow and a mother, 
 was several years her junior, that Amy Mea- 
 dowes's seventeenth birthday had done little to 
 endow her with fixity of purpose ; and that her 
 parents were much to blame for not bringing 
 her more decidedly face to face with the stern 
 realities of life. But the young widow, to 
 whom that cheerful girl was endeared by a thou- 
 sand acts of kindness towards herself and her 
 sickly little girl, could see no fault in her. So 
 long as Amy fulfilled her duties in life with care 
 and love, it mattered little that she had always 
 a song upon her lips ; or that she ran forward 
 to meet her friends, when a better-regulated 
 young lady would have advanced with decent 
 dehberation. 
 
 One of Amy's chief in-door pleasures was to 
 read to her mother while she worked. Like 
 
1 8 PROGRESS 
 
 the gentle lady wedded to the Moor, and most 
 women condemned to a sedentary life, Lady 
 Meadowes was " delicate with her needle ;" and 
 never had it moved with half so much alacrity 
 as now that her daughter, with her silver voice 
 and intuitive taste, was ever at hand to cheer 
 her with the pages of some favourite work. 
 Sometimes, indeed. Amy, with the versatility of 
 her age, would pause in the midst of an inte- 
 resting passage ; and, laying down the book, 
 interrupt herself by comments or questions; — 
 usually suggested by the passage before her : — 
 oftener, by her own vague and wandering 
 fancies. 
 
 *' How strange it seems, mamma," said she, 
 one day, when they had been surrounded for 
 nearly an hour with the extensive family-group 
 of one of Richardson's novels, " that not only 
 am I an only child — no brother, no sister to 
 keep me company, — but that you and papa 
 should also be in the same predicament !" 
 
 Lady Meadowes worked on in silence. She 
 did not appear in the humour for conversation. 
 Perhaps the inmates of Uncle Selby's cedar 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 19 
 
 parlour engrossed her attention more than they 
 had done that of her daughter. 
 
 " It would have heen so pleasant to have a 
 cousin Lucy Seiby or two, to come and stay 
 with us here ; — or at least to supply friends and 
 correspondents. Not to fall in love with and 
 marry, however, dear mamma, as poor Lady 
 Harriet Warneford did ; — who, Mary Tremen- 
 heere tells me, led a miserable life with her 
 husband." 
 
 " Miss Tremenheere, Amy, is, I fear, a sad 
 gossip !" 
 
 " How can she help answering me, mcther, 
 when I ask her questions ?" 
 
 " Then never ask them, darling, about things 
 which do not concern you." 
 
 Amy blushed at the reproof, and promised. 
 It was perhaps in dread of a further lesson 
 that she resumed the chapter of kindred. 
 
 " It always seems such a relief to Lady 
 Harriet when her sister, Lady Louisa Eustace, 
 arrives at Radensford Manor. They have so 
 many old stories to talk about ; — so many 
 broken interests to revive !" 
 
20 PROGRESS 
 
 " They are, I believe, sincerely attached to 
 each other," said Lady Meadowes, coldly : — and 
 began to busy herself more actively in sorting 
 the floss silks in her work-basket. 
 
 " And you, dearest mother — had you never 
 any sisters ?" 
 
 " None, Amy." 
 
 " And your father, you once told me, I re- 
 member, was a clergyman, and died when you 
 were very young ?" 
 
 " Very young." 
 
 " You lived then, till you married, alone with 
 your mother ? — And was she as good and 
 tender a one as mine ?" — 
 
 " My dearest Amy," said Lady Meadowes, 
 with an effort which brought a hectic colour 
 into her usually pale face, " there are some 
 questions which it is so painful to answer, that 
 they should never be asked. Be sure that, had 
 I wished to talk to you about my family, I 
 should have done so long ago." 
 
 " Forgive me, mother," cried Amy, starting 
 up, so that the book she was carelessly holding, 
 fell upon the floor, in her haste to seize and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 21 
 
 kiss Lady Meadowes's delicate hand. " I will 
 never speak to you about them again. But 
 papa's : I may talk to you of them, without 
 wounding your feelings ; for you often explained 
 to me, when T was a child, the family portraits 
 in the China gallery — " 
 
 " The youngest among which, my dear 
 child, dates from the reign of George the 
 Second." 
 
 "Well, then, mother, — the miniatures in the 
 breakfast parlour ! Among them, there are 
 Plymers and Cosways ; my grandfather, in his 
 velvet coat and gold frogs ; and grandmamma, 
 the last Lady Meadowes, in her fly-cap and 
 powdered hair ! But that young girl in the 
 corner of the frame, in a beaver hat, with a 
 riding-whip in her hand ?" 
 
 " Your father's sister, Gerti-ude Meadowes." 
 
 " She died unmarried, then, I suppose. Was 
 papa much attached to her ?" 
 
 " Judge for yourself You know his afi^ec- 
 tionate disposition." 
 
 " Yet he never mentions her. He was 
 perhaps too much affectM by her death ?" 
 
22 PROGRESS 
 
 " She is not dead, Amy. She married Lord 
 Davenport, and is still alive." 
 
 " Still alive ? I have really and truly a 
 right-down, living aunt? — How delightful!" 
 cried Amy, as if she had chanced upon some 
 wondrous hidden treasure, 
 
 " You are little likely to benefit by the 
 possession. • Your father and the Davenports 
 have not met for many years. They are not 
 upon speaking terms." 
 
 " On what account ?" 
 
 " Had your father desired you to be ac- 
 quainted with the circumstances, you would 
 have heard them long ere this. Be satisfied, 
 darling, that he, who is the best judge of his 
 family affairs, would be hurt and seriously dis- 
 pleased if questioned concerning these relation- 
 ships." 
 
 *' And are you, too, angry with me, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " Not in the least : — for you have erred inad- 
 vertently. Were you to renew the subject, I 
 should be vexed, because it would be in direct 
 opposition to my wishes." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 23 
 
 Again, Amy fondly kissed her mother's hand ; 
 assuring her she had nothing to fear. But the 
 restraint thus imposed upon her — restraint how 
 new to Amy, — seemed to double the impor- 
 tance of the mystery. Relations whom she 
 must never mention in her father's presence ! 
 Relations, so near, too, whom she was never to 
 see or recognise ! The interdiction was too 
 tantalising. For some days after this perplex- 
 ing conversation, she could think only of Lord 
 and Lady Davenport. 
 
 On one point, she did not think it unlawful 
 to gratify her curiosity. By referring to a 
 Debrett's Peerage, some ten years old, which 
 graced the library table, she found that " Henry, 
 fourth Baron Davenport, residing at Ilford Castle, 
 Westmoreland, and in New Street, Spring Gar- 
 dens, had married the only daughter of Sir John 
 Meadowes, Bart., of Meadowes Court, by whom 
 he had two sons, Hugh and Marcus, some years 
 older than herself ; and a daughter, Olivia, one 
 year younger." — Three cousins ! — Here was a 
 discovery ! — Three cousins, tolerably of her own 
 age ! — 
 
24 PROGRESS 
 
 She dared not, however, again appeal to her 
 mother for information. She had noticed that, 
 on the evening of their last discussion. Lady 
 Meadowes was unusually feverish and harassed ; 
 and for worlds would she not have risked an- 
 noying her, a second time. Amy was certain of 
 obtaining information by applying to Mary 
 Tremenheere, who fully justified Lady Mea- 
 dowes's accusation that she was " a sad gossip ;" 
 nor would even Lady Harriet Warneford have 
 refused to enlighten her on any subject concern- 
 ing which she was entitled to be inquisitive. 
 But she had no right to seek from others in- 
 formation refused by the kindest of mothers ; 
 and was even more cautious than usual when 
 she foimd herself seated in the roomy chimney- 
 corner of her father's old nurse, the wife of the 
 parish sexton. Neighbour Savile (or Saveall, as 
 he was called by the people of the village), an 
 aged crone, who had outlived everything but 
 her veneration for the Meadowes family, and 
 her skill in curing the huge flitches of bacon 
 which hung blackening in her vast chimney. 
 Till now, Amy had been untiring in questioning 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 25 
 
 the old woman, concerning the births, deaths, 
 and marriages of Meadowes Court ; and the 
 scrupulous care with which she had evaded 
 all mention of a sister appertaining to her 
 nursling — her own dear Sir Mark — sufficed 
 to prove that she was cognizant of the family 
 feud. Amy therefore restricted her inquiries 
 to Neighbour Savile's rheumatics, and the old 
 sexton's supply of tobacco: — having decided 
 that, henceforward, the pedigree of the House of 
 Meadowes must rest in peace ! 
 
 The tongue, albeit an unruly member, is, 
 however, easier of control than the imagination ; 
 and Amy's, whose newly-sprouting wings had 
 little scope for exercise in the matter-of-fact 
 routine of her quiet home, could not resist the 
 temptation of hovering over the forbidden 
 ground of Ilford Castle. Those three unknown 
 cousins were objects of continual surmise. 
 Olivia, she was certain, was a slender girl with 
 flaxen ringlets — tender, playful, elegant. Her 
 name denoted it. The only Olivia she had 
 ever seen — a protegee of Lady Harriet Warne- 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
26 PROGRESS 
 
 ford, — had beautiful flaxen ringlets and a voice 
 like music : ergo, Olivia Davenport must be as 
 fair as an ermine. 
 
 Such a one she did remember, whom to look at was to love. 
 
 Hugh, the elder son, was doubtless a stern, 
 grave young man, qualified to be the represen- 
 tative of an ancient baronial race. Marcus — ah ! 
 Marcus was the favourite ; — named, doubtless, 
 after her father, and in all probability bearing 
 the open countenance of Sir Mark, as well 
 as possessing his loving heart and honourable 
 nature. 
 
 Amy was fully prepared to rush into the arms 
 of Olivia Davenport, and swear eternal friend- 
 ship. But she was almost in hopes it would 
 never be her fortune to meet her cousin Mark : 
 so persuaded was she that the stars, which 
 preside over the destinies of beauties in their 
 eighteenth year, foredoomed them to fall des- 
 perately in love. 
 
 If Sir Mark or Lady Meadowes had been 
 people to trouble their heads about their edition 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 27 
 
 of Debrett, they could not have failed to notice 
 the strange facility with which it spontaneously 
 opened at page 137 ; — being the second which 
 treated of the births, marriages, and progeniture 
 of English barons. 
 
 c 2 
 
28 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The spot where, next to Meadowes Court, 
 the progress and prospects of Amy were 
 watched with the fondest partiaHty, was the 
 Rectory. ' Its venerable master loved her 
 dearly : — first, because he possessed a kindly- 
 affectioned nature ; next, because her parents 
 had been friendly neighbours to him for the last 
 thirty years ; — but more than all, because the 
 child whom he had christened, the girl he had 
 prepared for confirmation, was now a charming 
 young woman, who made it one of her chief 
 pleasures in life to lighten the cares of his 
 daughter ; whose life was saddened by solicitude 
 for an only and ever-aUing child. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 29 
 
 For this the grey-haired Rector felt as grate- 
 ful to his young neighbour, as though she had 
 been his superior in years and faculties. For 
 Mrs. Burton, his tenderness was tinctured with 
 a degree of morbid sensibility and self-reproach. 
 Rachel had been the only daughter of his 
 widowed fireside: — unusually lovely, unusually 
 gifted ; — and he had not only spoiled her, but 
 by weak and narrow-sighted indulgence, marred 
 her prospects in life. Educated in a showy 
 London school, Rachel Henderson had formed 
 connections more gay and brilliant than tom- 
 ported with her condition ; and when eventually 
 installed under the humble roof of Radensford 
 Rectory, and her father saw her pining for 
 brighter scenes, instead of endeavouring to in- 
 struct her in the happy art of home-keeping 
 and home-adorning, he shrank from insisting on 
 his claims to love and obedience. Ere the first 
 stage of girlhood was overpast, when a preten- 
 dant to her hand presented himself, qualified, 
 apparently, to place her in the gay worldly 
 position she coveted, he accepted the proposals 
 of Captain Burton, and even inconvenienced 
 
30 PROGRESS 
 
 himself to produce a suitable dowry to facilitate 
 the marriage, solely in the hope to brighten the 
 listless countenance which he could scarcely 
 recognise as that of his darling and once- 
 cheerful child. 
 
 But in this, the weak father sinned grievously 
 against his better judgment. He neglected 
 those searching inquiries by means of which 
 every parent ought to be enabled to justify his 
 sanction of a daughter's choice : and the results 
 were disastrous. The smiles he had been so 
 eager to restore to poor Rachel's countenance 
 beamed only for a time. Haggard, careworn 
 looks succeeded. The handsome and seemingly 
 gallant and honourable young soldier proved 
 to be a gambler and a sot ; and sad as it was 
 to see his daughter reduced to despair by his 
 untimely death, after less than three years' wed- 
 lock, leaving her the maintenance of an infirm 
 infant, Mr. Henderson returned thanks to 
 Heaven for the death of his son-in-law. 
 Feeling doubly bound to cherish and comfort 
 the poor girl whom he had allowed to follow 
 her own imprudent inchnations, he adopted 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 31 
 
 at once and for ever the widow and 
 orphan. 
 
 Many years had now elapsed since on her 
 return from India, where Captain Burton's 
 death had taken place, Mrs. Burton re-estab- 
 lished herself at Radensford Rectory. She was 
 now eight- and-twenty, and her daughter nine 
 years of age ; and she could consequently con- 
 template the debut of her little favourite, Amy 
 Meadowes, with something of a maternal feel- 
 ing. 
 
 " I can't help thinking with Mary Tremen- 
 heere, the Meadoweses a little to blame in 
 keeping that dear girl so ignorant of the world 
 and its ways," she observed to her father, while, 
 walking home vdth him one evening at dusk, 
 from Meadowes Court, they discussed together 
 the increasing beauty and grace of Sir Mark's 
 daughter. 
 
 '*' But why, my dear ? Amy is never likely 
 to see much of society. Lady Meadowes's 
 health is far from strengthened. Sir Mark 
 grows more and more attached to the old place. 
 Nothing in the world, not even to see his 
 
32 PROGRESS 
 
 beloved girl admired and courted, would take 
 him to London." 
 
 " I was not thinking of London." 
 
 " Sir Mark detests watering-places ; and the 
 idea of carrying his daughter to a marriage- 
 market would revolt his fine old English 
 spirit." 
 
 " And with reason. But as you say, Lady 
 Meadowes's health is far from improved ; and 
 in the event of her death, Sir Mark might 
 marry again for the sake of an heir to his 
 property. On the other hand, if Sir Mark 
 should die, his widow and daughter would be 
 left in a sadly unprotected situation." 
 
 " You seem in a great hurry, my dear Rachel, 
 to put an end to one or other of your friends," 
 said Mr, Henderson, with a smile. " I, on the 
 contrary, am inclined to assign a long life to 
 both." 
 
 " May your good wishes prosper," rejoined 
 his daughter. "Still, when I see poor Amy so 
 satisfied that the best interests of this world lie 
 comprised within a circle of five miles round 
 Meadowes Court, I cannot help wishing that 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 33 
 
 Miss Honeywood had a little enlarged her 
 horizon." 
 
 "Time enough — time enough. Worldly 
 knowledge comes upon us of itself, with every 
 day we live : — usually too soon, mostly too 
 abundantly." 
 
 " Not too soon or too abundantly for those 
 who are fated to an early struggle with the evils 
 of life," added Mrs. Burton, in a low voice. 
 Then, fearing that her father might interpret 
 her observations into a reproach that she herself 
 had been launched into the world in fatal ig- 
 norance of its arts and usages, — she added 
 abruptly : " Amy's position is a peculiar one ; 
 and I really think her old enough to be fore- 
 warned of the slights she may hereafter have to 
 undergo." 
 
 " Again I say, time enough. She may marry 
 happily, and establish a position of her own." 
 
 "Marry? — At Meadowes Court ?— Dearest 
 father, — there is not a single man on this side 
 the county !" 
 
 "They must come then from the other, 
 and look after our Sleeping Beauty in the 
 
 c 3 
 
34 PROGRESS 
 
 Wood," persisted the kindly old man. " I see 
 how it is, my dear "Rachel. You are longing for 
 the sight of orange-blossom and wedding favours. 
 Meantime, let us do our best in assisting to 
 amuse little Amy : that the pretty bird may not 
 beat its wings against the cage which you have 
 not patience to see so solitary." 
 
 Mrs. Burton made no answer. She had 
 fallen into a fit of musing. She anxious for a 
 sight of orange-blossoms, when her own bridal 
 wreath had budded into such a crown of 
 thorns ! No, no ! all she desired was that 
 her young friend should be better prepared to 
 wrestle with those cares and ills, with which 
 during her ])rief married hfe she had found it 
 so difficult to contend. 
 
 It was but a few days after this conversation 
 that Miss Meadowes, who had driven over to 
 the Rectory in her pony-chaise with a provision 
 of grapes for little Sophia Burton, was sitting 
 with Sophia's mother in her school-room, — a 
 small library opening into the little square, 
 formal, but highly cultivated Rectory garden, — 
 projecting plans of winter charity for the poor 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 35 
 
 of Radensford, of whom Mr. Henderson and 
 Sir Mark were the chief benefactors. As they 
 talked together, or rather as Mrs. Burton 
 reasoned and 'Amy silently acquiesced, the leaves 
 of a sketch-book which lay on Mrs. Burton's 
 desk when surprised by her pretty visitor, were 
 slowly turned by the latter ; sometimes with an 
 admiring exclamation, — always with an air of 
 interest. 
 
 The book contained a series of views and 
 sketches of scenes in the Himalaya ; wild, pic- 
 turesque, and shaggy ; many of them strikingly 
 vigorous and original. These, by the signature 
 S. B. affixed to them, Amy concluded to be the 
 production of the late Captain Burton, whose 
 Christian name w^as Sylvester ; and carefully 
 abstained from more than passing praise. 
 Others, somew^hat tamer in execution, bearing 
 the name of Sharland, were evidently the water- 
 colour drawings of a friend. At last, she came 
 to a bold and admirable sketch in sepia, — at 
 the foot of which was inscribed, *' Hog-hunt- 
 ing at Fallonnah." And this clever group, the 
 figures in which appeared to be portraits, was 
 
36 PROGRESS 
 
 subscribed in quaint Oriental-looking characters, 
 evidently traced by the artist's brush rather 
 than his pen, — " Marcus." 
 
 "Marcus?" exclaimed Amy, whose fancy 
 had been previously captivated by the masterly 
 execution of the sketch. " Our family name ! 
 — How strange ! — What Marcus, dear Mrs. 
 Burton ? — Tell me the surname of your Indian 
 Salvator Rosa ?" 
 
 Mrs. Burton, who from the first had appeared 
 embarrassed and annoyed at seeing her album 
 in the hands of Miss Meadowes, replied, almost 
 coldly : " That book,' dear Amy, is one of the few 
 memorials left of my married life. You have 
 never seen it before, because I keep it carefully 
 locked up. For me, it is replete with painful 
 associations. I took it out this morning, only 
 to ascertain a date which I thought I might 
 find annexed to one of the drawings." 
 
 Amy instantly closed the book, and replaced 
 it on the table. 
 
 " Forgive my indiscretion," said she. " You 
 should have checked me at once. I fancied it 
 was only an album, intended, like my own, for 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 37 
 
 general entertainment. Still," she continued, 
 after a pause, during which Mrs. Burton was 
 occupied in replacing the hook in an outer case 
 furnished with a Bramah's lock, " though I 
 would not for worlds dwell upon a pain- 
 ful subject, do satisfy my curiosity as to 
 whether your Marcus has anything to do with 
 our family ? It is such an uncommon name !" 
 
 " Not very uncommon," rephed Mrs. Burton, 
 in a hesitating manner, as if uncertain whether 
 to impart the information required. 
 
 " This clever Marcus, then, — this man of 
 genius, who puts us all to shame,— is not, as I 
 hoped, a relation ?" 
 
 " Pardon me. The drawings were done by 
 your cousin, Captain Davenport."^ 
 
 " You know him then, dearest Mrs. Bur- 
 ton. You can tell me all about him !" said 
 Amy, her face already in a glow of enthusiasm. 
 " How delightful ! What an unexpected plea- 
 sure !" 
 
 " My dear Amy," replied Mrs. Burton, 
 evidently embarrassed, " if Lady Meadowes and 
 your father have abstained from talking to you 
 
38 PROGRESS 
 
 about your ^misins, depend on it they have good 
 reasons for their silence. Ask yourself, my dear 
 child, whether it would become me, distinguished 
 as I have been by their kindness, to thwart 
 their wishes, for the mere sake of indulging you 
 with a little idle gossip !" 
 
 " Not idle gossip," persisted Amy. " My 
 interest in these unknown relatives is an impulse 
 of natural affection." 
 
 " An impulse of mere girlish curiosity," 
 persisted Mrs. Burton, more gravely than was 
 her wont. " Had you not accidentally discovered 
 their existence, your natural affection woyld 
 have remained dormant. Believe me, Amy, — 
 believe one who has lived and suffered,- — that 
 information obtained by unfair means unfailingly 
 recoils on those who have outraged the rule of 
 right in obtaining it. The proverb tells us that 
 * Listeners hear no good of themselves.' People 
 who open a letter not intended for their perusal, 
 are sure to learn unwelcome tidings ; and by 
 pursuing your inquiries about Marcus Davenport, 
 you might ascertain something calculated to 
 give you pain : — certainly nothing to gratify the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 39 
 
 natural affection you assign as the origin of 
 your questions." 
 
 Amy sat rebuked and silent ; too little in the 
 habit of opposition to venture on further re- 
 joinder. But she did not feel the less interested 
 concerning her mysterious cousins, from having 
 discovered in one of them so proficient an 
 artist. 
 
 " Well, well ! One gets to the bottom of all 
 secrets and mysteries in time," said she, at 
 length, rallying her spirits ; " and the enigma 
 rarely proves worth the time one has lost in 
 puzzhng over it. I find, dear Mrs. Burton, that 
 papa has even initiated you into the greatest of 
 aU secrets — the history of our forthcoming im- 
 provements at Meadowes Court." 
 
 " Sir Mark acquainted me yesterday with the 
 reason of Hurstley's frequent visits of late to 
 Radensford. But I must pause a little, Amy, 
 ere I give the name of improvement to the 
 change. Meadowes Court is so perfect as a 
 whole, that I cannot bear to think of the 
 slightest change." 
 
 " Not when you hear that the physicians 
 
40 PROGRESS 
 
 declare the damp vapours of the moat to be 
 most injurious to a person so delicate as poor 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " That point of view was never suggested. 
 To that argument I bow. But how can it he. 
 Amy ■? Though the old moat has existed for 
 centuries, one never heard it talked of, or saw 
 it WTitten of, as unwholesome ? I am afraid 
 we are getting a little over-fastidious now-a-days 
 about sanitary influences. We shall find at last 
 that the whole habitable globe has scarcely a 
 spot whose climate is perfectly salubrious." 
 
 " But what would you have my father do ? 
 After witnessing such protracted sufferings as 
 poor mamma's, the moment a source of cure or 
 even alleviation is suggested, he can only thank- 
 fully comply with the instructions of her me- 
 dical attendants. Dr. Bu^naby declares that 
 half mamma's illness arises from the miasma 
 generated by the moat ; and my father has con- 
 sequently resolved to do what has been done 
 in half the ancient mansions in the county — 
 that is, to dry it up ; fill in the fosse, and 
 surround the house with a pretty flower-garden, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 41 
 
 instead of that horrible old nursery for toads 
 and tadpoles." 
 
 Mrs. Burton smiled. In former days, before 
 the Meadowes family dreamed of dispensing with 
 this appendage to their ancient grange, she had 
 always heard the moat described as a running 
 stream, with a gravelly bottom, of which a few 
 overgrown and superannuated carp were the sole 
 inhabitants. 
 
 " And when are the works to commence ?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 " Next week. Papa signed the contract 
 yesterday. It will cost little more than tVN?o 
 hundred pounds ; and by October, the new- 
 ground is to be ready for planting and 
 sow'ing." 
 
 " But Lady Meadowes, so sensitive as she is, 
 will never be able to remain in the house, while 
 besieged by workmen ?" 
 
 " Of course not. Forty or fifty men will be 
 at work ; and poor dear mamma would never 
 stand the disturbance. Fortunately, Lady 
 Harriet is going to visit the Eustaces, and has 
 
42 PROGRESS 
 
 offered us the use of the Manor House during 
 her absence." 
 
 " Good news for me, Amy !" rephed Mrs. 
 Burton, kindly. " When only half a mile 
 apart, we shall have no excuse for not meeting 
 daily. And now, come in with me to luncheon , 
 or poor Sophia will be wearying sadly for her 
 dinner." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Enough for the present of manor-houses 
 and rectories, — buttercups and daisies : — 
 
 My soul, turn from them ; turn we to survey 
 Where London's smoke obscures the orb of day ; 
 
 more particularly in that narrow by-street in 
 the parish of St. James — a hive of fashionable 
 bachelors — where Marcus Davenport, the 
 sketcher of Hog-hunting at Fallonnah, had, it 
 can scarcely be said " set up his rest," — but shel- 
 tered his unquietness. 
 
 ^T^here was nothing striking in the exterior of 
 the house. The passage was chilled by the 
 usual covering of half-obliterated oil-cloth, the 
 stairs rendered dreary by the ordinary Persian- 
 
44 PROGRESS 
 
 patterned carpet worn at the protruding edges, 
 common to London lodging-houses. But the 
 moment you turned the handle of the back 
 room on the second landing, which was Captain 
 Davenport's peculiar domain, a different order 
 of things prevailed. A cursory view of the 
 room was like glancing over the first page of 
 a clever new book. Your attention was riveted 
 in a moment. 
 
 Not, indeed, by the splendour of the fur- 
 niture; which consisted of a couple of in- 
 comparable lounging chairs, and divans covered 
 with bright chintz, fitted into the recesses 
 on either side the fireplace. But the pale 
 green walls were hung with pictures by the 
 same masterly hand which had supplied the 
 sketches to Mrs. Burton's portfolio, and might 
 have intitled a professional artist to the equi- 
 vocal honours of the B..A. ; — while a baized 
 door leading to the adjoining bedroom was 
 masked by a folding screen of tinted panpr, 
 adorned with croquis illustrating the works of 
 Goethe, Hoffmann, and Jean Paul Richter, 
 original, graphic, powerful ; and though usually 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 45 
 
 attributed by a stranger to the varied talents of 
 several artists of genius, the fruit of the same 
 inspiration which had furnished the walls with 
 their more elaborate specimens of art. 
 
 Like many old-fashioned London houses, the 
 room, overlooking a sooty garden, in which 
 grew nothing but broken crockery and spar- 
 rows, w^as enlarged by a bow-window ; in the 
 centre of which, sidling on its stand, was a 
 tame pink cockatoo, whose parts of speech had 
 been far more cultivated than those of many of 
 its fashionable fellow-parishioners ; while on the 
 hearth-rug lay a grey Skye terrier, far gone in 
 years, apparently on such terms of amity with 
 the rival pet, as to have overcome in its favour 
 the instinctive antagonism between fur and 
 feathers. 
 
 Whenever a foreign elegant, or artist, visited 
 the sanctum of Mark Davenport, he was sure 
 to notice, amid such a prodigality of works of art, 
 th^ absence of trophies of fanciful pipes and 
 armes de luxe, which constitute the indispensable 
 garnish of a foreign appartement de gar con. 
 Of such things, Davenport, in his green and 
 
46 PROGRESS 
 
 salad days, had been as fond as his neighbours. 
 But he had outgrown his taste for objects pur- 
 porting to be picturesque, but serving only to 
 collect the dust ; in London, of so noxious a 
 quality. 
 
 The adornments of his domicile were of a 
 more suffo-estive order ; a few clever statuettes 
 on brackets, and one or two antiques collected 
 on his travels. The only ornament on his table, 
 besides a simple black marble inkstand and 
 shabby old Russia-leather blotting book, much 
 the worse for use, were a brasier for burning 
 juniper berries, and a cracked old Flemish glass, 
 containing a sickly sprig of rosemary. 
 
 But the atmosphere of the chamber was 
 pleasant and well-regulated. In winter, a wood- 
 fire blazed brightly ; in summer, thick green 
 blinds excluded the sun. Many a fine gentle- 
 man issuing from the lofty mansions of May 
 Fair was heard to exclaim, on sinking into one 
 of Davenport's easy chairs, — " By Jove ! Mark, 
 you take good care of yourself. — This is the 
 most comfortable room in Europe." 
 
 What right, however, had he to be com- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 47 
 
 fortable, — that Paria of a younger brother ! 
 Cheerless chambers in one of the Inns of Court 
 would have better fitted his position than all this 
 Sybarite indulgence. A difference in age of less 
 than a year rendered him the subaltern of a brother 
 intitled to be nursed in the lap of luxury, and 
 rejoice in marrow and fatness. But the barrier 
 was as insurmountable as though a century, in 
 place of eleven months, intervened between the 
 events which gave an heir to Ilford Castle, and 
 a second olive-branch to its owner. 
 
 To the parents, the mother being still 
 young, with the milk of human kindness 
 yet unsoured by the storms of life, the two 
 babes, rolling upon the lawn in their white 
 tunics, possessed an equal charm. If either, 
 the younger was preferred ; as more loving* and 
 more intelligent. The boys were commended, 
 at five years old, to the care of the same 
 nursery governess, — at eight, to the birch of 
 the same tutor ; — and at eleven, were despatched 
 together to Eton, — where the precocity of 
 Marcus placed him in the upper school, side by 
 side wifi his brother. Both were " Mr. Daven- 
 
48 PROGRESS 
 
 port." There was nothing In the senior and 
 junior attached to their patronymic sufficing to 
 denote that one was predestined to feed upon 
 the corn, wine, and oil of this world, — the other, 
 upon its husks. 
 
 Hugh was reserved and gentle ; Marcus wild 
 and clever. But both were gentlemanly in mind 
 and deportment ; and as kindly disposed towards 
 each other, as the struggle and uproar of a 
 public school would allow them to exhibit. 
 Each had his bosom-friend who was the natural 
 enemy of the other, and created feuds between 
 them. But during their holidays, at Ilford 
 Castle, their tempers and pursuits were as 
 uniform as if they were fated to live in Arcadia, 
 nurtured on the honey of Hymettus. 
 
 Not till the year of Hugh's emancipation 
 from Eton did it seem to occur to Lord Davenport 
 that the future destinies of the two l)oys would be 
 as dissimilar in quality as gold and lead. His 
 lordship made the discovery, perhaps, because 
 the outstanding schoolboy debts of the younger 
 doubled those of the heir-apparent. Perhaps 
 because, till within the last six months, the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 49 
 
 fortune of his maiden sister, amounting to 
 something above two thousand a-year, had been 
 regarded in the family as the future inheritance 
 of her godson, Mark. But Miss Davenport, 
 always crotchety, had chosen, at forty-five, to 
 replace her pet marmozets and Blenheim spaniels 
 by a two-legged darling, — a sober widower, 
 blest with a numerous brood, who speedily 
 superseded her nephew in her unsettled affec- 
 tions and unsettled property. It was clear, 
 therefore, that poor Marcus would have to 
 provide for himself. Half his mother's fortune 
 of twenty thousand pounds was all he had to 
 depend upon ; and that, only at her decease. 
 
 Lord Davenport, who from the period of his 
 marriage had been gradually progressing, or 
 shall we call it retrograding, from the poetry to 
 the prose of life, was consequently forced to 
 study the future interests of his progeny. Ten 
 years before, he had been proudest of Hugh — 
 fondest of Mark. Now, perhaps, he was 
 fondest of Hugh, who in his nonage had given 
 him least anxiety, and proudest of Mark; of 
 whose abilities, even from the masters who 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 PROGRESS 
 
 denounced him as a scapegrace, he received the 
 highest commendation. But his lordship was 
 fortunately of too practical a nature not to 
 perceive the fruitlessness of talent combined 
 with moral shortcoming ; and was as little in- 
 clined to foresee in his family a William Shaks- 
 pere, or even a Goldsmith or Sheridan, as if 
 a shadowy view of the Fleet Prison loomed in 
 the background. He accordingly favoured his 
 younger born, previously to his ^ departure for 
 the University, with a didactic lecture as dry as 
 sawdust ; nearly as circumstantial as a Bridge- 
 water Treatise, and not quite so edifying. 
 Lord Davenport warned his son against New- 
 market and tailors' bills, much as his own father, 
 forty years before, had warned himself against 
 infidelity and claret. Among his interdictions, 
 however, there was less said about lounging and 
 cigars than was altogether judicious : — ^just as a 
 man in fear of the plague would scorn to flee 
 away before the measles. 
 
 In spite, however, of the omission, Marcus, 
 for several terms, did himself the utmost credit. 
 Wonders were predicted of him. He was recog- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 51 
 
 nised in the University, as the most brilliant 
 ornament of the debating club, and booked for 
 the highest honours. On the return of the 
 two brothers to Ilford Castle for the long vaca- 
 tion, Hugh boasted of Mark to his parents and 
 the friends of his parents, like some fond father, 
 parading his only son. He even implored Lord 
 Davenport to retain for his brother the seat in 
 Parliament v^hich was keeping warm for his less 
 talented self. Nor were the Davenports, who 
 had long perceived that this amiable eldest hope 
 of theirs was as shy as a girl, altogether disin- 
 clined to listen to the suggestion. 
 But alas ! 
 
 The third term, came a frost, a chilling frost. 
 The hare, lazy and self-confiding, had allowed 
 itself to be overtaken by the tortoise. Partly 
 because irritated by this unexpected check, and 
 partly because, at twenty, Nature was working 
 her way, Marcus Davenport now enlisted him- 
 self in a joyous band of University rebels, beyond 
 all hope from secondary punishment ; and in 
 due time. Lord Davenport was respectfully ap- 
 prised of the rustication of his second son. 
 
 D 2 
 
52 PROGRESS 
 
 The worldly-minded father was furious ; 
 thwarted in his projects — galled in his self-love. 
 He had bragged too largely concerning the 
 acquirements of the handsome scapegrace ; and 
 his lordship's vanity suffered still more keenly 
 than his paternal affections. It was only by the 
 prayers and entreaties of Hugh he was pre- 
 vented from dealing so stern a measure of wrath 
 upon the dehnquent, as the pride of Marcus 
 would scarcely ever have forgiven. 
 
 " Send me into the army, if you are so 
 ashamed of me that you wish to lose sight of 
 me," was the young man's undutiful rejoinder 
 to even a modified explosion of his lordship's 
 ire. 
 
 " To idle away your days in the Guards, and 
 get deeper and deeper into debt ?" 
 
 " The Guards ? — for a poor dog with an 
 allowance of two hundred a-year ? No, no ! 
 The line — a condemned regiment — what you 
 please. There are three under orders for India ; 
 where the jungle-fever, or a Mahratta war may 
 perhaps rid the family of such an incum- 
 brance." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 53 
 
 Marcus spoke hardly and bitterly, in spite of 
 the choking in his throat ; because Lord Daven- 
 port's unmitigated harshness had engendered 
 evil feelings in return. When his mother ad- 
 dressed him, the same evening, in her dressing- 
 room, mingling tears with her mild avowals of 
 mortification and regret, he flung his arms 
 round her neck, and sobbed hke a child. 
 
 His father, meanwhile, profited by the hint 
 thrown out. The seat keeping warm for Hugh, 
 as well as his personal support of Government, 
 secured attention to his claims at the Horse 
 Guards. Within a month, the Honourable 
 Marcus Davenport was gazetted to a regiment 
 whose men were already embarking at Chatham. 
 And before his mother had leisure to grow ner- 
 vous, or his wild friends to suggest filial insubor- 
 dination, his patent-leather equipage had been 
 displayed at the door of a Bond Street outfitter, 
 announcing his name and destination in letters 
 as distinct and tall as the grenadier company of 
 his new corps. 
 
 Few people found fault with the manner in 
 which Lord Davenport disposed of his off'spring. 
 
54 PROGRESS 
 
 No fighting was just then going on, in that 
 unhappy land which by divine, or some other 
 right, we assume the privilege of keeping quiet 
 and healthy by copious phlebotomy of either 
 the heart's-blood or the pocket's. Even if it 
 had, hero-worship and the precedent of the 
 Great Arthur's early soldiership rendered India 
 a favourite field for incipient field-marshals, — 
 and not a voice was upraised against his de- 
 parture, saving that of his elder brother, to 
 whom he was almost as a twin. 
 
 But this fraternal fondness was placed before 
 Lord Davenport, by his friends, as an additional 
 motive for Marcus's expatriation. So long as 
 the bolder youth was at hand to keep him in 
 the shade, poor Hugh, they said, would never 
 overcome the diffidence which rendered him so 
 silent and so cold. 
 
 " Homme propose, Dieii dispose." Before 
 Mark Davenport had spent three months in 
 the land of palanquins, his regiment was on 
 active service in one of those periodical wars 
 which, by an ample libation of British blood, 
 propitiate the outraged genius of the soil. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 55 
 
 In expiation of ancient thrones demolished, 
 ancient dynasties extirpated, ancient treasuries 
 pillaged, ancient institutions insulted, many a 
 noble career has been cut short, many a noble 
 heart laid in the dust, in some obscure skirmish 
 in that land of the sun where we have planted 
 the emblem of peace and good-wiU towards men, 
 at the point of a scabbardless sword. Young 
 Davenport, fortunate in a brave and able colonel, 
 as well as in a commander-in-chief whose 
 laurels are stiU verdant, was fortunate also in 
 opportunities. In the course of the two fol- 
 lowing years, his rapid promotion was justified 
 by honourable mention in more than one des- 
 patch. Twice had his mother the comfort of 
 a burst of tears in the arms of her elder son, 
 when, after a severe action, Hugh Davenport 
 was able to point out to her the name they 
 loved, not in the list of casualties, but among 
 the officers recommended to the notice of the 
 Horse Guards. 
 
 Still, the reasons which justified Lord Daven- 
 port for having launched his son in an arduous 
 profession, had not ceased to exist. Not only 
 
56 PROGRESS 
 
 was the account of the young lieutenant at his 
 agent's constantly overdrawn, but Marcus had 
 found occasion to signify to the head of the 
 family through his brother, the necessity under 
 which he found himself of anticipating his 
 annual allowance. For a time, the kind-hearted 
 Hugh contrived, with the assistance of his 
 father's banker, to prevent the bills drawn upon 
 Lord Davenport from reaching his hands and 
 provoking his displeasure. But his means were 
 limited ; and a second claim for five hundred 
 pounds, brought down all the thunder of Jupiter 
 Davenport on the heads of both his sons. 
 
 Searching inquiries brought to light that the 
 budding hero on whom the lord of Ilford Castle 
 was beginning to waste a thousand chimeric 
 hopes, was an extravagant profligate. Captain 
 Burton, the wildest of his brother officers, had, 
 it appeared, initiated him into the fatal myste- 
 ries of play : and when, at length, at the close 
 of the war which was the means of securing for 
 him the company left vacant by the death of 
 that dangerous friend, Lord Davenport obtained 
 from the commander-in-chief leave of absence 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 57 
 
 for his son, it was rather with the view of 
 breaking off the fatal connections he had formed 
 in India, than of indulging the earnest desire of 
 his wife and elder-born, to embrace the prodigal 
 from whom they had now been six years 
 estranged. 
 
 On his return to England, bronzed with 
 travel, matured by time, manly in habits and 
 gentlemanly as ever in deportment, even Lord 
 Davenport, though deeply incensed against him 
 by exaggerated reports of his excesses, could 
 scarcely believe that a young man so pleasing 
 in his exterior, and so accomplished in mind, 
 could be the dare-devil represented by his supe- 
 rior officers. 
 
 His arrival was the signal for home-happiness 
 and family festivity, now becoming rare at Ilford 
 Castle. Lord Davenport, mortified alike by the 
 degeneracy of his younger son and the insigni- 
 ficance of the elder, had long consoled himself 
 by seeking excitement in pursuits characteristic 
 of his mercenary nature. A theoretical agricul- 
 turist, the improvement of his estates occupied 
 his whole time, and absorbed all his money ; 
 
 D 3 
 
58 PROGRESS 
 
 till, at last, every hour and guinea seemed 
 wasted that was not devoted to the interests of 
 his landed property. 
 
 At no time of his life a pleasant companion, 
 his lordship was becoming so completely a clod 
 of the valley, that Hugh Davenport would have 
 seen as httle of home as though he too were 
 fighting in the Punjaub, but for the sake of the 
 gentler and kinder parent so much in need of 
 his society. Not that his mother had ever 
 appealed to his sympathy. No amount of suf- 
 fering would have wrung out of her heart one 
 disrespectful word concerning the husband she 
 had sworn to honour and obey. 
 
 Country neighbours and occasional guests at 
 Ilford Castle were heard, indeed, to whisper that 
 Lady Davenport was nearly as cold and silent as 
 her husband ; and scarcely a visitor ever issued 
 from the gates, but felt relieved from disagree- 
 able constraint. For such casual observers were 
 not Hkely to ascribe the frequent changes of 
 colour of that mild pale face to repressed sen- 
 sibihty^ and few surmised that the woman, 
 whose rank and fortune appeared so enviable, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 59 
 
 had been through life a martyr to Duty. When 
 scarcely past the age of girlhood, and as yet 
 unintroduced into society, Gertrude Meadowes 
 had accepted, in obedience to parental authority, 
 the hand of a man twenty years older than her- 
 self, whose object in the alliance was to secure 
 a domestic slave and an heir to his estate ; and 
 though both expectations were realised, he was 
 not of a sufficiently generous nature to grant a 
 single concession in return. 
 
 Her brother — her only brother — having 
 shortly after her own marriage taken to himself 
 a wife in direct opposition to the will of his sur- 
 viving mother and the opinion of his august 
 brother-in-law, Lord Davenport had intimated 
 to Sir Mark Meadowes that, neither he nor 
 Lady Meadow^es would ever be received at Ilford 
 Castle, or allowed the smallest intercourse with 
 his sister or her children ; a threat to which he 
 had adhered with a degree of vindictive obsti- 
 nacy, such as the inconsistency of modern society 
 rarely calls into play. 
 
 It is true that circumstances favoured their 
 estrangement. They were never accidentally 
 
60 PROGRESS 
 
 thrown in each other's way. The Meadoweses 
 lived in the strictest retirement ; and but for the 
 yearnings of Lady Davenport's tender heart after 
 her only brother and his offspring, they might 
 easily have been forgotten at Ilford Castle. 
 
 This unnatural estrangement, however, threw 
 a cloud over her existence, even before the con- 
 duct of her younger boy afforded her cause 
 for dissatisfaction. Yet dearly as she loved her 
 brother Mark, when forbidden to correspond 
 with him, she obeyed. Her whole life had been 
 an act of obedience : — an act more praiseworthy 
 than pleasant. But the darker moments of 
 the domestic struggle were yet to be en- 
 countered. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 61 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 One half the twelvemonth's leave of absence 
 accorded to Captain Davenport at the end of 
 the campaign, on the usual plausible plea of ill- 
 health, had just expired ; when his brother 
 Hugh walked one morning into the bachelor 
 domicile already described : — it would be incor- 
 rect to say, to breakfast — for, as regarded hours, 
 and more especially meal-hours, Marcus was as 
 little to be relied upon as if still a campaigner. 
 But Mr. Davenport was fortunate in finding 
 him seated before his steaming coffee and 
 smoking pillau ; and their colloquy w^as all the 
 more sociable for the cover instantly laid for the 
 
62 PROGRESS 
 
 unexpected guest by Captain Davenport's in- 
 comparable soldier servant. 
 
 Astonishing how much the exercise of the 
 masticatory functions tends to forward despatch 
 of small-talk ! Hugh, who was fresh from 
 Ilford Castle, where he had been spending the 
 recess, announced that Marcus had grievously 
 offended his father by keeping aloof from the 
 family circle. 
 
 "I can't help it! His lordship must fume 
 away his wrath," said Captain Davenport, in 
 reply to his brother's mild remonstrances. " It 
 would have been gross hypocrisy on my part to 
 go. 1 am bored out of aU human patience at 
 Ilford. 'Tis the only spot under the canopy of 
 heaven where I am not allowed the free exercise 
 of my understanding. At my last visit, I found 
 myself gradually lignifying into just such an 
 automaton as my poor dear mother ! It is 
 horrible — yes, by Heavens, Hugh, it is really 
 horrible to see the weight of authority by which 
 the governor has extinguished her powers of 
 mind." 
 
 *' I see nothing horrible in the case," said 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 63 
 
 Hugh, quietly helping himself to more rice. 
 " My mother is an excellent wife ; and perfectly 
 understands the best duties of woman's mission. 
 
 She has her humour best when she obeys. " 
 
 " Why I vow to Heaven, my dear Hugh, 
 the Ilford torpor is extending even to yourself !" 
 cried Marcus. " My father, with his soul con- 
 centered in his draining-tiles and patent ma- 
 nures, is gradually obliterating the intellects 
 of the family. — Accept my sincere congratula- 
 tions, Mark Davenport, my friend, for your 
 obstinacy in spending the holidays in town ; 
 thanks to which, I am not at present conscious 
 of any symptoms of the family infirmity." 
 
 " What infirmity ?" inquired the matter-of- 
 fact Hugh. 
 
 " Something akin to the condition of the half- 
 alive prince in the Arabian Tales, one moiety of 
 whose person had been converted into marble 
 by an evil genius." 
 
 Hugh replied by a modified smile. " Be 
 assured, my dear fellow," said he, " that at pre- 
 sent, I enjoy the full use of my limbs." 
 
64 PROGRESS 
 
 " Ay, but not of your faculties. At Ilford, 
 you dare not say your soul's your own. At 
 least, I can answer for myself that, with my 
 father's eye upon me, I never feel the lawful 
 proprietor of either soul or body. I could not, 
 for instance, presume to call for a glass of pale 
 ale with my chicken, as I am doing now because 
 I breakfast at tiffin time. His lordship would 
 be shocked — no, not shocked, but indignant at 
 any innovation foreign to his habits : — to say 
 nothing of having no pale ale in his cellar to 
 take the shine out of his homebrewed, as heavy 
 as his own speeches at the Agricultural meeting." 
 
 Again, Hugh smiled faintly. 
 
 -' I wish, my dear Mark," said he, " that 
 there were no graver causes of dissension 
 between you and my father, than the quality of 
 his ale, or of his oratory." 
 
 " When people want to quarrel," rejoined his 
 brother, " they quarrel about straws. And 
 there is always a truss at hand to supply dis- 
 putes between myself and my Anchises. On 
 no subject do we think alike ! He told me, the 
 last time there was a flare-up between us, that 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 65 
 
 I was no Davenport — that I was a Meadowes at 
 heart. I believe he said it chiefly to wound 
 my poor mother's feehngs. But, thank Heaven, 
 she only looked the more fondly at me, and 
 seemed gratified by the accusation." 
 
 " But what had provoked him to such a 
 remark ?" 
 
 " Aha, Mr. Hugh ! Jesuit that you are ! 
 trying to make me prove myself in the wrong. 
 What provoked him to it was that, after he had 
 summed up, for the ten thousandth time, every 
 guinea I had cost him since I went to Eton — 
 all the debts — all the bills he had paid on my 
 unworthy behalf, I, knowing my liabilities, and 
 the utter impossibihty of ever meeting them 
 without selling my commission, gave him a 
 remote hint of my intention to quit the army." 
 
 " Against which, of course, he remonstrated?" 
 
 " Why of course ? Am I not at liberty, at 
 six-and-twenty, to choose my own profession ?" 
 
 " At liberty, certainly — " 
 
 " At nineteen, I went to India to please him ; 
 
 squandering the best years of my life among 
 
 IP cobra de capellas and the tigers of the Bengal 
 
66 PROGRESS 
 
 jungles and a line reginnent," continued Marcus 
 with growing warmth. " And having stinig- 
 gled through it all to the best of my limbs and 
 abilities, for my own credit and that of my 
 family, I am not going to be browbeaten by 
 the narrow-minded author of my days because 
 I want to pay my debts, like an honest man, by 
 the only means in my power." 
 
 " But surely, as my father gave you your 
 commission, he has some right to a voice in 
 the matter ?" 
 
 " Gave me my commission ? Could he do 
 less than bestow a few hundred pounds on the 
 maintenance of one out of his two sons ? Why 
 send me to Eton — why send me to the Univer- 
 sity — if he intended to place me in a marching 
 regiment and allow me only half the interest of 
 the ten thousand pounds which he calls my 
 portion under his marriage settlements — My 
 portion /" repeated Marcus, impatiently shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. " With such views, he had 
 better have sent me to the Ilford Grammar- 
 school and articled me to an attorney." 
 
 " Marcus, Marcus !" 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 67 
 
 " Well — because I argued the case with him 
 on its own merits, and when he twitted me with 
 wasting in riot and excess what he was pleased 
 to term the splendid abilities with which Nature 
 has gifted me, and I respectfully replied that so 
 far from wasting them, I had every encourage- 
 ment given me by my friends to obtain a 
 handsome competence as an artist, he exploded 
 into a fit of frenzy, and called me a Meadowes 
 at heart." 
 
 " On which, alas ! you parted in mutual 
 displeasure, and have not met since !" 
 
 " And you wonder at it ?" 
 
 "My father might have called me a Mea- 
 dowes fifty times over, and I should have felt 
 only proud of the name once borne by my 
 mother, one of the most ancient in England." 
 
 " The tone — the manner in which he made 
 the accusation were everything. My father 
 used the name only to signify one of a race 
 who don't mind disgracing themselves to gratify 
 their foolish fancies." 
 
 " But after your threatening him to become 
 an artist — a professional artist— " 
 
68 PROGRESS 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, why not ? You 
 all pretend to be proud of these Indian sketches 
 of mine. If I can command a handsome 
 income by the practice of an art which immor- 
 tahses, what is there more degrading in the 
 occupation than in that of the law, for which I 
 was first destined ? In either case, I sell to the 
 public the works of my brains and hands. A 
 colour-box, or a pounce-box — what difference ? 
 Receiving the price of a picture is surely not 
 more vile than cringing for fees to an at- 
 torney ?" 
 
 " In such cases, usage is everything." 
 " Usage has been everything. But the world, 
 my dear Hugh, is coming to years of discretion. 
 Our grandsons will find their account in 
 becoming painters, sculptors, authors, civil en- 
 gineers ; instead of wasting their youth soldiering 
 in country towns or noxious colonies, or learn- 
 ing profane oaths and foul language in a 
 cockpit; in order to achieve a moderate provi- 
 sion as generals or admirals, when they have 
 no longer a tooth left to eat the bread they 
 have earned so hardly." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 69 
 
 " The wisest of us, I'm afraid, can little 
 surmise what will be done by his grandsons," 
 observed Hugh Davenport, gravely. " Precedent 
 is, I admit, neutralised by the present ab-normal 
 state of the world ; but — " 
 
 " There !" interrupted Marcus, triumphantly. 
 "Even you admit that society is in a state of 
 transition. Then why not profit by the move- 
 ment ? Depend upon it, Hugh, if I set up as 
 artist, I will contrive to make my palette and 
 brush respected." 
 
 " Ay, if you only bully the rest of the world 
 as you have bullied my father, and are en- 
 deavouring to bully me," replied his brother, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Then let us talk reasonably," said Marcus, 
 lowering his voice, which had been gradually 
 wound up to barrack-room pitch, till it pro- 
 voked his pet cockatoo into sympathetic screams 
 of " Marcus, old fellow, Marcus, Marcus !" 
 
 "With all my heart. I came hither on 
 purpose." 
 
 " As an emissary from my father ?" 
 
 " As a brother who loves you better than all 
 
70 PROGRESS 
 
 your friends and toadies put together," replied 
 Hugh, warmly. " Marcus, you are not just." 
 
 " Yes, I am, for I am ashamed of myself," 
 cried the younger brother, extending his hand. 
 " Wait a moment till I am cool again, and we 
 will start fair." 
 
 And having rung for the table to be cleared, 
 and dipped his hands in a finger-glass, Captain 
 Davenport wheeled round his arm-chair towards 
 the divan by the fireside, on which Hugh had 
 already taken up his position. 
 
 " In one word then, Marcus," resumed his 
 brother, " my mission here is to persuade you to 
 accept a third of the allowance of six hundred 
 a-year made me by my father ; which, with the 
 two hundred he gives you, will bring our 
 incomes to a level — four hundred a-piece." 
 
 " For what do you take me, Hugh ?" — cried 
 Marcus, drawing up to his highest altitude. 
 
 " For a kind brother, if you accede to my 
 proposal. Believe me, you will do nothing with 
 my father. He has taken as regards you what 
 the French call a mauvais pli ; and so long as you 
 and he are at odds, there is no peace at Ilford." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 71 
 
 " And you consider that a sufficient reason 
 for me to rob you of your birthright ?" 
 
 " With four hundred a-year, I shall have 
 enough, and more than enough, for my needs. 
 Were my father to allow me the thousand or 
 fifteen hundred per annum which you and your 
 friends sometimes say it is his duty to do, I 
 should not know what to do with it. I might 
 become a prodigal, or a miser." 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other. — You would 
 remain what you are : — an excellent fellow — 
 considering everybody's comfort before your 
 own." 
 
 " You give me more credit than I deserve. 
 I have no expensive tastes. A better steed 
 than is comprised in my old bay hack, would be 
 a nuisance to me. Half the year I live at free 
 quarters in the old den in Spring Gardens ; the 
 other half, at Ilford Castle." 
 
 " Hugh ! you will drive me mad !" inter- 
 rupted Captain Davenport, starting up in 
 disgust. " Do you mean to stereotype your 
 life and memoirs in this creeping style? Do 
 you intend to degenerate altogether into ' the 
 
72 PROGRESS 
 
 weed that rots itself at ease in Lethe's wharf?' 
 Am I never to be as proud of the development 
 of your mind as of the warmth of your heart? 
 You know, as well as I do, all you might be ; 
 all we have a right to expect of you. Yet under 
 the leaden mace of my father's authority, I 
 swear you are becoming a mere acquiescent 
 puppet. You sit in the House as like a log, as 
 you used in the old school-room at Ilford. You 
 consider only your duty towards Lord Daven- 
 port, by whom you were returned ; — not your 
 duty towards your neighbour, whose interests 
 you have sworn on the Gospel to serve and 
 protect !" 
 
 " You are somewhat hard upon me, Mark," 
 said Hugh Davenport, taking advantage of his 
 brother's pause for breath. 
 
 " Not harder than you deserve ! Moreover, 
 as you have just done a princely thing by me — 
 I speak under the safeguard of that great obliga- 
 tion. — I would give worlds — such worlds as one 
 has to give — that you would begin to do your- 
 self justice, and prove yourself to the world all 
 you have shown yourself to me. But that 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 73 
 
 miserable shyness of yours, dear Hugh, and 
 above all, your dread of irritating my father and 
 causing him to harass his wife, will wrap round 
 your youth in worthless obscurity till, when 
 hereditary rank and fortune devolve upon you, 
 you will have become old, cold, selfish and idle ; 
 disposed to follow implicitly the track of pre- 
 ceding Davenports, — the line of cart-wheels and 
 heavy wagons ! Consider to what a calculating 
 machine my father has reduced himself; as 
 plodding a money-maker in his agricultural 
 speculations as any old grocer in Cheapside ; 
 and for the love of mercy and of me, beware of 
 going and doing likewise." 
 
 " Scarcely likely, with such a Hotspur for a 
 councillor," pleaded Hugh, with one of his for- 
 giving smiles. " Meanwhile, be patient, and 
 allow me to fulfil my duties, public and private, 
 as I understand them : — cheering the life of the 
 dearest of mothers ; and tottering in my political 
 leading-strings, till I have learned to walk." 
 
 " When even your old nurse could tell you 
 that leading-strings have been abolished for the 
 last half century; and that brats and tyros 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 PROGRESS 
 
 acquire the use of nature's gifts, by means of 
 their own thumps, bumps, and tumbles. You 
 have been more than five years in Parliament, 
 Hugh. Who besides Dod and the almanack is 
 even cognizant of the fact ?" 
 
 " Thousands of the townspeople of Rawburne, 
 whose interests I have been the means of pro- 
 tecting ; scores, whose interests I have been the 
 means of advancing." 
 
 " Hillo ! Jobbery and corruption, Parson 
 Hugh ? — I never should have thought it." 
 
 " No jobbery ; but a fair exercise of lawful 
 influence in favour of worthy objects. As a 
 speaker, I am not wanted. My father knew, 
 when he placed me in Parhament, my inten- 
 tions on that head ; as well as the exact cha- 
 racter and bent of my political opinions. I 
 have not deviated from them. He is satisfied 
 — Rawburne is satisfied — / am satisfied. Why 
 seek to disturb our mutual satisfaction ?" 
 
 " Because I can't bear to see a priceless dia- 
 mond serving only as a lantern to light the poor 
 fishermen's cottage — as we used to read in 
 the Arabian Nights, before they were spoiled 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 75 
 
 by being made specimens of what Byron calls 
 ' the choicest Orientalism.' " 
 
 " Every dunce in the House, my dear Mark, 
 is a priceless diamond in the estimation of his 
 nearest relations ; and believe me — " 
 
 But Marcus had no leisure just then for the 
 exercise of his faith or credulity. The room- 
 door was burst open by what at first sight 
 appeared to be a gentleman disguised as a Turk 
 in a masquerade costume, who had grossly over- 
 dressed his part. A vest and tunic of an 
 extravagant shawl-pattern, were cinctured at the 
 waist with a scarlet cord and tassels, over long, 
 loose red trowsers, and yellow morocco slippers, 
 crowned by a richly-embroidered fez ; from 
 which escaped long auburn locks, intermingled 
 with most Saracenic whiskers meeting below 
 the chin of the wearer. 
 
 Holding a cherry-stick pipe in one hand, and 
 the Times newspaper in the other, this un- 
 ceremonious visitor threw himself on one of 
 the divans near the fireplace ; and, having tossed 
 out of his eyes the dishevelled locks blown into 
 them by the rapidity of his ascent in mounting 
 
 E 2 
 
76 PROGRESS 
 
 the stairs, he nodded famiUarly to Hugh Daven- 
 port, and saluted the younger brother by the 
 name of " old fellow ;" a mode of address whose 
 comprehensive tenderness is equivalent to the 
 " mon cher " of a French elegant. 
 
 Hamilton Drewe, the intruder who, from his 
 domicile on the first floor, had thus unceremo- 
 niously invaded his neighbour's territories, 
 would, however, have scorned the name of 
 " elegant.'" Though so extravagantly accoutred, 
 he flattered himself he had a soul above 
 '^ buttons — even though they were of cinque- 
 cento fashion or wrought by Froment Meu- 
 rice. Rich in personal gifts, and tolerably clever, 
 this young gentleman might have formed a 
 valuable member of society, had he not emerged 
 into the London crowd at a moment when the 
 white-cravated Brummel school which suc- 
 ceeded to the white-coated Sir John Lade 
 school, had just abdicated in favour of the 
 eccentric man of genius, copied after the pattern 
 of Vivian Grey. 
 
 Most people are of opinion that the Honour- 
 
 .■* 
 
 able and Right Honourable aspirants to the bays, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 77 
 
 who, in these our times, indite maudlin histories, 
 flaccid romances, or helter-skelter books of travels, 
 — or who favour Mechanics' Institutes and Pro- 
 vincial Athenaeums with a view of their white 
 gloves, embroidered shirts, and fiddle-faddle phi- 
 losophy, exhibit a considerable improvement on 
 the coarse men of coaching times, or the fine 
 gentlemen of the Regency. Since they drink 
 less, they are supposed to think more. But 
 as regards the general benefit of mankind, there 
 was more manliness in the rougher class which 
 was less afraid of meeting the winds of Heaven 
 face to face. The dandies fought well at Water- 
 loo, — established the sportsmanship of Melton, 
 — and have budded the old crab-stock of John 
 Bull with fruit of excellent flavour. It remains 
 to be seen whether the self-seeking, over-con- 
 scious, over-taught, and over-teaching generation 
 we have baptized in the waters of Helicon, and 
 nurtured upon the fruit of the Tree of Know- 
 ledge, will not abort into peevish old prigs, 
 incapable of expanding into the lofty sentiments 
 and generous afi'ections of middle age ; — maun- 
 dering away their days at Scientific Meetings and 
 
7 8 PROGRESS 
 
 Literary Associations, where they are courted, 
 for the value of their *' name in the bills," into a 
 belief that they understand what is going on ; 
 instead of devoting their time to the multifarious 
 duties apportioned to their station in life. 
 . Hamilton Drewe was one of the best speci- 
 mens of the class : for he was thoroughly in 
 earnest. Early an orphan, and born to the 
 enjoyment of an estate of nearly five thousand 
 a-year in the sturdy county of Northumberland, 
 his guardianship had been unluckily consigned 
 to the hands of a distant relative, an old bache- 
 lor, wedded by a morganatic marriage to the 
 whole Nine Muses at once ; who looked upon 
 Hterary renown as the highest attainable dis- 
 tinction. Instead of bringing up his ward to 
 be a useful man in his generation, qualified to 
 reconcentrate a property injured by neglect and a 
 long minority, Wroughton Drewe, Esq., F.R.S., 
 F.A.S., F.L.S. and all the rest of it— had 
 taught him to despise provincial life ; to de- 
 nounce country gentlemen as clods of the 
 valley ; and to prefer public scholarship and an 
 assumed sympathy in the opening of barrows 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 79 
 
 and collecting of scarabsei, to the legisla- 
 tion of his county, or his country, and the 
 " better regulation" of himself and his estates. 
 
 Instead of sending his young relative to one 
 of our public schools, Mr. Drewe fancied he was 
 doing better for his intellects and morals, by 
 placing him under the care of a forty-donkey- 
 power pedagogue of a private tutor. At sixteen, 
 he was removed from the narrow village circle 
 to which he had been an object of adulation, to 
 a German university, to be rendered muzzy 
 with Hegelian philosophy, beer, tobacco, and 
 aesthetics : nor was it wonderful that, at twenty, 
 he should return to the hands of his cousin 
 Wroughton, with a smattering of universal 
 knowledge, and in his portmanteau a thin quarto 
 of fugitive poetry, original, and translated. 
 
 Now Drewe the elder was a man of Blooms- 
 bury ; — in his youth a working placeman, but 
 long since retired on a pension and a moderate 
 competence; to find recreation in remodelling 
 his education by the lectures of the Royal 
 Institution, and the sittings of the Horticultural, 
 Linnsean, Zoological, Philological, Ethnological, 
 
80 PROGRESS 
 
 Medico-botanical, Entomological, and Heaven 
 knows how many more learned societies ; where 
 he fancied himself as much instructed, as men 
 really instructed find themselves amused. At 
 all events, he acquired the cant of scientific 
 knowledge ; as the connoisseurs of the last 
 century, so ably described by Goldsmith and 
 Sterne, acquired the jargon of criticism. A 
 few dinners, in the course of the season, to the 
 sapient professors rejoicing in the appendix to 
 their names of all the letters of the alphabet 
 conjoined with that of F, obtained for him a 
 reputation of Mec^enas-ship. And though he 
 would have been puzzled to classify the ground- 
 sel springing within the rusty palisades , of 
 Bloomsbury Square, or the aphides sulkily 
 fattening thereon, he passed, from Museum 
 Street to the London University, as an em- 
 bodied Cosmos. Rusty-coated literati inclined 
 their heads reverentially when they heard men- 
 tion of the name of Mr. Wroughton Drewe. 
 
 By way of introducing his rich and accom- 
 plished admirable Crichton of a ward to the beau 
 monde, he put up his name at the Alfred, and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 81 
 
 one or two equally somniferous clubs, and pro- 
 posed him as a member of several learned socie- 
 ties ; and great was his mortification when, some 
 months afterwards, the erratic genius suddenly 
 started for the East, in a fit of disgust at the 
 severe castigation inflicted by the critics upon 
 his maiden volume. The ex-guardian consoled 
 himself, as best he might, by the conviction that 
 he would return from the Cataracts of Upper 
 Egypt, a la Byron, exalted in importance by 
 an Oriental heard, and a forthcoming canto of 
 a new Childe Harold. 
 
 Nothing of the kind. The young gentleman 
 brought only a few shawls, tobacco pouches, and 
 papooshes ; with his dragoman's and courier's 
 accounts, to be audited, and a constitution 
 considerably enfeebled by the debilitating fever 
 of the Levant. 
 
 He had, however, established in the interim 
 a species of reputation. He had been called in 
 literary journals " that enterprising traveller, Mr. 
 Hamilton Drewe" — nay, in a journal seldom 
 read except by the victims of its sanguinary 
 articles, that " promising scholar/' that '* dis- 
 
 E 3 
 
82 PROGRESS 
 
 tinguished and rising poet ;" and he became con- 
 sequently still more enamoured of himself than 
 when simply patted on the back by Bloomsbury 
 Square. 
 
 The promising scholar and distinguished 
 poet considered it due to his reputation to give 
 literary breakfasts, and literary dinners ; sedu- 
 lously frequented by certain pseudo scholars 
 and self-styled men of letters ; who fooled him 
 to the top of his bent — called him Byron — 
 Lamartine — Eothen — drank his claret, drew 
 on his banker, and when his back was turned, 
 laughed him to scorn. In Hunt and Roskell's 
 bill, there appeared to his debit an item of six 
 silver-gilt standishes. — Six ! — Could the ink 
 consumed in inditing " Blossoms of the Soul," 
 have demanded the use of six standishes ? 
 No ! but the small reviewers did — who had 
 wrapped up that delicate and well-puffed effusion 
 in the cotton of their bespoken praise. 
 
 The youthful bard, or as the Knights of the 
 Standish styled him, the youthful darling of 
 the Muses, had not thought it necessary to 
 re-explore, on his return to Christendom, the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 83 
 
 " wilds of Bloomsbury." Having despatched 
 to his ex-guardian his tributary offering of 
 papyrus, and a MS. or two purchased for its 
 weight in gold, at one or other of the Levantine 
 monasteries which Mr. Curzon's interesting 
 work had brought into notice, he issued strict 
 orders to the Giannino whom Byron's example 
 had erected into his Groom of the Chambers, 
 never to admit into them a bald-headed, hook- 
 nosed elderly gentleman, bearing his own name 
 and the physiognomy of a vulture digesting. 
 
 In exchange for what he renounced in this 
 erudite privy councillor, the incipient Byron 
 devoted to the pursuit of literary distinction 
 under difficulties, had acquired only the friend- 
 ship of Marcus Davenport. And to a man like 
 Drewe, it was invaluable. Marcus was an 
 unsparing hater of humbug; — a sworn enemy 
 to impostors. He would not have toadied a 
 king for his throne : far less a reviewer for 
 his praise. Least of all, any of the six be- 
 standished editors, unheard of in the world of 
 letters save by hapless authors of volumes of 
 Occasional Poems. 
 
84 PROGRESS 
 
 Dr. Johnson could not have spoken with 
 more brutal plainness than Davenport to his 
 aspiring neighbour of the first floor, — 
 
 That best natur'd man with the worst natur'd Muse, — 
 
 when advising him to abjure foolscap and 
 wirewove, and go home and cultivate his 
 estates. 
 
 " At Cub Hall," said he, " you may become 
 a useful man in your generation ; marry a 
 baronet's daughter, and improve the race of 
 swedes, sheep, and Drewes. As a poet, take 
 my word for it, you'll never rise to the level of 
 Day and Martin's, or the author of Human 
 Life. Far better crown yourself with a wreath 
 of turnip-tops, my dear fellow, than with such 
 miserable laurels." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 85 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 But it is almost time to return into Glouces- 
 tershire ; where incidents of unusual interest 
 were disturbing the even tenour of the ways of 
 Meadowes Court. 
 
 In Amy Meadowes's monotonous life it was 
 an event to migrate from home even to the 
 distance of a couple of miles. Sir Mark was 
 to remain on the spot, as overseer of the works. 
 But the transfer of the invalid to her new 
 domicile was not effected without some anxiety 
 both to her husband and child. 
 
 To their great surprise, Lady Harriet was 
 standing under the porch of Radensford Manor 
 to receive her guests. 
 
86 PROGRESS 
 
 " Yes ! It is even so," said she, offering her 
 arm to assist Lady Meadowes into the drawing- 
 room, where a cozy sofa drawn near the fire, 
 awaited her. " After all my fine professions of 
 making you lady-paramount here, dear Lady 
 Meadowes, I must claim your hospitality. I am 
 prevented going to my sister Louisa by illness 
 in her house. So far from receiving me, she 
 has sent me her son William, to be out of the 
 way of the fever which is raging around them. 
 Had she wished me, how-ever, to keep the 
 engagement, I should not have thought of 
 taking the poor boys into the danger of in- 
 fection." 
 
 " But under all these circumstances, we shall 
 perhaps be in your way?" said her visitor. 
 " The carriage is not yet unpacked. Nothing 
 would be easier than to return, and postpone 
 our undertaking for a time." 
 
 " Nothing would be more difficult, if you 
 intend to complete it before the frosty weather 
 sets in. And why, my dear friend ? Surely 
 you know enough of this rambling old house to 
 admit that it contains three or four spare bed- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 87 
 
 rooms ; — and that nothing could delight me 
 half so much as to have them occupied by you 
 and yours." 
 
 " Then we are all happy, and the thing 
 is settled," interrupted Amy. " Our visit to 
 Radensford will be far pleasanter than we had 
 a right to expect." 
 
 Then, recollecting that Lady Harriet's ne- 
 phew, William Eustace, who had occasionally 
 visited the Manor House as long as she could 
 remember, was now a young man of four-and- 
 twenty, a Member of Parliament, and a star in 
 the fashionable world, it suddenly occurred to 
 her that she had said too much ; and, blushing 
 and confused, she made matters worse by 
 endeavouring to modify her frank declaration. 
 
 She could have withdrawn her compliment 
 in all sincerity on the morrow. After an even- 
 ing spent in disjointed chat in Lady Harriet's 
 old-fashioned drawing-room, Amy felt that the 
 Mr. Eustace, who was no longer called William 
 in the family, was anything but an acquisition. 
 He was either dull, or supercilious. She wasted 
 some time in endeavouring to find out which. 
 
88 PROGRESS 
 
 For though silent and unsympathetic, he was 
 too good-looking and too weU-bred to be an 
 object of indifference. The result of her cogi- 
 tations was, that it was a pity so handsome a 
 young man should be so thoroughly disagree- 
 able. But Amy's cheerful temper was not 
 long influenced by the dryness of their unex- 
 pected inmate. She proceeded to amuse the 
 little boys when they were released from the 
 school-room, and to arrange Lady Meadowes's 
 work-table and sofa, exactly as if he had not 
 been present. 
 
 To do him justice, he intruded as little as pos- 
 sible into the family circle. Off at early morn- 
 ing with the keepers to shoot over the wide-lying 
 farms of the Manor, he was never visible till 
 dinner ; to the hilarity of which, he contributed 
 about as much as the statue of the commandant 
 would have done to the supper of Don Juan. 
 Even at the tea-table, with the honours of which 
 Amy was entrusted, while her mother and Lady 
 Harriet crooned together over their household 
 interests and parish gossip, instead of making 
 the smallest effort to entertain the fair young 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 89 
 
 guest of the house, he retreated to a distant 
 sofa with a reading lamp and a pamphlet. * 
 
 Marvellous, indeed, would it have appeared 
 to Amy, had any one informed her that this 
 silent young gentleman passed for a Phoenix in 
 his own county ; and was classed, even in 
 London, among the " men of wit and pleasure 
 about town." His abilities, unquestionably above 
 par, had been polished by what Great Britain 
 calls a first-rate education, viz., a public school 
 and the university ; — on learning which, Amy 
 was disposed to attribute his dulness to an 
 overweight of classics and mathematics. 
 
 She judged him wrongfully. Young Eustace 
 was no pedant. His present moroseness arose 
 from a certain lecture by which his aunt had 
 signified, on his arrival, that she considered his 
 heart in considerable danger from the attractions 
 of a simple country girl ; — his heart — for which 
 Clarissa Harlowe, in all the glory of her beauty 
 and heiress-ship, would have had as little attrac- 
 tion as her dairy-maid ! Even in the midst of 
 her flurries and fusses at the compulsory change 
 of her plans, Lady Harriet had found time to 
 
90 PROGRESS 
 
 exact from her nephew that he would not en- 
 deayour to turn the head of the rustic beauty 
 under her roof by unmeaning attentions ; which 
 after all would possibly end in his own entangle- 
 ment. 
 
 " Fear nothing, my dear aunt," was his 
 scornful reply. " I promise you that your 
 partridges and pheasants are the only victims 
 likely to signalise my sojourn at Radensford." 
 
 "That's well, — that's right, — that's all I 
 wanted to hear," said she, accepting at once 
 his self-confident assertion. " For I am too well 
 acquainted with my sister Louisa's principles, 
 to hope for forgiveness if 1 allowed you to form 
 an attachment to Amy Meadowes." 
 
 " To the daughter of an old baronet ? Why 
 what am I myself but a baronet's son ?" 
 
 " No matter. Louisa and I understand each 
 other. I know her views for you; and shall 
 certainly do nothing to thwart them. 
 
 Mr. Eustace was too proud to pursue the 
 inquiry. Neither his mother nor his aunt were 
 people to be forced into frankness. Creations 
 of the point-ruffles and hoop-petticoat school 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 91 
 
 of education, in which filial duty was synony- 
 mous with passive obedience, having practised 
 it towards their own parents, they now exacted 
 it of their offspring. Both were well-intending, 
 conscientious women ; but unyielding as iron in 
 the execution of the duties into which they had 
 been trammelled. Born of an exemplary family 
 and reared in a circle above and beyond the 
 reach of vulgar temptations, they had no charity 
 for the frailties of their less fortunate fellow- 
 creatures. Like the potter's clay, they had 
 hardened in the sunshine of life : had suffered 
 no persecution — had learned no mercy. They 
 expected the business of the stirring struggling 
 world to be transacted with the praiseworthy 
 punctuality of their own narrow households ; 
 and the smallest default in morality was visited 
 with anathema and excommunication ; not only 
 as regarded the tables of divine law, but in all 
 those petty enactments of conventional life 
 summed up by common-place people into 
 " public opinion," 
 
 Lady Harriet, indeed, was a trifle less severe 
 than her sister : for the deaths of a beloved 
 
92 PROGRESS 
 
 son and daughter-in-law in the prime of life 
 had in some degree mollified the sternness of 
 her heart. Till those melancholy events, though 
 compelled by her late husband, Colonel Warne- 
 ford, to maintain terms of civility with their 
 neighbours at Meadowes Court, she had treated 
 Lady Meadowes with the coldest reserve. But 
 from the period of her great loss, when the 
 kindly sympathy and Christian condolence of 
 the gentle invalid were so unsparingly yielded, 
 she had renounced in Lady Meadowes's favour 
 her favourite phrase of " remembering what 
 was due to herself and to pubhc opinion." 
 
 But though thus humanely oblivious, — 
 though she condescended to admit to her friend- 
 ship a faultless, blameless woman, — she under- 
 stood too well the prejudices of Sir Henry and 
 Lady Louisa Eustace to suppose they would 
 tolerate a marriage between their only son and 
 the daughter of a promoted governess. If even 
 Lord and Lady Davenport had judged it due 
 to their dignity to break off all connection 
 with Sir Mark Meadowes in consequence of his 
 marriage, it was not likely that people who so 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 93 
 
 punctiliously submitted to the law of public 
 opinion as the Eustaces, should be more lenient. 
 As might be expected, Lady Harriet's offi- 
 ciousness and superfluous prohibitions secured 
 the usual results. Amy, who would have 
 been mystified and probably disgusted by Mr. 
 Eustace's habitual style of London trifling 
 and flirtation, was piqued by his incivility. 
 While on the other hand, the self-sufficient 
 Club-lounger, who would have resented the 
 corvee of making the agreeable to a country 
 Miss, began to fancy that the fruit must be 
 indeed golden, when so dragonised by his dic- 
 tatorial aunt. He was startled to find his 
 apparent incivility fail to humiliate as it ought 
 the untutored country girl ; nor could he help 
 continually speculating upon the influence of 
 his conduct on her countenance and manner. 
 He was always watching her. Even when beat- 
 ing a covert at three miles' distance from the 
 Manor House, he found himself wondering what 
 Amy was doing by the fireside ; and how she 
 managed to get through the morning amidst 
 skeins of silk and balls of worsted, enlivened 
 
94 PROGRESS 
 
 only by such wearisome companionship as that 
 of his perpendicular kinswoman. 
 
 One day, it suddenly crossed his mind that 
 some trick or artifice was concealed under the 
 sage counsels of Lady Harriet. Conscious how 
 deeply he was touched by the singular loveli- 
 ness and naivete of Amy Meadowes, it occurred 
 to him that this might be the end Lady Harriet 
 had intended to accomplish. The visit of the 
 Meadoweses to Radensford might have been 
 pre-arranged. He, he, the sapient and fashion- 
 able William Eustace, Esq., M.P., was perhaps 
 the dupe of a confederation of rustics, — a fox 
 caught in a mole trap ! 
 
 When this surmise presented itself first to 
 his mind, in the course of one of his snipe- 
 shooting excursions in the forest of Burdans, 
 he happened to be almost within view of 
 poor Amy's venerable birthplace; and, as if 
 pricked by a spur, he suddenly started off in the 
 direction of Meadowes Court. In his whelp- 
 hood, he had been a first favourite with the son- 
 less old baronet. He would go and ask him 
 for some breakfast, and ascertain whether there 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 95 
 
 were really works and workmen in the case, to 
 account for the dispersion of the family. 
 
 Long before he reached the grey walls of 
 the ^ancient Stamm-Haus, the question was 
 answered. The road was cut up, and un- 
 sightly with ruts. Muddy planks were lying 
 about ; — a fishy, foetid odour pervaded the atmo- 
 sphere. Dirty-looking labourers were driving 
 barrows, or wielding shovels ; and in coasting 
 the mansion in order to reach the entrance- 
 bridge, Mr. Eustace obtained an enUvening 
 glimpse of a muddy fosse, whose filthy surface 
 partially clothed with coarse herbage, decayed 
 weeds, gaping blue cockle-shells and broken 
 crockery, was quite as vexatious to the eye 
 as its emanations were unsatisfactory to the 
 smell. 
 
 The young sportsman began to feel that he 
 might as well have pursued his sport in the forest. 
 It was however too late to think of retreat. Sir 
 Mark who, in his old green cutaway and well- 
 worn flat straw hat, was inspecting the unload- 
 ing of the earth-carts, a few of which had 
 discharged their burden at the further extremity 
 
96 PROGRESS 
 
 of the moat, was already hurrying forward to 
 meet his visitor, shading his eyes from the 
 morning sun to assist his scrutiny. Eustace 
 was forced to advance; with far less alacrity 
 however, than the pointers, who seemed to per- 
 ceive that they had reached a land of plenty — 
 whether as regarded its kennel or its coverts. 
 
 " Why 'tis, — yet no, it can't be,— little Willy 
 Eustace — that is, young Mr. Eustace !" cried 
 the frank old baronet, seizing the hand which 
 his visitor shyly extended towards him. " Well, 
 God bless me, this is a surprise ! We haven't 
 met — ^let me see, 'twas when I was ser\'ing as 
 High Sheriff-r-not these six years — eh? And 
 heartily glad I am to see you again," he 
 continued, giving a rough shake to the hand 
 he had grasped so firmly during the progress 
 of his reminiscences. " I'm only sorry that 
 Lady Meadowes and my daughter should be 
 absent, to make an old man's welcome less 
 acceptable. But, as you see, the works going 
 on here are of a nature to drive 'em away." 
 
 • Mr. Eustace could almost have fancied that 
 the motives of his visit were discovered. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 97 
 
 " But now I think on't," resumed Sir Mark, 
 interrupting his train of reflections, " you must 
 be staying with Lady Harriet ? You are perhaps 
 in the house with them at Radensford ?" 
 
 " I left the Manor, Sir, only a couple of 
 hours ago; and have the pleasure of assuring 
 you that, when we parted last night, Lady 
 Meadowes and your daughter were in excellent 
 health and spirits." 
 
 " That's right — that's well ! And what's 
 again right and well, your news will spare 
 me a trot to the Manor this afternoon, for 
 which I could ill spare time ; — though, to do 
 the old shooting-pony justice, she carries me 
 to the village in less than a quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 " No visit of inspection, I can assure you, 
 is at all necessary," rejoined Mr. Eustace, 
 cheerfully. " I am here to answer every question 
 you may be inclined to ask." 
 
 " Then let 'em be asked and answered over 
 the breakfast-table," said Sir Mark, cordially. 
 " The bell rang five minutes ago — just as I 
 spied you. But a fresh supply of steaks and 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 PROGRESS 
 
 hot cakes will soon set matters to rights. Here 
 you ! John — Dick — Manesty ! — Take Mr. Eus- 
 tace's dogs round to the stable-yard ; unless," he 
 continued, with a sly smile, " petticoat-govern- 
 ment being in interregnum here just now, you 
 like to have the poor fellows with you in the 
 breakfast-parlour ?" 
 
 The dogs being Lady Harriet's and not his 
 own, Mr. Eustace preferred seeing them con- 
 signed to their proper place ; — and having given 
 up his gun to one of the keepers, he followed 
 Sir Mark into the cheerful breakfast-room, 
 liberally supplied with cold turkeypoult and 
 home-smoked ham, pressed beef and mealy 
 potatoes, hot bread, marmalade, and a smoking 
 broil ; — all that maketh glad the heart of 
 sportsman, and put to the blush the meagre, 
 dowao;er fare of Radensford Manor. 
 
 Before Sir Mark had despatched his first 
 bowl of tea, he acquainted his visitor with all 
 he had to tell concerning the nature and 
 motive of his improvements ; adding a decla- 
 ration that, had he known how lonesome he 
 should feel in this first separation from his 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 99 
 
 womankind, he would have seen the moat 
 further, before he thought of filhng it up. 
 Then came the avowal that the thought of 
 filling it would never have occurred to him, 
 but for the influence it was supposed to exer- 
 cise over the health of the best and dearest of 
 wives. 
 
 " You're not old enough," added Sir Mark, 
 " to understand that sort of thing at present. 
 It takes years and years, Mr. Eustace, to ripen 
 one's boyish notions of sentimental love into 
 the right-down manly feeling that binds a 
 man to the wife of his choice, and the fireside 
 gladdened by their children. But when the 
 time comes. Sir, for you to make the discover}', 
 mind my words, 'twill be the best-spent and 
 happiest day of your life." 
 
 The young snipe-shooter, who for twenty 
 minutes past had been getting smaller and 
 smaller in his shoes, overpowered by the hearty 
 spirit of his host, his liberal sentiments and 
 liberal housekeeping, enhanced by the fine old 
 plate, china and pictures, which implied small 
 need to descend to stratagem to secure a 
 
 F 2 
 
100 PROGRESS 
 
 partner for the daughter and heiress of the 
 house, gave a timid assent. At length, having 
 breakfasted as became one of the old baronets 
 whose bronzed faces smiled upon him from 
 the walls of the breakfast-parlour, rather than 
 as befitted a fastidious young Pelham of St. 
 James's Street, he took pity on the evident 
 desire of his host to return to his workmen, 
 and rose to depart : or perhaps took pity on 
 himself, — to whom Sir Mark, cheered by a 
 copious succession of the " cups that cheer but 
 not inebriate," insisted on showing and ex- 
 plaining the system of the forcing-pumps, by 
 which the still moist moat had been partially 
 desiccated, 
 
 " Unless I am back by twelve o'clock," he 
 said, in apology for his hasty departure, " Lady 
 Harriet, who is not aware of my intended visit;, 
 will be anxious and fidgety." 
 
 " Ay, that's the worst of my dear kind old 
 neighbour, — a sad fidget, — a sad fidget !" cried 
 Sir Mark. " I can't understand for my part, 
 how she ever came to admit you under her 
 roof, coming, as you say you do, from a district 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 101 
 
 where fever is raging. Wiiy, bless your soul ! 
 Lady Harriet would run away from the nettle 
 rash, if old Burnaby took it into his head to 
 make her believe it was infectious." 
 
 Mr. Eustace endeavoured to make him 
 understand that his visit to Radensford Manor 
 was thoroughly independent of the will and 
 choice of his aunt. But Sir Mark was too 
 much pre- engrossed to listen. His thoughts 
 were divided between the wagons of earth 
 he saw slowly approaching over the turf; — and 
 the assurances to be conveyed to his wife and 
 daughter, that (please God, and Lady Harriet 
 permitting), he would meet his daughter in the 
 family pew the following Sunday, and " take 
 his Sunday beef and pudden, afterwards, at the 
 Manor." Sir Mark proposed the plan as 
 frankly as he would have wished such a scheme 
 to be proposed to himself. — The old fellow's 
 heart was as open as his hand. — He could 
 understand no motive for demur in matters of 
 hospitality. 
 
 By the time Eustace had traversed half a 
 mile of the jolly old baronet's property, on his 
 
102 PROGRESS 
 
 way back to the narrow estate and penurious 
 habits of the Warnefords, he felt lowered in his 
 own estimation. Absurd, to suppose that the 
 proprietors of such a house as Meadowes Court 
 could descend to paltry plotting in behalf of 
 their daughter ; even were she a thousand times 
 less charming than the pretty Amy whom he 
 had been intent on keeping at a distance. As 
 he glanced at the autumnal rose which Sir 
 Mark had snatched from the porch, and charged 
 him to convey to his wife, with his best love and 
 blessing, and which alas, was already fading in 
 the button-hole of his shooting-jacket, he began 
 to be aware that, though a very fine gentleman 
 in Rotten Row, he was but a poor creature now 
 that his varnished boot was exchanged for a 
 shooting-shoe ; and its sole planted on honest 
 wholesome turf, a hundred miles distant from 
 the sooty herbage of Hyde Park. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 103 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " No ! don't put it into water to refresh it, 
 pleasi3," — said Amy, on receiving from him, on 
 his return, her father's message and flower, — to 
 convey to Lady Meadowes, who was undergoing 
 one of her " poorly " days, and had not yet 
 made her appearance. — " My mother would 
 prefer to have it in its present state, — exactly 
 as it was sent by papa. — Particularly, accom- 
 panied by such a pleasant message. — Sunday 
 at church — eat his Sunday dinner with us ! 
 We shall all be so happy ! — It seems so long 
 since we left him. After all, Mr. Eustace, 
 the song says true, ' There's no place like 
 home.' " 
 
104 PROGRESS 
 
 William Eustace gazed after the animated 
 girl as she hurried out of the room with the 
 rose in her hand, and a flush of joy brightening 
 her pleasant face : overcome by the confiding- 
 ness of her manner, — by her deep sense of 
 conjugal affection, — as well as by the conscious- 
 ness of his own inferiority of nature. He 
 understood, now, how much Eton and Oxford 
 had extracted of good out of it, in exchange 
 for the little they had conferred. — Virgil and 
 Horace, — or faith in the affection of a woman 
 of forty-five for a husband of sixty-six ! — 
 The odds were certainly not in favour of the 
 classics. 
 
 But it was written in the book of fate that 
 the Sunday dinner so sanguinely anticipated 
 was not to come off. — Su* Mark sent word 
 by Manesty, that he was vexed and dis- 
 appointed, but that "a friend out of the West 
 of England having come unexpectedly to stay 
 with him, he was under the necessity of re- 
 maining at Meadowes Court, to do the honours 
 to his guest." 
 
 This excuse passed as current v^-ith his wife 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 105 
 
 and daughter, as, with most people, it would 
 have done if issued by the Bank of England, 
 whose promises are, in these our times, the only 
 ones implicitly confided in. For Sir Mark 
 was essentiaEy a man of his word ; — a man 
 incapable of sw^erving a hair's breadth from the 
 truth ; — and on the present occasion, the pretext, 
 for a pretext it was, was none of his devising. 
 Old Nichols, once his foster-brother, now his 
 butler, suggested what he had often heard sug- 
 gested by his master, " anything rather than 
 alarm my lady and Miss Amy ! — " 
 
 The truth was that Sir Mark, pretty nearly 
 for the first time in his life, w-as unwell and 
 under medical superintendence ; and Doctor 
 Burnaby having decided that he must on no 
 account leave the house in the present indefinite 
 stage of his complaint, the innocent subterfuge 
 was concocted between them. 
 
 An equally innocent spirit of coquetry having 
 caused " Lady Meadowes and her daughter to 
 await the coming of this much-loved, simple- 
 hearted husband and father not only in their 
 " Sunday best," but prepared with all the news. 
 
 F 3 
 
106 PROGRESS 
 
 of the more than ten days they had passed 
 asunder, and all the honey of love they had been 
 hiving for the moment of their meeting, the 
 disappointment was great. They wished the 
 visitor from the West of England back at the 
 Land's End ; and already began to prepare for 
 the happiness of the following Sunday. 
 
 The under-keeper who brought the message, 
 meanwhile, his tongue being unloosed by the 
 excellent quality of the Manor ale, had let fall 
 hints of the truth in the servants' hall ; which 
 would not have failed of reaching Lady Mea- 
 dowes through her maid, had she indulged in 
 the vulgar habit of gossiping with her attend- 
 ant, common among finer ladies. But Amy 
 was in such systematic waiting upon her mother, 
 that this was impossible. Both retired to rest, 
 that night, satisfied that Sir Mark had been 
 enjoying his claret with an old friend ; and 
 hoping it was only the gravity of the Sabbath 
 evening which had rendered Mr. Eustace even 
 more taciturn than his wont. For while Lady 
 Harriet was dozing over Porteus's Sermons 
 (the pet theology of her girlhood) her nephew's 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 10? 
 
 depression haH seemed to amount almost to 
 indisposition. 
 
 Next morning, for a wonder, he joined the 
 family breakfast-table, and watched with quiet 
 admiration the assiduity of Amy in concocting 
 and carrying up-stairs her mother's tea. Not 
 all Lady Harriet's entreaties would induce her 
 to delegate the task to menial hands. 
 
 " I always wait upon mamma, at home/' said 
 Amy. " Pray allow me to carry up her break- 
 fast. She would not enjoy it unless in her cus- 
 tomary way. Invalids have fancies. Excuse 
 me, dear Lady Harriet; — and let me do as at 
 home." 
 
 Amy carried her point. But Lady Harriet, 
 who, judging from her ow^n feehngs, felt that 
 the dutiful daughter was gaining too great an 
 advantage over the heart of her sister's son, 
 began to exclaim against the dangers of morbid 
 sensibility. — " Lady Meadowes's dry toast might 
 just as well have been administered by her 
 maid." 
 
 Mr. Eustace thought otherwise. And he 
 managed to think otherwise than Lady Harriet's 
 
108 PROGRESS 
 
 thoughts, ckiring the remainder of breakfast ; and 
 oppose every word she uttered, till she began 
 to consider him exceedingly disrespectful. The 
 simple truth now occurred to her, — that he was 
 ill. If he saw cause to find fault that his three 
 little cousins, after breakfasting in their nursery, 
 were allowed to murmur over the Barbauld's 
 hymns they were committing to memory, in a 
 corner of the breakfast-room, for the better 
 chance of embellishing their pages with traces 
 of Dundee marmalade, her ladyship little sur- 
 mised that the origin of poor William's cap- 
 tiousness was an aching head, rather than an 
 aching heart. 
 
 Amy was kinder. Amy w^as more considerate. 
 When she came back from her mother's room 
 to hurry through her own tepid breakfast, she 
 felt real pity for the cross young man who was 
 gazing out of the window, with browns contracted 
 by suffering, at Lady Harriet's gaudy autumnal 
 parterres of China asters, African marigolds, 
 and marvel of Peru. 
 
 " 1 am sure you are not well this morning, 
 Mr. Eustace," said she, in the frankest manner. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 109 
 
 " You don't look like yourself. You are quite 
 heated and feverish." 
 
 " Thank you. I am not ill that I arn aware 
 of. A little head-ache, perhaps, after the pon- 
 derous Sunday fare of yesterday. Roast beef 
 and plum-pudding (especially if eaten together 
 after my dear aunt's heretical House of Hanover 
 imaginations), are dyspepsia and death." 
 
 " Dyspepsia, — as I perceive : — I trust not 
 death /" said Amy, smiling as she finished her 
 breakfast: — Lady Harriet having already pro- 
 ceeded with praiseworthy exactitude, to her 
 daily conferelice with the housekeeper. " But 
 come into the library, Mr. Eustace. There, we 
 shall find a good fire. You only want warming 
 to be on a par with the rest of us." 
 
 The captious young gentleman clearly wanted 
 more. For even while seated beside a huge 
 fire piled up with blazing beech-roots and 
 sparkling coal, he began to shiver and look 
 blue. The delinquent himself imagined that 
 his qualmish sensations arose from being 
 conscience- stricken : — and he longed to make 
 a clean breast of it, and avow to the girl who 
 
110 PROGRESS 
 
 evinced such ingenuous sympathy in his dis- 
 temperature, his penitent self-conviction of 
 coxcombry and presumption. But how was 
 this to be done without insulting her by an 
 explanation of his former impertinent sur- 
 mises ? He sat, therefore, aguish and depressed, 
 but apparently stupid and indifferent ; while 
 Amy prepared her mother's work to be ready 
 when Lady Meadowes was able to make her 
 usual noontide appearance. 
 
 Grateful, however, did he feel for her cheerful 
 conversation. He had never before noticed 
 how great a charm the habit of living with a 
 gentle invalid had imparted to her manner. 
 No bursts of hilarity, — no impetuosity of step 
 or gesture. — It was more like a tame fawn 
 gliding about a room, than a lively healthy girl 
 with the first bloom of youth still mantling on 
 her cheek. 
 
 At first, indeed, it was difhcult to withdraw 
 her attention from the pattern she was tracing 
 on the canvas, or the worsted she was sorting. 
 But at length, he touched upon his visit to 
 Meadowes Court ; and the sluice-gates of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 1 1 1 
 
 mutual confidence flew open in a moment. 
 Tears came into Amy's eyes as she adverted 
 to her disappointment of the preceding day. — 
 But they soon evaporated when she hegan to 
 talk of home. — How was her father looking? 
 Did he seem fatigued? — Was he harassed by 
 his workmen ? — Was he anxious for her re- 
 turn ?" 
 
 When these queries had been answered, came 
 secondary inquiries. Had he spoken to old 
 Nichols ? — Were Blanche and Sting admitted 
 into the breakfast-room ? — Did he notice in the 
 hall her pair of paroquets? — No child could 
 have been simpler in her questioning : — no child 
 more eager for his replies. 
 
 A colder-hearted man than William Eustace 
 would have found it difficult to resist the 
 earnestness of her sweet face, — the mutable 
 expression of her hazel eyes. Still, though 
 inexpressibly touched by the naivete of poor 
 Amy's country-bred manners, and the expres- 
 sive animation of her countenance, he felt too 
 much oppressed to answer as he could have 
 wished the catechism to which he was subjected. 
 
1 1 2 PROGRESS 
 
 Much within an hour, partly owing to the genial 
 warmth of the fire opposite ^o which he was 
 seated, partly from unaccountable weariness, he 
 dropped asleep. 
 
 The moment Amy perceived the condition of 
 her companion, she crept quietly out of the 
 room, and went in search of Lady Harriet, 
 Decorum or hypocrisy, call it which you will, 
 had no influence over the impulses of Amy 
 Meadowes. 
 
 " I am afraid, dear Lady Harriet," said she, 
 " that Mr. Eustace is ill. He has had a sort 
 of shivering fit ; and is now asleep in the 
 drawing-room. Pray go and see him, as soon 
 as he wakes again. I will stay up-stairs in 
 mamma's dressing-room, not to disturb him. 
 But he has either caught cold, or is what Miss 
 Honeywood used to call couver-ing an illness." 
 
 Lady Harriet tapped her on the shoulder, and 
 smiled. She would have said — " foolish little 
 girl ! why so over-solicitous ?" but for the fear of 
 hurting Amy's feelings. But after noticing her 
 susceptibility, she determined that so decided a 
 case of sympathy between her young friend and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 1 13 
 
 her nephew rendered it desirable that he should 
 return to his infected home in the North, sooner 
 than the bulletin of its bUls of mortality seemed 
 to justify. 
 
 She scarcely knew whether to be more 
 amused or vexed by Amy's solicitudes. But 
 before twenty-four hours had elapsed, her mind 
 was made up. Mr, Eustace's increasing indis- 
 position, which before night assumed a character 
 of alarming lethargy, determined her the fol- 
 lowing morning to summon Dr. Burnaby, her 
 family physician ; who, residing at the neigh- 
 bouring town of Cardington, nearly ten miles 
 off, was only called in at Radensford Manor 
 in cases of emergency. He came ; and the 
 grave face with which he contemplated his now 
 nearly insensible patient, sufficed to excite the 
 old lady's utmost alarm, even before his mode 
 of cross-questioning her concerning the nature 
 of the epidemic from which her nephew had 
 fled, and the length of time which had elapsed 
 since he established himself at the Manor, 
 apprised her of the nature of his attack. 
 
 " A fever, with something of typhoid symp- 
 
1 1 4 PROGRESS 
 
 toms ?" cried the blunt old doctor, repeat- 
 ing the words in which Lady Louisa Eustace's 
 letter had explained the matter to her sister : — 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! Why not say typhus 
 fever at once? Why not put people on their 
 guard ?" 
 
 He was almost inclined to rescind the opinion, 
 however, when he saw to what a state of agony 
 mere mention of the dreaded word had reduced 
 Lady Harriet. Not on her own account. She 
 M'as conscious of her own ripeness of years. 
 She was prepared to suffer, — she was prepared 
 to die. But she was not prepared to witness 
 the sufferings or death of the promising children 
 committed to her charge by her departed son ; 
 whose well-being she regarded as a sacred de- 
 posit. It would scarcely have been desirable 
 just then for Lady Louisa Eustace to have 
 encountered her indignant and tei-rified sister. 
 
 " But my dear, good lady," cried Doctor Bur- 
 naby, alarmed at the outpourings of acrimony 
 he had brought forth, — " where's the use of 
 wasting all these hard words on other people ? 
 Better turn round, and look about you, and see 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 115 
 
 what's to be done. 'Tisn't altogether civil, 
 Lady Harriet, to make so sure my patient will 
 die, I flatter myself I've brought worse cases 
 through, before now," 
 
 " I was not thinking of your patient, doctor ; 
 very dear though he is to me. I was thinking 
 of my three poor boys. What will become of 
 them, doctor?" 
 
 " Why not send them to the Rectory, dear 
 Lady Harriet ?" said Amy, who was standing, 
 pale as death, listening to the doctor's award. 
 
 " When I am not certain but that they might 
 carry with them the germ of the fever?" she 
 replied, severely, " Fie, Amy ! Sophia Burton 
 is the only child of her mother, and she is a 
 widow." 
 
 Doctor Barnaby looked better pleased with 
 his old friend now, than while she was reviling 
 her absent sister. 
 
 " If you're not afraid of trusting them to me 
 and my housekeeper, dear lady," said he, " Fll 
 undertake the bantlings, and bring them back 
 safe to you when the battle is over." 
 
 " My dear doctor ! — " 
 
116 PROGRESS 
 
 " To be plain with you, however," he con- 
 tinued, " I never saw much good arise from 
 running out of the way of infection. I'm not 
 clear that it does not evince an unbecoming 
 mistrust of the providence of God. — But of that 
 sin, I'm afraid by the blueness of your hps and 
 tremor of your hand, your ladyship already 
 stands convicted," added he. " I'll be bound 
 you've not a thread of pulse to be felt at this 
 moment." 
 
 " I will not boast," replied Lady Harriet, 
 gravely. — "I confess to being at my wits' 
 end." 
 
 " Then lose no time. Miss Meadowes, my 
 dear," resumed the kind-hearted but gruff old 
 man, " in getting the children and their traps 
 packed up, that I may carry them off without 
 further delay. I've given my instructions in the 
 sick-room. — Elsewhere, keep vinegar burning, 
 and don't let more people than are necessary 
 wait upon the East wing. — I shall be here again 
 betimes in the morning. — The case is urgent." 
 
 An alarming word, as it recurred to Lady 
 Harriet's mind when her three darlings were 
 
AND PREJUDICE. Il7 
 
 oif, — safe, as she already fancied, — and she 
 heard the sound of Dr. Burnaby's departing 
 wheels. She had mustered courage to avoid 
 bidding them good-bye. It would not have 
 been prudent, after her attendance on the sick- 
 room ; and she knew she could trust to the 
 thoughtful Amy to make every arrangement for 
 their comfort. But another painful duty was 
 awaiting her. She must write to Lady Louisa 
 Eustace. 
 
 " Not to-day. — To-day, you have nothing to 
 t say but what is painful," pleaded Amy. " Wait 
 till Dr. Burnaby has seen his patient again. 
 To-morrow may produce a favourable turn." 
 
 " Or a fatal one !" 
 
 " No, dear Lady Harriet. He assured me 
 the danger was not imminent. — He said it was 
 impossible for even the most experienced medical 
 man as yet to predict the issue." 
 
 " Still, my sister ought to be apprised." 
 
 " To-day, you might, perhaps, write hastily. — 
 To-morrow, you will have recovered your 
 composure." 
 
118 PROGRESS 
 
 Lady Harriet shook her head. She fore- 
 saw too truly that her distress and agitation 
 were only beginning. — But it was difficult to 
 contest a point with Amy's gentle nature ; and 
 Lady Harriet was too much depressed to be 
 very contentious. 
 
 "Another favour, if I might ask it," said 
 the kind-hearted girl, taking courage from a 
 first success. — " Do not, at present, alarm poor 
 mamma by announcing the nature of Mr. Eus- 
 tace's seizure. — Her room is at too great a 
 distance from his to expose her to any danger 
 of infection; and to-day, she is far too much 
 indisposed to leave it. Were she to know the 
 truth, her first impulse would be to return home 
 immediately, in order to relieve your household 
 of additional trouble while iUness is in the house : 
 and then — " 
 
 She paused. But Lady Harriet was listening 
 so attentively as to require the fuU conclusion of 
 the sentence. 
 
 " And then, I should lose the satisfaction of 
 assisting and comforting you under your great 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 119 
 
 anxieties," — said Amy, not altogether without 
 confusion of countenance. 
 
 Again, Lady Harriet shook her head. She 
 was half afraid that this generous sympathy 
 mio-ht orio-inate in over-solicitude for the in- 
 valid. Though, a moment before, she had 
 been disposed to regard her nephew as a 
 condemned man, she was still susceptible to 
 the repugnance entertained against an unequal 
 match by the elders of a family submitted to 
 the tyranny of " public opinion." 
 
1 20 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Miss Meadowes's first anxiety on learning, 
 the following morning, that Dr. Burnahy's 
 patient had passed a restless night, was to 
 forestal the possibility of a visit from her 
 father. 
 
 " We must give up the hope of seeing you 
 for the present, dearest papa," she wrote, in all 
 haste, to Meadowes Court. — " You must on 
 no account add to our anxieties by approach- 
 ing this infected house. — Stop your workmen 
 if you can ; for we must return home, in order 
 to release poor Lady Harriet from additional 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 121 
 
 care and trouble. Her nephew Mr. Eustace 
 is in a dangerous state from an attack of 
 fever. — Dr. Burnaby seems very anxious : and 
 so am I, till I can get my dearest mother 
 removed out of danger. Do not think of 
 coming. But send the carriage for us to- 
 morrow morning ; — early, if you please. 
 Mamma is a little weak and nervous to- 
 day ; or I should propose your sending this 
 very evening. God bless you, dear darling 
 papa ! No more, since we sliall meet so soon, 
 
 from 
 
 " Your own 
 
 " Amy." 
 
 Alas ! this letter was fated to remain un- 
 opened for evermore. — It never reached the 
 hands of the kindly being to whom it was 
 addressed. When Miss Meadowes stole from 
 her dressing-room in search of a servant 
 through whom it could be forwarded without 
 alarming her mother or worrying Lady Har- 
 riet, the first person she met on the stairs 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 PROGRESS 
 
 was Dr. Burnaby, on his way to the remote 
 apartment of his patient. 
 
 " Go back, child !" cried he, motioning her 
 away. " Didn't you hear me say, yesterday, 
 that there was to be no communication 
 between the East wing and the rest of the 
 house ?" 
 
 " Nor have I approached it. — But as you 
 have not yet seen your patient, dear Dr. 
 Burnaby, and I hoped that — I thought 
 that — " 
 
 "No matter what you thought or hoped. 
 Go, child, and attend upon your mother. 1 hear 
 she is ailing; and I can't look in upon her 
 to-day, Amy, on account of this unlucky fever. — 
 Go, my dear young lady. I am waited for 
 yonder." 
 
 Away he hurried to the sick room, where 
 Lady Harriet was eagerly expecting him with 
 anything but a satisfactory report of the suf- 
 ferer; and very long did the half-hour appear 
 to Amy which she spent in loitering about the 
 corridor, instead of obeying his injunction and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 12 3 
 
 returning to watch the slumbers of Lady Mea- 
 dowes. She was in hopes of catching from a 
 distance the sound of Dr. Burnaby's voice in 
 some parting injunction to one of the servants 
 in attendance on William Eustace. She fancied 
 that, even from the tone, though the words 
 reached her not, she might be able to infer 
 whether his view of the case were more favour- 
 able than at his last visit. 
 
 While thus anxiously hstening, a whisper 
 indeed caught her ear. But it was not uttered 
 in the direction of the east wing. It arose 
 from the hall below, where Dr. Burnaby's 
 servant was waiting, and where the butler 
 appeared to be questioning him beside the open 
 door. 
 
 " He may get through it. At his age, young 
 blood works its way through anything," were 
 the expressions or nearly the expressions that 
 reached the ears of Amy. 
 
 " God grant it !" murmured the tremulous 
 voice of Blagrove, Lady Harriet's aged butler. 
 
 " But I know Master han't no hope o' the 
 old gentleman," resumed the other speaker. 
 
 G 2 
 
i 24 PROGRESS 
 
 " He told Mr. Nichols when he left the house 
 an hour agone, that 'twas a question if he'd 
 live through the night." 
 
 "The old gentleman !"—" Mr. Nichols!" — 
 Poor Amy stood paralysed. Had she heard 
 aright ? — While asking herself the question, 
 she had to clutch the oaken balustrade of the 
 staircase, to save herself from being precipitated 
 to the bottom. She would have screamed aloud 
 a question to the whisperers, that a more articu- 
 late answer might dispel or confirm her terrible 
 apprehensions. But her voice died on her lips. 
 She could not call, — she could not breathe ; — 
 dumb and motionless, as under the influence of 
 a night-mare. 
 
 A minute afterwards, however, the two 
 serving-men, who were still gossiping and 
 grieving together, saw Miss Meadowes totter 
 across the hall, breathless and incoherent. 
 
 " Is it true .?" she faltered, seizing the arm 
 of Dr. Burnaby's incautious servant. "Answer 
 me this moment ! — My father, — " 
 
 The venerable butler with an admonitory 
 glance at his companion, endeavoured to with- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 125 
 
 draw the young lady's hand, and to place her in 
 a chair. 
 
 " We were talking, Miss Amy, of poor Mr. 
 Eustace — " 
 
 " You were not. You said the old gentle- 
 man was sinking fast. Oh ! my dear dear 
 father !" cried Amy, wringing her hands. 
 "But I will go to Dr. Burnaby," — cried she, 
 dreading that she might not from his awe- 
 stricken attendant obtain the truth. " He will 
 not deceive me — " 
 
 " Master wiU never forgive me," ejaculated 
 the man, — thus confirming the worst fears of 
 Miss Meadowes. " He ordered me not to drop 
 a syllable on't in the house." 
 
 Almost before he had concluded his inconsi- 
 derate remark, the distracted girl had darted 
 through the open hall-door ; dashed along the 
 gravel walk, — flung open the wicket and reached 
 the stable yard. And while the two servants 
 stood deliberating whether they dared intimate 
 to Dr. Burnaby what had occurred, before he 
 had terminated his visit to the chamber of 
 
126 PROGRESS 
 
 sickness which had already assumed in the 
 house the most painful importance, Amy 
 was assisting the groom to place a saddle on 
 George Warneford's pony. Unaware of her 
 object or intentions, the man dreamed not of 
 disobeying the orders of one of his lady's 
 guests ; and as Miss Meadowes was attired in a 
 morning wrapper, without even a shawl or 
 bonnet, it did not occur to him that the pony 
 was preparing for her own use, till he saw her 
 jump upon it and canter off. 
 
 Still, he fancied that she was only returning 
 to the hall-door. Nor was it till old Blagrove 
 hobbled down with inquiries and reproofs for 
 the assistance he had given, that he could be 
 persuaded the young lady was bent on so mad 
 an exploit as an expedition to Meadowes Court, 
 thus accoutred, and unattended. 
 
 " Saddle a horse and follow her instantly, 
 Will !" said the anxious old servant, " or my 
 lady will never forgive us," 
 
 But alas ! the only available horse in Lady 
 Harriet's scanty stud, had been already des- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 127 
 
 patclied to meet the early post with a letter 
 intimating to the Eustaces the danger of 
 their son. 
 
 The next resource, and the old man did 
 not hesitate to lay it under contribution, was 
 to despatch Dr. Burnaby's carriage in quest 
 of the half-frantic Miss Meadovves. The pony's 
 paces would scarcely enable her to outstrip 
 pursuit, if the coachman exerted himself. — It 
 was, however, some time before he was made 
 to understand the urgency of the case. — Un- 
 accustomed to obey any orders but those of 
 his somewhat peremptory master, " It was as 
 much as his place was worth," he argued, " if 
 the doctor, whose time was so precious, should 
 be kept waiting by his absence." 
 
 When again and again assured that if he 
 made no effort to preserve Miss Meadowes 
 from danger, his place would be in far greater 
 jeopardy, his compliance came too late. — By 
 the time the lumbering chariot reached the 
 high road, the frantic girl had long quitted it 
 for the fields. — A mile of the distance dividing 
 her from the doomed spot where her father 
 
128 PROGRESS 
 
 was " sinking fast," might be saved by the 
 bridle-road : — even though she had to jump 
 off and open gates : — even though the way was 
 rough and dangerous. 
 
 She urged the pony on. — She became hoarse 
 by urging it on, — for whip she had none. — Her 
 hair streamed back from her pale face — her 
 dress was discomposed by gusts of autumnal 
 wind. The stumbling of the pony over the 
 stubbly furrows, more than once nearly flung 
 her nerveless form from the saddle. But still 
 she went on, — unheeding ; — absorbed in that 
 one overpowering uncertainty. — Was she too 
 late ? — Was the old man her father yet 
 alive ? — 
 
 And now% she is through the hazel copse. — 
 She has crushed down the blackened bean- 
 haulm of the last field dividing her from the 
 paddock. Her breath is gone. Her cheek is 
 wan and clammy as death. For she is within 
 sight of the old house, and can as yet discern 
 no indication of what awaits her. There is 
 not a labourer stirring. The works are as 
 completely stopped at the moat-side as if her 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 129 
 
 morning's letter had reached its destination 
 and accomplished its object. The barrows he 
 upturned. The wheel is broken at the cistern. 
 
 Scarcely dares she lift her eyes towards the 
 windows of her father's room. But a hasty 
 glance shows that they are open, — wide open. — 
 Is this a sign that all is over, or that air is 
 required for the dying man ? 
 
 The doors, too, stand wide apart. Not a 
 servant to be seen. Almost before she has 
 leapt from her pony, however, and left it to 
 its own devices, Blanche and Sting, who run 
 barking out at its approach, change their angry 
 yelp into joyous howls of recognition ; and 
 keep jumping lovingly upon her, and impeding 
 her movements. 
 
 " Down — down !" she rather shrieks than 
 utters, — almost wild with the tumidt of her 
 agonising fears. As she rushes up-stairs, a 
 housemaid who sits on the window-seat of the 
 lobby, — half-dozing through excess of watching 
 in the sick room which she has recently quitted, 
 — starts up to beset her with exclamations. 
 " Oh ! Miss Amy — why are you come ? — 
 
 G 3 
 
1 30 PROGRESS 
 
 Master wouldn't hear of you and my lady 
 being sent for, — You can't be of no use, Miss. 
 The doctor says you can't. — Nobody can't be of 
 no use agin the will of Almighty God !" — 
 
 Amy paused for a moment, — not to listen ; — 
 but with her hand pressed upon her heart, as if to 
 repress its terrible pulsation. She looked hard 
 in the woman's face ; but could not utter a 
 sound to frame the question she was dying to 
 ask. Her earnest eyes spoke for her. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, — he is still alive," said the 
 woman, following her up the stairs. — " But 
 'twill soon be over. Better not go in. — Better 
 not see him in his present state. My poor 
 dear master won't know you. He has not 
 even known Mr. Nichols these two days 
 past." 
 
 And when Amy had glided more hke a spirit 
 than a living being through the open door of the 
 chamber, intensely fumigated with the same ill- 
 omened aromatics which seemed to brins: with 
 them the fatal atmosphere of the Manor House, 
 the first object that met her eyes was the poor 
 broken-hearted faithful old Nichols ; sitting 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 131 
 
 with clasped hands, apparently stupefied by 
 tears and vigils, — watching beside the bed 
 where a long motionless ridge denoted that a 
 human form was extended. — Even when Amy 
 had thrown herself upon it, in the belief that 
 her father was gone for ever, she did not for 
 many minutes perceive that though unconscious, 
 he still breathed. — Old Nichols raised her gently 
 and drew her down upon her knees to the bed- 
 side. 
 
 " Let him die in peace, my dear young lady," 
 sobbed the old man. — " His moments are num- 
 bered. Let him die in peace — " 
 
 " Father — father ! — dear darling papa !" cried 
 Amy, — regardless of these remonstrances, and 
 believing that though the eyes of the sufferer 
 were dim and glassy, and his limbs motionless and 
 cold, he would be roused to consciousness by the 
 well-known voice of his child, — "listen to me. 
 It is Amy : — Amy come to nurse you, come 
 to love you. Dear papa, — answer me, look at 
 me !" 
 
 But no change of that wan and rigid face 
 denoted that poor Sir Mark was conscious of 
 
132 PROGRESS 
 
 her presence. — So little of life remained, that 
 it could scarcely be called existence. The 
 solemnity of death was upon that honest face. 
 That honest heart had all but ceased to beat. 
 The poor dogs whining and cringing at the 
 door which though open they dared not enter, 
 seemed instinctively to understand what the dis- 
 tracted daughter would not believe, that the 
 kindly hand which had so often caressed them 
 would never be upraised again. 
 
 An angry voice and a hurried step were at 
 that moment audible on the stairs. But the 
 moment they reached the threshold of the sick- 
 room, both were hushed. — Dr. Burnaby, who 
 had driven off as hard as his horses could 
 carry him, in hopes to intercept the visit of 
 poor Amy to the infected house, and on finding 
 himself too late, had begun by chiding everybody, 
 and railing even at the poor girl whose danger 
 was the origin of his wrath, no sooner glanced 
 at the bed, than he checked his hurried words 
 and footsteps. Gravely approaching it, he closed 
 the eyes of the dead. 
 
 A moment afterwards, he was enabled partly 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 133 
 
 to fulfil his intentions by raising in his arms 
 and bearing from the room the inanimate form 
 of the afflicted daughter, to whom this act had 
 announced the fatal truth. On recovering her 
 consciousness, Amy found herself in a carriage, 
 supported on the shoulder of the good doctor, 
 whose tears were falling on her hand. 
 
 " You are not taking me away from him," 
 she faltered, — struggling to regain her self- 
 command. — " Let me go to my father. Let 
 me go to my dear, dear father." 
 
 " No, my child," replied the physician, in a 
 tone of grave authority. " He is beyond reach 
 of your affection and duty. Prove how much 
 you have loved him. Amy, by devoting yourself 
 at once to the consolation of your surviving 
 parent : — your mother, who has none else to 
 comfort her; — your mother. Amy, entrusted 
 by him and the Almighty to your filial care !", 
 
134 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The country gossips in the narrow circle of 
 Radensford predicted of course that poor feeble 
 Lady Meadowes would be extinguished at once 
 by the sudden calamity which had befallen her. 
 Experience confuted their calculations. — Persons 
 of infirm health are often roused and excited 
 by a shock, fatal to others of more robust 
 habits. On learning at one and the same 
 moment that she had lost the affectionate 
 partner of her life, and that the daughter so 
 dear to them both was in an alarmino; con- 
 dition, she stationed herself by the bedside of 
 her dear Amy, prepared to assuage her suffer- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 135 
 
 ings and sustain her courage. — Lady Harriet 
 herself, with all her severity of self-control, 
 could not have exhibited greater strength of 
 body and mind than Lady Meadowes. 
 
 " All is well with her, my dear lady. I fore- 
 saw what would be her state of mind," whispered 
 Mr. Henderson in a subdued tone to the lady 
 of the Manor House, when summoned to exhort 
 the afflicted invalid, who stood in no need of 
 better counsel than that of her own excellent 
 head and heart. — " She has forgotten herself. — 
 Her own ailments are as nothing, now that others 
 need her assistance." 
 
 Without ministering spiritually to her sorrows, 
 however, the aid of the good Rector was invalu- 
 able in the fulfilment of other duties to which 
 the widow was unequal. — The sickness already 
 assuming an epidemic character, was so appall- 
 ing in the neighbourhood, that an early inter- 
 ment of the dead was judged desirable. The 
 infection must not be suffered to extend. — There 
 appeared little hope that the afflicted daughter 
 would escape; — nor might even the prayers of 
 the terrified Lady Harriet avail for the preserva- 
 
136 ' Progress 
 
 tion of the beloved boys whom Dr. Burnaby had 
 taken in charge. But no precautions must be 
 neglected. 
 
 Within four days, therefore, of the sad event 
 which had deprived Meadowes Court of its 
 master, he was laid in the family vault. No 
 need to look into his testamentary instructions 
 to determine that question. Where the eight 
 baronets bearing his name, from sire to son, 
 were gathered together in the dust, he also 
 was to be laid. — Thither was he foUowed in all 
 sincerity of love by his nearest neighbours : 
 Admiral Tremenheere, the kind physician, and a 
 few magistrates of the district, — emulators of 
 his uprightness and right-heartedness. — And 
 but that her only child lay insensible upon the 
 bed of sickness, his widow would have been 
 herself conveyed into the church, to meet on 
 the brink of the grave him from whom she 
 had been so rarely parted, since the day on 
 which they v^ere conjoined together at the 
 altar. 
 
 When the will was opened, it appeared that 
 the desire of the testator to be buried with the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 137 
 
 utmost simplicity in the church where he had 
 been so long accustomed to worship, had been 
 strictly fulfilled. — Nay more, the Rector and the 
 physician, his constant friends and associates, 
 were nominated executors. The testamentary 
 paper was indicted in a few homely phrases. — 
 A deed executed on his marriage when issue 
 male was anticipated, assigned to Lady Mea- 
 dowes only four hundred per annum to be levied 
 on the estate, which he had a right to charge 
 with dowTy. — But he now constituted her his 
 sole heir ; certain," he added, " that she would 
 act towards their only child, in every future 
 emergency as he would act himself if living to 
 watch over her interests." 
 
 " Right — all right — quite right," was the 
 reciprocal exclamation of the two executors. — 
 " Lady Meadowes will enjoy something more 
 than two thousand a year for life ; and be able 
 to make a suitable provision for her daughter, 
 should she determine on marriage." 
 
 Though prudent and practical men, they 
 were not base enough to fancy that the easy 
 circumstances secured to the bereaved mother 
 
138 PROGRESS 
 
 and daughter would reconcile them to the seve- 
 rity of their loss. But they rejoiced, and Lady 
 Harriet rejoiced, when the moment poor Amy's 
 comparative convalescence rendered removal pos- 
 sible, and Lady Meadowes insisted on returning 
 to the house replete with associations so painful, 
 that their sorrow would not be aggravated by 
 those sordid cares which, at such moments, too 
 often increase the poignancy of family affliction. 
 
 They re-entered the gates of Meadowes Court 
 overpowered by their griefs : — discerning nothing 
 in those desolate rooms but the absence of the 
 eager step and the silence of the joyous voice 
 which had animated their life and love. — But 
 they felt that they were come to abide for ever- 
 more where he had lived and loved : — to cherish 
 his memory : — to talk of him, to think of him, 
 and prepare to rejoin him in a happier world. 
 
 In their presence, the question had never 
 been mooted whether the malignant fever, to 
 which Sir Mark Meadowes had unquestionably 
 fallen a victim, originated in the miasma created 
 by the disturbance of the old moat ; or whether 
 it had been introduced into the neighbourhood 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 139 
 
 and communicated to him by young Eustace, at 
 his ill-timed visit. — ^The Eustace family per- 
 sisted for the rest of their lives in asserting that 
 their son and heir had all but fallen a victim to 
 the infection created by poor Sir Mark Mea- 
 dowes's rash experiment in desiccation. But 
 many were of opinion, — Dr. Burnaby openly, 
 Lady Harriet tacitly, — that William Eustace 
 had brought with him the germs of the fatal 
 malady, and communicated them to one predis- 
 posed by local influences to fructify the evil. — 
 For months to come, nay, for ensuing years, the 
 question was one of the favourite paradoxes of 
 the neighbourhood. It was only the good Rec- 
 tor of Radensford who from the first discounte- 
 nanced the discussion. 
 
 " To what purpose pursue an investigation," 
 said he, " the solution of which cannot restore 
 the dead, and must unquestionably give pain to 
 the living ? — We have lost our friend. Let us 
 respect the decree of Him who has taken him 
 from us. No human prevision could have 
 forestalled the fatal event." 
 
 He was especially anxious that the conva- 
 
140 PROGRESS 
 
 lescence of Mr. Eustace might not be retarded, 
 through by the remarks occasional!)^ extorted from 
 Lady Harriet by the risk to which her darling 
 grand-children had been subjected. Though, had 
 it been asserted in her presence that Sir Mark 
 Meadowes had taken the fever from her nephew, 
 she would have deeply resented it, she could not 
 help plainly writing to her sister Louisa that, 
 had the children fallen \ictims to it, she would 
 never have pardoned her having billeted 
 William upon her house. 
 
 " Even now," she wrote, — " now that he is 
 perfectly recovered and on his way to Torquay 
 for change of air, previous to rejoining you, to 
 enable me to submit the poor Manor House to 
 a complete fumigation preparatory to the return 
 of my treasures, I can scarcely persuade myself 
 that all danger is past. — ^We have undergone a 
 terrible shock. — The loss sustained by my kind 
 neighbours at Meadowes Court is alas ! irrepa- 
 rable. — Amy is broken-hearted ; and her mother 
 will never lift up her head again. They would 
 see me, I know, if I visited them. But I have 
 not courage, my dear Louisa, to go and witness 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 141 
 
 the terrible desolation of a house thus cruelly 
 deprived of the fondest of husbands and 
 fathers." 
 
 She went, however, at last ; prompted less 
 by the desire of soothing their trouble, than by 
 the notion that it became her consequence to 
 afford immediate countenance to the widow. 
 Lady Harriet as first in rank of the neighbour- 
 hood, considered herself bound to take the 
 initiative step in its social measures. It became 
 her to show an example which might regulate 
 the vacillations of public opinion. 
 
 On the present occasion, at least, nothing of 
 the kind was needed. High and low, rich and 
 poor, all were anxious to offer their tribute of 
 sympathy to the mourners ; and all were equally 
 edified with Lady Harriet by the composure and 
 resignation exhibited by the mother and daugh- 
 ter. — Amy, indeed, could not always repress the 
 outbursts of anguish which her mother's longer 
 experience of the trials of life enabled her to 
 subdue till she could weep unobserved on the 
 congenial bosom of her daughter. But on the 
 whole, their reverend counsellor found far less 
 
142 PROGRESS 
 
 occasion than he had anticipated to exhort them 
 to submission, and even Dr. Burnaby had almost 
 ceased to scold. Their repinings and tears were 
 so exclusively reserved for each other, that their 
 nearest friends were deceived. 
 
 The executors took upon themselves to 
 suggest a temporary removal from Meadowes 
 Court, as likely to be beneficial to the health of 
 both ; and favourable to the completion of the 
 improvements, too far advanced not to render 
 it necessary to carry them out. But Lady 
 Meadowes entreated to be left in peace. Winter 
 was at hand. The early frosts were come. No 
 further danger was to be apprehended from 
 infection. All she asked was to be allowed to 
 remain, at least tUl spring, without the smallest 
 change or disturbance. She felt and Amy 
 felt, that the slightest alteration in the place or 
 establishment would dispel the charm under 
 which they seemed to live, — as if he were still 
 present with them, — as if he might again 
 return to occupy his accustomed seat and 
 resume his place in the domestic circle. 
 
 "Leave Meadowes Court? — Endure the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 143 
 
 hurry and noise of Brighton ? — Surround our- 
 selves with strangers ?" was Amy's indignant 
 exclamation after the departure of Lady Harriet, 
 who, at the instigation of the old doctor, had 
 undertaken the task of proposing such a mea- 
 sure. " Oh ! mother, mother ! — How little 
 they understand us ! Sometimes, in those 
 happy old times which I feel now that I never 
 sufficiently appreciated, I used to fancy that I 
 should like to make a few acquaintances, in 
 active life. But I know better now, mother. — 
 I know how little there can be in the world 
 to compare with the happiness we have enjoyed 
 here—" 
 
 Lady Meadowes replied by a tender pressure 
 of her hand. " Fear nothing, my child," said 
 she. " There is no chance of any desire on 
 my part to quit this place. — I have never lived 
 in the world. Amy. The position in life from 
 which your father raised me afforded no connec- 
 tions to tempt either of us from our retirement. 
 His few relatives disclaimed me. My own 
 resented their conduct. We became isolated, — 
 estranged from everything and everybody — " 
 
144 PROGRESS 
 
 " And all the happier for it, — far far the 
 better and happier for it, — " interrupted her 
 daughter. 
 
 " That your father was content with the 
 destiny he had created, suffices. And these 
 peculiar circumstances, my dearest child, will 
 at least justify the tranquil seclusion to which 
 I look forward." 
 
 " Even in our affliction, mother," observed 
 Amy, after a few moments' pause, " my 
 Aunt Davenport has never written, — never 
 inquired — " 
 
 Lady Meadowes started. The name of 
 " Aunt Davenport " applied to the sister of 
 her husband, from whom she had received 
 such slights, seemed to jar upon her ear. 
 
 " Can she, do you think, be ignorant of the 
 event?" persisted Amy. 
 
 " Lest she should be so, our kind friend 
 Mr. Henderson wrote to apprise her. A few 
 cold words were returned by Lord Daven- 
 port ; — a mere formal acknowledgment of his 
 letter." 
 
 " My poor dear cordial father did not deserve 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 145 
 
 to have such a sister/' was all that Amy could 
 reply. 
 
 " She did not deserve such a brother. But 
 let us talk no more of her, Amy. Let us 
 never mention the name of Davenport again." 
 
 " Never — never. — We must only love each 
 other the more, mother, for being alone in the 
 world." 
 
 " Your cousin, Sir Jervis Meadowes has 
 written, — courteously at least, — more could 
 not be expected from him, in reply to the com- 
 munication of my poor husband's executors." 
 
 "Sir Jervis !" repeated Amy, musingly. " T 
 am glad he does not bear my father's name. 
 How I should have grieved to hear it applied to 
 a stranger." 
 
 " It matters little. We shall never meet. — 
 Sir Jervis behaved through hfe ungraciously to 
 your father. It is not likely he wiU attempt to 
 renew with us the acquaintance which respect 
 for the head of his family never prompted him 
 to keep up." 
 
 It was on a dreary afternoon, towards the end 
 of December, this conversation took place. — 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 PROGRESS 
 
 Sleet was falling audibly against the windows, 
 the blinds of which were partially drawn down ; 
 and though Lady Meadowes's sofa was drawn 
 close to the fire, she lay cold and shivering. 
 Just the season of the year when Christmas 
 cheer, and Christmas charity, had been wont to 
 brighten the time-worn old mansion ! Just the 
 hour of day when they were accustomed to listen 
 for the tread of poor Sir Mark across tHe hall, 
 on his return from his day's sport ; — announced 
 ])y the joyful cry of old Sting, who lay on the 
 mat awaiting his arrival. At that hour, they 
 seemed to miss more than ever the kindly 
 voice and face so sure to impart cheerfulness to 
 the hearth. 
 
 Old Nichols often crept in at dusk, with a 
 log in his hand, on pretext of attending to the 
 fire ; but in reality to certify to himself that my 
 lady and Miss Amy were not endangering their 
 health by what he called " taking on." If he 
 found them engaged in quiet talk, he would 
 creep out again, without any attempt to fulfil 
 his pretended purpose; thereby betraying that 
 he came only because he knew their heaviness 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 147 
 
 of heart must be still harder to bear than his 
 own. 
 
 On the evening in question, while he stood 
 inquiring whether " my lady was pleased to wish 
 that the lamp should be brought in," there 
 came a sharp ring at the jangling hall bell. 
 
 Lady Meadowes, satisfied that she had borne 
 to the fullest extent required of her the burthen 
 of visits of condolence from the half-dozen near 
 neighbours who had so long constituted them- 
 selves her friends, determined to resist the 
 appeal. She had signified to each of them 
 that they would show their kindness best by 
 leaving her for the present alone with her 
 daughter. 
 
 " I can see no one this evening, Nichols," 
 said she faintly, " No one : — not even Mr. 
 Henderson." 
 
 The old man hurried out to convey her 
 prohibition. Already, the footman was parley- 
 ing at the hall-door with a stranger. Not a 
 gentleman ; for he was loud, peremptory, and 
 presuming. 
 
 " It was absolutely necessar}^ that he should 
 
 H 2 
 
148 PROGRESS 
 
 have an interview with Lady Meadowes. He 
 came on business. He came from a dis- 
 tance." 
 
 The country-footman was about to yield to 
 the importunities of a man who, though his 
 great-coat was of the roughest, spoke in the 
 tone of one having authority, when Nichols 
 arrived in all the dignity of his mourning and 
 white hairs, to confirm the original negative. 
 
 " Business, or no business, it was quite im- 
 possible that her ladyship, who was infirm of 
 health, as well as suffering from recent family 
 affliction, could be disturbed at that hour." 
 
 " I come on the part of Sir Jervis Mea- 
 dowes," rejoined the intruder, " I fancy you'll 
 find it your best interest to admit me at 
 once." 
 
 Nichols was startled. Instinctive deference 
 towards the reigning representative of a family 
 with which a service of half a century had 
 connected him, rendered it difficult to persevere 
 in opposition. This man, common-looking as 
 he was, might be a messenger of peace and 
 good-will from the head of the house. To 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 149 
 
 reject the olive-branch, might be an injury to 
 those whom he would have died to serve or 
 defend. Uttering a word of admonition there- 
 fore to Sting, who still maintained his post 
 of guardianship of the door-mat, he invited the 
 stranger to step in ; and ushered him across the 
 grim, low-browed old hall, into what, in that 
 old-fashioned place, was called the eating-room : 
 a spacious chamber, wainscoted and ceiled with 
 carved oak ; enlivened only by family portraits 
 of baronets and dames of the Meadowes family ; 
 most of them curious specimens of exploded 
 art ; and about as graceful and life-like as the 
 effigies of painted alabaster recumbent on their 
 tombs in Radensford Church. 
 
 Still, such as they were, old Nichols regarded 
 them almost with idolatry. And on perceiving 
 that his companion did not show their goodly 
 presence the respect of so much as removing 
 his hat, he eyed the offender with such marked 
 disgust and reproval, that involuntarily he 
 marked his consciousness of infraction of the 
 laws of good breeding. 
 
 " I will speak to Miss Meadowes, Sir ; I will 
 
150 PROGRESS 
 
 apprise my young lady that you are here," said 
 he, whUe the stranger somewhat sulkily removed 
 his hat. — " What name shall I announce to 
 her ?" 
 
 " Mr. Chubbs Parkis — but my name will 
 tell her nothing. Say I represent the heir-at-law 
 of the late Sir Marcus Meadowes, Baronet." 
 
 Now Nichols could no more have pronounced 
 the name of " the late Sir Marcus Meadowes" 
 to his master's daughter, than have lifted the 
 roof of Meadowes Court. The utmost he 
 attempted was to whisper to Amy that she was 
 wanted ; and, when she reached the hall, to 
 apprise her that a messenger awaited her on the 
 part of Sir Jervis Meadowes. 
 
 Though little used to encounter strangers, 
 poor Amy did not for a moment resist. The 
 visit probably involved some trouble or ceremony 
 from which she might spare her mother. — She 
 advanced therefore with a timid step towards 
 Mr. Chubbs Parkis, who was warming himself 
 with an air of complacent self-possession on the 
 hearth-rug, with his back towards the fire. — 
 But the moment he caught sight of her slender 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 151 
 
 figure, looking slighter than ever in her deep 
 mourning attire, and that childlike face, so pale 
 and so gentle, his manner became subdued to 
 decency. He took his hands from his pockets, 
 and bowed respectfully. 
 
 " You wished to speak to me, Sir ?" she 
 inquired in those silvery tones that went to the 
 heart of most people. 
 
 " On the contrary. Madam ; I wished to 
 speak to Lady Meadowes," replied the intruder, 
 glancing reproachfully at Nichols, who had 
 closed, but still stood beside the door, as if 
 officiating as chamberlain for the protection of 
 his young lady. " Your servant, yonder, denied 
 me admittance to her." 
 
 " He did right. Mamma is a great invalid : — 
 unequal to an interview with strangers, — unequal 
 to the transaction of business." 
 
 " Business, however, Miss Meadowes, must 
 be done ; and I doubt you are less equal to 
 answer the questions I am compelled by my 
 duty to my employer, Sir Jervis Meadowes, to 
 ask, than even her ladyship." 
 
 " Questions on business 1 am wholly in- 
 
152 PROGRESS 
 
 capable of answering," replied Miss Meadowes, 
 gathering firmness as her companion resumed, 
 though civilly, his tone of authority. — " And as 
 I know that Sir Jervis Meadowes has already 
 been in communication with my father's 
 executors, — both of whom are in the country, — 
 I must refer you to them, Sir, for any in- 
 formation you wish to obtain." 
 
 " Nevertheless," persisted Mr. Chubbs Parkis, 
 " there are points on which a plain answer 
 rendered by members of the family, might 
 save worlds of trouble and litigation." 
 
 " Or might produce them," said Amy, with 
 more self-possession than was to be expected. — 
 " You must therefore excuse my entering into 
 business discussions of any kind." 
 
 " This evasion, Madam, looks very far from 
 satisfactory," retorted Chubbs, knitting his 
 brows and begining to bully. — " I expected at 
 least frankness from so young a lady." 
 
 Old Nichols now thought it time to interpose. 
 " Miss Meadowes has signified. Sir, that she 
 wishes the interview to be at end," said he. 
 " Your gig is at the door. At this hour, you 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 153 
 
 will be sure to find the Rector or Dr. Burnaby, 
 my late master's two executors, at home." 
 
 Under sanction of the butler's interference, 
 Amy now effected a quiet retreat from the 
 room ; Old Nichols w^ith a firm demeanour 
 keeping back Mr. Chubbs Parkis till she had 
 had time to regain the drawing-room. " If 
 neither of them is to be found, Sir," continued 
 the old man, while his baffled companion angrily 
 resumed his hat, with more than one muttered 
 oath, " the famUy solicitors are Preston and 
 Son, of Cardington, with whom you may 
 communicate at pleasure." 
 
 " Ten miles off, across the forest ; — and 1 
 have already driven sixteen !" rejoined Parkis, 
 angrily buttoning up his wrap-rascal as he 
 strode across the haU, — " However, — there's 
 one comfort, old gentleman, — you'll have to 
 pay for your impudence. — Your time is 'most 
 over, and ours is coming. Good night, old 
 boy. — When next we meet, you and your 
 young lady will have had to lower your flag by 
 a peg or two." 
 
 Already, almost before the gig was out of 
 
 H 3 
 
154 PROGRESS 
 
 sight and hearing, the quakings of poor old 
 Nichols appeared to justify the prediction. — 
 Who was this strange messenger? — Why- 
 should Sir Jervis Meadowes communicate 
 through such a medium with his kinsman's 
 widow and daughter ? — As to Amy, her self- 
 possession had deserted her the moment she 
 quitted the presence of one who addressed her 
 in a tone of insolence to which she was so little 
 accustomed ; and when Nichols rejoined her in 
 the corridor leading to the drawing-room, she 
 was in tears. 
 
 She had called him softly to her to enjoin 
 that nothing might be said to create uneasiness 
 to her mother. Enough to inform his lady 
 that a person had called on business whom he 
 had referred to the lawyers. — Nothing could be 
 simpler or more likely; nor was Lady Mea- 
 dowes of a nature to inquire over-anxiously 
 concerning any matter of pecuniary interest. 
 
 Poor Amy exerted herself more than usual 
 that evening, to divert her mother's attention 
 and prevent her recurring to the subject. — They 
 talked together, — each trying to solace the other 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 155 
 
 by assumed cheerfulness, — of the works to be 
 completed at Meadowes Court on the return of 
 spring. — They talked together on many subjects ; 
 — any, but the one that hung so heavy on their 
 hearts ! — 
 
156 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Come and dine with me, to-day, at Rich- 
 mond, like a good fellow, my dear Davenport," 
 said Hamilton Drewe to his fellow-lodger, whom 
 he was surprised and overjoyed to find still in 
 London, early in the autumn, on his return 
 from a cruise to the Channel Islands. 
 
 " Too late in the year," replied Marcus, as 
 usual, busy at his easel. 
 
 " On the contrary. This bright September 
 sun is warmer than July." 
 
 " Ay. But it don't last long enough to 
 enable one, as in July, to boat or drive back 
 pleasantly to town, after an overplus of Moselle- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 157 
 
 cup. One should never dine by candlelight at 
 Richmond and Greenwich; or by daylight, in 
 town." 
 
 " You are so fastidious ! — I want you to 
 meet one or two chosen friends, — artists, — men 
 of letters, — who don't belong to the Coventry." 
 
 "Take them to the Albion, then, — or the 
 Blue Posts, — or the devil," was Davenport's 
 churlish reply. 
 
 " But I particularly wish you to make their 
 acquaintance ; and unluckily, Richmond, which 
 affords no temptation to you, was one to them 
 when I made the invitation. The sight of a 
 green tree is refreshing to poor unfortunate 
 fellows who spend twelve months of the year 
 with their noses in an inkstand, in this con- 
 founded smoky town." 
 
 " That is your mistake. London, in Sep- 
 tember and October, when all the blockheads 
 of the earth have guns on their shoulders, or 
 spy-glasses in their hands, is neither smoky nor 
 confounded. — On the whole, I think there is 
 less noise here, just now, than on the moors." 
 
 Poor Drewe, perceiving that his friend was in 
 
158 PROGRESS 
 
 one of his contradictory moods, thought it better 
 to let him exhaust his bitter vein, as the shortest 
 mode of obtaining final acquiescence. 
 
 " You asked me, yesterday," resumed Marcus, 
 " what tempted me to remain in London at this 
 empty season ; and as you do not often listen 
 to answers, I replied by a shrug, which I left 
 you to interpret. But if you really care to 
 know the reason why I prefer Babylon deserted, 
 to Babylon swarming, it is because, in the 
 autumn, one is safer from idle intrusion. 
 People who remain in town when Grosvenor 
 Square and the Opera are closed for the season, 
 are mostly persons having a purpose and occu- 
 pation in life. The atmosphere, too, is now- 
 nearly as clear as in the fens or the Highlands. 
 — I have seen a hand's breadth of blue sky 
 several times, lately. — Cocotte's complexion is, 
 as you may perceive, some degrees less like a 
 chimney-sweeper's than w-hen you last saw her 
 smoothing her ruffled plumes." 
 
 " Still, I don't see why, because you find 
 London more countrified than the country, you 
 should be less sociable than in the dog-days," 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 159 
 
 pleaded Drewe, not unreasonably. " You can 
 have no engagement, for there is not a soul in 
 town." 
 
 " I never am engaged to those whom you 
 call souls. The chum whom I am sworn never 
 to throw over is one Marcus Davenport, who 
 loves to vagabondise in his own time and place. 
 I don't care to leave my palette, as long as there 
 is a clear sky. When the last gleam of sun- 
 shine departs, I follow it, statf in hand ; dine at 
 the Travellers on the joint and a pint of pale- 
 ale ; and then, at half-price, to the play." 
 
 The looks of Hamilton Drewe would have 
 betrayed some disgust at these plebeian arrange- 
 ments, had he not stood in awe of the raillery 
 of his outspoken friend. 
 
 " Well, take your staff, as usual ; and instead 
 of dining at the Travellers join us, where you 
 will. My friends must give up Richmond, since 
 jou have taken the Star and Garter en grippe. 
 — You shall have your pale-ale and mutton 
 elsewhere." 
 
 " In order that you and your friends may 
 wish me at some unpleasant remote locality, all 
 
160 PROGRESS 
 
 dinner-time? — No, no ! — Why can't you let 
 me alone ? — I am really not worth your trouble, 
 or worthy your hospitality." 
 
 " That point, allow me to determine. / con- 
 sider you cheap at the money," said Drewe, 
 laughing. " I have a foreign friend, whom I 
 picked up touring in the Channel Islands, a 
 sunny-hearted fellow, whom I am sure you will 
 not dislike : and a literary man, — not first chop, 
 I admit :■ — a man without a name, — a sturdy 
 labourer in the vineyard, — who embraces the 
 calling as it is rarely embraced in England, and 
 always in France, — as a profession, — as a trade 
 if you will ; a practical man^ who rears his off- 
 spring upon printer's ink." 
 
 " Pho, pho, my . dear Drewe. Such men 
 there be, — ' more power to their elbow,' as say 
 our Dublin brothers-in-law. But such men dine 
 not at Richmond with dilettante dandies." 
 
 " Pretty nearly what Hargood himself said to 
 me, when I invited him. — However, I promised 
 him green grass (just as I should have guaran- 
 teed an alderman green fat), and secured my 
 man." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 161 
 
 " I hope you did not tell this person I was 
 coming ?" 
 
 " I never mentioned your name. If I had, he 
 would have been little the wiser. For he knows 
 no more of the great world than I of the 
 Thugs ; and among literary people the paraphe 
 of Marcus D., you know, goes for nothing." 
 
 Albeit Davenport was perfectly aware of the 
 fact, the remark piqued him. — Of the many 
 worlds of which English society is composed, 
 the literary one was perhaps the one that 
 interested him most. Probably as terra incog- 
 nita to him ; the same reason which rendered 
 hisown aristocratic sphere a matter of curiosity 
 to Grub Street. 
 
 Though he still persisted in insulting Hamil- 
 ton Drewe, by assuring him that his foreign 
 j^ro^e^re was probably some chevalier d'industrie, 
 getting up a tour with views of English society 
 studied in a boarding-house at " Volvich," 
 and his professional man of letters a hack, 
 who would testify his value of the autograph 
 of Drewe by getting it inscribed on the back of 
 a bill, he agreed to join them at Richmond ; 
 
162 PROGRESS 
 
 and, in fact, arrived at the Hotel some hours 
 before them, in order to enjoy a row up the 
 river to Hampton Court, and a glimpse of the 
 pictures ; by way of atonement to himself for 
 dining with so slight a thing as Hamilton Drewe. 
 
 The consequence of this expedition was that, 
 by the time he returned to Richmond, " Mr. 
 Drewe's party " was already at table ; having 
 made considerable progress in the early dinner 
 for which they had conditioned, and reached 
 a second course consisting of the inevitable 
 unctuous duck and green peas, and limp 
 jelly tasting of bergamot ; strengthened by the 
 local dainty called Maids of Honour which, in 
 the days of King William of glorious and 
 immortal memory constituted a fi^landise of 
 our Anglo-Batavian or BcEotian Court. 
 
 When ushered into the little parlour nearest 
 the river, which, so much resembles a canary's 
 breeding-box lined with moss and wool, Marcus 
 Davenport, albeit unused to the apologetic 
 mood, thought it necessary to mutter a few 
 words of excuse for his unceremonious costume, 
 — which was that of a s-allant voung waterman 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 163 
 
 fresh from the oar, and scarcely fit to encounter 
 the scrutiny of Monsieur le Vicomte de Gruge- 
 monde, who was in full dinner-dress, — under- 
 going the slow torture of a stiff white choker, 
 and a new pair of varnished boots. 
 
 It was not however to him, with his little 
 semi-bearded kid's face, and jeune premier 
 costume, that Davenport addressed his apolo- 
 gies. — There was a plain, stern, hard-featured 
 man seated at the right hand of Hamilton 
 Drewe, whose deliberate scrutiny, on his free- 
 and-easy entrance into the room, somewhat 
 abashed him. — To each, however, he directed 
 one of those awkward nods which a shy 
 Englishman calls a bow; in return for an 
 equally awkward muttering of names on the 
 part of their host, such as a shy Englishman 
 calls an introduction. 
 
 In order to fill up the pause which is apt 
 to follow the entrance of a stranger, Hamilton 
 Drewe endeav^oured to resume the mauvaises 
 plaisant^ries by which he had been previously 
 endeavouring to draw out his guest, the 
 Vicomte. 
 
1 64 PROGRESS 
 
 Gentle dulness ever loves a joke ; and some 
 people find it difficult to manufacture one, unless 
 by social persecution : to chaff a friend, — or 
 embarrass a butt, — being one of the exquisite 
 tilting-matches of modern chivalry. 
 
 " And so my dear Grugemonde," said he, 
 " you were with Mery in those fashionable 
 promenades in London, in which he describes 
 himself as drinking ' hafnaf a Ship-Taverne,' — 
 and talks of the hotel yonder as ' I'Hotel de 
 I'Eglise et de la Jarretiere,' translating it, for 
 his less erudite countrymen ; as ' Stard and 
 Garter !' " 
 
 " I was with him in several very pleasant 
 excursions," replied the Viscount in excellent 
 English. " I know not how he describes them 
 in print. Le nom ne fait Hen a la chose : or, 
 as your great poet phrased it — ' What's in a 
 name ?' " 
 
 Charmed by the good-humoured manner in 
 which the young foreigner parried an ill-bred 
 attack, Davenport immediately challenged him 
 — Anglo-Saxon-wise — to a glass of champagne. 
 The stern Hargood, without relaxing a tittle of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 165 
 
 his scowl, testified his satisfaction in a more 
 logical manner. 
 
 " We ought to forgive, in Monsieur Mery," 
 said he, " a few verbal blunders ; — we more 
 especially, — who seldom write or speak six 
 works of a foreign language without a solecism. 
 If he had even clipped the Queen's English as 
 we are in the habit of murdering the Citizen 
 King's French, the crime would be amply 
 redeemed by a single sentence of his, a-propos 
 to the residence of the Orleans family on this 
 very spot : 'je ne suis point etonne que Vhomme 
 qui desespere choisisse Richmond pour sa 
 residence. II voit toujours devant ses yeux 
 couler Vesperance en action. Rien ne Console 
 comme ce filet d'eau qui se debat contre un 
 brin d'herhe ; et qui, le del aidant, se gonfie 
 un peu plus loin, coupe une capitale en deux, 
 emporte des flottes, et fait alliance avec la 
 mer.' " 
 
 The accent with which Hargood delivered 
 his quotation was as wn-Parisian as if acquired 
 in " Stratford school by Bowe," or at Eton, 
 or Harrow, or the Groves of Academe, or the 
 
166 PROGRESS 
 
 Groves of Blarney. — But the young French- 
 man was not the less deeply touched. He 
 heard nothing in the citation but the perfect 
 appreciation of its truth which had caused it to 
 be committed to memory by an English man 
 of letters. 
 
 " I am rejoiced, Sir," said he, " to know that 
 our nations are beginning mutually to treat 
 each other with greater liberality. This arises 
 probably from the extension of our travels. 
 Facilities of locomotion, — railroads, — steam 
 navigation, — convey us to the remotest parts 
 of the earth. We visit not only Germany, 
 Russia, Italy, but the East and West , — both 
 India and America ; and, familiarized by the 
 strangenesses and savagery of remote lands, 
 the Englishman becomes more merciful to the 
 peciiliarities of his nearest neighbour across the 
 Channel; and the Frenchman less prone to 
 believe that his own habits give the law to the 
 world." 
 
 " We have certainly been a trifle liberalised by 
 intercommunication," said Hargood. " English 
 enterprise has served to depreciate the import- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. ^ 167 
 
 ance of that goose-down chimera called English 
 comfort. Colonisation is the real schoolmaster 
 abroad, to teach useful knowledge to John Bull : 
 and we have derived other valuables besides 
 nuggets from Australia and New Zealand." 
 
 " Let us drink to the Extirpation of National 
 Prejudice," cried Hamilton Drewe, who felt 
 perhaps that his position as host was the only 
 one he could maintain to advantage. 
 
 " I will drink to anything and everything else 
 you please," retorted Davenport, filling his 
 glass. " The wine is not particularly good ; 
 but the sentiment far worse. I speak both as 
 man and artist. Extinguish national prejudice, 
 and nationality will follow ; and with it, all local 
 colouring. The absurd introduction of the fez 
 into Turkey and bonnet into Spain, has stripped 
 those countries of half their individuality. The 
 climate has not changed with the lapse of cen- 
 turies ; why should the costume ?" 
 
 '•' Why, indeed," rejoined Grugemonde ; " ex- 
 cept that, as we have been released from hau- 
 berks and coats of mail by the invention of 
 gunpowder, and from perpetual woollen by the 
 
168 ^ PROGRESS 
 
 invention of register-stoves, I see no reason 
 why v^e should accoutre ourselves like the good 
 King Dagobert, or Queen Bertha of distaff 
 celebrity." 
 
 " Some sayer of clever spitefulnesses, — who 
 was it ? — Horace Walpole, I think — used to say, 
 that he hoped he might die before Capability 
 Brown ; as he should like to see the Kingdom of 
 Heaven before he began to improve it," observed 
 Captain Davenport. " I certainly rejoice that I 
 saw India before it was stripped of its pictu- 
 resque shawls and filmy draperies. The first 
 steamboat on the Ganges, indeed, had even then 
 left a desecrating trace ; and lawn-sleeves ef- 
 fected their worst to destroy the fervid impulses 
 of Brahminical idolatry. Still, the foot of Dr. 
 Hooker had set no mark on the Himalaya ; or 
 tlie varnished boots of our aristocratic sports- 
 men, in the Cingalese jungles. — I am grate- 
 ful for having viewed the face of Oriental 
 nature, pure and undefiled." 
 
 " Without a daub of rouge, or a rag of 
 Brussels lace !" added the Frenchman, jocosely. 
 
 " I quite agree with you, my dear Daven- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 169 
 
 port," interposed Drewe, who was growing a 
 little muzzy. " Give me the highest perfection 
 of art, or the mildest and purest aspect of 
 nature : no medium, Sir, — no medium !" 
 
 " If such be your election, Drewe, you are 
 far from agreeing with me," rejoined Daven- 
 port, — who was prepared to go any distance out 
 of his way to avoid coinciding with so flimsy a 
 philos6pher. " The purest nature, if you wiU. 
 But if by the highest perfection of art you 
 mean, as I believe you do, the most polished 
 surface of fashionable society, in London, Paris, 
 or any other capital, I enter my protest. Dis- 
 sentient because there is no analogy between my 
 nature and theirs. I was not born for such an 
 order of society." 
 
 " Not born for it ?" reiterated Drewe, who 
 was rather proud of the Honourable prefixed 
 to the patronymic of his friend. 
 
 " Not born for it," calmly repeated Daven- 
 port. " There is a Newmarket for men, as for 
 beasts. My family have belonged for some 
 generations to the class of barn-door nobility, — 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 PROGRESS 
 
 ennobled squires, — without a notion or an am- 
 bition beyond their kennel and park paling. 
 Nor, (if you will permit me to resume where 
 you interrupted me,) was I ever trained to it. 
 The impulses of my temperament were not 
 subdued in early youth to caper in a lady's 
 chamber. My hours and inclinations are not 
 those of the fine world ; and I don't value the 
 fine world enough to change them. I can't live 
 among folks who talk only of the stable or the 
 kitchen — " 
 
 " Hardly a fair definition of the sportsman, 
 and the gastronome!" said Drewe, beginning to 
 be alarmed lest Monsieur le Vicomte, a member 
 of the Jockey Club and the Moutai'ds, might 
 suspect his new acquaintance of being a 
 snob. 
 
 " I detest la cuisine fine ; and to French 
 wines, prefer pale ale," continued Davenport, 
 seeing his drift. " An over-lighted room gives 
 me the head-ache. In short, I prefer society in 
 which my intellects, senses, and limbs, are 
 wholly unshackled." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. ] 7 1 
 
 " You would have been happiest, then, in 
 times 
 
 When wild in woods the noble savage ran ?" 
 
 said Hargood, amused by his seemingly uncon- 
 scious egotism. 
 
 " Happier than among fine ladies and gentle- 
 men; because more on a par with my com- 
 panions. But I can imagine a medium state of 
 society, highly agreeable. I have enjoyed it in 
 my time — I hope to enjoy it again. I will not 
 say that I am enjoying it now ; lest my friend 
 Drewe, who usually mistakes me, should suspect 
 me of toadyism. But surely it is time for coffee 
 and cigars ? or we shall be running our heads 
 into the small hours without so much as havins; 
 heard the chimes at midnight." 
 
 As the night was dry, and brightened almost 
 into warmth by a full September moon, — -the 
 vintage moon of France, so apt to determine 
 fine weather, — the quartette repaired to the 
 garden to smoke ; where, in the course of 
 their lounge, the ice melted so speedily be- 
 tween Davenport and Hargood that when the 
 
 I 2 
 
172 PROGRESS 
 
 moment arrived for returning to town, it was 
 agreed that they should charter the same 
 Hansom. Congeniality of feeling and opinion 
 soon ripened into acquaintance ; and as much 
 j)leasant talk ensued as, before they reached 
 Hyde Park Corner, might have been condensed 
 into a striking article for the oldest number of 
 Blackwood or newest of Fraser. — Ere they 
 parted, their addresses had been mutually ex- 
 changed. Neither thought it necessary to apolo- 
 gise for not inviting the other to a palace : — for 
 both were men of plain sense and simple dealing. 
 
 Edward Hargood, however, had by twenty 
 years the advantage or disadvantage of his new 
 friend. His nature was more crabbed, his clay 
 was harder set : nor was his severe philosophy 
 mitigated by that innate love of the beautiful, 
 which Hamilton Drewe called aesthetic, and his 
 brother-officers had been wont to call bosh. 
 
 Even Davenport was struck, at his first visit, 
 by the bareness and squareness of the domicile 
 of his new acquaintance : a first-floor over an 
 upholsterer's, in one of those streets of Soho 
 now occupied by pianoforte or soda-water manu- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 173 
 
 facturers, or other seekers after space : attesting 
 by their liberality of proportion the correctness 
 of Macaulay's statement, that this quarter of 
 the town was long the favourite resort of wealth 
 and fashion. — A roomy staircase, of which the 
 inlaid floor proved its date to be prior to the 
 invention of stair-carpets, ascended by low, well- 
 graduated steps to a lobby wide enough to 
 contain one of the mouse-trap mansions of the 
 purheus of Hyde Park ; from which opened the 
 spacious, comfortless apartments of the drudge 
 of letters. 
 
 The meagre spider-legged furniture was pro- 
 bably coeval with the house : — a ponderous 
 writing-table covered with discoloured black 
 leather, being the only modern appurtenance. — 
 But although this and every other spot in the 
 room where books or papers could be laid was 
 loaded with unbound volumes, in boards or 
 cloth, the strictest order and cleanhness pre- 
 vailed. — Nothing of the dust and conftision of 
 a lawyer's office. The hearth was neatly swept. 
 The frames of two hideous pictures, the only 
 ornament of those desolate walls, were encased 
 
1 74 PROGRESS 
 
 in muslin ; and the faces of the portraits they 
 contained, — a cross-looking clergyman in gown 
 and bands, and a desponding, middle-aged lady 
 well deserving to be his partner for life, — might 
 have been subdued into a pleasanter aspect by 
 the decorous orderliness over which they pre- 
 sided. 
 
 Hamilton Drewe had incidentally informed 
 Davenport that Hargood was a widower. 
 
 " He must have daughters, though ; or pro- 
 bably, a maiden sister," was the reflection of 
 Marcus. " None but a woman ever tyrannises 
 sufficiently in a household, to produce such 
 neatness as this." 
 
 There was something dispiriting, however, in 
 so much preciseness. — Though scarcely five 
 minutes elapsed before Hargood, in a grey 
 camlet wrapper, made his appearance from an 
 inner room, Davenport had found leisure to 
 fancy himself in a Moravian settlement. 
 
 " 1 am glad you have not forgotten your 
 promise," said his host ; " and still more so 
 that you have so timed your visit as to enable 
 me to receive you. Saturday is my holiday ; 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 175 
 
 and this morning, my week's work was done 
 and sent off. To-morrow, I devote to reading ; 
 — often the heavier work of the two." 
 
 Davenport was about to remark on the plea- 
 sant facility of " skip," — of turning over a dull 
 page, or laying a heavy volume on the shelf. 
 But by a peculiar glance directed by Hargood 
 towards a pile of works, evidently fresh from the 
 press and guiltless of the intervention of a cir- 
 culating or " select " library, he inferred, and 
 justly, that the reading of Hargood was profes- 
 sional ; the reading of the critic, not of the 
 book- worm, or book-butterfly. — Himself the 
 slave of his wilful will, he could readily imagine 
 that such reading must be hard labour with- 
 out extenuating circumstances. — He began to 
 understand the value of the dull and grave 
 monotonous room, interposing no extraneous 
 temptations between a book and the reader on 
 compulsion. 
 
 " We had a pleasant dinner the other night 
 at Richmond," resumed Hargood ; " pleasanter 
 than I ever expected to enjoy in the company 
 of young Drewe : — an amiable, well-intentioned 
 
176 • PROGRESS 
 
 young fellow, who has grievously mistaken his 
 vocation." 
 
 " I'm afraid so, — I'm sadly afraid so." 
 
 " These are not times," resumed Hargood, 
 " for what used to be called ' a young gentleman 
 with a pretty taste for poetry,' to be written 
 up into notice by partial critics. — Good poetry, 
 — strong prose, — will always find readers: but 
 education for the million has placed the parts of 
 speech at too low a premium, for a moderate use 
 of them, if addressed to the public, to be re- 
 garded otherwise than an impertinence. — I have 
 known the elder Drewe these dozen years past, 
 as an old donkey browsing on the wastes of 
 Science. Through him I became acquainted 
 with his ward : to whom I wish humbler 
 ambitions than inflate his empty head : for his 
 heart is in the right place." 
 
 Davenport could not help wondering whether 
 his own intellectual pretensions were as coolly 
 and impartially weighed in Hargood's balance, 
 as those of his friend. 
 
 " Hamilton Drewe is independent in means 
 and position," was all he hazarded in reply. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. , l77 
 
 "it is something that, under such advantages 
 or disadvantages, he should prefer Paternoster 
 to Rotten Row, and the Athenseum to the 
 Coventry." 
 
 " I don't agree with you, Mr, Davenport," 
 replied Hargood, with his most knock-me-down 
 air. " He who is not with us, is against us. — 
 Young Drewe's soul is at the Coventry. Let 
 his body go and keep it company. He has 
 adopted literature simply as a means of 
 notoriety, without any real sympathy for the 
 cause of letters ; and it is these maudlin poets 
 who, after too copiously imbibing the water, or 
 rather milk-and-water, of Helicon, sicken the 
 public with their drivelling ; and beget a belief 
 that the age for poetry is past. — It is not past, 
 Sir. The world has a right to become more 
 fastidious as it attains riper years : and it will 
 not accept mica for gold." 
 
 "I have no great fault to find with my 
 elegiac friend," replied Davenport, who, when 
 bow-wowed, was apt to bark again. — " He is a 
 good-natured, easy, unmeaning fellow, — not near 
 so great an impostor as the learned Pundit his 
 
 I 3 
 
178 PROGRESS 
 
 relation. But even old Wroughton has his use 
 in the world. His fussy officiousness is in- 
 valuable in vivifying those thousand moribund 
 societies and institutions ending in * logical,' 
 which, like a boa-constrictor, seem to subsist on 
 a monthly meal ; and afterwards lie torpid." 
 
 " Yes, — I believe the old gentleman has his 
 use," replied Hargood. " But I own I look 
 on such people as interlopers. It is perhaps 
 because, a compulsory labourer in the vine- 
 yard, and following literature as a calling, I feel 
 a little jealous of the idlers who come plucking 
 off the half-ripe grapes, and spoiling my market. 
 My gorge rises against amateurs : — amateur 
 actors, always more stagey than the stage ; — 
 amateur dramatists, who steal the stolen goods 
 of our translators ; — amateur painters, who — " 
 
 " Come, come, come !" interrupted Daven- 
 port. " If Drewe have failed to apprise you of 
 my usurped vocation, know me as one of the 
 race you are about to denounce. — / am an 
 amateur artist." 
 
 " I ought to have guessed it, from your 
 preferring the other day, Vandyck and Lely 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 179 
 
 to turtle and lobster cutlets ! — But again I find 
 my vineyard trenched upon. I have a daughter 
 who is an artist, — a professional artist. — Stay," 
 said he, rising and opening the door through 
 which he had made his entrance, " you shall 
 give me your opinion of her talents. Mary ! — 
 I am bringing a gentleman into your studio," 
 he continued, ushering Mark Davenport into a 
 chamber stiU more spacious than the sitting- 
 room ; in which the concentrated light fell full 
 upon an easel at which a young girl was 
 working. She scarcely raised her eyes, and 
 not at all her voice, as they entered. — Her 
 dress, an artist's grey blouse of the simplest 
 form and meanest* material, imparted little 
 charm to her somewhat insignificant figure ; 
 and when, struck by the masterly execution 
 of her work, Davenport found it impossible 
 to repress an exclamation of surprise and 
 admiration, she slowly turned upon him a pair 
 of wondering dark eyes ; as if the voice of praise 
 was to her an unknown tongue. 
 
 Nothing could be more subdued than her 
 air. Her cheek was colourless. Her lips smile- 
 
180 PROGRESS 
 
 less. Mary Hargood was evidently a household 
 victim. Davenport had been impressed at the 
 Richmond dinner by the contemptuous and 
 arbitrary tone in which Hargood spoke of the 
 weaker sex. The fruits were before him. This 
 calm sad-looking little girl of eighteen, in her 
 grey gown, who was painting as men rarely and 
 women never paint at eight-and-thirty, evidently 
 knew not the meaning of a will of her own. 
 
 The work on which Mary Hargood was 
 occupied, was a copy of MuriUo's " Assumption 
 of the Virgin," which the painter himself reco- 
 pied so often, though not half often enough for 
 the requirements of posterity ; and while Marcus 
 looked over her shoulder with unceasing wonder 
 and delight, he could hardly sufficiently admire 
 the vigour of her touch, — the correctness of 
 her eye. 
 
 " Your copy, Miss Hargood," said he, 
 " nearly equals the original !" 
 
 " Have you ever seen the original, that you 
 can utter so gross a piece of flattery?" she 
 quietly replied, without lifting her eyes from 
 the canvas. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 181 
 
 " I have seen the picture at the Louvre, and 
 the smaller one at Lansdowne House. But I 
 alluded to the one you are copying." 
 
 " Not very difficult for her to equal, for it is 
 her own," interposed her father, abruptly. " It 
 is the first copy after Murillo she executed ; at 
 the British Institution, where it won the second 
 prize. We sold it for fifteen guineas, — a hand- 
 some price. The dealer who purchased it soon 
 obtained an order for a second copy. But Mary 
 has no longer the original to work from; and 
 feels that it will be inferior to the first. For 
 this therefore she intends only to ask twelve 
 guineas." 
 
 " It is worth ten times, twenty times the 
 money !" replied Davenport with enthusiasm. 
 But it grated a little upon his ear to hear the 
 buying and selling of the young artist's works 
 so crudely alluded to in her presence. She did 
 not join, indeed, in the conversation ; but went 
 calmly painting on, as if accustomed to be 
 treated as a nonentity. 
 
 " Have you anything else to show this 
 gentleman?" inquired her father, in a tone of 
 
182 PROGRESS 
 
 severe authority, which Davenport feared would 
 produce a peevish negative. Instead of which, 
 she quietly laid aside her palette, and fetched 
 a portfolio. 
 
 " Nothing but sketches," said she, placing 
 the book on a chair for her visitor's inspection, 
 and instantly resuming her work. 
 
 " We will take it with us into the other room 
 to glance over the drawings," said her father to 
 Marcus, placing it under his arm, and carrying 
 it and his reluctant guest off together. " We 
 should interrupt her by staying here ; and Mary 
 cannot afford to be idle. I was reading to her 
 when you came in. But that is no interruption. 
 She is used to it. Mary has received most of 
 her lessons from me while occupied at her 
 easel." 
 
 " A heavy pull upon the faculties," observed 
 Davenport, as Hargood drew after him the 
 heavy black door of the studio. — " Are you 
 not afraid, my dear Sir, of overtaxing her fine 
 genius ?" 
 
 " Fine what ?'' cried Hargood, almost with 
 indignation. " You don't call it a proof of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 183 
 
 genius, I hope, to make a tolerable copy of one 
 of Murillo's pictures ?" 
 
 " I call this a proof of genius," replied his 
 visitor, holding at arm's length an exquisite 
 landscape in water-colours, which Hargood had 
 taken from the portfolio and placed in his hand. 
 " The composition is exquisite ; the aerial per- 
 spective, by Jove, as fine as Turner's !" 
 
 "If it were, it would be worth hundreds of 
 pounds," was the cold calculating rejoinder. 
 " And for the best of Mary's drawings, I 
 have never been able to get more than a couple 
 of guineas." 
 
 Again, Davenport felt disgusted. Still more so 
 when, by a closer survey of the portfolio, he saw 
 he was dealing with an artist as imaginative 
 in design as superior in the mere mechanism of 
 her art. 
 
 " How hard she must have worked to have 
 attained, at so early an age, such perfection !" 
 murmured he, musing aloud. 
 
 " Hard, indeed ! — But Mary has had great 
 advantages. — ^Turner, Constable, Etty, all of 
 them my friends, overlooked her early progress. 
 
1 84 PROGRESS 
 
 She exhibited, indeed, an almost equal talent 
 for music. But the career of a public performer, 
 Captain Davenport, is far from desirable; so 
 that pretension I nipped in the bud ; and should 
 she be lucky in the first work she exhibits, my 
 daughter will probably realise nearly as much 
 money as an artist. Angelica Kaufmann made 
 a rapid fortune." 
 
 " I should much like, if you would permit 
 me," said Davenport, " to express to Miss Har- 
 good before I go the delight which these 
 exquisite works of hers have afforded me." 
 
 " Better let it alone. The fewer compliments 
 the better !" said the matter-of-fact father, tying 
 the ferret strings of the shabby portfoho with 
 as much indifference as he would have corded a 
 portmanteau. " Mary is a good girl, and must 
 not be spoiled. — For the last five years, ever 
 since her mother's death, she has been working 
 as hard as I have, to provide the means of 
 giving her young brothers a solid classical 
 education. I do not want her to be dis- 
 turbed by flattery, or her time wasted by idle 
 visitors." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 185 
 
 Davenport felt that it would be a relief to his 
 feelings to take one of the quarto volumes of 
 Johnson's Dictionary from the table, and dis- 
 charge it at the head of this dry mercenary 
 father, as the great lexicographer did at the 
 head of a shabby bookseller. 
 
 " My friend Drewe did not apprise me, Mr. 
 Hargood, that you were so fortunate in the 
 talents of your family," said he gravely, having 
 overmastered the impulse. 
 
 " How should he ? — He knows not that I 
 have a child belonging to me ! — Had I informed 
 a rich man like young Drewe that my daughter 
 was painting for the benefit of her family, he 
 would have thought it necessary to give her an 
 order ; besides perhaps besetting the girl with 
 the compliments you were preparing just now. 
 You are in a different position. You have 
 given me grounds to surmise that you are a 
 poor man ; and by your own accomplishments, 
 are capable of appreciating her merits, without 
 forcing yourself on us as a patron." 
 
 " Nevertheless, if you would permit me," 
 stammered out Davenport, — though little sub- 
 
186 PROGRESS 
 
 ject to shyness, " and if Miss Hargood were 
 willing to re-copy a second time the picture on 
 which she is engaged, I should be overjoyed to 
 pay for it double the price given by her present 
 employer." 
 
 " I will speak to her about it," replied Har- 
 good, coldly. " At all events, I should not 
 permit you to pay more than the market-price ; 
 unless, on delivery, superior execution warranted 
 an advance." 
 
 *' I confess," said Davenport, seeking to pro- 
 long his visit, in some hope that the large black 
 door might again revolve on its hinges, — " I 
 confess to a weakness in favour of Murillo. I 
 prefer his Holy Families to those of any other 
 painter." 
 
 " To even Raphael's ?" 
 
 " Even Raphael's, To me, the Virgins of 
 the Italian artist are too spiritual ; and as oppo- 
 site to the maidens of Galilee (whom I have 
 studied, Mr. Hargood, face to face,) as if the 
 models which sat for them had been Fin- 
 markers." 
 
 " We are not bound to imagine that Mary 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 187 
 
 of Galilee resembled any other daughter of the 
 land. For my part, nothing surprises me more 
 than the audacity of the artist who first endea- 
 voured to paint a Holy Family; — unless, 
 indeed, it were the inspired St. Luke. As a 
 lover of painting, I have a strong general objec- 
 tion to Scripture subjects." 
 
 " Yet you will hardly deny that the arts have 
 done nearly as much as the pulpit, towards the 
 diffusion of Christianity ?" 
 
 " And not a little to its detriment. — ^Nay, I 
 am not sure that the enormous spread of Mo- 
 hammedanism is not partly attributable to its 
 proscription of all representation of the human 
 face, and consequently to the absence of all 
 physical representation of the divinity. Your 
 favourite Murillo, for instance, who copied 
 his Marys from the water-carriers of Ma- 
 drid—" 
 
 " The very origin of their truthfulness !" in- 
 terrupted Davenport. " The human touch, the 
 working of the muscles of the heart pourtrayed 
 in their faces, is wholly wanting in those fair 
 ineffable simperers of Raphael. — Nothing inter- 
 
188 PROGRESS 
 
 ests, — nothing searches the heart hke the Real. 
 This book," continued, Davenport, snatching 
 up a volume of Jane Eyre, which had recently 
 appeared and was lying under critical sentence 
 upon Hargood's readirg-desk, — " this book, by 
 which I have been lately enthralled, is in my 
 opinion the most remarkable specimen of 
 autobiography published since the most shame- 
 less but most forcible of all works of the 
 kind — Rousseau's Confessions. And why ? — 
 because it is the daguerreotyped picture of a 
 human heart, in all its strength and all its 
 weakness." 
 
 " I am glad you like the book ; for I have 
 marked it down for especial praise," rephed 
 Hargood. — "For me, it possesses a peculiar 
 and melancholy interest, as the History of 
 a Governess ; — a class with which my own 
 life has been miserably connected. But 
 now, my dear Sir, I must send you away ; 
 or Mary will slacken over her labour, poor 
 girl, if I do not return to cheer her up 
 with a chapter or two of the Vestiges of 
 Creation." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 189 
 
 Davenport took a reluctant leave. He fancied 
 that his conversation might have supplied for 
 pleasanter topics to lighten the professional 
 labours of poor Mary Hargood. 
 
190 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " I'm sure, my dear Doctor, I don't know 
 how we shall ever break it to her," was the 
 closing remark of good, gruff old Burnaby to 
 Mr. Henderson after a long discussion between 
 them of some unpleasant tidings communicated 
 by Messrs. Preston of Cardington, relative to 
 the Meadowes estate. " One can't leave such a 
 task to the lawyers. Their hateful technicalities 
 would confuse her mind. — One or other of us 
 must tell her the plain truth, in the simplest 
 manner. But by Jove ! I've hardly courage to 
 take this disagreeable business on myself" 
 
 "There is no need, my dear Doctor," replied 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 191 
 
 the Rector mildly. " The undertaking does not 
 alarm me. The scenes of grief and anxiety 
 we have witnessed this autumn, have rather 
 hardened my heart towards mere mercenary 
 distresses. As to Lady Meadowes, I know 
 no woman on earth more thoroughly dis- 
 interested." 
 
 " Disinterested, as it is easy to be, and as all 
 women fancy themselves, in despising imaginary 
 millions, and supposititious diamond coronets ! 
 — After that fashion, you or I might disdain the 
 throne of Spain, or the wealth of the Indies. 
 But faith, when it comes to a question of 
 bread and butter, — when it comes to being 
 turned out of the house where you have lived 
 happily for the last thirty years — " 
 
 " But the ejectment is not yet certain," 
 pleaded Mr. Henderson, in a reprehensive tone. 
 
 "I don't know what you'd have! — Our friends 
 the Prestons strongly advise our not bringing 
 the business to trial. They have taken the 
 best legal opinions. Three leading conveyancers 
 have decided that the objection to Sir Mark's 
 disposal of the property, is fatal. Those fine 
 
192 PROGRESS 
 
 and recovery questions, to us a mystery, are points 
 clearly laid down by the law of the land : and the 
 only wonder is, how Sir Mark Meadowes and his 
 father before him, to both of whom the custom 
 of Radensford Manor must have been perfectly 
 familiar, allowed themselves to neglect it. As 
 to Sir Mark, there's no forgiveness for him, — 
 with a daughter — and such a daughter, — un- 
 provided for." 
 
 " There is no forgiveness for his having 
 squandered away the six thousand a-year which 
 he originally inherited. As to this unfortunate 
 forfeiture of the Meadowes Court estate to the 
 heir-at-law, the family attorneys, whoever they 
 were at the time, are solely to blame. In 
 matters of business. Sir Mark was a mere 
 child." 
 
 " At fifty-nine, no man has a right to remain 
 a child in matters of business. It is culpable, 
 Sir, — it is heinous." 
 
 " In the eyes of my cloth, my dear Doctor," 
 rejoined the Rector, " there are many less par- 
 donable transgressions." 
 
 " But aU this don't help us towards our ex- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 193 
 
 planation with the poor dear lady," cried Dr. 
 Burnaby. '' Would you have me pave me the 
 way, pray, by a hint or two to Miss Amy ; or 
 will you at once blurt it out to her mother ?" 
 
 " I will explain it, with proper caution to 
 her mother. But I am mistaken if I do not 
 find Lady Meadowes rise at once to the level of 
 her position." 
 
 " Fall at once, you mean." 
 
 " Fall, if you will. But such a trial, nobly 
 encountered, is, in my opinion, a step upward,— 
 a step leading to the skies." 
 
 " I'm glad you see it in any favourable light, 
 I could be content to spare them such an 
 advantage," said the more worldly-minded old 
 doctor. " Four hundred a-year for the support 
 of two delicate helpless creatures, accustomed 
 to all the luxuries of life — " 
 
 " To all its comforts, — not to all its luxuries," 
 pleaded the Rector. " And reflect how great a 
 blessing it is that they have four hundred a-year ! 
 Unless the careless man, whom you admit was 
 a child in matters of business, had charged the 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 PROGRESS 
 
 estate on his marriage with his wife's dowry, 
 they would have been absolutely penniless. The 
 stock and furniture at Meadowes Court will not 
 sell for £1,200; and that miserable pittance 
 might have been theij; all !" 
 
 " You are right, my dear friend, as you 
 usually are, and as most people are who look to 
 the sunny side of things," replied Dr. Burnaby. 
 " May you be able to satisfy this poor widow as 
 readily as you have silenced me. And now, 
 with your leave, while you make the plunge, I'll 
 drive on to the Manor House, and let Lady 
 Harriet know how matters stand. She will be 
 of service to us in helping to temper the wind 
 to these shorn lambs." 
 
 The Rector of Radensford who, though he 
 made the best of an irretrievable grievance, 
 was deeply troubled by the darkened prospects 
 of Amy and her mother, experienced some 
 reluctance at the idea of their misfortune be- 
 coming so soon a matter of notoriety in the 
 neighbourhood. But it could not be helped. 
 Sir Jervis Meadowes showed every intention of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 195 
 
 bringing matters to a speedy crisis. Perhaps it 
 was as well that the ice should be broken at once. 
 
 Little however did he surmise, — little did 
 even the kind-hearted bustling Dr. Burnaby 
 imagine when he drove up to the door of the 
 Manor House, how extensive a castle in the air 
 his visit was fated to bring down. 
 
 From the period of her hospitable housing of 
 the Meadowes family, three months before, poor 
 Lady Harriet had led an unquiet life. With all 
 her rehance on her own infallibility, she had 
 been at times almost puzzled ; with all her con- 
 fidence in the superiority of principle innate in 
 herself and her family, she had been more than 
 once inclined to self-condemnation. 
 
 The heart of her nephew, London-man and 
 callous as he appeared, had been wounded to 
 the quick by the afflictions of the Meadowes 
 family ; aggravated by a conviction that he had 
 been the means of conveying the fatal infection 
 to the good old baronet : and he resigned him- 
 self by degrees, but without much of a struggle, 
 to the passion which had in fact originated his 
 ill-fated visit to Meadowes Court. Towards 
 
 K 2 
 
196 PROGRESS 
 
 Amy, happy, laughing, prosperous, and a ti'ifle 
 contemptuous, he might have maintained his 
 dignified reserve. But the interest she had 
 evinced in his indisposition, as well as her 
 subsequent sorrows, and patience under suffer- 
 ing, had impelled him to throw off at once his 
 una-racious armour of defence. On his sick- 
 bed, and scarcely yet redeemed from the shadow 
 of death, he not only admitted to himself that, 
 if he recovered, Amy Meadowes would be the 
 wife of his choice and wife of his heart, but 
 made no secret of it to his aunt. Even Lady 
 Harriet had been sufficiently dismounted from 
 her pedestal of pride by so close an encounter 
 with the grisly enemy who makes small distinc- 
 tion between ennobled clay and plebeian, that she 
 refrained from indulging in the sermons and 
 prohibitions by which she had endeavoured to 
 forestal the evil. 
 
 " I wiU do all I can for you, my dear boy," 
 said she, when her nephew's now nerveless hand 
 enfolded her own, while endeavouring to secure 
 her good offices in his favour. " But I give 
 you little hope, William, — I have often heard 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 197 
 
 your father and mother applaud the firmness of 
 the Davenports in discountenancing their bro- 
 ther's mesalliance ; and I am convinced neither 
 Sir Henry nor my sister would ever give their 
 consent to your marriage with the daughter of 
 a governess." 
 
 " A woman derives her position in life from 
 her father, dear aunt, not from her mother." 
 
 " She derives her nature and instincts from 
 both. I confess that, equally with your parents, 
 I dread and detest the influence of ignoble blood. 
 — Well ! don't take away your hand, Willy. 
 You have retained me as your advocate : and, 
 as I said before, I will do my best." 
 
 " No one does their best. Aunt Harriet, where 
 their own opinions or prejudices are adverse. 
 But when will you write ? — When will you 
 endeavour to sound my mother about the best 
 mode of attacking my father ?" 
 
 " No hurry, my dear child. — You are as yet 
 scarcely able to sit up. Besides, Amy, in her 
 present deep affliction, is no object for court- 
 ship. — It would be an offence both to her and 
 her mother even to hint at such a thina;. — Get 
 
198 PROGRESS 
 
 well, — get strong, Willy. Let us endeavour to 
 recover some degree of calmness after all the 
 shocks we have undergone : and rely upon it, 
 I will lose no time in opening a way for what I 
 fear you wiU find a stormy discussion." 
 
 The moment for such a disclosure was, how- 
 ever, more favourable than was dreamed of in 
 her ladyship's philosophy. The Eustaces, male 
 and female, were in a mood unusually humane. 
 They were both grateful to Providence, and 
 ashamed of themselves : thankful that their 
 only son had been spared to them ; ashamed 
 that they should have risked the lives of others 
 by despatching him from the midst of infection, 
 to Radensford Manor ; and at the announcement 
 of his danger, have hesitated about hurrying 
 to his bedside. — When, therefore. Lady Harriet 
 eventually announced that he was about to return 
 home still enfeebled by his terrible malady, and 
 dispirited by having to communicate to them a 
 circumstance, — an attachment, — little likely to 
 meet with their approbation, they prepared 
 themselves to meet the worst with patience. — 
 At all events, they would not endanger the con- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 199 
 
 valescence of the invalid by premature opposition 
 to his wishes. 
 
 When he made his appearance at last, wan, 
 wasted, nervous, these good intentions were con- 
 firmed. There were tears in his mother's eyes ; 
 and never had Sir Henry been so near the verge 
 of an emotion, as when his son re-entered the 
 hall of his forefathers, instead of being conveyed, 
 as at one time they apprehended, to the family 
 vault. — Even Mr. Eustace himself was suffi- 
 ciently satisfied of their kindly feelings towards 
 him, to postpone till the morrow tidings likely to 
 ruffle their good understanding. 
 
 Before the flowing lava of parental tenderness 
 had found time to harden, a letter from the 
 Manor House accomplished Lady Harriet's pro- 
 mise to her nephew, that she would do her best 
 as his advocate. By apprising the Eustaces that 
 at the death of her mother, Amy would come 
 into an unincumbered estate of two-and-twenty 
 hundreds a-year, she removed from their minds 
 all superfluous scruples. Sir Henry thought it 
 necessary, indeed, for the sake of consistency, to 
 accompany his pompous " assent to his intended 
 
200 PROGRESS 
 
 proposals to the daughter of the late Sir Mark 
 Meadowes," with a declaration that he ought 
 to have done better ; that, for the last three 
 generations, the Eustaces had intermarried with 
 the peerage, so that they had not a single low 
 connection or objectionable relative; whereas 
 there was no surmising to what humiliation 
 they might not hereafter be exposed by such 
 a blot on their scutcheon as the origin of the 
 present Lady Meadowes. But he by no means 
 forbad the match. He even promised to make 
 suitable settlements ; and to talk over with his 
 man of business the proper amount of jointure 
 and pin-money. 
 
 The heart of the young lover leapt within 
 him at the sound. Never in his life had he 
 been so moved, except when, after a two hours' 
 homily, his father agreed to settle his book on 
 his first Derby : and never, even then, had he 
 been half so fervent or half so sincere in ex- 
 pressions of gratitude. — He longed to rush back 
 into Gloucestershire that very day ; and place 
 his heart and hand at the feet of the good and 
 precious being whom he accused himself of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 201 
 
 having presumed to slight and depreciate. It 
 was only because aware that the gates of 
 Meadowes Court were closed against intrusion 
 bv the sacredness of family affliction, that he 
 contented himself with pouring out his hopes 
 and feelings in a letter more voluminous than 
 judicious, which he forthwith despatched to Lady 
 Harriet, to be placed in the hands of poor Amy 
 at the first favourable moment. 
 
 " Of course, my dearest sister," wrote Lady 
 Louisa, by the same post, " we are not a little 
 grieved and disappointed. We had expected 
 that a young man, circumstanced like William, 
 would form an unexceptionable match. But 
 God's will be done ! — It might have been worse. 
 — The conduct of Lady Meadowes in married 
 life has been such as in some measure to efface 
 the stigma of her origin ; and as Sir Henry has 
 generously sacrificed his feelings on this grievous 
 occasion, and consented to a step on which his 
 son has unfortunately set his heart, lose no time, 
 dearest Harriet, in bringing the disagreeable 
 affair to an issue. Till it is settled, William 
 will recover neither his strength nor his looks ; 
 
 K 3 
 
202 PROGRESS 
 
 and I do not wish the cause of his low spirits 
 to be discussed in the school-room. The girls 
 must not be allowed to surmise the unpleasant 
 drawback attaching to their future sister-in-law. 
 They must know nothing about the marriage 
 till it is on the eve of solemnization." 
 
 After perusing this epistle, Lady Harriet 
 gravely shook her head. Though she had ful- 
 filled her promise to her nephew, it was in the 
 belief that his parents would be inexorable ; nor 
 did she approve so complete an abnegation of 
 principle on the part of the Eustaces. — What 
 would the world say? — How would their incon- 
 sistency be judged by the merciless severity of 
 public opinion ? 
 
 MeanwhUe, like most weak-minded people 
 entrusted with a negotiation, she was in no 
 hurry to bring it to a close. — It was not often 
 she had so grand a secret in her keeping ; and 
 unusually stately was her demeanour when Mary 
 Tremenheere dropped in at luncheon time, won- 
 dering, as usual, " how their poor dear friends at 
 Meadowes Court were getting on, or whether 
 they would ever hold up their heads again ;" and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 203 
 
 felt that her ample pocket contained credentials, 
 likely, at no distant time, to raise those depressed 
 heads and make their hearts sing for joy. 
 
 For two long days did she revolve in her 
 mind the best mode of breaking the happy 
 intelligence to Amy and her mother : and on 
 the third, rose earlier than usual to indite a few 
 lines, somewhat too grandiloquent for the occa- 
 sion, begging " leave to wait upon Lady Mea- 
 dowes at two o'clock that day, to communicate 
 something of the highest importance ; some- 
 thing which she trusted would prove as agree- 
 able to her friends at Meadowes Court as to 
 herself;" and, having sealed the letter with her 
 largest and best emblazoned lozenge, and de- 
 spatched it by her little foot-page in the form of 
 Bill the weeding-boy, she was reclining back in 
 her chair, meditating on the terms suitable to 
 convey her nephew's proposals to her invalid 
 neighbour, without marking too great a con- 
 descension on the part of the Eustaces or too 
 unchristianly a sense of the sacrifice her family 
 was making, when Dr. Burnaby was suddenly 
 announced. She was startled. The little bovs 
 
204 PROGRESS 
 
 were in perfect health and safe in the school- 
 room with their tutor. The estahlishment, down 
 to the minutest scullery-maid, was free from 
 catarrh. 
 
 What business had he there at such a time !" 
 
 She felt that mischief was impending. Though 
 so thoroughly worthy a man as the good doctor 
 ought never to be invested with the attributes 
 of the Stormy Petrel, his spontaneous appearance 
 was an evil omen. 
 
 Luckily for Lady Harriet, he had no time to 
 lose in ambiguous phrases. Old Buiuiaby was 
 no diplomat ; and so short a time did he expend 
 in making her acquainted with the fatal fact 
 that her well-to-do neighbours were reduced to 
 a humbler level of life, that, instead of listening 
 to the sequel with uplifted hands, upturned eyes, 
 and the profound sympathy he had anticipated 
 from her well-known good-will towards the 
 family, her first impulse was to start from her 
 seat, and vehemently ring the bell. 
 
 What could she want so suddenly ? A glass 
 of water ? A bottle of Godfrey's salts ? The 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 205 
 
 good doctor was half-inclined to seize her lady- 
 ship's hand and place a finger on her pulse ! 
 But no ! She was full of animation. No 
 symptoms of syncope. — No fear of a swoon. 
 
 " Is the boy gone ? — Has my letter been taken 
 to Meadowes Court ?" cried she, with a degree 
 of abruptness almost worthy of her guest, and 
 altogether foreign to her usual dignified reserve. 
 
 " I will inquire, my lady." 
 
 Unaware of the critical nature of the case, 
 the rheumatic butler inquired so leisurely that, 
 before his answer was rendered, and while Dr. 
 Burnaby still sat wondering and tapping his 
 snuff-box, Lady Harriet again addressed herself 
 strenuously to the bell. 
 
 " The lad is gone, my lady. He went 
 instantly on receiving your ladyship's orders." 
 
 " Then hurry after him, Blagrove. But no ! 
 you could not overtake him. Let Master 
 Warneford's pony be saddled. John or the 
 gardener must instantly follow him and bring 
 back my letter." 
 
 " Bill will take across the fields, my lady, 
 and—" 
 
206 PROGRESS 
 
 " No matter, no matter ! — Some one can go 
 round by the road, and meet him when he 
 arrives at Meadowes Com-t. But let no mistake 
 be made, Blagrove. I must have the letter 
 back." 
 
 The old man retired, with a grave and 
 thoughtful countenance. He had not forgotten 
 — none in the household had — Miss Meadowes's 
 frantic expedition from the Manor House to the 
 death-bed of her father, which the utmost 
 exertion had been unable to prevent. 
 
 When the door closed on him, Dr. Burnaby, 
 evidently a little huffy at the interruption offered 
 to his narrative, could not forbear observing : — 
 " The letter your ladyship has so eagerly 
 recalled, was doubtless calculated to aggravate 
 the pain this sad discovery is about to inflict on 
 our poor friends?" 
 
 "If it should reach its destination, it will at 
 all events prove grievously mistimed," replied 
 Lady Harriet, evasively. " But do you really 
 believe. Doctor, that Sir Jervis's pretensions 
 are well-grounded ? Is there no hope — no 
 hope — for poor Amy ?" 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 207 
 
 " Not a shadow ! — The Prestons, it seems, 
 had their suspicions from the first. But they 
 had some delicacy about mooting the question. 
 Unluckily, however, old Preston obsei-ved to 
 his son in presence of one of his clerks, that 
 he should scruple to advise any client of his 
 to purchase the Meadowes Court estate; for 
 he was afraid no title could ever be made 
 out. On the strength of which, some black- 
 guard in the office made it his business to 
 afford a private hint to Sir Jervis Meadowes. 
 Ah ! ray dear lady ! — In matters of business 
 let not thy right hand know what thy left 
 doeth ; or thy words may be carried up even to 
 the King's chamber." 
 
 Lady Harriet, who had often before taken 
 occasion to resent the old doctor's unorthodox 
 application of Scripture texts, looked solemn, 
 and remained silent. — Perhaps she was listening 
 for the return of old Blagrove's footsteps across 
 the hall. — The doctor of course imajjined that 
 his adjuration had made a suitable impression 
 on her mind. 
 
 " And how far may we count upon your 
 
208 PROGRESS 
 
 ladyship," said he, after allowing some 
 minutes' pause to her cogitations, " to assist us 
 in disclosing these painful facts to the ladies at 
 Meadowes Court ?" 
 
 Lady Harriet looked be\\ildered, and tried 
 to recover the use of her faculties. But alas ! 
 her heart was still far away, with Bill the 
 weeding-boy. 
 
 " Count upon me ?" she reiterated at last, as 
 if she had not heard a word of his preceding 
 explanations. 
 
 " May we, in short, hope that your lady- 
 ship's aid will not be wanting in softening 
 this sad blow to our poor friends ?" persisted 
 Dr. Burnaby, getting almost incensed by her 
 evident absence of mind. 
 
 " Surely," she replied, drawing up with some 
 dignity, "the executors of Sir Mark's will are 
 the proper persons to apprise Lady Meadowes 
 of the results of his culpable negligence ?" 
 
 " The proper persons, — though perhaps not 
 the fittest !" cried the doctor, starting up and 
 planting himself on the hearth-rug without 
 noticing her air of hauteur. " For, by Jove, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 209 
 
 though my last bh'thday was my seventy-third, 
 the ways of the world have not yet hardened 
 my heart to sufficient firmness for the under- 
 taking. However, that good Samaritan, — that 
 worthy man yonder at the Rectory, — has con- 
 sented to bear the brunt ; and all I can do is 
 to step in with my counsels and services, when 
 the worst is known and has to be palliated. 
 Good morning, Lady Harriet Warneford — I 
 wish you a very good day." 
 
 The doctor's hat was in his hand, when 
 Blagrove luckily appeared at the door, holding 
 in his the fatal note ; and lo ! his lady, rescued 
 at once from the terrors under which she had 
 been labouring, became in a moment complacent, 
 affable, and fluent. She was quite ready to 
 assist in comforting the Meadowes family in 
 any other capacity than as members of her 
 own. — She proposed making her appearance at 
 Meadowes Court early in the afternoon. 
 
 Somehow or other, as he gazed m Lady 
 Harriet's countenance, the old doctor's mind 
 misgave him that the iron gripe of worldliness 
 was hardening her heart. He could not shake 
 
210 PROGRESS 
 
 her hand so cordially as usual, when again 
 bidding her good-bye. Before he left the 
 room, he saw her hastily commit to the flames 
 the epistle she had recovered, as if she could 
 not too speedily secure the extinction of so 
 unpleasant a document. — But very little did 
 he surmise with what eagerness she sat 
 down, immediately on his departure, to address 
 her nephew, re-enclosing the long letter of 
 explanation intended for Amy, — and con- 
 gratulate him on his escape. 
 
 " Another half-hour, and he would have been 
 irretrievably committed to a marriage with a 
 pauper !" 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 2 J 1 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Mark Davenport, like other wilful men, 
 was apt, when he did surrender himself to a 
 new impulse, to give up without a struggle the 
 keys of the fortress. His artistic eye had been 
 singularly captivated by the picturesque and 
 characteristic aspect of Hargood's daughter ; 
 and his somewhat rugged nature was touched 
 by her patient servitude. He could not drive 
 her from his mind. Through the fragrant 
 clouds of his hookah, her sad face seemed 
 gazing upon him from a distance. At length 
 he determined to exorcise the spirit, as he had 
 
2 1 2 PROGRESS 
 
 done in similar cases, by transferring to canvas 
 or paper the image that haunted him ; as poets 
 imprison an idea in a sonnet, or musicians in 
 an adagio. 
 
 The gloomy studio with its stream of light 
 falling from the lofty window was soon 
 sketched in ; and the slave of the easel was 
 beginning to stand out from the background, 
 in her pale grey blouse. But when it came to 
 the stern but mournful face of the girl who, 
 v^'ith the proportions of a child, looked as if she 
 had never been young, the rapid hand of the 
 artist paused, as from momentary compunction. 
 — Mary Hargood's grave countenance seemed 
 gazing at him reproachfully, as if he were 
 unlawfully prying into the dimness of her 
 melancholy life. 
 
 He threw aside his brush ; and resumed the 
 book he had left half open by the fireside. — It 
 was Chamisso's striking story of Peter Schle- 
 mihl. But his eyes wandered listlessly over 
 the pages. He could not — could not — recal 
 his wanderins; attention. 
 
 " By Jove," cried he, at length, with sudden 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 213 
 
 impetuosity, which caused the terrier basking 
 at his feet to start up barking as though 
 it heard "a rat behind the arras," — " by 
 Jove, that fellow was born to be a nigger- 
 driver or a dentist. He weighs his own flesh 
 and blood in the balance as though it were 
 so much putty ; and looks upon that gifted 
 child as my father on one of his Leicester 
 shee^p, — calculating it at so much a pound. 
 I'm not one of those who fancy women formed 
 to live under a glass, like eggshell china, and 
 other fragile curiosities. But hang it — one 
 need not treat them quite like potter's clay ! — 
 * Let us take care of the Beautiful,' said old 
 Goethe. ' The Useful will take care of itself " 
 And back he went to his sketch ; and by 
 a few able touches, brought out the intellectual 
 physiognomy of the youthful artist ; creating, 
 
 under the shadow of her even brows, 
 
 the full-orbed dignity of Homer's Juno. 
 Strange, — that so much could abide in pro^ 
 portions so diminutive ! — 
 
2 14 PROGRESS 
 
 Scarcely had he satisfied himself by a certain 
 conscious tingling of the cheeks (as if the for- 
 bidding but fascinating girl were again before 
 him with her rebuking glances), that the like- 
 ness was one of the best he had ever produced, 
 when the hurrying step of Hamilton Drewe 
 upon the stairs startled him from his reverie ; 
 and his ejaculations concerning the threatened 
 intrusion, were not much more complimentary 
 than they had been towards Mary's taskmaster. 
 
 " Confounded bore, to have that moth per- 
 petually buzzing about one's ears !" muttered 
 Mark. " If he don't leave town shortly, I 
 shall sport my oak as if in chambers, or fiiirly 
 lock my door, as one does on the continent." 
 
 While giving utterance to these threats, he 
 scuffled away into his dressing-room the block 
 of paper on which he had been working. 
 
 "What are you shuffling out of sight, my 
 dear Davenport ?" inquired the poet, who, 
 being in the habit of turning his own empty 
 mind inside out as people turn their empty 
 pockets, did not admit that others could have 
 secrets to keep. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 215 
 
 " Something I do not wish you to see," was 
 the cnol reply. 
 
 " But it is only a drawing ?" 
 
 " If you know what it is, why so curious ?" 
 
 " Not curious : only interested in every work 
 of yours." 
 
 " But this is not work, — it is play." 
 
 " Raison de plus. Do let me see it ?" 
 
 " Certainly not" 
 
 " Not when it is finished, my dear Daven- 
 port ?" 
 
 " It wall never be finished. Like the Cathe- 
 dral at Cologne, — the Church of St. Genevieve, 
 — the Palace of the LomTC, — and the story of 
 the Bear and the Fiddle, it is fated to be im- 
 mortal in incompleteness. — But what has caused 
 you, Drewe, to be armed cap-a-pie so early in 
 the morning ? — I never saw you dressed like a 
 Christian before, till the sun was vertical." 
 
 " Because," replied his visitor, taking a letter 
 from the pocket of a fur-coat built as if for an 
 Arctic expedition, " because old Wroughton has 
 just sent me an order for the private view of the 
 
2 1 6 PROGRESS 
 
 new gallery of Egyptian antiquities at the British 
 Museum ; and I want you to come with me and 
 inspect them." 
 
 " I have seen them already. I assisted at the 
 packing. I was six months in Egypt on my 
 way overland from India." 
 
 " Then I will go in search of Hargood," said 
 Drewe, re-pocketing the ticket, and preparing to 
 depart. 
 
 " Oh ! if Hargood is to be of the party, I am 
 your man," said Davenport. " Wait a moment, 
 and I will be ready." 
 
 " I wonder why on earth I submit to your 
 impertinent caprices !" cried Drewe, shrugging 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Simply as people overlook the rough coat 
 of a pine-apple," was the cool rejoinder ; — " be- 
 cause you know me to be a fine fruit at the 
 core. — By the way," continued he, as, some 
 minutes afterwards they were driving through 
 the damp dark narrow streets, towards the 
 domicile of their literary friend — " has not 
 Hargood a professional artist in his family, — 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 217 
 
 wife, sister, daughter, niece, — I forget what — to 
 whom a sight of these pictures might be a 
 blessing ?" 
 
 " I had rather not invite his wife, who has 
 been dead these six years. — He has probably a 
 maiden sister, — for I never saw rooms kept in 
 such apple-pie order." 
 
 " Ask her, then. It would be a charity." 
 
 " Charity begins at home ; and I might be 
 required to drive her in my cab." 
 
 " Not at all. — Send her with Harffood. But 
 here we are," he continued, as his companion 
 suddenly reined up. " Let me out, Drewe, and 
 I will carry your message to our friend ; for I 
 don't care to be left in charge of your frisky 
 bay, while you are making a short story a long 
 one." 
 
 In a moment, the one bright brass bell-pull, 
 in a line of dirty tarnished ones, had summoned 
 the tidy parlour-maid of the Hargoods ; by whom 
 Davenport was primly informed that " Master 
 was not at home." 
 
 " I know it. But I have a message to Miss 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
2 1 8 PROGRESS 
 
 Hargood," said he, brushing vigorously past her 
 up-stairs ; and he had opened and traversed the 
 chilly drawing-room, and knocked at the door of 
 the studio, before the scared little woman had 
 found time to close the street-door in the face of 
 Hamilton Drewe. 
 
 A low sad voice bad him enter ; and enter 
 he did. And there stood the pale little artist, 
 with the same palette and brush in her hand, 
 and the same sad look in her eyes ; stationed 
 precisely on the same spot, with the same gleam 
 of light falling upon her glossy hair. — It was 
 like the realisation of a dream. Half-an-hour 
 before, Davenport had been labouring to recal 
 all these details, and fix them into reality by 
 his pencil. And now, all was before him ; his 
 vision verified. 
 
 His explanations were hurriedly made. But 
 Mary was not slow of comprehension. 
 
 " It is very kindly thought of on your part,*' 
 said she, when he had made all clear. — " But 
 even had my father been at home, I could not 
 have accompanied you to-day. I have three 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 219 
 
 hours' work before me. — When my palette is 
 prepared, I never work less than six hours." 
 
 " But for such an exceptional occasion — " 
 
 " Not exceptional to me. To-morrow is 
 Saturday, — my father's holiday ; and he has 
 promised to take me to the Museum." 
 
 " To the public view." 
 
 " Public or private, the objects viewed will be 
 the same. — We have a ticket for to-day, which 
 we do not use. It is one of the advantages 
 my father derives from his connection with 
 the press, that such places are always open to 
 us." 
 
 By this time, Davenport had made his way 
 to the side of the artist, who had not so much 
 as laid aside her brush in compliment to his 
 presence. — With the keenness of a practised 
 eye, he saw in a moment that several slight 
 criticisms he had hazarded on the occasion of 
 his former visit, had been carefully attended 
 to. — The picture had grown and ripened during 
 his absence. It was indeed a masterly pro- 
 duction; and his praises were as fervent as 
 sincere. 
 
 L 2 
 
220 PROGRESS 
 
 " You should attempt some original produc- 
 tion, Miss Hargood," said he. " You are 
 wasting the most precious time and talents on 
 these copies." 
 
 " Not so long as I continue to receive com- 
 missions for them," she coldly replied. " Ori- 
 ginal composition is always a risk. Have you 
 any further message, Mr. Davenport, to my 
 father?" 
 
 This v^^as uttered in so decided a tone of 
 dismissal, that he felt it necessary to express his 
 negative in a hasty leave-taking. Just in time ! 
 — for when he reached the street, the impatient 
 Drewe was preparing to come in search of 
 him. 
 
 " A surly, unmannerly, piece of goods !" 
 muttered Davenport, as he re-adjusted himself 
 in the cab. 
 
 " Of whom are you talking ?" 
 
 " Miss Hargood." 
 
 " Oh ! there is a sister then ?" 
 
 " A dozen, for what I know or care. Har- 
 good was out. But drive on for the love of 
 Heaven ; — for we have wasted so much time by 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 221 
 
 coming out of our way, that half the fools in 
 London will have the start of us." 
 
 With very little ceremony would he have 
 abandoned his companion altogether, now that 
 all hope of the Hargoods' company was at an 
 end ; but that he felt a sort of hankering to sec 
 what Mary was to see on the morrow. 
 
 And apparently he felt s6 much more inte- 
 rested in the colossal faces of Memphis trans- 
 planted from the African wilds into those of 
 Bloomsbury, than when he last beheld their 
 impassible faces in the land of the Sun, as to 
 fancy that he could not visit them too often. 
 For, in spite of many wise resolves to the 
 contrary, on the morrow he returned ; exhibiting 
 of course as much surprise when he found 
 himself face to face with Hargood and his 
 daughter, as if he had gone thither for any 
 other purpose than that of meeting them. 
 
 On their part, surprise was neither felt nor 
 assumed. Both were engrossed by the novel 
 and interesting spectacle before them ; nor was 
 it till Hargood perceived that Davenport had 
 information to impart concerning Egypt, its 
 
222 PROGRESS 
 
 ancient mysteries and modern government, that 
 he took much heed of his presence. That any 
 friend of Hamilton Drewe should turn out an 
 acute observer, and be able to relate with 
 precision and without affectation what he had 
 accurately examined, was an unexpected satis- 
 faction. Warmed by the attention bestowed 
 upon him, Mark Davenport described with 
 graphic eloquence the wonders of Thebes and 
 the desolation of Tadmor. 
 
 " I have some sketches made on the spot, 
 which I should very much like to show to Miss 
 Hargood," he continued, while the critic, with 
 his brows knitted and his arms folded, stood 
 contemplating the colossal faces which have 
 been staring the world out of countenance for 
 so many ages, " I would offer to send them to 
 your house for her inspection ; but that I fear 
 many of my sketches stand as much in need 
 of verbal explanation as the Red Lion of 
 immortal memory." 
 
 " Have you got them with you in town ? — 
 Wliy not let us see them at your lodgings?" 
 demanded Hargood, with the utmost simplicity. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 223 
 
 For the shallow etiquettes of life were tho- 
 roughly out of his sphere ; and having already 
 visited Captain Davenport's perfectly decorous 
 apartments, he saw no reason why he might 
 not take his daughter there, for a purpose all 
 hut professional. It was their weekly holiday. 
 The only obstacle he suggested was that Mary 
 might be tired by so long a walk. 
 
 Startled by such ready comphance almost 
 into regretting that he had made the proposal, 
 Mark Davenport began to reconsider whether 
 his sketch-block might not be found lying on 
 the table, displaying the interior of Mary's 
 studio, and betraying the interior of his heart. 
 He would perhaps have felt inclined, like 
 Boccacio's hero who sacrificed his falcon to 
 feast a beloved guest, to wring the neck of the 
 pink cockatoo in her honour, but for the 
 extraordinary composure with which the apa- 
 thetic young lady acceded to her father's 
 proposal. She entered his bachelor's sanctum 
 as unconcernedly as she would have crossed 
 the threshold of a railway station ! 
 
224 PROGRESS 
 
 Scarcely however could he refrain from telling 
 her, as she warmed her hands at his fire, how 
 much she had been thought of and dreamed 
 of within those walls. But he restrained him- 
 self. He was beginning to understand the 
 nature of Hargood sufficiently to know that 
 he must fancy himself the first object of the 
 visit, or that it would never be repeated. For 
 his daughter to be raised into more than a mere 
 supplement to himself would have soured his 
 humour for the day. 
 
 As it was, he laid the flattering unction to 
 his soul, that to enjoy the pleasure and benefit 
 of his conversation, a rough young soldier like 
 Davenport extended his hospitality even to his 
 poor little yea-nay child. 
 
 They turned leisurely over the Egyptian 
 portfolio ; — Mr. Hargood entering largely into 
 historic doubts and antiquarian disquisitions. 
 But though fully appreciating the vigour and 
 grace of the sketches, not a syllable of praise 
 escaped the lips of Mary. She had been brought 
 up to regard the language of compliment as 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 225 
 
 contemptible, — a noxious aliment acceptable 
 only to children and fools. — But Davenport was 
 content. She had taken off her shabby straw- 
 bonnet so as to display her well-turned head and 
 the prettiest little ear in the world ; and thrown 
 wide her heavy woollen shawl, — not to exhibit 
 her well-fitting black-silk dress, but the better 
 to approach and admire the drawings extended 
 on the table before her. — Already, she seemed 
 perfectly at home: and never before had so 
 intelligent a face brightened the atmosphere of 
 that solitary lodging. 
 
 By Davenport's orders, a cup of hot tea was 
 brought, which the coldness of the day rendered 
 acceptable ; and by the time Mary Hargood 
 was thoroughly cheered and carried out of her- 
 self by the novel chef-d' ceuvres placed before 
 her, she could no longer disguise her conscious- 
 ness of the Men etre she experienced. 
 
 " How happy you must be here !" said she, 
 abruptly addressing Davenport, after a glance 
 round the room, which comprehended even the 
 bird and the terrier. 
 
 " Is any one happy any where ?" he replied, 
 
 K 3 
 
226 PROGRESS 
 
 by way of concealing his delight at this uncon- 
 scious betrayal of her satisfaction. 
 
 " Here is a face that portends perfect con- 
 tentment," observed Hargood, laying his hand 
 on a portrait of Hugh Davenport, — one of 
 the earliest attempts in water-colours of his 
 brother. 
 
 " Perfect contentment and perfect excellence !" 
 replied Marcus ; " the best of all human beings, 
 — my brother Hugh." 
 
 " Ay, by the way. What has become of 
 that paragon of brothers ?" inquired Hargood. 
 "Am I never to see him but in effigy? The 
 day we dined at Richmond, you mentioned that 
 you were expecting him in town." 
 
 " I am expecting him still. But he is at his 
 old lunes ; renouncing his own pleasures to 
 comfort the sorrowful and heal the sick. My 
 mother has lately lost her only brother; and 
 though they had not been on speaking terms 
 for the last thirty years, remorse of conscience 
 has replaced on this occasion the instincts of 
 natural affection. She probably reproaches 
 herself for having allowed him to slip out of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 227 
 
 the world unreconciled ; for I find she is terribly 
 cut up." 
 
 " The sisterly attachment which could hold 
 itself suspended for the third of a century, can 
 scarcely, however, be of a very potent quality," 
 rejoined Hargood. " I have not much faith in 
 these posthumous atonements. But since you 
 have so recently lost an uncle, Captain Daven- 
 port, how comes it you are not in mourning ?" 
 
 " You may well rebuke me. Alas ! I am 
 apt to deport myself far from respectfully 
 towards conventional forms. I never saw this 
 old man. His very name was tabooed among 
 us: and I should almost as soon have thought 
 of ordering myself a black coat for the King of 
 Ashantee. I am wrong, however. For his 
 memory is in titled to some reverence. — There 
 lived not a truer-hearted British sportsman, or 
 kinder-hearted British gentleman, than poor Sir 
 Mark Meadowes." 
 
 That Davenport rambled on with this family 
 history in a manner so unusual to him, — for no 
 one w^as less communicative on personal topics. 
 
228 PROGRESS 
 
 even with his intimates, — was a proof that he 
 talked less out of the abundance of his heart, 
 than from the abstraction of his intellects. His 
 attention was absorbed by the quiet feminine 
 figure seated on his sofa ; so much at home, — so 
 congenial with the spot, — that the dog had 
 deserted for her side its customary place on the 
 hearthrug ; and Cocotte was sidling across the 
 back of the sofa wath coaxing gestures, to 
 assume the place upon her shoulder which it 
 was accustomed to do upon that of its master. 
 
 The picture thus afforded, was a charming 
 tableau de genre ; and Davenport was probably 
 studying it with a view to a second croquis. 
 
 While thus entranced, he was startled by a 
 sudden movement on the part of Hargood, who 
 abruptly set down upon the table the cup of 
 tea he had been holding. 
 
 " Sir Mark whom did you say ?" he inquired, 
 as though he misdoubted his senses. 
 
 " Meadowes, of Meadowes Court ; as I 
 suppose the Baronetage or the Landed Gentry 
 books would style him," repHed Davenport, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 229 
 
 still gazing on the graceful contour of his fair 
 guest. 
 
 " And who, may I ask, was his wife ?" said 
 Hargood, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " That, faith, I can hardly tell you. — Some- 
 thing low and disgraceful, I'm afraid, from the 
 manner in which he was sent to Coventry by 
 the elders of the family ; — some waiting-maid, 
 — or worse — " 
 
 " You lie, Sir /" — cried Hargood, in a tone 
 that thrilled to the very marrow of his daughter, 
 and caused Davenport to start forward as 
 though a weapon had been thrust into his 
 side. 
 
 " Father, — father — " interposed the terrified 
 Mary, too well aware of the violence of his 
 nature ; and clinging to his arm as though 
 she foresaw that to words so harsh, blows would 
 probably follow. 
 
 " I say again, he lies .'" — cried Hargood, with 
 quivering lips and panting emotion. " She 
 was good and virtuous as his own mother ; — a 
 gentlewoman, though humbled by misfortune, — 
 a governess, but a clergyman's daughter, — my 
 
230 PROGRESS 
 
 father s daughter, Sir, — my sister, — my only 
 sister !" 
 
 " Hargood — you are forgiven — and it is now 
 my turn to crave your pardon," said Captain 
 Davenport, — the fire which for an instant had 
 flashed from his eyes being lost in a look of 
 the deepest concern. " My offence was one of 
 complete but pardonable ignorance. All I ever 
 heard of my uncle's wife was learned, in 
 forbidden moments, from the gossiping of 
 servants." 
 
 " A worthy source for such infamous detrac- 
 tion !" — cried Hargood, still unappeased. 
 
 " You cannot imagine that I would have 
 wilfully insulted you," earnestly persisted Cap- 
 tain Davenport. — " You do not surely suppose 
 that I was in the slightest degree aware of the 
 connection between us ?" 
 
 " As little as myself. You would else have 
 shunned the society of the literary hack, as 
 loathingly as / should have avoided communi- 
 cation with any member of a family by whom 
 my poor sister had been so disgracefully 
 trampled on. — Your name is not a rare one ; 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 231 
 
 I did not connect it with the race of her 
 persecutors. — Ours is too plebeian even to have 
 attracted your notice. — Mary, child ! your 
 bonnet and shawl — !" he continued, suddenly 
 addressing his daughter ; down whose blanched 
 cheeks tears were beginning to flow. 
 
 " At least do not leave the house in so 
 bitter a spirit," pleaded Davenport. " I offer 
 you every apology in my power — I will do 
 and say anything you desire. Only give me 
 your hand at parting." 
 
 For a moment, Hargood seemed disposed 
 to comply. But a sudden revulsion of angry 
 feeling got the better of him, as he put aside 
 the extended hand of Davenport, who had 
 followed him to the door. 
 
 " I can't /" — cried he. " By the God who 
 made me, I can't, — I can't ! — ' a servant-maid 
 or worse.' — My sister — my poor sister !" 
 
 He went straight out of the room, still 
 muttering indignant ejaculations ; and poor 
 Mary followed, in trembling silence. As she 
 crossed the threshold, she raised her large eyes 
 
232 PROGRESS 
 
 filled with tears to the harassed face of Daven- 
 port, and quietly extended her hand. 
 
 " Try to make peace between us," he 
 whispered, gratefully pressing it. — " Pray, pray 
 let us be friends !" 
 
 But his words were lost in the sobs of his 
 departing guest. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 233 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 In the course of the painful disclosures 
 which it was now necessary to make to Lady 
 Meadowes, so completely did she rise to the 
 standard of excellence by which her cham- 
 pion the Rector had measured her character, 
 that only once was a harsh word forced from 
 her lips. She bore with patience the announce- 
 ment that herself and her child were reduced 
 from affluence to comparative poverty. She 
 submitted without repining to the necessity 
 of quitting for ever the home of her married 
 life. But when Dr. Burnaby with more zeal 
 
234 PROGRESS 
 
 than tact ventured to avow in her presence those 
 displeasures against poor Sir Mark which he 
 had so openly expressed to Lady Harriet, she 
 stopped him at once. 
 
 "Negligence, — but not culpable negligence, 
 my dear Doctor," said she. " You have no right 
 to apply such a word to the conduct of my 
 husband. — He did his best for us, according to 
 his knowledge and judgment." 
 
 " He ought to have known better. Those 
 who undertake the responsibilities and duties 
 of a family, ought tg make them their study." 
 
 " Sir Mark entrusted his affairs to the 
 better wisdom of professional advisers. If 
 they failed to instruct him, on their heads be 
 the fault. But once for all, let no blame be 
 imputed to him I have lost." 
 
 " The woman's a dunderhead after all," mused 
 the provoked old gentleman as he drove from 
 the door. " On their heads be the fault in- 
 deed ! — As if they cared a rush about the 
 matter ! — On hers and little Amy's head will 
 fall the penalty. She don't know what she's 
 talking about. For the last thirty years, poor 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 235 
 
 ailing soul, she has been wrapt up in cotton, — 
 the winds of Heaven not allowed to visit her 
 cheek too roughly. And now she fancies it will 
 be all pleasantness and pastime to go and live in 
 lodgings, and see that pretty creature, Amy, 
 snubbed and scoffed at by upstarts not worthy 
 to carry her clogs. Even the darling herself 
 looks on, as complacent as a cherub ; ignorant, 
 poor child, of the accursed realities of the 
 case : — pinching poverty and undeserved humi- 
 liation." 
 
 Would the sympathising old man have been 
 better pleased, had he known the truth ? — that 
 Amy Meadowes was cognizant to the full extent 
 of the evU which had befallen her ; — and that 
 she had scarcely tasted food, — scarcely closed 
 her eyes, — since she heard her sentence of exile 
 from the spot she loved so dearly ; — the scenes 
 of her youth, — the grave of her lamented 
 father ! 
 
 It mattered not that Lady Meadowes had 
 assumed in her presence an attitude of perfect 
 resignation. It mattered not that the naked 
 fact of their banishment from their happy home 
 
236 PROGRESS 
 
 had been clothed by the Rector in words of 
 soothing plausibility. — Had her own welfare 
 only been involved in the event, she might 
 have been induced to accept it as a trial against 
 which she had no right to rebel. But her poor 
 mother ! — It needed not all the tears shed by 
 old Nichols over the miseries awaiting his poor 
 dear lady, to apprise her of the extent of the 
 evil. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," — said she, sinking 
 on her knees by Lady Meadowes's bedside, on 
 the second night after the worst had been com- 
 municated to them ; — having stolen back to 
 her mother's chamber after taking leave of her 
 for the night, unable to bear in her own the 
 monotonous clicking of the watch, and the 
 flickering of the wood on the old hearth. — 
 " Let me stay by you to-night : let me comfort 
 you. I know you cannot be sleeping. — How 
 can either of us sleep ! — Talk to me, mother. 
 Let me hear the sound of your voice. Let me 
 learn your thoughts. — Till now, I always fancied 
 that I knew them, — that we lived together like 
 sisters, — like friends. But since this dreadful 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 237 
 
 stroke, I have seen clearer. I now find that 
 I know nothing of your inward feelings. — 
 Mother — what is to become of us if we do not 
 clearly understand each other !" — 
 
 As yet incapable of utterance, Lady Mea- 
 dowes replied to this earnest appeal by en- 
 circling the neck of her daughter with her 
 languid arm, and drawing her fondly towards 
 her pillow. For some minutes, they wept 
 together in silence. 
 
 " Fear nothing, my darling Amy," said she 
 at length. " For my sake, as for your own, 
 be brave, — be strong. — We are strong, my 
 child ; strong in mutual affection, that will 
 enable us to bear and surmount any sorrow this 
 world can give." 
 
 Amy would not grieve her by dissent. But 
 she was beginning to think otherwise. She was 
 beginning to believe that, once estranged from 
 their familiar haunts, and when their home 
 knew them no longer, they should stand in 
 need of new friends to afford them courage 
 and comfort. — Everything beyond the limits of 
 Radensford, — and there it would have been 
 
238 PROGRESS 
 
 cruel to entreat her bereaved mother to abide, 
 — presented to the inexperienced girl vague 
 pictures of strife and torment : of an angry 
 over-reaching crowd, jeering two defenceless 
 women. 
 
 " Dearest mother, surely I heard you request 
 Dr. Burnaby to inform those people, — those 
 lawyers of Sir Jervis's, — that we were ready to 
 quit Meadowes Court at once ?" said she 
 faintly. 
 
 " Better make a virtue of necessity. Amy. 
 Do not let us wait to be turned out." 
 
 " No, no ! Situated as we are, the effort 
 cannot be made too soon. It is only prolonging 
 torment to linger on. I am quite prepared to 
 go, mother. But whither ?" 
 
 " I have scarcely yet considered. To Clifton, 
 perhaps. The distance is inconsiderable, and 
 the climate likely to be favourable to my 
 health." 
 
 " Then let us go there at once. But, dearest 
 mother, — if I were not afraid of vexing and 
 hurting you, there is one question I should 
 like to ask — " 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 239 
 
 " Ask it, Amy, — I am callous to suffering 
 now." 
 
 " I once ventured to talk to you of our 
 relations : — not the Davenports ; if they did not 
 like us in my poor father's lifetime, they are not 
 likely to be kinder now. I mean your own 
 family. Surely some of them must survive ?" 
 
 " Would that I could answer you. When I 
 married, I had a dear and only brother, some 
 years younger than myself: — an impetuous, 
 headstrong boy ; who chose to resent the con- 
 duct of the Meadowes family in such terms, 
 and to insult your father so grossly, that recon- 
 ciliation became impossible. For some time, 
 though thus estranged, I managed to follow his 
 movements from a distance. But at length, by 
 a sudden change, I lost all clue to his abode. 
 He was poor, Amy ; poor and obscure. I 
 sometimes thought he purposely baffled my 
 search, that he might evade the little officious 
 kindnesses with which I had pursued him. 
 And now, I might as well look for a grain of 
 sand on the shore, as for my poor brother in 
 
240 PROGRESS 
 
 that great metropolis where I left him strug- 
 gling for bread." 
 
 " It is indeed a hopeless prospect," said 
 Amy, mournfully. " I was in hopes that some 
 single hand, — some single strong arm, — might 
 be in reserve to protect us." 
 
 Lady Meadowes replied by a heavy sigh. 
 She had been in hopes so too. — But it was 
 not the hand of which Amy had been dreaming. 
 With the sagacity of a mother's eye, she had 
 noted the impression made by her daughter 
 upon William Eustace ; and though at the 
 moment far from eager to promote a pre- 
 possession which she feared would not be 
 sanctioned by his parents, yet since her great 
 misfortune, Lady Harriet had inadvertently 
 let fall so many hints of the growth and 
 stability of her nephew's passion, and of her 
 hopes that in the sequel a closer connection 
 might unite, as near relatives, those who had 
 been friends so long, that the poor invalid 
 had permitted herself to look forward to a 
 happy settlement in life for the dear child, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 241 
 
 the loss of whose society would have been to 
 her as a sentence of death. 
 
 But of late these allusions had ceased. For 
 a week past, no mention of William Eustace's 
 name. His aunt seemed to have forgotten 
 his existence. — Lady Meadowes trusted only 
 that Amy might be less interested than herself 
 in so sudden a change : — that she might never 
 have noted Lady Harriet's insinuations, or be 
 looking out vainly, like herself, for the appear- 
 ance of a faithless champion. 
 
 It was some allusion to this subject she 
 had apprehended from Amy's uncontrollable 
 distress of mind. She felt thankful to find 
 that her daughter's yearnings were after the 
 solace of natural ties ; and was comforted when 
 the repining girl consented to receive her parting 
 benediction for the night, and retire to rest in 
 her own adjoining room. 
 
 But the chord which Amy had touched 
 did not cease to vibrate. Throughout the 
 watches of the night, the image of the brother 
 from whom she had been so long parted, kept 
 recurring to the mind of Lady Meadowes. She 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 PROGRESS 
 
 could not accuse herself of having neglected 
 him. She had done all that a person dis- 
 connected from London and active life could 
 eifect, to obtain a clue 'to his residence. — But 
 often as she had grieved before, on his account, 
 that he chose to hold himself aloof, it v^^as now 
 on her own she began to lament his estrange- 
 ment. If she should die, (and her heart often 
 sank within her from growing weakness,) who 
 was to protect her orphan child? Her good 
 neighbours at the Rectory and at Radensford 
 were kind and willing. But both were aged ; 
 and they had families and household cares of 
 their own. Her brother — she recalled him to 
 her mind's eye as when, a fine lion-hearted 
 young fellow of twenty, though only a struggling 
 and a poor servitor, — he had rushed up from 
 Oxford, on hearing of the insults offered to 
 her by the Meadowes family, and done her 
 irreparable injury by his intemperate inter- 
 ference, — His noble forehead, — his open counte- 
 nance, — his close-curled raven hair, — rose up 
 before her. Already highly excited, the im- 
 pression upon her nerves became so vivid, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 243 
 
 that she could almost have fancied he was 
 present ; — her feverish condition being such as 
 has produced niore than half the best-attested 
 ghost-stories on record. — Even when, towards 
 morning, she dropped asleep, the last impression 
 she retained — an impression that prevailed 
 during her almost somnambuhstic sleep, — was 
 that Edward Hargood was watching over 
 her. 
 
 Such being the disordered state of her imagi- 
 nation, it w^as not wonderful that when, on 
 waking next morning and ringing her bell 
 some hours later than usual, and on inquiring 
 for her daughter she was told that Miss Amy 
 was engaged in the drawing-room, speaking to 
 a gentleman who had arrived from town, — her 
 half-murmured exclamation should be — " I 
 knew it ! — My brother is come at last." 
 
 She made an effort to rise hastily ; which, 
 like most hasty efforts, defeated itself. For 
 before her toilet was half accomplished, she 
 was forced by faintness to lie down again. — 
 Her daughter was instantly fetched : a great 
 relief to Amy ; to whom the " gentleman in 
 
 M 2 
 
244 PROGRESS 
 
 the drawing-room " had proved a most em- 
 barrassing visitor. Not Edward Hargood, how- 
 ever : — no one but his sister could have 
 imagined so improbable an incident as his 
 falling from the clouds upon Meadowes Court ; 
 and though from the flush upon her cheek as 
 she approached, Lady Meadowes discerned in a 
 moment that the interview from which she had 
 been summoned was one of unusual interest, 
 she was too feeble to utter a syllable of 
 inquiry. 
 
 Amy waited till she was alone with her 
 mother to allude to it. Even when she simply 
 announced — " Mr. Eustace, mamma, has been 
 here," — she trusted Lady Meadowes would con- 
 clude that he had walked over from the Manor 
 House, to make formal inquiries after their 
 health. She did not wish her mother's mind 
 to be agitated, as her own had recently been. 
 
 Lady Meadowes's murmured ejaculation of 
 " Thank Heaven !" undeceived her at once : 
 even before she found the hand enfolding her 
 own, to be moistened with tears. She dared 
 not, however, interrogate her as to the motive 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 245 
 
 of her gratitude. The mother was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " 1 was sadly, sadly afraid, dear Amy," said 
 she, " that he would not return. I feared that 
 his parents would never countenance his at- 
 tachment." 
 
 " You were aware of it then, mother ? — Yet he 
 assures me he had never said a word to you 
 on the subject." 
 
 " A mother's eye, my child, is to be trusted 
 on such points. All I dreaded was that I had 
 been too sanguine." 
 
 " You wish to lose me, then ?" — said Amy, 
 with a swelling heart. 
 
 " For myself, I do not allow myself a 
 wish. For you, all I desire is a safe and 
 happy home." 
 
 Amy's face grew sadder and sadder. It was 
 grievous to think how great a disappointment 
 was preparing for that kind unselfish mother. 
 
 " Is Mr. Eustace gone ?" inquired Lady Mea- 
 dowes, endeavouring to rally her strength. — 
 "When shall I see him?" When will he re- 
 turn ? When are we to meet ?" 
 
246 PROGRESS 
 
 " Never, dear mother !" replied Amy, in a 
 low, unsteady voice. " But could I have 
 thought — could I have believed — your heart 
 was set my upon marrying him, I should have 
 found much less courage to assure him just 
 now that I could never become his wife !" 
 
 " You have refused William Eustace ?" fal- 
 tered Lady Meadowes. 
 
 The assent implied by Amy's grave silence 
 was not to be mistaken. 
 
 "And why? — You always appeared to like 
 his society ?" 
 
 " As an acquaintance, mother ; as nearer my 
 own age than Dr. Burnaby or Admiral Tre- 
 menheere." 
 
 " But during his illness, you showed such 
 tokens of interest ! — " 
 
 " He was Lady Harriet's favourite nephew. 
 We were inmates under the same roof." 
 
 " Surely, surely. Amy," pleaded Lady Mea- 
 dowes, still more surprised and distressed, 
 " you have no secret object of preference ? 
 You have seen no one worthy to supplant — " 
 
 " On that point, be perfectly easy, dearest 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 247 
 
 mother," interrupted Amy, — " I have no other 
 love or liking. — All I desire is that I never 
 may. — Let us still be all in all to each other, 
 and I am content. But to marry for an estab- 
 lishment, — for bread, — a man for whom I feel 
 no affection, — would degrade me in my own 
 eyes, and render my hfe a burthen." 
 
 " I can say no more," said Lady Meadowes, 
 with her usual meek resignation. But her eyes 
 brimming with tears could not conceal from her 
 daughter the greatness of her disappointment. 
 — She tried to busy herself in dressing, to avoid 
 dwelling too painfully on the subject. — But her 
 movements were so languid and her air so de- 
 pressed, that Amy was forced to avert her face 
 and stifle her self-reproaches : gazing vaguely 
 fi'om the dressing-room window over a vast 
 expanse of half-melted snow, varied only by 
 leafless woods and a few mournful fir-trees ; — 
 a cheering contemplation for her wounded 
 heart. 
 
 A heavy sigh from Lady Meadowes, who was 
 now reclining in her arm-chair, roused poor Amy 
 from her reverie. 
 
248 PROGRESS 
 
 " Let it afford some consolation to you, 
 mother," said she, suddenly turning her tearful 
 face towards Lady Meadowes, " to know that 
 Mr. Eustace's offer of his hand was made under 
 circumstances which even you will admit to be 
 a sufficient justification of my refusal ; — though 
 I admit that I was wholly unaware of them 
 when I declined his proposals. — He has asked 
 me to be his wife in direct defiance of his 
 father's authority. His parents have positively 
 refused their consent. — Lady Harriet has 
 done her utmost to dissuade him from the 
 match. — Friends, — family, — all were against 
 it." 
 
 A deep flush, — but not of indignation or 
 resentment, — overspread the pale face of Lady 
 Meadowes. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace would probably not have con- 
 fided so much to me, had I evinced the 
 gratitude which he seemed to think his con- 
 fession demanded," resumed Amy, reddening 
 in her turn. " But when he found that instead 
 of being amazed at his asking a penniless girl 
 to be his wife, I frankly told him we could 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 249 
 
 never be happy together, he lost his temper; 
 and with as Httle delicacy as justified my pre- 
 vious opinion of him, apprised me of all he 
 had sacrificed and all he had braved, in order 
 to court what he called my ungracious re- 
 jection."' 
 
 Lady Meadowes shuddered at the idea of her 
 young and timid daughter having been exposed 
 to a scene of so much emotion. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace had no right to force such an 
 explanation on you," said she, "unauthorised 
 by myself or your guardians. — It was a dis- 
 respect to us all that he sought this private 
 interview." 
 
 *' On that head, dear mother, let him stand 
 excused," said Amy. " He came here to see 
 you, — he asked for you only. But you were 
 too unwell to be disturbed ; and, little surmising 
 the object of his visit, I hurried into the draw- 
 ing-room to explain it. I believe he was not 
 quite master of himself. He has been harassed 
 and upbraided on my account by his family ; 
 and the dread that Lady Harriet might be 
 beforehand with him here, to acquaint you with 
 
 M 3 
 
250 PROGRESS 
 
 his father's threats and exasperation, hastened 
 his explanations and rendered his manner so 
 flurried and excited, that it was indeed a relief 
 when the interview was at an end." 
 
 " Then let us talk of it no more, my darhng 
 child," said Lady Meadowes, folding her daughter 
 to her heart. " A marriage under such auspices 
 was indeed undesirable. I have only to be 
 thankful that I was mistaken in my estimate of 
 your feelings towards him. Let us talk of him 
 no more." 
 
 Need it be added that Amy. in affording 
 these explanations to her mother, had extenuated 
 much, in order to spare her a single unnecessary 
 pang. It would have been cruel to let Lady 
 Meadowes suspect the humiliation to which 
 she had been subjected. On her own part, 
 perhaps, she had been slightly to blame. Pre- 
 occupied by her family sorrows, forced to 
 receive him in the half-dismantled drawing- 
 room already prepared for the projected sale, 
 she had thought more of herself, — far more of 
 her mother, — than of him, when, with all a 
 lover's eager energy he accosted her ; and, very 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 251 
 
 early in their interview, burst into an avowal of 
 his feelings, impetuous in proportion to the 
 restraints through which he had broken. Had 
 she listened with any sort of emotion, — even 
 terror, — even pity, — he would have been content. 
 From a nature so gentle he had not anticipated 
 any vehement display of passion. It was pos- 
 sible that her affections might be otherwise 
 engaged. But even in that case, he had hoped 
 to find her exhibit some sensibility to all he had 
 suffered, all he was prepared to suffer, for her 
 sake. 
 
 But Amy remained impassive, frigid, absent : 
 and her rejection of his suit was uttered in a 
 tone of politeness which cut him to the soul. 
 That she was asked to become the wife of the 
 son and heir of a wealthy baronet, — one che- 
 rished by the London clubs, and reckoned on 
 by political parties, seemed to her a matter 
 scarcely deserving her attention ! 
 
 Was this to be borne ? Was such cutting 
 contempt to be endured ? When at length she 
 attempted to put an end to the interview by 
 pleading her attendance on her mother, the 
 
252 PROGRESS _ 
 
 rage and indignation of the disappointed man 
 burst forth like a torrent. He accused her of 
 coquetry during their sojourn at the Manor 
 House. He accused her of cold-heartedness, — 
 selfishness, — ingratitude : and showed, if not 
 expressly in words, by insinuations, an arrogant 
 consciousness of his own superiority of birth 
 and fortune. 
 
 " I have to thank you at all events," was her 
 proud reply, " for having so clearly demonstrated 
 the truth of my assertion that there is no 
 sympathy between us, and that we could never 
 be happy together. 1 trust I am incapable of 
 endeavouring to wound by taunts a being 
 weaker than myself, broken-spirited by recent 
 affliction — " 
 
 " Amy — Amy !" 
 
 " 1 trust 1 am incapable of insulting one 
 whom I profess to love, by allusions to their 
 humbler birth or meaner fortunes — " 
 
 " Make at least some allowance for the an- 
 guish of a heart which your indifference has cut 
 to the core — " 
 
 " I make none, Mr. Eustace. The wound 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 253 
 
 has served only to exhibit its inmost nature, and 
 justify my assertion. There is nothing, no, 
 nothing in common between us ! To gain my 
 esteem and love, a man must possess real 
 superiority — superiority of mind and heart : — 
 the power of attaining distinction in pubhc life, 
 and conferring happiness at home." 
 
 " I did not know you were so ambitious," 
 replied Eustace, resuming his tone of bitterness, 
 on finding himself thus calmly depreciated. " I 
 have indeed to apologise for having hoped to 
 obtain indulgence for my humble abilities and 
 unattractive disposition. Now that I better 
 understand the contemptuous light in which 
 you regard me, believe me, I shall carefully 
 abstain from intruding again into the presence 
 of one so fastidious. I had thought you simpler- 
 hearted, Amy, — kinder, — softer, — more prone to 
 womanly impulses. — Farewell ! May your as- 
 pirings never mislead you. May you never feel 
 the want of a strong arm and devoted heart, to 
 protect you through the rough places of this 
 world. Farewell, Amy Meadowes. Let us at 
 least part as friends." 
 
254 PROGRESS 
 
 He extended his hand. 
 
 But Amy, resentful, perhaps a little self- 
 resentful, — touched it with unconcealed reluct- 
 ance, and dropped it hastily. Before she turned 
 her averted face towards him, he had quitted 
 the room. 
 
 He had even quitted the house, however, 
 before the tumult, already stirring in her bosom, 
 found relief in a burst of tears ; passionate and 
 spontaneous as those of childhood, but alas ! far 
 less easily dried and forgotten. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Ilford Castle is a beautiful spot, situated 
 in one of the most favoured counties in the 
 district of Lake-land; where, albeit, as Cole- 
 ridge writes — 
 
 The spring comes slowly up that way, 
 
 even winter has it charm. An English home 
 usually boasts its cheerful fringe of evergreens, 
 to form, in combination with the glowing 
 hearths within, a factitious, nameless season, 
 which has no direct mission from the sun. 
 
256 PROGRESS 
 
 Captain Davenport, as he drove up towards 
 what it becomes our wirewove pages to call the 
 " hall of his ancestors," pondered upon these 
 things. 
 
 " By Jove ! how comfortable it all looks," 
 said he, as he wrapped his railway rug of 
 racoon-skins closer round him, in the fly that 
 conveyed himself and his traps from the railway 
 station. " How Christmassy and cheerful, with 
 its hospitable blue smokes circling from the 
 roof, like one of Washington Irving's Utopian 
 pictures of British domesticity ! And how 
 wrong I have been to muddle my brains and 
 derange my system among the November fogs 
 of yonder confounded metropolis. Here, I 
 might have been happy, — here, I might have 
 been well, — here, I might have been — " 
 
 He paused. A burst of monologic laughter 
 startled him in the midst of his soliloquy. In 
 a moment, the real state of things at Ilford 
 Castle flashed upon his mind : — recalling to 
 memory a sketch he had once made after one 
 of iEsop's fables, of the Fox moralising over 
 a Vizard. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 257 
 
 " Ah ! — well !" — was his secondary view of 
 the case and the place : — " it needs to have 
 been in Bridewell and worn the handcuffs, to 
 know that so goodly-looking edifice is but a 
 prison." 
 
 He no longer, however, even in thought, 
 ventured to call llford Castle a prison, when 
 welcomed under the portico by his cordial 
 brother ; or folded to the heart of Lady Daven- 
 port, on the threshold of her own apartment. 
 Attired in the deepest mourning, his mother 
 looked worn and harassed ; and the manner 
 in which she leant back in his enfolding arms 
 to look earnestly in his face, as if to read the 
 secret of his welfare, seemed to apprise him 
 that she sought comfort from the source that 
 was dearest to her heart. 
 
 He knew that it was the source dearest to 
 her : — he, the prodigal son, — the reckless, — the 
 graceless, — kneiv that he was preferred to his 
 more deserving brother. And he felt almost 
 angry that, with such a resource at hand 
 against the stei-ility of her destiny in being 
 yoked with a nature inferior to her own, as the 
 
258 PROGRESS 
 
 counsels and company of her elder son, she 
 should look for comfort to himself: — a Satyr to 
 Hyperion ! 
 
 " And you are come at last, my own dear 
 Mark," said she, scarcely able to stanch the 
 tears which afforded a mother's greeting to the 
 truant. " Hugh and I have wanted you 
 sadly !" 
 
 " And my father ?" 
 
 " Lord Davenport has so lost all patience, 
 that he has ceased to talk ahout your delay." 
 
 " But is he prepared wnth extenuating cir- 
 cumstances ? — Is the fatted calf on the spit, or 
 am I doomed to husks and recriminatory 
 lectures '?" 
 
 " That will depend on yourself. But for all 
 our sakes, my own dear son, do not wantonly 
 provoke them. Your father is not in — in 
 cheerful spu-its." 
 
 " You mean that he is savage and out 
 of temper ?" 
 
 " I mean that he has had lately more than 
 his share of annoyance and provocation." 
 
 " Who is to measure a man's lawful share ? 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 259 
 
 Is it possible that I find you, mother, you 
 so pious and resigned, at odds with the justice 
 of Providence ?" 
 
 " Do not pervert my words. — 1 mean that 
 he has been grievously thwarted in political 
 life—" 
 
 " By the defeat of a party to which he 
 ought to be ashamed to attach his name and 
 influence !" 
 
 " No, no, by the defeat of a principle, — a 
 principle which has been the ruling passion of 
 his life. — The times, too, are miserably bad for 
 agriculturists." 
 
 " When are they ever good for agri- 
 culturists ? — Always too much rain, or too 
 little ; or unfair taxation, — -or undue repeal of 
 taxes." 
 
 " And then your brother Hugh, — dear and 
 good as he is, — has completely disappointed his 
 father's views." 
 
 " Because my father wanted him to become 
 a sounding brass and tinkling cymbal ; a 
 millionnaire in the copper cuiTcncy of vulgar 
 popularity, — a man to be bought off by some 
 
260 PROGRESS 
 
 future government with an additional pearl or 
 two to the family coronet ; or, — who knows ? — 
 eventuaUy strangled with a Garter ! — Instead of 
 which, my brother is wise as Solomon, and just 
 as Minos." 
 
 " My dearest Mark — why so bitter ?" mUdly 
 remonstrated his mother. 
 
 " Because — because — because I'm afraid I 
 have naturally something of the crabstock in 
 my nature," said he, not daring to assign the 
 real motive of his unfilial outbreak. — " However, 
 mother, for your sake, I will endeavour to 
 engraft better fruit upon it. I fear," he 
 continued, glancing hurriedly at her suit of 
 sables, and then significantly at the door, " I 
 greatly fear you have yourself lately had cause for 
 sorrow — " 
 
 Lady Davenport's brow contracted. 
 
 " I would not for worlds give you pain, 
 mother — but — " 
 
 " If you really would not give me pain, 
 say no more on the subject," replied Lady 
 Davenport. " Let it suffice that I have lost 
 my nearest living relative ; — with the conscious- 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 261 
 
 ness of having acted an unworthy part towards 
 him." 
 
 " Thank you, at least, for that admission," 
 said her son, taking her hand and fervently 
 kissing it — a little to the surprise of Lady 
 Davenport. A moment afterwards, Hugh made 
 his appearance ; having allowed what he be- 
 lieved to be time enough for conndential con- 
 versation between his mother and her favourite 
 child. Then came their young sister, Olivia, 
 blushing and formal from the school-room; 
 always a little in awe of her bronzed and tra- 
 velled brother. They soon, however, began to 
 talk themselves out of the awkwardness which 
 absence is apt to engender even among those 
 most closely united ; — and mother, brother, 
 sister, were as undisguisedly enchanted at 
 Marcus's bavins; condescended to come down 
 and spend his Christmas among them, as 
 though he were a lost sheep restored to the 
 family fold. 
 
 Even Lord Davenport rejoiced, after his kind, 
 over the arrival of his younger son : — gave him 
 his whole hand instead of his customary three 
 
262 PROGRESS 
 
 fingers ; and went to the frantic extremity of a 
 second bottle of claret. But this effort of 
 hospitality had better have been omitted. For, 
 under its influence, both father and son gradually 
 laid aside those restraints over the unruly 
 member, which were alone hkely to maintain 
 peace between the two. 
 
 " If the weather continues open, Marcus, 
 which I doubt," said his lordship, " I should 
 like to take you to-morrow over the home-farm. 
 I never saw the Swedes, or indeed any of the 
 winter crops, look anything like what they are 
 looking this Christmas. Smith, my new bailiff, 
 has done wonders ; a very superior man, Marcus, 
 is Smith. We have sent two fat oxen and 
 a heifer up to the Smithfield Show ; and a pair 
 of Herefords to Edinl^urgh, which I flatter 
 myself will make some sensation. As to my 
 pigs, both my mixed breed and my pure Chinas 
 obtained premiums at the Kendal Exhibition. — 
 Yes, I have every reason to be proud of Smith." 
 
 " Pity that you can't exhibit him and get a 
 premium for a prize bailiff! It would be the 
 higher ambition of the two," muttered Mark, 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 263 
 
 who was waxing fractious under the pressure of 
 the plough and harrow. 
 
 " I think you will find that we have made 
 some wonderful improvements, Mark, ivon-der- 
 ful improvements !" added the lord of Ilford, 
 gradually sunning himself in the genial warmth 
 of the huge wood fire, and the Chateau Mar- 
 gaux. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, my lord," replied his 
 son, "and heartily trust I may see it. I glanced, 
 however, down Quag Lane as I drove here this 
 evening ; — and regretted to perceive that hor- 
 rible line of old cottages still standing, — or 
 rather, still falling." 
 
 " There's ten years' life in them yet, I flatter 
 myself," replied Lord Davenport. " Ilton Cot- 
 tages bring me in something like sixty-seven 
 pounds a-year, Mark." 
 
 "More shame for them," was Mark's 
 dauntless rejoinder. " I should Hke to hear 
 the opinion of your lordship's pigs, if turned 
 into them for a sty !" 
 
 " The people are satisfied with them, — which 
 
264 PROGRESS 
 
 is more to the purpose. Most of the inhabit- 
 ants were born there." 
 
 " And how many of them have died there ? 
 Does your lordship remember the fever in 
 1832?"— 
 
 " You have taken up the humanity-dodge, 
 have you, MarkV" sneered Lord Davenport, 
 whose sacramental notions of " improving " an 
 estate consisted of high-farming and high rent. 
 " Like Hugh yonder, — who seems half asleep ; 
 and is probably dreaming of labourers' model- 
 cottages, or some other philanthropical toy of 
 that description ; — agrarian playthings, woven 
 in spun sugar !" 
 
 " I was dreaming of something far less im- 
 portant, I am afraid," said Hugh, starting up, 
 anxious to give a new turn to the conversation. 
 " I was wondering how many days your lordship 
 would claim to lionise my brother; before I 
 made an appointment with my friend Harley, 
 for his otter hounds ?" 
 
 The bait took, — The sportsman was roused 
 in a moment. Otter-hunting was one of the 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 265 
 
 pastimes of his youth which Mark Davenport 
 had never happened to enjoy elsewhere than 
 in his native county. And he was now full 
 of questions concerning the sport of the 
 season, — the strength of the pack, — and the 
 probability that Mr. Harley would give them 
 an early meet in their own neighbourhood. 
 
 Lord Davenport, who had not vigour of soul 
 or body for sportsmanship of any description, 
 did not of course refuse himself a snarl at 
 the humanity of his otter-hunting sons. He 
 tried in vain, however, to draw back the 
 conversation to Smith and his mangold 
 wurzel ; and revenged himself for the dis- 
 respectful apathy of his son Mark by talking 
 of poor-law and pauper bastilles till coffee was 
 announced, in a style that might have con- 
 verted even his wooden brethren of the Quarter 
 Sessions, into stone. 
 
 "No smoking allowed in any of the 
 company's carriages, I find," said Mark to 
 his brother, when they met, that night, in 
 the comfortless dressing-room allotted to Hugh, 
 - VOL. I. N 
 
266 PROGRESS 
 
 — because in the late lord's time, it had been 
 apportioned to his father as son and heir. 
 
 " No — on that point, my father and mother 
 are alike rigid. Those, who cannot dispense 
 with a cigar, must repair to the stable-yard." 
 
 " Pleasant winter quarters upon my word ! — 
 The governor seems as companionable as ever, 
 my dear Hugh ; — as much inclined to live and 
 let live." 
 
 " He has been unusually cheerful to-night in 
 honour of your arrival," replied the simple- 
 hearted Hugh, deceived by his irony. 
 
 " And my mother, — poor soul, — how thin 
 and depressed she is looking. Tell me, dear 
 Hugh — you were here when she received 
 tidings of her brother's death. How did they 
 reach her ?" 
 
 " My father read the announcement aloud 
 from the newspaper. — He chooses always to be 
 the first to dispense the news brought by the 
 Times. " 
 
 " And was she very deeply affected ?" 
 
 " You know how she makes it a point of 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 267 
 
 conscience to conceal her feelings from my 
 father, if likely to annoy him. She said little, 
 — shed few tears. — But next morning, she 
 looked ten years older." 
 
 " And does so still. But explain to me a 
 little about old Sir Mark Meadowes, and his 
 widow — " 
 
 " I know little more than yourself. His 
 dowager mother, old Lady Meadowes, quar- 
 relled with him for marrying his sister's 
 governess ; and my father has consistently 
 kept up the quarrel. There was no conge- 
 niality of character between them. They 
 differed in politics as on most other points. 
 And I suspect my father was glad to shake 
 off a half-ruined brother-in-law, who had dis- 
 graced the family by a low connection." 
 
 " What my father was glad of, or sorry 
 for, is scarce worth speculating upon !" cried 
 Mark, who, in pure impatience, was beginning 
 to tear impatiently into shreds the pages of 
 his Bradshaw — the only specimen of ancient 
 or modern literature to be found in one of 
 
 N 2 
 
268 PROGRESS 
 
 the bed-chambers of Ilford Castle. " But that 
 my mother should submit to it ! — " 
 
 " When does she do otherwise than ' submit?' 
 Her whole life has been an act of submission." 
 
 " Say of slavishness !" — cried the indignant 
 Mark. — " And we two, Hugh, are getting as 
 ad as herself: 
 
 They who allow oppression share the crime." 
 
 " A sonorous watchword of sedition !" said 
 Hugh, — smiling at his vehemence. " But when 
 experience proves that the resistance of the 
 weak against the strong only drives them 
 into grosser tyranny, passive obedience becomes 
 not only an act of policy, but a virtue." 
 
 "I deny it to be either! — Had my poor 
 mother steadily resisted from the first my 
 father's system of domestic oppression, he 
 would not have hardened into what he 
 is." 
 
 " And she would not be half the angel 
 she is ; and we should love her far less 
 dearly." 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 269 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Hugh. For my share, I 
 should respect her twice as much." 
 
 " And yet, my blustering brother, I suspect 
 that, should a Mrs. Marcus D. ever appear 
 on the boards, and pretend to have a will 
 of her own, it will only be hers in so far 
 as you have peremptorily assigned it to 
 her." 
 
 Marcus paused a moment in his work of 
 destruction. — He had more than once secretly 
 taxed himself with having inherited something 
 of his father's despotic temper. He now felt 
 self-convicted that the sole attachment or rather 
 preference of which he had been ever conscious, 
 was for one who charmed him chiefly as an 
 uncomplaining domestic victim. Nor could 
 anything be more certain than that the strong 
 interest he was beginning to feel in the fate 
 of Mary Hargood, arose in the first instance 
 from the sight of her quiet resignation. 
 
 " There never will be a Mrs. Mark Daven- 
 port," he replied, in a more pacific tone, — 
 " unless, when King Hugh comes to the throne, 
 he choose to allot a cottage and cow's grass to 
 
270 PROGRESS 
 
 his poor dog of a younger brother, for the 
 maintenance of a brood of young barbarians ; 
 or unless his reigning majesty of Ilford will 
 sanction my surrendering my sword, like 
 Sterne's Marquis, and taking up a yard 
 measure or a camel's-hair brush, — which my 
 father seems to hold in the same light, as 
 equally badges of trade. — But even if there 
 were, I know no one more likely than myself 
 to be a hen-pecked husband. — It is the common 
 fate of great heroes, — from Mark Antony and 
 Marlborough, to Mark Me." 
 
 " The very man for a Jerry Sneak, cer- 
 tainly !" replied his brother, surveying him with 
 a smile, overjoyed to see him lapsing into 
 good humour. Whereas I, — whom you some- 
 times insolently characterise as the meekest 
 man, after Moses, pretend to be, in married 
 life, a very Bruin. — I am by no means one 
 of those who proclaim the equality of the 
 sexes." 
 
 " It is somewhat too early in the day, — (and 
 a little too late at night) to enter into the great 
 question of White Slave Abolition," rejoined 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 271 
 
 Mark, convinced that, in the hope of changing 
 the argument, his brother was giving utterance 
 to sentiments foreign to his own. And in 
 order to release him from his false position, 
 he began to discuss otter-hunting in all its 
 branches, and their friend Harley's pack in 
 particular, till the waning of the candles in 
 their sconces warned them to rest. 
 
 An early opportunity, however, was seized 
 by Marcus for putting to the test the feelings 
 of his sorrowing mother towards her brother's 
 family. 
 
 " Hugh endeavours to heal her wounded 
 heart with balsams and unguents," argued 
 he. " I will try the probe, and astringents. 
 Momentary torture sometimes produces lasting 
 cure." 
 
 When therefore, a few days after his arrival, 
 the illness of Olivia's governess, a kind-hearted 
 elderly German who had attended her from 
 childhood, gave rise to the momentous question 
 of a successor, in case Madame Winkelried's 
 indisposition should necessitate her retirement 
 from office, Marcus took occasion to suggest 
 
272 PROGRESS 
 
 to his mother, whom he was driving in her 
 pony-phaeton through the park, that it was 
 time his sister should he placed under more 
 intellectual tutorage than that of the motherly 
 old Franconian. 
 
 " Who is nevertheless a mine of information," 
 replied Lady Davenport ; " and who has taught 
 her almost all it is necessary for a woman to 
 know, without allowing her to acquire an idea 
 or feeling which it would be desirable a woman 
 should forget." 
 
 " Still, it would be pleasanter for a girl so 
 nearly on the verge of womanhood to have a 
 more congenial companion. I suspect, mother, 
 that solicitude for myself and Hugh had some 
 share in your choice of Olivia's governess ? 
 You were afraid of a second snake in the grass, 
 — a second Mary Hargood ?" 
 
 Lady Davenport v^as silent for some minutes 
 — not, as her son supposed, from embarrass- 
 ment, but from profound emotion. 
 
 " No fear of my encountering on this side 
 the grave a second Mary Hargood," said she at 
 length, in faltering accents. " If there ever 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 273 
 
 lived a perfect being, Mark, it was she. To 
 maintain her widowed mother, she undertook 
 duties which ought not to have been made 
 what they were, in my father's house. — For 
 while to me she was the fondest of friends, as 
 well as best of instructresses, every opportunity 
 was afforded by my parents for the growth of 
 that affection between her and poor Mark, 
 which ripened into a frantic passion. — He was 
 wild, wayward — a spendthrift — a prodigal. 
 They wanted to reclaim him. They wanted 
 to attach him to home. They wanted 
 to preseiTe himself and his patrimony from 
 utter ruin. And at whose cost? — At that 
 of the poor little governess, whose beauty 
 and talents were to attract him to the dull 
 fireside he had hitherto shunned for gayer 
 scenes." 
 
 *' And they succeeded ?" inquired Mark, with 
 unspeakable interest — finding his mother, over- 
 powered by her feelings, pause for breath. 
 
 " They succeeded. My brother was always 
 with us — what an acquisition to Mary — what 
 an acquisition to me ! How happy we all 
 
 N 3 
 
274 PROGRESS 
 
 three were together ! — How doubly pleasant 
 were the woods and fields of Meadowes Court — 
 dear, dear old Meadowes Court !" — 
 
 And again, she paused and wept. 
 
 " And did you never suspect, mother, the 
 state of feeling of your companions ?" 
 
 " Never. To my shame be it spoken, Mark, 
 I inherited the notion, then universal in our 
 class of society, that governesses, however en- 
 dowed, and however attractive, — were a pro- 
 hibited caste ; — parias, with whom alliance 
 was as impossible as with negroes or Red In- 
 dians," 
 
 " Had he confided to you then that he was 
 in love with Mary Hargood, you would have 
 shrunk from it as from something indecent, or 
 the avowal of a crime !" 
 
 " I was never put to the trial. He never 
 did confide it to me. I knew nothing on the 
 subject till the discovery had been made by my 
 mother, and Mary expelled the house." 
 
 " And you gave up your friend without a 
 struggle ! — Oh ! mother !" — 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Mark, — if you only knew 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 275 
 
 how little any effort of mine would have availed 
 her cause. What you term a struggle, — that 
 is a remonstrance with my parents, — would 
 have been called rebellion, and denounced as 
 the result of her evil lessons." 
 
 Mark Davenport unconsciously shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " I did hope," she resumed, " hoped for 
 years, that I might obtain sufficient influence 
 over your father to induce him to favour a 
 reconciliation." 
 
 Lord Davenport's undutiful son reasoned 
 within himself that to endeavour to soften his 
 lordship's stubborn nature was about as hopeful 
 a task as (to use Cowper's expression,) to ' clap 
 a blister on the wooden pate of a wig- 
 block.' 
 
 " But a thousand circumstances combined 
 against me," continued his mother. " Mary 
 had a wrong-headed brother, who stirred up 
 coals of discord : a violent man — a violent 
 writer — a democrat — who seemed to take delight 
 in irritating and disgusting the family. Then, 
 
276 PROGRESS 
 
 my poor dear brother himself did a thousand 
 vexatious things to widen the breach." 
 
 " And you literally, from the day of rupture 
 till now, never beheld them again ?" 
 
 " I could not have done so, unless in defiance 
 of your father's will, by journeying down to 
 Meadowes Court. From the day of his mar- 
 riage, my brother abjured London, as a place in 
 which he had no longer a part." 
 
 " Wise man ! — Happy man !" — 
 
 "Thank God, he was happy — which is the 
 best proof of his wisdom, or of any one's 
 wisdom," said Lady Davenport. " I believe no 
 one ever led a more contented life," 
 
 " But why so sure of it, since no communi- 
 cation ever took place between you ?" 
 
 " A sister of Lady Louisa Eustace resides 
 within a couple of miles of Meadowes Court ; 
 and through them, I have heard frequently of 
 my brother and his wife — " 
 
 " Lady Louisa Eustace," repeated Mark, 
 musingly, as if endeavouring to recal the name 
 to his mind. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 277 
 
 " The Eustaces of Horndean Court. Sir 
 Henry is an old schoolfellow of your father, 
 and Lady Louisa one of Lord Davenport's few 
 favourites. He told me the other day that 
 there was something of a project between them 
 to marry Olivia to their son." 
 
 " Olivia?— That child .'"— 
 
 " You forget how time runs on. Next year, 
 she will be presented. But I trust many 
 more will pass before I am called upon to 
 resign her to a husband ; above all, to one of 
 any other person's choosing than her own." 
 
 " And these Eustaces are friends of poor 
 Lady Meadowes ?" 
 
 " They have never even seen her. But Lady 
 Harriet Warneford, Lady Louisa's sister, resides 
 at Radensford Manor House ; and through her 
 and them, the first intelligence reached me of 
 my brother's death." 
 
 " And what of his widow ? Surely mother, 
 you have written to her ?" 
 
 " I resolved to do so, — I made the attempt. 
 But every word that came to my pen seemed 
 like an insult to my brother's memory. To 
 
278 PROGRESS 
 
 have remained silent so long ; and then, the 
 moment he was laid in the grave, burst 
 through all prohibitions to address her who 
 had been the cause of the estrangement between 
 us ! — There was something unnatural in it, 
 Mark." 
 
 " On the contrary. It was all the atone- 
 ment you could offer to his memory. What 
 was unnatural in it ? Nothing that is humane, 
 mother, can ever be unnatural." 
 
 " I felt that, in Mary's place, I should return 
 the letter unopened. In short, dear Mark, I 
 dared not write." 
 
 " Oh ! that miserable moral cowardice ! 
 What fools, and sometimes what knaves it 
 makes of us !" sighed Mark Davenport. 
 
 " Had she required aid or assistance from 
 me, it would have been another thing," pleaded 
 his mother. But " Lady Meadowes is very well 
 off. She and her child inherit the Meadowes 
 Court estate, — more than two thousand a-year. 
 I have little doubt that the partial reconciliation 
 I should be able to propose, (for your father 
 would never be a party to it,) would be painful 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 279 
 
 and embarrassing- to her rather than other- 
 wise." 
 
 " Not if she be the kind and perfect being 
 you have described. x\t all events, mother, for 
 the ease of your own conscience, make the 
 attempt." • 
 
 Lady Davenport gravely shook her head. 
 Their drive was drawing to a termination. 
 They were within view of Ilford Castle, with 
 all its dreary associations of marital and paternal 
 authority. The iron gauntlet of the domestic 
 tyrant seemed again pressing upon her neck, and 
 bending down her spirit. 
 
 " Then let me !" 
 
 " You, Mark ?" 
 
 " Let me write, or better still, let me 
 go— 
 
 " To a person you have never seen ? — A place 
 you have never visited ?" — 
 
 " Why not, — if I visit it in your name, as 
 a messenger of peace ?" 
 
 " And your father ?" — 
 
 " My father troubles himself very little about 
 
280 PROGRESS 
 
 my movements, unless when he has to pay 
 for them. He need not be apprised of this." 
 
 " I have no secrets from him, Mark." 
 
 " / have many. If I venture to behave 
 myself hke a Christian towards my aunt and 
 cousin — " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! — for Heaven's sake hush !" 
 whispered Lady Davenport, — for they had 
 now entered the court-yard. 
 
 " I shall of course do it with a mental 
 reservation ; hke the young Irish lady who 
 went through the marriage ceremony, adding to 
 each response, ' provided my father gives his 
 consent,' " 
 
 Hugh Davenport noticed with delight, that 
 day at dinner, that his mother's eyes looked far 
 less heavy than usual ; and Olivia, who rarely 
 ventured to utter an opinion in her father's 
 presence, took courage to say that she was sure 
 her mother's drive in the open carriage with 
 Marcus, had done her good : — a remark which 
 deepened the faint tinge of colour on her lady- 
 ship's pallid cheek. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. ' 281 
 
 Lord Davenport was of opinion, on the 
 contrary, that her spirits must have been raised 
 by the thriving aspect of his farm. But Marcus 
 could not help hoping that his darling mother 
 felt gratified by a project which she dared not 
 openly sanction. Who can say which was the 
 true surmise! — The secrets of that harassed 
 heart lay betwixt herself and Heaven ! 
 
282 PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Love is your only modern alchemist : — trans- 
 mutation of character being the substitute for 
 transmutation of metals. Love, which had 
 rendered the self-seekinor William Eustace 
 humble, was already rendering the frank, reck- 
 less Mark Davenport cautious and sage. 
 
 Instead of rushing off the following day to 
 fulfil his promise to himself and his mother of 
 visiting Meadowes Court, he judged it prudent 
 not to incense Lord Davenport by disappoint- 
 ing his expectations of completing his family 
 circle at Ilford, during the Christmas holidays. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 283 
 
 It was one of the old customs to which he 
 clung as to a duty, — a duty towards Public 
 Opinion. His fat cattle were slain, — his strong 
 beer broached, — his offspring collected under 
 his roof. And if their mirthfulness were a 
 little dashed by the overclouding of parental 
 authority, or diluted by a copious admixture of 
 paternal prose, the county paper, which duly 
 announced their Christmas festivities, was none 
 the wiser. 
 
 So poor Marcus stayed, and listened. Lord 
 Davenport condescended to notice to Hugh that 
 never had he seen his younger son so com- 
 panionable or so rational. And as the for once 
 self-governed Mark was able to occupy his 
 mornings to his satisfaction, by giving lessons 
 in his favourite art to his interesting young 
 sister, the four weeks of his sentence to what he 
 called the House of Correction, passed far less 
 tediously than he had expected. Association 
 with three natures so gentle and refined as those 
 of his mother, his brother and the timid 
 Olivia, had almost tamed the wild elephant by 
 the time he started for the South. 
 
284 PROGRESS 
 
 February had set in, bright and sunny; as 
 that most deceptious month occasionally does, 
 as if to add unnecessary bitterness to the biting 
 blasts of its successor; and never perhaps in 
 his life had Marcus been conscious of such 
 elasticity of spirits as when progressing with 
 his dog and portmanteau from those beautiful 
 dales, where he saw only scenes worthy the 
 pencil of Turner or Lee, and Lord Davenport 
 only wilds to be converted by the appliance 
 of patent manure, — towards the sunny banks of 
 the Severn. 
 
 He fancied himself on the eve of a new era 
 of his existence. He was about to redress an 
 injury. He was about, like some hero of the 
 antique world, to propitiate Heaven by atone- 
 ment for an ancestral crime. What more he 
 purposed or anticipated, it matters little to 
 inquire. For so prone are we to deceive our- 
 selves, that, had he been asked whether the 
 pacification of Hargood had any share in his 
 movements, he would have replied by a negative 
 as indignant as usually forms the response to 
 questions convicting us as impostors. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 285 
 
 Marcus had despatched his active and assi- 
 duous servant straight from Ilford Castle to 
 town ; for over active and assiduous servants 
 are apt to prove as troublesome appendages as 
 inquisitive friends. He was consequently re- 
 sponsible to no one for the erratic nature of 
 his movements ; nor was there a single prying 
 eye to notice that his hand shook strangely 
 while making his elaborate toilet at Cardington, 
 previous to entering the fly about to convey 
 him to Meadowes Court : — the home of his 
 mother's childhood, — the stronghold of her 
 time-honoured race. 
 
 "What would I give that this visit had 
 taken place in the lifetime of my poor old 
 uncle 1" said he, as he surveyed the wide 
 pastures dividing Cardington from Radensford, 
 so exciting to the eye of the fox-hunter. "How 
 I should have liked the jolly old sportsman ; 
 who appears to have sown and reaped his wild 
 oats in a single harvest : and to have had but 
 one mind during the remainder of his life. A 
 great thing that ! To be what the French 
 call tout d'une piece is, in my opinion, a 
 
286 PROGRESS 
 
 substantial virtue. We should have agreed 
 famously. As my father said, I am a Mea- 
 dowes at heart." 
 
 Still, it was not too late. The amiable wife 
 and charming daughter remained ; and though 
 he could not hope to enjoy with them the 
 capital runs and famous partridge-shooting 
 whereof the materials lay around him, it was 
 something that he could offer to these living 
 relatives the expressions of his regard and 
 deference for him they had lost. 
 
 In passing hurriedly through Radensford, he 
 noted the old lichen-stained lodge leading to the 
 Manor House; and the Rectory, with its trim 
 shrubbery of laurels. The cottages looked 
 wholesome and cheerful. The country did not 
 wear that constrained aspect of the highly- 
 farmed environs of Ilford ; — clearly belonging to 
 a proprietor who regarded the kindly fruits of the 
 earth but as the means of increasing the balance 
 of his banker's book, or creating an ideal capital 
 in that misty and mysterious abyss of property, 
 called Pubhc Securities. 
 
 " My poor mother ! What a change for her. 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 287 
 
 from this pleasant open countrj^ to the narrow 
 horizon of Ilford," thought Marcus, as at length, 
 through a glade in the forest of Burdans 
 already brightened by patches of yellow gorse, 
 which in the distance gleamed like scatterings 
 of sunshine, he discovered the outline of the 
 old family mansion. 
 
 And lo ! a few minutes more conveyed him 
 to Meadowes Court. — To his utter dismay, he 
 saw that the window-shutters were closed, and 
 the chimneys smokeless ! — 
 
 " How is this ?" said he to the driver, who 
 seemed to hesitate about pulling the bell, which 
 probably there was no one to answer. " Is not 
 the family here ?" 
 
 " Sir Jervis ben't a come yet. Sir. They do 
 say he ben't a coming. Master heerd a talk 
 as the place war to be let ; and that there'd 
 been priest folk from Bristol, a looking a'ter it, 
 to make what's called a Summin-hairy." 
 " But Lady Meadowes and her daughter ?" 
 " Hev' Sir Jervis ever a lady, Sir ? — " 
 " The widow of the late Sir Mark — " 
 " Oh ! the widder. Sir. Pity but what you'd 
 
288 PROGRESS 
 
 mentioned it afore you left Card'nt'n. She's 
 gun away for good an' all. Went jist afore 
 Christmas, Sir. There's been a sale here, sin' 
 then ; which brought all the gentlefolk of the 
 keounty for twenty mile round." 
 
 If any one averse to profane swearing had 
 been just then within earshot, Mark Davenport 
 might have risked both fine and remonstrance. 
 He was vexed beyond measure, — beyond measure 
 disappointed. His feelings had been wound up 
 to a pitch of excitement and expectation, from 
 which it was difficult for a being so unreasona- 
 ble to fall with decency. 
 
 " But whither was the widow gone,— and 
 where was her daughter ?" 
 
 Ah ! that the flyman didn't pretend to know. 
 And he began zealously pulling at the door bell, 
 in hopes of amending his ignorance. For 
 some time, their united efforts produced no 
 result. No venerable Nichols appeared, as 
 aforetime, with sable suit and a poU like that of 
 Polonius ; — no bumpkin footman, wearing the 
 Meadowes' livery as proudly as though it were 
 the pyed surcoat of the Montmorencys. A 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 289 
 
 slatternly servant-girl peeped sulkily through 
 the half-opened door, of which she had found 
 the chain too hard to unbolt; one of those 
 blighted slips of human nature, which nothing 
 but a house-agent or lodging-house keeper ever 
 contrives to rake out of the human rubbish- 
 heap. 
 
 To a reiteration of Captain Davenport's 
 queries respecting Lady Meadowes, she had no 
 answer to afford. Of the late family, she knew 
 nothing. She and a deaf old mother were 
 engaged by the attorney of the present pro- 
 prietor, to take care of the empty walls of the 
 old mansion, till something should be arranged 
 respecting its occupancy. To his request to 
 " see the house," she replied that it was " all 
 shut up ;" and though a handsome gratuity 
 eventually enlightened her mind as to the 
 possibility of opening the shutters, she did her 
 spiriting, in the operation, far more like a 
 Caliban than an Ariel. 
 
 Now if there be one spot on earth more 
 cheerless than another, it is a house from which 
 the furniture has been hastily removed, and 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
290 PROGRESS 
 
 which has never been cleared up since its dis- 
 mantlement. The old low-browed hall, at the 
 best of times gloomy, was now sprinkled over 
 with loose straw and shreds of packing-paper. 
 A mouldy mildewed smell prevailed in the 
 untidy passages. All was damp and chilling 
 as in a family vault. — The walls of the best 
 apartments were discoloured by the removal of 
 pictures. In many places, the paper was torn ; 
 in others, long knotted cords were left hanging 
 where pictures had been taken down. Cobwebs 
 were pendent from the fretted ceilings ; and on 
 the dirty oaken floors, lay shreds of matting, 
 lids of packing-cases, torn newspapers, — all that 
 was shabby and unseemly. 
 
 As the little slovenly maid of all work 
 proceeded to open the shutters and admit the 
 tell-tale brightness of the midday sun, Marcus 
 was almost tempted to bid her close them 
 again. If this was Meadow es Court, he had 
 seen enough of it. 
 
 The girl insisted, however, — as if she thought 
 he]- fee would otherwise be unhandsomely earned, 
 — on escorting him through the house ; — and 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 291 
 
 though his disgusts and mortification increased 
 at every step, he was pleased for a moment by 
 the light and pretty hangings of the room 
 designated as " Miss's," adjoining the vast old 
 oak-wainscoted apartment of " my lady." 
 
 " And was the whole furniture sold, then ?" 
 he inquired, — as he looked from the wade Eliza- 
 bethan windows over the well-timbered paddock. 
 
 " A'most all," she believed. " Everything 
 had been removed afore she came. Muster 
 Preston, the lawyer, know'd all about it, and 
 could tell where the ladies was to be heerd on." 
 
 To the lawyers, therefore, whose address she 
 communicated, Marcus was fain to refer himself 
 for further information ; and cheerless indeed 
 was his drive back to Cardington, with a 
 tired horse and grumbling driver, — all three 
 frustrated in their expectations. No longer 
 surveying the landscape with the eye of a 
 fox-hunter or an artist, Marcus rolled himself 
 up like a hedgehog in a corner of the fly ; 
 swearing at the climate, — the county, the 
 country, — and occasionally including himself 
 and all his members in his imprecations. 
 
 o 2 
 
292 PROGRESS 
 
 His good intentions towards his mother's 
 family, however, flagged not. Though, as far 
 as he knew, the widow might have deserted 
 Meadowes Court from distaste for the spot, or 
 for a country Hfe, he was not yet out of conceit 
 with his unknown relative. To his imaginative 
 mind, she was still the gentle Mary Hargood of 
 other days ; and he determined to follow her, 
 and persist in his projects, if she and her 
 daughter were to be found within limit of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 But if the feelings of the young soldier, a 
 comparative stranger, were thus deeply touched 
 by the desolation of the venerable Stamm- 
 Haus of the Meadowes family, what must have 
 been the grief of poor little Amy on witnessing 
 the desecration of their lares and penates ! — In 
 all her plans and resolutions, the conduct of 
 Lady Meadowes had been regulated by regard 
 for the future interests of her daughter. 
 Placing her own predilections entirely out of 
 the question, she did not allow herself to retain 
 a single object or article that could be advan- 
 tageously disposed of for the benefit of the little 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 293 
 
 fund that was to form her daughter's future 
 dependence. At first, indeed, the advisers of 
 Sir Jervis had suggested that much of the 
 property, — such as plate and pictures, — was 
 heir-loom. But of this, he could produce no 
 evidence ; and the Will of Sir Mark, bequeath- 
 ing his personalty specifically to his widow, was 
 eventually established. 
 
 From that day. Lady Meadowes sanctioned 
 the preliminaries of the sale by auction which 
 w^as to clear the premises for their new pro- 
 prietor ; and with the exception of their personal 
 belongings, and a small case of miniatures of 
 no intrinsic value, all was speedily ticketed and 
 destined to the hammer. — It had been the 
 earnest desire of both mother and daughter to 
 escape from the scene of confusion before their 
 sacred haunts were invaded. But this was 
 impossible. The inclemency of the weather 
 rendered perilous the immediate removal of the 
 invalid ; and she had to endure the rough in- 
 trusion and coarse questioning of the auctioneer 
 and his workmen, ere the doors closed upen her 
 for ever. 
 
294 PROGRESS 
 
 She might have borne the trial with less 
 firmness, but for the necessity of supporting 
 the courage of the young girl thus driven 
 from the home of her childhood. — In spite 
 of her best intentions, in spite of old Mr. 
 Henderson's fatherly exhortations, and old 
 Burnaby's salutary chidings, Amy could not 
 overcome her anguish of spirit. Her father's 
 arm-chair, — her father's writing-table, — her 
 father's trophies of the chase, — his old pet 
 books, — his rack of hunting-whips, — his fa- 
 vourite drinking-cup, — how could she bear to 
 see them dragged about and contemptuously 
 turned over by the hands of hirelings ! His 
 morning room, stiU littered with his belongings, 
 which neither she nor her mother, — nay, not 
 even old Nichols — had ventured to enter since 
 his coffin was carried out of it, W'as now thrown 
 open to all comers ; and a lawyer's clerk was 
 seated with his hat on, taking an inventory of 
 the scattered effects, at the table where that 
 darling father used to sit, at his desk ; while she 
 hung over his shoulder, suggesting objects for 
 his benevolence, or modifying his magisterial 
 
AND PREJUDICE. 293 
 
 awards. Who can wonder that she rushed weep- 
 ing to her mother's feet, — praying with almost 
 convulsive gestures that at least that room 
 might he spared, if only, only for another day ! — 
 
 But this state of agitation could not be 
 allowed to continue. Dr. Burnaby began to 
 see that the health of the daughter was in 
 greater jeopardy from delay, than that 6f the 
 mother from precipitate removal. The exe- 
 cutors undertook the whole charge and conduct 
 of the sale ; and by their advice, almost by their 
 authority. Lady Meadowes and Amy, with a 
 single attendant, were conveyed to the tem- 
 porary lodgings at Clifton, secured for them by 
 the good old doctor. 
 
 Both he and his coadjutor of the Rectory were 
 a little puzzled, and still more grieved, by the 
 coolness exhibited on the occasion by their 
 neighbour at the Manor House. Lady Harriet 
 had selected this unlucky moment to absent 
 herself from home. The kindlier-hearted Rachel 
 Burton indeed was unremitting in her endea- 
 vours to supply the place of this older friend ; 
 and even the Admiral's sententious niece was as 
 
296 PROGRESS AND PREJUDICE. 
 
 active in her attendance on them as the nervous 
 state of her feelings would allow. But both 
 were too deeply attached to Lady Meadowes 
 and her daughter to find the task of consolation 
 easy. While assisting their packing and cheer- 
 ing their departure, their own tears were a sad 
 hindrance. 
 
 Th*e old servants to be paid off and dispersed, 
 — the favourite animals, even Blanche and 
 Sting, to be discarded, — the faithful friends to 
 be taken leave of, — the grave of the husband 
 and father to be visited for the last time, — and 
 then — But why dwell upon the details of 
 that mournful exodus ! — They went. — Their 
 place remembered them no longer. — 
 
 Not Hagar, driven forth into the wilderness, 
 was more desolate than thev ! — 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 I.ONDON: 
 
 Printed by Scliulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
NEW LrBRARY EDITION, WITH PORTRAITS, OE 
 
 PEPYS' DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 Now ready, elegantly printed, in Four Volumes, demy octavo, a new and 
 improved Library Edition, including all the late important MS. Additions, 
 and upwards of Two Hundred additional Notes, and Letters, Index, ^"C., 
 price 105. 6c?. per Volume, handsomely hound, of the 
 
 DIARY AND CORRESPOWDEK-CE OF 
 
 SAMUEL PEPTS, F.R.S., 
 
 BKCRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY IN THE REIGNS OF CHARLES 11. AND JAMES II. 
 
 EDITED BY RICHAED LOKD BRAYBROOKE. 
 
 The authority of Pepts, as an historian and illustrator of a con- 
 siderable portion of the seventeenth century, has been so fully 
 acknowledged by every scholar and critic, that it is now scarcely 
 necessary even to remind the reader of the advantages he possessed 
 for producing the most complete and trustworthy record of events, 
 and the most agreeable picture of society and manners, to be found 
 in the literature of any nation. In confidential communication 
 with the reigning sovereigns, holding high official employment, 
 placed at the head of the Scientific and Learned of a period re- 
 markable for intellectual impulse, mingling in every circle, and 
 observing everything and everybody whose characteristics were 
 worth noting down ; and possessing, moreover, an intelligence 
 peculiarly fitted for seizing the most graphic points in whatever he 
 attempted to delineate, Pepts may be considered the most valuable 
 as well as the most entertaining of our National Historians. 
 
 A New Library Edition of this work, comprising all the re- 
 stored passages and the additional annotations that have been 
 called for by the vast advances in antiquarian and historical know- 
 ledge diu-ing the last twenty years, will doubtless be regarded as 
 one of the most agreeable additions that could be made to the 
 library of the general reader. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW. 
 
 " Without making any exception in favour of any other production of 
 ancient or modern diarists, we unhesitatingly characterise this journal as the 
 most remarkable production of its kind which has ever been given to the 
 world. Pepys' Diary makes us comprehend the great liistorical events of the 
 age, and the people who bore a part in them, and gives us more clear glimpses 
 into the true English life of the times than all the other memorials of them 
 that have come down to our own." 
 
2 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON PEPYs' DIARY — Continued. 
 
 FROM THE QUARTERLY REVIEW. 
 
 " There is much in Pepys' Diary that throws a distinct and vivid light over 
 the picture of England and its government during the period succeeding the 
 Restoration. If, quitting the broad path of history, we look for minute in- 
 formation concerning ancient manners and customs, the progress of arts and 
 sciences, and the various branches of antiquity, we have never seen a mine so 
 rich as these volumes. The variety of Pepys' tastes and pursuits led him into 
 almost every department of life. He was a man of business, a man of informa- 
 tion, a man of whim, and, to a certain degree, a man of pleasure. He was a 
 statesman, a bel esprit, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His curiosity made him 
 an unwearied, as well as an universal, learner, and whatever he saw found its 
 way into his tables." 
 
 FROM THE ATHEN^UM. 
 
 " The best book of its kind in the English language. The new matter is 
 extremely curious, and occasionally far more characteristic and entertaining 
 than tlie old. The writer is seen in a clearer light, and the reader is taken into his 
 inmost soul. Pepys' Diary is the ablest picture of the age in which the writer 
 ived, and a work of standard importance in English literature." 
 
 FROM THE EXAMINER. 
 
 " We place a high value on Pepys' Diary as the richest and most delightful 
 contribution ever made to the history of English life and manners in the latter 
 half of the seventeenth century." 
 
 FROM TAIT's magazine. 
 
 " We owe Pepys a debt of gratitude for the rare and curious information he 
 has bequeathed to us in this most amusing and interesting work. His Diary 
 is valuable, as depicting to us many of the most unportant characters of the 
 times. Its author has bequeathed to us the records of his heart — the very 
 reflection of his energetic mind ; and his quaint but happy narrative clears 
 up numerous disputed points— throws light into many of the dark corners of 
 history, and lays bare the hidden substratum of events which gave birth to, 
 and supported the visible progress of, the nation." 
 
 FROM THE MORNING POST. 
 
 " Of all the records that have ever been publisiied, Pepys' Diary gives us the 
 most vivid and trustworthy picture of the times, and the clearest view of the 
 state of English public affairs and of English society during the reign of 
 Charles II. We see there, as in a map, the vices of the monarch, the intrigues 
 of the Cabinet, the wanton follies of the court, and the many calamities to which 
 the nation was sulyected during the memorable period of fire, plague, and 
 general licentiousness." 
 
 FROM DOUGLAS JERROLd's WEEKLY NEWSPAPER. 
 
 "The great charm of the book we take to be the luiconscious revealment of a 
 thoroughly worldly character, and as such, we know nothing in Shakspeare, 
 Cervantes, or Moliere, more deliciously developed. The only thing at all like it 
 is Boswell's Life of Jolinson. But it must be acknowledged that Pepys' Diary 
 has numerous charms in addition to the transcendent one of characterisation — 
 its numerous anecdotes; its endless illustrations of old nationalities, localities, 
 and customs; a sort of picturesque tone which time has lent to it; and a con- 
 tinuous human interest. Pepys had a wondrous tact in giving broadly, and yet 
 sharply, the sensations and pictures of the time. The reader is made one of his 
 strange, fantastic group, and we follow iiini to the king's presence-chamber, or 
 the ordinary at the Dog or Mitre, to Whitehall or Seething-lane, with almost a 
 bodily reality. It is superfluous to dilate on a work which every one, pretend- 
 ing to any regard for belles leltres, has read or will read." 
 
CHEAP EDITION OF MISS BXTRNEY'S DIARY. 
 
 Wit/t the Magazines, on the Isl March, 1854, was published 
 
 (to be completed in Seven Monthly Volumes, small ivo, Embellished ■with 
 
 PoRTKAiTS, price only 3s. each, elegantly hound) the First Volume of the 
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MADAME D'ARBLAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " EVELINA," " CECILIA," &c. 
 
 INCLDDLNG THE PERIOD OF 
 
 HER RESIDENCE AT THE COURT OF QUEEN CHAELOTTE. 
 
 In announcing a new and cheap edition of Madame D'Arblay's 
 celebrated Diary, the publishers cannot convey a better idea of the 
 nature of the work, to those who are unacquainted with it, than by 
 extracting the opening passage of iliss Burney's Journal, which 
 was commenced in 1768, and continued, with but few interruptions, 
 during the greater portion of the writer s long and eventful Hfe : — 
 
 " To have some account of my thoughts, actions, and acquaintance, when the 
 hour arrives when time is more nimble than memory, is tlie reason which induces 
 me to keep a Journal — a Jouimul in which I must confess my every thought — 
 must open my whole heart." 
 
 When we call to mind that the person who formed this resolution, 
 and adhered to it during the most important period of her brilliant 
 career, was one of the most remarkable and justly celebrated women, 
 not merely of her own, but of any time or country — that her family 
 position, no less than her celebrity, commanded for her an intimate 
 intercoui'se with all who were illustrious in English Literature and 
 Art during their most illustrious era, and that the results of such 
 resolution are here given to the world precisely as they left the hand 
 of their writer (the omissions required by personal and family con- 
 siderations being alone excepted), the interest this work must ex- 
 cite, can scarcely be increased ; yet it ought to be stated, that, 
 shortly after the publication of her second work, " Cecilia," she 
 was spontaneously oifered by Queen Charlotte a situation about 
 her Majesty's person, which brought her into daily intercourse 
 with every individual forming the Court of George III. During 
 this remarkable period of her life, Miss Burney never omitted to 
 note in her Journal such events and conversations of the past day 
 as she deemed worthy of record, and might be given without any 
 violation of confidence ; and these sketches of the Court of George III. 
 during the important era in question form part of the work now 
 announced. 
 
MISS BURNEY'S DIARY. 
 
 The Correspondence, whicli takes its place chronologically with 
 the Diary, includes, besides a large number of Madame D'Arblay's 
 own Letters, a selection from those addressed to her by the various 
 distinguished literary and other persons with whom she was intimate. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 EDINBURGH REVIEW. 
 
 " Madame D'Arblay lived to be a classic. Time set on her fame, before she went 
 hence, that seal which is seldom set except on the fame of the departed. All 
 those whom we have been accustomed to revere as intellectual patriarchs seemed 
 children when compared with her ; for Burke had sat up all night to read her 
 writings, and Johnson had pronounced her superior to Fielding, when Rogers was 
 still a schoolboy, and Southey still in petticoats. Her Diary is written in her 
 eariiest and best manner; in true woman's English, clear, natural, and lively. It 
 ought to be consulted by every perspn who wishes to be well acquainted vrith the 
 history of our literature and our manners." 
 
 TIMES. 
 
 " Miss Burney's work ought to be placed beside Boswell's ' Life,' to which it 
 forms an excellent supplement." 
 
 LITERARY GAZETTE. 
 
 " This publication will take its place in the libraries beside Walpole and 
 Boswell." 
 
 NAVAL AND MILITARY GAZETTE. 
 
 " A work unequalled in literary and social value by anything else of a similar 
 kind in the language." 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 " This work may be considered a kind of supplement to Boswell's ' Life of 
 Johnson.' It is a beautiful picture of society as it existed in manners, taste, and 
 literature, in the reign of George the Third, drawn by a pencil as vivid and 
 brilliant as that of any of the celebrated persons who composed the circle." 
 
 POST. 
 
 " Miss Burney's Diary, sparkling with wit, teeming with lively anecdote and 
 delectable gossip, and full of sound and discreet views of persons and things, will 
 be perused vrith interest by all classes of readers." 
 
 COURT JOURNAL. 
 
 " This work presents an unrivalled combination of attraction. That extra- 
 ordinary man Johnson is painted far better than he is by Boswell." 
 
 WEEKXY CHRONICLE. 
 
 " We know not when we have been so delighted with a book as with Miss 
 Burney's Diary. Every page teems with interest." 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN, 
 BY HIS SUCCESSORS, HURST & BLACKETT, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO MR. COLBURN, 
 
 HAVE LATELY PUBLISHED 
 
 €^t /nllnining Mim l^nrki 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 COURT AND CABINETS 
 
 OF GEORGE THE THIRD, 
 
 FROM ORIGINAL FAMILY DOCUMENTS. 
 
 BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM AND CHANDOS, K.G., «&C. 
 
 Second Edition, Revised. 2 vols. 8vo., with Portraits. 30s. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " These volumes contain much valuable matter. The letters which George, 
 first Marquis of Buckingham, laid by as worthy of preservation, have some claim 
 to see the light, for he held more than one oflBce in the State, and consequently 
 kept up a communication with a great number of historical personages. He 
 himself was twice Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland; first, under Lord Rockingham, and 
 secondly, under Pitt ; his most constant correspondents were his two brothers, 
 William and Thomas Grenville, both of whom spent tlie chief part of their lives 
 iu official employments, and of whom the former is sufficiently known to fame 
 as Lord Grenville. The staple of the book is made up of these family documents, 
 but there are also to be found interspersed with the Grenville narrative, letters 
 from every man of note, dating from the death of the elder Pitt to the end of 
 the century. There are three periods upon which they shed a good deal of light. 
 
 , The formation of the Coalition Ministry in 1 783, the illness of the King in 1788, 
 and the first war with Republican France. Lord Grenville's letters to his brother 
 atford a good deal of information on the machinations of the Prince's party, and 
 the conduct of the Prince and the Duke of York during the King's illness." — The 
 
 ' Times. 
 
 " A very remarkable and valuable publication. The Duke of Buckingham has 
 himself undertaken the task of forming a history from the papers of his grand- 
 father and great-uncle, the Earl Temple (first Marquis of Buckingham), and Lord 
 Grenville, of the days of the second Wm. Pitt. The letters which are given to 
 the pubHc in these volumes, extend over an interval commencing with 1782, and 
 ending with 1800. In that interval events occurred which can never lose their 
 interest as incidents in the history of England. The Coalition Ministry and its 
 dismissal by the King — the resistance of the Sovereign and Pitt to the efforts of 
 ihe discarded ministers to force themselves again into office — the great con- 
 
HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE COURT AND CABINETS OF GEORGE III. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS CONTINUED. 
 
 stitutional question of the Regency which arose upon the King's disastrous malady 
 — the contest upon that question between the heir apparent and the ministers 
 of the Crown — the breaking out of the French Revolution, and the consequent 
 entrance of England upon the great European war, — these, with the union 
 with Ireland, are political movements every detail of which possesses the deepest 
 interest. In these volumes, details, then guarded with the most anxious care 
 from all eyes but those of the privileged few, are now for the first time given to 
 the public. The most secret history of many of the transactions is laid bare. 
 It is not possible to conceive contemporary history more completely exemplified. 
 From such materials it was not possible to form a work that would not possess 
 the very highest interest. The Duke of Buckingham has, however, moulded his 
 materials with no ordinary ability and skill. The connecting narrative is written 
 both with judgment and vigour — not unfrequently in a style that comes up to 
 the highest order of historical compositian — especially in some of the sketches of 
 personal character. There is scarcely a single individual of celebrity throughout 
 the period from 1782 to 1800 who is not introduced into these pages ; amongst 
 others, besides the King and the various members of the royal family, are Rock- 
 ingham, Shelburne, North, Thurlow, Loughborough, Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, Burke, 
 Portland, Sydney, Fitzwilliam, Tierney, I3uckinghara, Grenville, Grey, Malmes- 
 bury, WilberforcejBurdett, Fitzgibbon, Grattan, Flood, Cornwallis, the Beresfords, 
 the Ponsonbys, the Wellesleys, ik.c." — Morning Herald. 
 
 " These memoirs are among the most valuable materials for history that have 
 recently been brought to light out of the archives of any of our great families. 
 The period embraced by the letters is fi-om the beginning of 1782 to the close 
 of 1 799, comprising the last days of the North Administration, the brief life of 
 the Rockingham, and the troubled life of the Shelburne Ministry, the stormy 
 career of the Coalition of '83, the not less stormy debates and intrigues which 
 broke out on the first insanity of the King, the gradual modifications of Pitt's first 
 Ministry, and the opening days of the struggle with France after her first great 
 revolution. Of these the most valuable illustrations concern the motives of Fox 
 in withdrawing from Shelburne and joining with North against him, the desperate 
 intriguing and deliberate bad faith of the King exerted against the Coalition, and 
 the profligacy and heartlessness of the Prince of Wales and his brother all through 
 the Regency debates. On some incidental subjects, also, as the affairs of Ireland, 
 the Warren Hastings trial, the Fitzgerald outbreak, the Union, the sad vicissitudes 
 and miseries of the last days of the old French monarchy, &c., the volumes supply 
 illustrative facts and comments of much interest." — Examiner. 
 
 " This valuable contribution to the treasures of historic lore, now for the 
 first time produced from the archives of the Buckingham family displays the 
 action of the different parties in the State, throws great light on the personal 
 character of the King, as well as on the share which he took in the direction of 
 public affairs, and incidentally reveals many facts hitherto but imperfectly known 
 or altogether unknown. In order to render the contents of the letters more 
 intelligible, the noble Editor has, with great tact and judgment, set them out in 
 a kind of historical framework, in which the leading circumstances under which 
 they were written are biiefly indicated — the result being a happy combination of 
 the completeness of historical narrative with the freshness of original thought 
 and of contemporaneous record." — John Bull. 
 
 " These volumes are a treasure for the politician, and a mine of wealth for the 
 historian." — Bi'itannia. 
 
LORD GEORGE RENTING K 
 
 A POLITICAL BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 BY THE BIGHT HOW. B. DISRAELI, M.P. 
 
 Fifth and Cheaper Edition, Revised. Post 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 From Blackwood's Magazine. — " This biography cannot fail to attract the 
 deep attention of the public. We are bound to say, that as a political biography 
 we have rarely, if ever, met with a book more dexterously handled, or more 
 replete with interest. The history of the famous session of 184G, as written by 
 Disraeli in that brilliant and pointed style of which he is so consummate a master, 
 is deeply interesting. He has traced this memorable struggle with a vivacity and 
 power unequalled as yet in any narrative of Parliamentary proceedings." 
 
 From The Dublin University Magazine. — " A political biography of 
 Lord George Bentinck by Mr. Disraeli must needs be a work of interest and 
 importance. Either the subject or the writer would be sufficient to invest it 
 with both — the combination surrounds it with peculiar attractions. In this 
 most interesting volume Mr. Disraeli has produced a memoir of his friend in 
 which he has combined the warmest enthusiasm of affectionate attachment with 
 the calmness of the critic." 
 
 From The Morning Herald. — " Mr. Disraeli's tribute to the memory of 
 his departed friend is as graceful and as touching as it is accurate and impartial. 
 No one of Lord George Bentinck's colleagues could have been selected, who, 
 from his high literary attainments, his personal intivnacy, and party associations, 
 would have done such complete justice to the memory of a friend and Parlia- 
 mentary associate. Mr. Disraeli has here presented us with the very type and 
 embodiment of what history should be. His sketch of the condition of parties 
 is seasoned with some of those piquant personal episodes of party manoeuvres 
 and private intrigues, in the author's happiest and most captivating vein, which 
 convert the dry details of politics into a sparkling and agreeable narrative." 
 
 LORD PALMERSTON'S OPINIONS 
 
 AND POLICY; 
 
 AS MINISTER, DIPLOMATIST, AND STATESMAN, 
 
 during more than forty years of public life. 
 1 V. 8vo., with Portrait, 12s. 
 
 " This work ought to have a place in every political library. It gives a com- 
 plete view of the sentiments and opinions by which the policy of Lord 
 Palmerston has been dictated as a diplomatist and statesman." — Chronicle. 
 
 " This is a remarkable and seasonable publication ; but it is something more — 
 it is a valuable addition to the historical treasures of our country during more 
 than forty of the most memorable years of our annals. We earnestly recommend 
 the volume to general penisal." — Standard. 
 
4 HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MAKIE DE MEDICIS, 
 
 QUEEN OF FRANCE, 
 
 CONSORT OF HENRY IV., AND REGENT UNDER LOUIS XIIL 
 
 BY MISS PABDOE, 
 
 Author of "Louis XIV. and the Court of France, in the 17th Century," &e. 
 
 Second Edition. 3 large vols. 8vo., with Fine Portraits. 
 
 " A fascinating book. The history of such a woman as the beautiful, impulsive, 
 earnest, and affectinnate Marie de Medicis could only be done justice to by a 
 female pen, impelled by all the sympathies of womanhood, but strengthened by 
 an erudition by which it is not in every case accompanied. In Miss Pardee the 
 unfortunate Queen has found both these requisites, and the result has been a 
 biography combining the attractiveness of romance with the reliableness of his- 
 tory, and which, taking a place midway between the 'frescoed galleries' of 
 Thierry, and the 'philosophic watch-tower of Guizot,' has all the pictorial brilliancy 
 of the one, with much of the reflective speculation of the other." — Daily News. 
 
 " A valuable, well-written, and elaborate biography, displaying an unusual 
 amount of industry and research." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " A careful and elaborate historical composition, rich in personal anecdote. 
 Nowhere can a more intimate acquaintance be obtained with the principal events 
 and leading personages of the first half of the 17th century." — Morning Post. 
 
 " A work of high literary and historical merit. Rarely have the strange 
 vicissitudes of romance been more intimately blended with the facts of real 
 history than in the life of Marie de Medicis ; nor has the difficult problem of 
 combining with the fidelity of biography the graphic power of dramatic delineation 
 been often more successfully solved than by the talented author of the volumes 
 before us. As a personal narrative. Miss Pardee's admirable biography possesses 
 the most absorbing and constantly sustained interest ; as a historical record of the 
 events of which it treats, its merit is of no ordinary description." — John Bull. 
 
 " A life more dramatic than that of IMarie de Medicis h.as seldom been written ; 
 one more imperially tragic, never. The period of French history chosen by Miss 
 Pardoe is rich in all manner of associations, and brings together the loftiest 
 names and most interesting events of a stirring and dazzling epoch. She has 
 been, moreover, exceedingly fortunate in her materials. A manuscript of the Com- 
 raandeur de Rambure, Gentleman of the Bedchamber under the Kings Henry IV., 
 Louis XIII., and Louis XIV., consisting of the memoirs of the writer, with all 
 the most memorable events which took place during the reigns of those three 
 Majesties, from the year 1594 to that of 1660, was placed at her disposal by 
 M. de la Plane, Member of the Institut Royal de la France. This valuable 
 record is very voluminous, and throws a flood of light on every transaction. Of 
 this important document ample use has been judiciously made by Miss Pardoe; 
 and her narrative, accordingly, has a fulness and particularity possessed by none 
 other, and which adds to the dramatic interest of the subject. The work is very 
 elegantly written, and will be read with delight. It forms another monument to 
 the worthiness of female intellect in the age we live in." — Illustrated News. 
 
HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 BARONESS D'OBER KIRCH, 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE SECRET HISTORY OF 
 
 THE COURTS OF FRANCE, RUSSIA, AND GERMANY. 
 
 ^WniTTEN BY" HERSELF, 
 
 And Edited by Her Grandson, the Count de Montbrison. 
 
 3 vols. Post 8vo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 The Baroness d'Oberkirch, being the intimate friend of the Empress of Russia, 
 wife of Paul I., and the confidential companion of the Duchess of Bourbon, 
 her facilities for obtaining information respecting the most private affairs of the 
 principal Courts of Europe, render her Memoirs unrivalled as a book of interest- 
 ing anecdotes of the royal, noble, and other celebrated individuals who flourished 
 on the continent during the latter part of the last century. Among the royal per- 
 sonages introduced to the reader in this work, are Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, 
 Philip Egalite, and all the Princes of France then living — Peter the Great, the 
 Empress Catherine, the Emperor Paul, and his sons Constantine and Alexander, 
 of Russia — Frederick the Great and Prince Henry of Prussia — The Emperor 
 Joseph II. of Austria — Gustavus III. of Sweden — Princess Christina of Saxony — 
 Sobieski, and Czartoriski of Poland — and the Princes of Brunswick and Wurtem- 
 berg. Among the remarkable persons are the Princes and Princesses de Lamballe, 
 de Eigne and Galitzin — the Dukes and Duchesses de Choiseul, de Mazarin, de 
 Boufflers, de la Valliere, de Guiche, de Penthievre, and de Polignac — Cardinal de 
 Rohan, Marshals Biron and d'Harcourt, Count de Staremberg, Baroness de 
 Krudener, Madame Geoffrin, Talleyrand, Mu-abeau, and Necker — with Count 
 Cagliostro, Mesmer, Vestris, and Madame Mara; and the work also includes 
 such literary celebrities as Voltaire, Condorcet, de la Harpe, de Beaumarchais, 
 Rousseau, Lavater, Bernouilli, Raynal, de I'Epee, Huber, Gothe, Wieland, Male- 
 sherbes, Marmontel, de Stael and de Genlis ; with some singular disclosures 
 respecting those celebrated Englishwomen, Elizabeth Chudleigh, Duchess of 
 Kingston, and Lady Craven, Margravine of Anspach. 
 
 "The Baroness d'Oberkirch, whose remarkable Memoirs are here given to the public, saw 
 much of courts and courtiers, and her Memoirs are tilled with a variety of anecdotes, not 
 alone of lords and ladies, but of emperors and empresses, kings and queens, and reigning 
 princes and princesses. As a picture of society anterior to the French Kevolution, the hook 
 is the latest and most perfect production of its kind extant ; and as such, besides its minor 
 value as a book of amusement, it possesses a major value as a work of information, which, in 
 the interest of historical truth, is, without exaggeration, almost incalculable." — Observer. 
 
 " Thoroughly genuine and unaffected, these Memoirs display the v.hole mind of a woman 
 who was well worth knowing, and relate a large part of her experience among people with 
 whose names and characters the world will be at all times busy. A keen observer, and by 
 position thrown in the high places of the world, the Baroness d'Oberkirch was the very 
 woman to write Memoirs that would interest future generations. We commend these 
 volumes most heartily to every reader They are a perfect magazine of pleasant anecdotes 
 and interesting characteristic tt.ings. We lay down these charming volumes with regret. 
 They will entertain the most fastidious readers, and instruct the most informed." — Examiner. 
 
 "An intensely interesting autobiography." — Mornhig Chronicle. 
 
 " A valuable addition to the personal history of an important period. The volumes deserve 
 general popularity." — Daily News. 
 
 " One of the most interesting pieces of contemporary history, and one of the richest 
 collections of remarkable anecdotes and valuable reminiscences ever produced." — John Bull. 
 
HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MEMOIRS OE JOHN ABEMETHY, E.R.S., 
 
 WITH A VIEW OF HIS WRITINGS, LECTURES, AND CHARACTER, 
 
 BY GEORGE MACIL"WAI]Sr, F.E.C.S., 
 
 Author of " Medicine and Surgery One Inductive Science," &c. 
 
 Second Edition. 2 v. post 8vo., with Portrait. 21s. 
 
 " A memoir of high professional and general interest." — Morning Post. 
 
 " These memoirs convey a graphic, and, we helieve, faithful picture of the 
 celebrated John Abernethy. The volumes are written in a popular style, and will 
 afford to the general reader much instruction and entertainment." — Herald. 
 
 " This is a book which ought to be read by every one. The professional man 
 will find in it the career of one of the most illustrious professors of medicine of 
 our own or of any other age — the student of intellectual science the progress of a 
 truly profound philosopher — and all, the lesson afforded by a good man's life. 
 Abernethy's memoiT is worthy of a good biographer, and happily it has found 
 one. Mr. Macilwain writes well; and evidently, in giving the history of his 
 deceased friend, he executes a labour of love. The arrangement of his matter is 
 excellent : so happily interwoven with uarrative, anecdotes, often comical enough, 
 and deep reflection, as to can-y a reader forward kresistibly." — Standard. 
 
 THE LITERATURE AND ROMANCE 
 
 OF NORTHERN EUROPE: 
 
 CONSTITUTING A COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE LITERATURE OF SWEDEN, 
 DENMARK, NORWAY, AND ICELAND, WITH COPIOUS SPECIMENS OF THE 
 MOST CELEBRATED HISTORIES, ROMANCES, POPULAR LEGENDS AND TALES, 
 OLD CHIVALROUS BALLADS, TRAGIC AND COMIC DRAMAS, NATIONAL SONGS, 
 NOVELS, AND SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 BY "WILLIAM AND MARY HOViTCTT. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " English readers have long been indebted to Mr. and Mrs. Howitt. They 
 have now increased our obligations by presenting us with this most charming and 
 valuable work, by means of which the great majoiity of the reading public will 
 be, for the first time, made acquainted with the rich stores of intellectual wealth 
 long garnered in the literature and beautiful romance of Northern Europe. 
 From the famous Edda, whose origin is lost in antiquity, down to the novels of 
 Miss Bremer and Baroness Knorring, the prose and poetic writings of Denmark, 
 Norway, Sweden, and Iceland are here introduced to us in a manner at once 
 singularly comprehensive and concise. It is no dry enumeration of names, but 
 the very marrow and spirit of the various works displayed before us. We have 
 old ballads and fairy tales, always fascinating ; we have scenes from plays, and 
 selections from the poets, with most attractive biographies of great men. The 
 songs and ballads are translated with exquisite poetic beauty." — Sun. 
 
 " A book full of information — and as such, a welcome addition to our literature. 
 The translations — especially of some of the ballads and other poems — are exe- 
 cuted with spirit and taste." — AtheiuEum. 
 
HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 MAJOR GENEML SIR W. NOTT, G.C.B., 
 
 ENVOY AT THE COURT OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 EDITED BY J. H. STOCQUELEIl, ESQ,., 
 
 At the request of the Daughters of the late General, from Private Papers and 
 Official Documents iu their possession. 2 vols. 8vo., with Portrait. 
 
 MILITARY LIFE IN ALGERIA. 
 
 BY THE COUNT P. DE CASTELLANE. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " We commend this book as really -worth perusal. The volumes make us 
 familiarly acquainted with the nature of Algerian experience. Changarnier, 
 Cavaignac, Canrobert, Lamoriciere, and St. Arnaud are brought prominently 
 before the reader." — Examiner. 
 
 " These volumes will be read with extraordinary interest. The vivid manner 
 in which the author narrates his adventures, and the numberof personal anecdotes 
 that he tells, engage the reader's attention in an extraordinary manner." — 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 AN ENGLISH SOLDIER 
 
 IN THE UNITED STATES' ARMY. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " The novelty characterising these interesting volumes is likely to secure them 
 many readers. In the first place, an account of the internal organization, the 
 manners and customs of the United States' Federal Army, is iu itself, a novelty, 
 and a still greater novelty is to have this account rendered by a man who had 
 served in the English before joining the American army, and who can give his 
 report after having every opportunity of comparison. The author went through 
 the Mexican campaign with General Scott, and his volumes contain much descrip- 
 tive matter concerning battles, sieges, and marches on Mexican territory, besides 
 their sketches of the normal chronic condition of a United States' soldier in time of 
 peace." — Daily News. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 BRITISH CONQUESTS IN INDIA. 
 
 B Y HORACE ST. JOHN. 2 vols. 21s. 
 " A work of great and permanent historical value and interest." — Post. 
 " The style is graphic and spirited. The facts are well related and artistically 
 grouped. The narrative is always readable and interesting." — AthencEum. 
 
 HISTORY OE CORFU; 
 
 AND OF THE REPUBLIC OF THE IONIAN ISLANDS. 
 
 BY LIEUT. H. J. "W. JEBVIS, Eoyal ArtiUery. 1 vol. 10s. 6<i. 
 " Written with great care and research, and including probably all the 
 particulars of any moment in the history of Corfu." — AthencEum. 
 
CLASSIC AND HISTORIC POUTRAITS. 
 
 BY JAMES BRUCE. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 This work comprises Biographies of the following Classic and Historic Per- 
 sonages : — Sappho, iEsop, Pythagoras, Aspasia, Milto, Agesilaiis, Socrates, Plato, 
 Alcibiades, Helen of Troy, Alexander the Great, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Scipio 
 Africanus, Sylla, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, Germanicus, 
 Caligula, Lollia Paulina, Cfesonia, Boadicea, Agrippina, Poppaea, Otho, Com- 
 modus, Caracalla, Heliogabalus, Zenohia, Julian the Apostate, Eudocia, Theodora, 
 Charlemagne, Abelard and Heloi=e, Elizabeth of Hungary, Daute, Robert Bruce, 
 Ignez de Castro, Agnes Sorel, Jane Shore, Lucrezia Borgia, Anne Bullen, Diana 
 of Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots, 
 Cervantes, Sir Kenelm Digby, John Sobieski, Anne of Austria, Ninon de 
 I'Enclos, Mile, de Montpensier, the Duchess of Orleans, Aladame de Maintenon, 
 Catharine of Russia, and Madame de Stael. 
 
 " A Book which has many merits, most of all, that of a fresh and unhacknied 
 subject. The volumes are the result of a good deal of reading, and have besides 
 an original spirit and flavour about them, which have pleased us much. Mr. 
 Bruce is often eloquent, often humorous, and has a proper appreciation of the 
 wit and sarcasm belonging in abundance to his theme. The variety and amount 
 of information scattered through his volumes entitle them to be generally read, 
 and to be received on all hands with merited favour." — Examiner. 
 
 " We find in these piquant volumes the liberal outpourings of a ripe scholarship, 
 the results of wide and various reading, given in a style and manner at once plea- 
 sant, gossippy and picturesque." — Athcnaum. 
 
 " A series of biographical sketches, remarkable for their truth and fidelity. The 
 work is one which will please the classical scholar and the student of history, 
 while it also contains entertaining and instructive matter for the general reader." 
 — Literary Gazette. 
 
 RULE AND MISRULE OF 
 
 THE ENGLISH IN AMERICA. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " SAM SLICK," 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " We conceive this work to be by far the most valuable and important Judge 
 Haliburton has ever written. While teeming with interest, moral and historical, 
 to the general reader, it equally constitutes a philosophical study for the poUtician 
 and statesman. It will be found to let in a flood of light upon the actual origin, 
 formation, and progress of the republic of the United States." — N. and M. Gaz. 
 
 THE SONG OF ROLAND, 
 
 AS CHANTED BEFORE THE BATTLE OE HASTINGS, 
 
 BY THE MINSTREL TAILLEFER. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY THE AUTHOR OP "EMILIA "WYNDHAM." 
 
 Small 4to., handsomely bound, gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 " ' The Song of Roland' is well worth general perusal. It is spirited and 
 descriptive, and gives an important, and, no doubt, faithful picture of the chivalric 
 manners and feelings of the age." — Herald. 
 
HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 GENERAL SIR HARRY CALVERT, 
 
 BART., G.C.B. and G.C.H., 
 
 ADJUTANT-GENERAL OF THE FORCES UNDER H.R.H. THE DUKE OF YORK. 
 
 COMPRISING THE CAMPAIGNS IN FLANDERS AND HOLLAND IN 1793-94; 
 
 WITH AN APPENDIX CONTAINING HIS 
 
 PLANS FOR THE DEFENCE OF THE COUNTRY IN CASE OF INVASION. 
 
 EDITED BY HIS SON, SIR HARKY VERNEY, BART. 
 
 I vol. royal 8vo., with large maps, 14s. bound. 
 
 " Both the journals and letters of Capt. Calvert are full of interest. The 
 letters, in particular, are entitled to much praise. Not too long, easy, graceful, 
 not without wit, and eveiywhere marked by good sense and good taste — the 
 series addressed by Capt. Calvert to his sister are literary compositions of no 
 common order. With the best means of observing the progress of the war, and 
 with his faculties of judgment exercised and strengthened by experience — a quick 
 eye, a placid temper, and a natural aptitude for language rendered Capt. Calvert 
 in many respects a model of a military critic. Sir Harry Verney has performed 
 his duties of editor very well. The book is creditable to all parties concerned in 
 its production." — Athenaeum. 
 
 COLONEL LANDMANN'S ADVENTURES 
 
 AND RECOLLECTIONS. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 "Among the anecdotes in this work will be found notices of King George III., 
 the Dukes of Kent, Cumberland, Cambridge, Clarence, and Richmond, the Princess 
 Augusta, General Garth, Sir Harry Mildmay, Lord Charles Somerset, Lord Edward 
 Fitzgerald, Lord Heathfield, Captain Grose, &c. The volumes abound in inte- 
 resting matter. The anecdotes are one and all amusing." — Observer. 
 
 "These 'Adventures and Recollections' are those of a gentleman whose birth 
 and profession gave him facilities of access to distinguished society. Colonel 
 Landmann writes so agreeably that we have little doubt that his volumes will be 
 acceptable." — Athenaum. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 BY ■WILLIAM GRATTAW, ESQ., 
 
 LATE LIEUTENANT CONNAUGHT RANGERS. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " In this second series of the adventures of this famous regiment, the author 
 extends his narrative from the first formation of the gallant 88th up to the 
 occupation of Paris. All the battles, sieges, and skirmishes, in which the regi- 
 ment took part, are described. The volumes are interwoven with original anec- 
 dotes tliat give a freshness and spirit to the whole. The stories, and the sketches 
 of society and manners, with the anecdotes of the celebrities of the time, are told 
 in an agreeable and unaffected manner. The work bears all the characteristics 
 of a soldier's straightforward and entertaining narrative." — Sunday Times. 
 
10 HURST AND BLACKETTS NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE MARVELS OF SCIENCE, 
 
 AND THEIR TESTIMONY TO HOLY WRIT ; 
 
 A POPULAR MANUAL OF THE SCIENCES. 
 
 BY S. W. FULLOM, ESQ. 
 
 DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO THE KING OF HANOVER. 
 
 Sixth Edition, with Numerous Illustrations. Post 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 " This work treats of the whole origin of nature in an intelligent style ; it puts 
 into the hands of every man the means of information on facts the most sublime, 
 and converts into interesting and eloquent description problems which once 
 perplexed the whole genius of mankind. We congratulate the author on his 
 research, his information, and his graceful and happy language.'' — Britannia. 
 
 " The skill displayed in the treatment of the sciences is not the least marvel in 
 the volume. The reasonings of the author are forcible, fluently expressed, and 
 calculated to make a deep impression. Genuine service has been done to the 
 cause of Revelation by the issue of such a book, which is more than a mere 
 literary triumph. It is a good action." — Globe. 
 
 " Its tone is grave, grand, and argumentative, and rises to the majesty of poetry. 
 As a commentary upon the stupendous facts which exist in the universe, it is 
 truly a work which merits our admiration, and we unhesitatingly refer our readers 
 to its fascinating pages." — Dispatch. 
 
 " Without parading the elaborate nature of his personal investigations, the 
 author has laid hold of the discoveries in every department of natural science in 
 a manner to be apprehended by the meanest understanding, but which will at the 
 same time corumand the attention of the scholar." — Messenger. 
 
 " A grand tour of the sciences. Mr. Fullom starts from the Sun, runs round 
 by the Planets, noticing Comets as he goes, and puts up for a rest at the Central 
 Sun. He gets into the Milky Way, which brings him to the Fixed Stars and 
 Nebulje. He munches the crust of the Earth, and looks over Fossil Animals and 
 Plants. This is followed by a disquisition on the science of the Scriptures, He 
 then comes back to the origin of the Earth, visits the Magnetic Poles, gets 
 among Thunder and Lightning, makes the acquaintance of Magnetism and Elec- 
 tricity, dips into Rivers, draws science from Springs, goes into Volcanoes, through 
 which he is drawn into a knot of Earthquakes, comes to the surface with Gaseous 
 Emanations, and sliding down a Landslip, renews his journey on a ray of Light, 
 goes through a Prism, sees a Mirage, meets with the Flying Dutchman, observes 
 an Optical Illusion, steps over the Rainbow, enjoys a dance with the Northern 
 Aurora, takes a little Polarized Light, boils some Water, sets a Steam-Engine in 
 motion, wtnesses the expansion of Metals, looks at the Thermometer, and 
 refreshes himself with Ice. Soon he is at Sea, examining the Tides, tumbling 
 on the Waves, swimming, diving, and ascertaining the pressure of Fluids. We 
 meet him next in the Air, running through all its properties. Having remarked 
 on the propagation of Sounds, he pauses for a bit of Music, and goes off into the 
 Vegetable Kingdom, then travels through the Animal Kingdom, and having 
 visited the various races of the human family, winds up with a demonstration of 
 the Anatomy of Man." — Examiner. 
 
VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 1 1 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A 
 
 JOURNEY EOUND THE WORLD 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 A WINTER PASSAGE ACROSS THE ANDES TO CHILI, 
 
 WITH A VISIT TO THE GOLD REGIONS OF CALIFORNIA AND AUSTRALIA, 
 THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS, JAVA, &C. 
 
 BY P. GERSTAECKER. 
 
 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. Gd. 
 
 " Starting from Bremen for California, the author of this Narrative proceeded 
 to Rio, and thence to Buenos Ayres, where he exchanged the wild seas for the 
 yet wilder Pampas, and made his way on horseback to Valparaiso across the 
 Cordilleras — a winter passage full of difficulty and danger. From Valparaiso 
 he sailed to California, and visited San Francisco, Sacramento, and the mining 
 districts generally. Thence he steered his course to the South Sea Islands, 
 resting at Honolulu, Tahiti, and other gems of the sea in that quarter, and from 
 thence to Sydney, marching through the Murray Valley, and inspecting the 
 Adelaide district. From Australia he dashed onward to Java, liding through the 
 interior, and taking a general survey of Batavia, with a glance at Japan and the 
 Japanese. An active, intelligent, observant man, the notes he made of bis adven- 
 tures are full of variety and interest. His descriptions of places and persons are 
 lively, and his remarks on natural productions and the phenomena of earth, sea, 
 and sky are always sensible, and made with a view to practical results. Those 
 portions of the Narrative which refer to California and Australia are replete with 
 vivid sketches ; and indeed the whole work abounds with living and picturesque 
 descriptions of men, manners, and localities." — Globe. 
 
 " The a-uthor of this comprehensive narrative embarked at Bremen for Cali- 
 fornia, and then took ship to the South Sea Islands, of which and of their inhabit- 
 ants we have some pleasant sketches. From the South Sea Islands he sailed to 
 Australia, where he effected a very daring and adventurous journey by himself 
 through the Murray Valley to Adelaide. He then proceeded to Java, the interior 
 of which he explored to a considerable distance. Before he departed for Europe, 
 he remained some time at Batavia, and w^as so fortunate as to witness the arrival 
 of the Japanese vessel bringing her annual cargo of goods from Japan. Inde- 
 pendently of great variety — for these pages are never monotonous or dull — a 
 pleasant freshness pervades Mr. Gerstaecker's chequered narrative. It offers much 
 to interest, and conveys much valuable information, set forth in a very lucid and 
 graphic manner." — Athenceum. 
 
 " These travels consisted principally in a ' winter passage across the Andes to 
 Chili, with a visit to the gold regions of California and Australia, the South Sea 
 Islands, Java, &c.' In the present state of things and position of affairs, no more 
 desirable book can be imagined. It carries us at once to the centre of attractions 
 — it conveys us to the land of promise to expectant thousands. We behold, face 
 to face, the mighty regions where so many of our countrvmen have gone, that 
 it seems almost a second home. We are informed, in minute details of the life 
 that is led there. There is no false glitter thrown over the accounts ; the author 
 evidently strives to raise no false hopes, and excite no unreasonable expectations. 
 The accounts given of California are particularly explicit. The description of 
 Sydney during the excitement prevailing on the discovery of new mines is very 
 interesting." — Sun. 
 
12 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 AUSTRALIA AS IT IS: 
 
 ITS SETTLEMENTS, FARMS, AND GOLD FIELDS. 
 BY F. LATsTCELOTT, ESQ., 
 
 MINERALOGICAL SURVEYOR IN THE AUSTRALIAN COLONIES. 
 
 Second Edition, revised. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " This is an unadorned account of the actual condition in which these colonies 
 are found by a professional surveyor and mineralogist, who goes over the ground 
 with a careful glance and a remarkable aptitude for seizing on the practical por- 
 tions of the subject. On the climate, the vegetation, and the agricultural 
 resources of the country, he is copious in the extreme, and to the intending 
 emigrant an invaluable instructor. As may be expected from a scientific hand, 
 the subject of gold digging undergoes a thorough manipulation. Mr. Lancelott 
 dwells with minuteness on the several indications, stratifications, varieties of soil, 
 and methods of working, experience has pointed out, and ofifers a perfect manual 
 of the new craft to the adventurous settler. Nor has he neglected to provide 
 him with information as to the sea voyage and all its accessories, the commodities 
 most in request at the antipodes, and a general view of social wants, family 
 management, &c., such as a shrewd and observant counsellor, aided by old 
 resident authorities, can afford. As a guide to the auriferous regions, as well as 
 the pastoral solitudes of Australia, the work is unsurpassed." — Globe. 
 
 "This is the best book on the new El Dorado; the best, not only in respect to 
 matter, style, and arrangement, in all of which merits it excels, i^ut eminently 
 the best because the latest, and the work of a man professionally conversant with 
 those circumstances which are charming hundreds of thousands annually to the 
 great Southern Continent. The last twenty years have been prolific of works 
 upon Australia, but they are all now obsolete. Every one who takes an interest 
 in Australia would do well to possess himself of Mr. Lancelott's work, which 
 tells everything of the social state, of the physiology, and the precious mineralogy 
 of the gold country." — Standard. 
 
 " We advise all about to eiiiigrate to take this book as a counsellor and com- 
 panion." — Lloyd's Weekly Paper. 
 
 A LADY'S VISIT TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS 
 
 OF AUSTRALIA IN 1852-3. 
 
 BY MRS. CHARLES CLACY. 1 vol. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " The most pithy and entertaining of all the books that have been written on 
 the gold diggings." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Mrs. Clacy's book will be read with considerable interest, and not without 
 profit. Her statements and advice will be most useful among her own sex." — 
 .^ihcncEum. 
 
 " Mrs. Clacy tells her story well. Her book is the most graphic account of the 
 diggings and the gold country in general that is to be had." — Daily News. 
 
 " One of the best guides to Australian emigrants yet issued." — Messenger. 
 
 " Wo recommend this work as the emigrant's vade mecum.'" — Home Companion. 
 
VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 13 
 
 A S K E T C H E R'S TOUR 
 
 ROUND THE WORLD. 
 
 BY BOBERT ELWES, ESQ,. 
 
 1 vol. royal 8vo., with 21 Coloured Illustrations from Original Designs by the 
 Author. 21s. elegantly bound, gilt edges. 
 
 " Combining in itself the best qualities of a library volume, with that of a gift- 
 book, is Mr. Elwes' ' Sketcher's Tour.' It is an unaffected, well-written record 
 of a tour of some 36,000 miles, and is accompanied by a number of verv' beautiful 
 tinted hthographs, executed by the author. These, as well as the literary 
 sketches in the volume, deal most largely with Southern and Si)anish America, — 
 whence the reader is afterwards taken by Lima to the Sandwich Islands, is carried 
 to and fro among the strange and exciting scenes of the Pacific, — thence sails to 
 the Australian coast, — passes to China, — afterwards to Singapore and Bombay, — 
 and so home by Egypt and Italy. The book is pleasantly written throughout, 
 and with the picturesque variety that cannot but belong to the description of a 
 succession of such scenes, is also full of interesting and instructive remarks." — 
 Examiner. 
 
 " This is a delightful book. Mr. Elwes, in his Tour tlirough America, Aus- 
 tralia, India, China, Turkey, Egypt, and Europe, has chosen the grandest and the 
 most beautiful scenery for the exercise of his pencil. To the illustrations he has 
 added descriptions so \\\\d that his pen makes the work of the pencil almost 
 unnecessary-. It is hard to say to what class of works the book must be assigned. 
 The beauty of the engravings, and the handsome lieiting-up, make it an extremely 
 elegant book for the table of the drawing-room. The abundance of lively 
 remarks and anecdotes, and the extent and variety of information, make it an 
 equally admirable book of learning and amusement." — Standard. 
 
 " The garment in which this book comes forth seems to point out the drawing- 
 room table as its place of destination. The nature of its contents — cheerful, 
 Uvely letter-press — will assure it a ready welcome there. Yet it is not, therefore, 
 inehgible for the libran' shelf — even for that shelf which is devoted to ' Voyages 
 Round the World.' Pleasanter reading, we repeat, need not be offered than our 
 sketcher brings." — Athenaum. 
 
 " In everv' respect a most charming volume, abounding with exquisite coloured 
 engra\-ings — an elegant gift-book for the season." — Messenger. 
 
 A TOUR OF INQUIRY 
 
 THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY, 
 
 ILLUSTEATIXG THEIK PKESZNT 
 
 SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS CONDITION. 
 
 BY EDMUND SPENCER, ESQ., 
 
 Author of "Travels in European Turkey," "Circassia," (Jcc. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " Mr. Spencer has travelled through France and Italy, with the eyes and feelings 
 of a Protestant philosopher. His volumes contain much vahiable matter, muny 
 judicious remarks, and a great deal of useful information." — Morning Chro- 
 nicle. 
 
14 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 TRAVELS IN EUROPEAN TURKEY : 
 
 THROITGH BOSNIA, SERVIA, BUI GARIA, MACEDONIA, ROUMELIA, ALBANIA, AND 
 EPIRUS ; WITH A VISIT TO GREECE AND THE IONIAN ISLES, AND A HOME- 
 WARD TOUR THROUGH HUNGARY AND THE SCLAVONIAN PROVINCES 
 OF AUSTRIA ON THE LOWER DANUBE. 
 
 BY EDMUND SPENCER, ESQ., 
 
 Author of " Travels in Circassia," &c. 
 
 Second and Cheaper Edition, in 2 vols. 8vo. with Illustrations, and a valuable 
 
 Map of European Turkey, from the most recent Charts in the possession of 
 
 the Austrian and Turkish Governments, revised by the Author, 18s. 
 
 " These important volumes appear at an opportune moment, as they describe 
 some of those countries to which public attention is now more particularly 
 directed : Turkey, Greece, Hungary, and Austria. The author has given us a 
 most interesting picture of the Turkish Empire, its weaknesses, and the em- 
 barrassments from which it is now sutfering, its financial difficulties, the discon- 
 tent of its Christian, and the turbulence of a great portion of its Mohammedan 
 subjects. We are also introduced for the first time to the warlike mountaineers 
 of Bosnia, Albania, Upper Moesia, and the almost inaccessible districts of the 
 Pindus and the Balkan. The different nationalities of that Babel-like country, 
 Turkey in Europe, inhabited by Sclavonians, Greeks, Albanians, Macedonians, 
 the Romani and Osmanli — their various characteristics, religions, superstitions, 
 together with their singular customs and manners, their ancient and contem- 
 porary history are vividly described. The Ionian Islands, Greece, Hungary, and 
 the Sclavonian Provinces of Austria on the Lower Danube, are all delineated in 
 the author's happiest manner. We cordially recommend Mr. Spencer's valuable 
 and interesting volumes to the attention of the reader." — U. S. Magazine. 
 
 " This interesting work contains by far the most complete, the most en- 
 lightened, and the most reliable amount of what has been hitherto almost the 
 terra incognita of European Turkey, and supplies the reader with abundance of 
 entertainment as well as instruction." — John Bull. 
 
 ARCTIC MISCELLANIES, 
 
 A SOUVENIR OF THE LATE POLAR SEARCH. 
 BY THE OFFICERS AND SEAMEN OF THE EXPEDITION. 
 
 DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO THE LORDS OF THE ADMIRALTY. 
 
 Second Edition. 1 vol. with numerous Illustrations, 10s. 6d. 
 
 From the " Times." — This volume is not the least interesting or instructive 
 among the records of the late expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, com- 
 manded by Captain Austin. The most valuable portions of the book are those 
 which relate to the scientific and practical observations made in the course of the 
 expedition, and the descriptions of scenery and incidents of arctic travel. From 
 the variety of the materials, and the novelty of the scenes and incidents to which 
 they refer, no less than the interest which attaches to all that relates to the 
 probable safety of Sir John Franklin and his companions, the Arctic Miscellanies 
 forms a very readable book, and one that redounds to the honour of the national 
 character. 
 
VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 15 
 
 THE ANSYREEH AND ISMAELEEH: 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SECRET SECTS OF NORTHERN SYRIA, 
 
 WITH A VIEW TO THE ESTABLISHMENT OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 BY THE REV. S. LYDE, M.A., 
 
 Late Chaplain at Beyrout. 1 vol. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " Mr. Lyde's pages furnish a very good illustration of the present state of some 
 of the least known parts of Syria. Mr. Lyde visited the most important districts 
 of the Ansyreeh, lived with them, and conversed with their sheiks or chief men. 
 The practical aim of the author gives his volumes an interest which works of 
 greater pretension want." — AthenxMn. 
 
 " By far the best account of the country and the people that has been presented 
 by any traveller." — Critic. 
 
 TRAVELS IN INDIA AND KASHMIR. 
 
 BY BARON SCHONBERG. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " This account of a Journey through India and Kashmir will be read with 
 considerable interest. Whatever came in his way worthy of record the author 
 committed to writing, and the result is an entertaining and instructive miscellany 
 of information on the country, its climate, its natural productions, its history and 
 antiquities, and the character, the religion, and the social condition of its inhabi- 
 tants. The remarks on these various topics possess additional interest as the 
 author views India and our rule over that country with the eye of an impartial 
 observer." — John Bull. 
 
 KHARTOUM AND THE NILES. 
 
 BY GEORGE MELLEY, ESQ. 
 
 Second Edition. 2 v. post 8vo., with Map and Illustrations, 21s. 
 
 " Mr. Melly is of the same school of travel as the author of ' Eothen.' His 
 book altogether is very agreeable, comprising, besides the description of Khartoum, 
 many intelligent illustrations of the relations now subsisting between the Govern- 
 ments of the Sultan and the Pacha, and exceedingly graphic sketches of Cairo, 
 the Pyramids, the Plain of Thebes, the Cataracts, &c." — Examiner. 
 
 ATLANTIC & TRANSATLANTIC SKETCHES. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN MACKINNON, R.N. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " Captain Mackinnon's sketches of America are of a striking character and 
 permanent vahie. His volumes convey a just impression of the United States, a 
 fair and candid view of their society and institutions, so well written and so 
 entertaining that the effect of their perusal on the public here must be con- 
 siderable. They are light, animated, and lively, full of racy sketches, pictures of 
 life, anecdotes of society, visits to remarkable men and famous places, sporting 
 episodes, &c., very original and interesting." — Sunday Times. 
 
16 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 REVELATIONS OE SIBERIA. 
 
 BY A BANISHED LADY. 
 Third and Cheaper Edition. 2 vols. 16s. 
 
 " A thoroughly good hook. It caaaot he read hy too many people." — Dickens's 
 Household Words. 
 
 " The authoress of these volumes was a lady of quality, who, having incurred 
 the displeasure of the Russian Government for a political offence, was exiled to 
 Siberia. The place of her exile was Berezov, the most northern part of this 
 northern penal settlement ; and in it she spent al)out two years, not unprofitably, 
 as the reader will find by her interesting; work, containing a lively and graphic 
 picture of the country, the people, their manners and customs, &c. The book 
 gives a most important and valuable in*ight into the economy of what has been 
 hitherto the terra incognita of Russian despotism." — Daily Neivs. 
 
 " Since the publication of the famous romance the ' Exiles of Siberia,' of 
 Madame Cottin, we have had no account of these desolate lands more attractive 
 than the present work, from the pen of the Lady Eve Felinska, which, in its un- 
 pretending style and truthful simplicity, will win its way to the reader's heart, 
 and compel him to sympathise with the fair sufferer. The series of hardships 
 endured in traversing these frozen solitudes is affectingly told ; and once settled 
 down at one of the most northern points of the convict territory, Berezov, six 
 hundred miles beyond Tobolsk, the Author exhibits an observant eye for the 
 natural phenomena of those latitudes, as well as the habits of the semi-barbarous 
 aborigines This portion of the book will be found by the naturalist as well as 
 ethnologist full of valuable information."— G/o/ye. 
 
 " These 'Revelations' give us a novel and interesting sketch of Siberian life — the 
 habits, morals, manners, religious tenets, rites, and festivals of the inhabitants. The 
 writer's extraordinary powers of observation, and the graceful facility with which 
 she describes everything worthy of remark, render her ' Revelations' as attractive 
 and fascinating as they are original and instructive." — Britannia. 
 
 FOREST LIFE IN CEYLON. 
 
 BY "W. KNIGHTON", M.A., 
 
 Formerly Secretary to the Ceylon Branch Royal Asiatic Society. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " A very clever and amusing book, by one who has lived as a planter and 
 journahst many years in Ceylon. The work is filled with interesting accounts of 
 the sports, resources, productions, scenery, and traditions of the island. The 
 sporting adventures are narrated in a very spirited manner." — Standard. 
 
 EIGHT YEARS 
 IN PALESTINE, SYRIA, AND ASIA MINOR. 
 
 BY F. A. NEALE, ESQ., 
 
 LATE ATTACHED TO THE CONSULAR SERVICE IN SYRIA. 
 
 Second Edition, 2 vols., with Illustrations, 21s. 
 " A very agreeable book. Mr. Ncale is evidently cptite familiar with the 
 East, and writes in a lively, shrewd, and good-humoured manner. A great 
 deal of information is to be found in his pages." — Athenceum. 
 
VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. 17 
 
 TRAVELS IN BOLIVIA; 
 
 "WITH A TOUR ACROSS THE PAMPAS TO BUENOS AYRES, &c. 
 
 BY Ii. HUGH DE BONELLI. 
 
 OF HER BRITANNIC MAJESTy's LEGATION. 2 Vols. 21s. 
 
 EIGHTEEN YEARS ON THE 
 
 GOLD COAST OF AFRICA; 
 
 INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF THE NATIVE TRIBES, AND THEIR 
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH EUROPEANS. 
 
 BY BRODIE CBUICKSHANK, 
 
 MEMBER OF THE LEGISLATIVE COUNCIL, CAPE COAST CASTLE. 2 VOls. 21s. 
 
 " This is one of the most interesting works that ever yet came into our hands. 
 It possesses the charm of introducing us to habits and manners of the human 
 family of which before we had no conception. Before reading Mr. Cruickshank's 
 volumes we were wholly unaware of the ignorance of all Europeans, as to the 
 social state of the inhabitants of Western Africa. Mrs. Beecher Stowe's work 
 has, indeed, made us all familiar with the degree of intelligence and the disposi- 
 tions of the transplanted African ; but it has been reserved to Jlr. Cruickshank 
 to exhibit the children of Ham in their original state, and to prove, as his work 
 proves to demonstration, that, by the extension of a knowledge of the Gospel, and 
 by that only, can the African be brought within the pale of civilization. We 
 anxiously desire to direct public attention to a work so valuable. An incidental 
 episode in the work is an affecting narrative of the death of the gifted Letitia 
 Elizabeth Landon (L.E.L.), written a few months after her marriage with 
 Governor Maclean. It relieves the memory of both husband and wife from all 
 the vile scandals that have been too long permitted to defile their story." — 
 Standard. 
 
 " This work will be read with deep interest, and will give a fresh impulse to 
 the exertions of philanthropy and religion." — John Bull. 
 
 LIFE IN SWEDEN, 
 
 WITH EXCURSIONS IN NORWAY AND DENMARK. 
 
 BY SELINA BUNBUKY. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " The author of this clever work never misses a lively sketch. Her descriptions 
 of life in Sweden and Norway are all piquant, and most of them instructive, 
 illustrating northern life in all its phases, from the palace to the cottage. The 
 work is well calculated to excite in the English pubhc a desire to visit scenes 
 which have as yet been exposed to the view of few travellers." — Daily News. 
 
 " Two delightful, well-informed volumes, by a lady of much acuteness, lively 
 imagination, and shrewd observance. The work can be safely recommended to 
 the reader, as the freshest, and most certainly the truthfuUest publication upon 
 the North that has of late years been given to the world." — Observer. 
 
18 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A 
 
 FIVE YEAUS' RESIDENCE AT NEPAUL. 
 
 BY CAPTAIIsr THOMAS SMITH, 
 
 Late Assistant Political-Resident at Nepaul. 2 v. post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " No man could be better qualified to describe Nepaul tlian Captain Smith ; 
 and his concise, but clear and graphic account of its history, its natural produc- 
 tions, its laws and customs, and the character of its warlike inhaliitants, is very 
 agreeable and instructive reading. A separate chapter, not the least entertaining 
 in the book, is devoted to anecdotes of the Nepaulese mission, of whom, and of 
 their visit to Europe, many remarkable stories are told." — Post. 
 
 CANADA AS IT WAS, IS, AND MAY BE. 
 
 By the late Lieutenant-Colonel Sir R. Bonnycastle. 
 
 With an Account of Recent Transactions, 
 
 BY SIB, J. E. ALEXANDEE, K.L.S., &c. 2 v. with Maps, &c. 21s. 
 
 " These volumes offer to the British public a clear and trustworthy statement 
 of the affairs of Canada, and the effects of the immense public works in progress 
 and completed; with sketches of localities and scenery, amusing anecdotes of 
 personal observation, and generally every information which may be of use to the 
 traveller or settler, and the military and political reader. The information ren- 
 dered is to be thoroughly relied on as veracious, full, and conclusive." — Mes- 
 senger. 
 
 FIVE YEAllS IN THE WEST INDIES. 
 
 BY CHABLES 'W. DAY, ESQ,. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " It would be unjust to deny the vigour, brilliancy, and varied interest of this 
 work, the abundant stores of anecdote and interest, and the copious detail of 
 local habits and peculiarities in each island visited in succession." — Globe. 
 
 SCENES FROM SCRIPTURE. 
 
 BY THE EEV. G. CBOLY, LL.D. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " Eminent in every mode of literature, Dr. Croly stands, in our judgment, first 
 among the living poets of Great Britain — the only man of our day entitled by his 
 power to venture within the sacred circle of religious poets." — Standard. 
 
 "An admirable addition to the library of religious families." — Jolm Bull. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MISSIONARY. 
 
 BY THE BEV, J. P. FLETCHEB, 
 
 Curate of South Hampstead. Author of " A Residence at Nineveh." 2 v. 21s. 
 
 " A graphic sketch of missionary life." — Examiner. 
 
 " We conscientiously recommend this book, as well for its amusing character 
 as for the spirit it displays of earnest piety."' — Standard. 
 
HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 19 
 
 FAMILY ROMANCE; 
 
 OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 BY J. B. BURKE, ESQ,., Author of " The Peerage," &c. 2 v., 21s. 
 
 Among the many other interesting legends and romantic family histories com- 
 prised in these volumes, will be found the following: — The wonderful narrative 
 of Maria Stella, Lady Newborough, who claimed on such strong evidence to be a 
 Princess of the House of Orleans, and disputed the identity of Louis Philippe — 
 The story of the humble marriage of the beautiful Countess of Strathmore, and 
 the sufferings and fate of her only child — The Leaders of Fashion, from Gramont 
 to D'Orsay — The rise of the celebrated Baron Ward, now Prime Minister at 
 Parma — The curious claim to the Earldom of Crawford — The Strange Vicissitudes 
 of our Great Families, replete with the most romantic details — The story of the 
 Kirkpatricks of Closeburn (the ancestors of the French Empress), and the re- 
 markable tradition associated with them — The Legend of the Lambtons — The 
 verification in our own time of the famous prediction as to the Earls of Mar — 
 Lady Ogilvy's escape — The Beresford and Wynyard ghost stories, correctly told — 
 &c., &c. 
 
 " It were impossible to praise too highly as a work of amusement these two most 
 interesting volumes, whether we should have regard to its excellent plan or its 
 not less excellent execution. The volumes are just what ought to be found on 
 every drawing-room table. Here you have nearly fifty captivating romances, with 
 the pith of all their interest preserved in undiminished poignancy, and any one 
 may be read in half an hour. It is not the least of their merits that the 
 romances are founded on fact — or Avhat, at least, has been handed down for truth 
 by long tradition — and the romance of reality far exceeds the romance of fiction. 
 Each story is told in the clear, unaffected style with which the author's former 
 works have made the public familiar, while they afford evidence of the value, 
 even to a work of amusement, of that historical and genealogical learning that 
 may justly be expected of the author of ' The Peerage.' The aristocracy and 
 gentry owe, indeed, a great debt to Mr. Burke as their family historian." — 
 Standard. 
 
 " The very reading for sea-side or fire-side in our hours of idleness." — Alhe- 
 nceum. 
 
 SPAIN AS IT IS. 
 
 BY G. A. HOSKINS, ESQ,. 2 vols. 21s. 
 " To the tourist this work will prove invaluable. It is the most complete and 
 interesting portraiture of Spain that has ever come under om- notice." — John Bull. 
 
 NAVAL ARCHITECTURE: 
 
 A TREATISE ON SHIP-BUILDING, AND THE RIG OF CLIPPERS, 
 
 WITH SUGGESTIONS FOR A NEW METHOD OF LAYING DOWN VESSELS. 
 
 BY LORD ROBERT MOTsTTAGIT, A.M. 
 
 Second Edition, with 54 Diagrams. 6s. 
 
 " Lord Montagu's work will be equally valuable to the ship-builder and the 
 ship-owner — to the mariner and the commander of yachts." — U. S. Magazine. 
 
20 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS 
 AND MODERN INSTANCES; 
 
 OR, WHAT HE SAID, DID, OR INVENTED. 
 
 Second Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " We do not fear to predict that these delightful volumes will he the most 
 popular, as, beyond doubt, they are the best of all Judge Haliburlon's admirable 
 works. The ' Wise Saws and Modern Instances' evince powers of imagination 
 and expression far beyond what even his former publications could lead any one 
 to ascribe to the author. We have, it is true, long been familiar with his quaint 
 humoiu- and racy narrative, but the volumes before us take a loftier range, and 
 are so rich in fun and good sense, that to offer an extract as a sample would be 
 an injustice to author and reader. It is one of the pleasantest books we ever 
 read, and we earnestly recommend it." — Standard. 
 
 " Let Sam Slick go a mackarel iishing, or to court in England — let him venture 
 alone among a tribe of the sauciest single women that ever banded themselves 
 together in electric chain to turn tables or to mystify man — our hero always 
 manages to come off with flying colours — to beat every craftsman in the cunning 
 of his own calling — to get at the heart of every maid's and matron's secret. 
 The book before us will be read and laughed over. Its quaint and racy dialect 
 will please some readers — its abundance of yarns will amuse others. There is 
 something in the volumes to suit readers of every humour." — Athenceum. 
 
 " The humour of Sam Slick is inexhaustible. He is ever and everywhere a 
 welcome visitor ; smiles greet his approach, and wit and wisdom hang upon his 
 tongue. The present is altogether a most edifying production, remarkable alike 
 for its racy humour, its sound philosophy, the felicity of its illustrations, and the 
 delicacy of its satire. Whether he is making love to Sojihy, or chatting with the 
 President about English men and manners, or telling ghost stories, or indulging in 
 day-dreams, or sketching the characters of Yankee skippers, or poaching in our 
 fisheries, or enticing a British man-of-war on to a sand-bar, he is equally delightful ; 
 charming us by the graphic vivacity and picturesque quaintness of his descriptions, 
 and, above all, by his straightforward honesty and truth. We promise our 
 readers a great treat from the perusal of these ' Wise Saws and jModern Instances,' 
 which contain a world of practical wisdom, and a treasury of the richest fun." — 
 3Ior/iing Post. 
 
 " As a work embodying the cynicism of Rochefoucault, with the acuteness of 
 Pascal, and the experience of Theophrastus or La Bruyere, it may be said that, 
 except Don Quixote, the present work has no rival." — Observer. 
 
 TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. 
 
 EDITED BY THE AUTHOR OF " SAM SLICK." 3 vols. 31s. 6d. 
 
 "We have seldom met with a work more rich in fun or more generally 
 delightful." — Stayutard. 
 
 " No man has done more than the facetious Judge Ilaliburton, through the 
 mouth of the inimitable ' Sam,' to make the old parent country recognise and 
 appreciate her queer transatlantic progeny. His present collection of comic 
 stories and laughable traits is a budget of fun full of rich specimens of American 
 humour." — Globe. 
 
WORKS OF FICTION. 21 
 
 FLORENCE, THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 BY A. BAILLIE COCHRANE, ESQ. 2 vols. 
 
 THE E S E S. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE FLIRT," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " The author of ' The Flirt' is ever welcome as a writer. ' The Roses' is a 
 novel which cannot fail to charm." — Observer. 
 
 " ' The Roses' disjjlays, with the polish always attending a later work, all the 
 talent which appeared in ' The Flirt,' and ' The Manoeuvring Mother.' It is a 
 book which no one would lay down unfinished." — Standard. 
 
 " In this charming novel the author has brought out the female character in 
 three well-choseu contrasts. The whole tale is a history of sweet and tender 
 hearts to which the reader cannot refuse his sympathy." — John Bull. 
 
 ELECTRA : A STORY OF MODERN TIMES. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "ROCKINGHAM." 
 
 WITH ILLUSTB.ATIONS BY LORD GERALD FITZGERALD. SECOND EDITIOX. 3 V. 
 
 From the Times. — " The author of 'Rockingham' holds always a vigorous 
 pen. It is impossible to deny him the happy faculty of telling a pleasing story 
 with ability and ])0wer. His characters are the tlesh and Ijlood we meet in our 
 daily walks ; their language is natural, appropriate, and to the purpose. We are 
 bound to extend our highest praise to the skill with which the several characters 
 in ' Electra' are pourtrayed, and with which the interest of the story is sustained 
 to the very last chajiter. Lady Glenarlowe and her daughter. Lord Glenarlowe 
 and Electra, are all finely-drawn pictures, and are full of touches by a master 
 hand." 
 
 AILTEFORT): A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN DRAYTON." 3 v. 
 " A work abounding in fascination of an irresistible kind." — Observer. 
 " A most charming and absorbing story." — Critic. 
 " The book throughout excites the interest of reality." — Spectator. 
 " ' Aibeford' is the biography of the clever writer of ' John Drayton.' It is 
 a deeply interesting tale." — Britannia. 
 
 CHARLES AUCHESTER. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI. 3 Vols. 
 
 " The author has originality and a strong imagination." — Times. 
 
 " Music has never had so glowing an advocate as the author of these volumes. 
 There is an amazing deal of ability displayed in them." — Herald. 
 
 " The hfe of an enthusiast in music, by himself. The work is full of talent. 
 The sketches of the masters and artists are life-like. In Seraphael all will recog- 
 nize Mendelssohn, and in Miss Benette, Miss Lawrence, and Anastase, Berlioz, 
 Jenny Lind, and another well-known to artist life, will be easily detected. To 
 every one who cares for music, the volumes will prove a delightful study." — 
 Britannia, 
 
22 HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 H A E E Y M U I E; 
 
 A STORY OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "MASGARET M AITLAND." 
 Second Edition. 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 
 ""We prefer ' Harry Muir' to most of the Scottish novels that have appeared 
 siuce Gait's domestic stories. This new tale, by the author of ' Margaret Maitland,' 
 is a real picture of the weakness of man's nature and the depths of woman's kind- 
 ness. The narrative, to repeat our praise, is not one to be entered on or parted 
 from without our regard for its writer being increased." — AthencEum. 
 
 " A picture of life, everywhere genuine in feeling, perfect in expression." — 
 Exami7ier. 
 
 " This is incomparably the best of the author's works. In it the brilliant 
 promise afforded by ' Margaret Maitland' has been fully realised, and now there 
 can be no question that, for graphic pictures of Scottish life, the author is 
 entitled to be ranked second to none among modern writers of fiction." — Cale- 
 ctonian Mercury. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 ADAM GRAEME 
 
 OF MOSSGRAY. 
 
 Second Edition. 3 vols. 
 
 " A story awakening genuine emotions of 
 interest and delight by its admirable pictures 
 of Scottish life and scenery." — Post. 
 
 CALEB FIELD. 
 
 A TALE OF THE PURITANS. 
 
 Cheaper Edition. 1 v. 6s. 
 
 " This beautiful production is every way 
 worthy of its author's reputation in the 
 very first rank of contemporary writers." — 
 Standard. 
 
 DAEIEN; OK, THE MEECHANT PEINCE. 
 
 BY ELIOT •WAEBUBTON. Second Edition. 3 vols. 
 
 " The scheme for the colonization of Darien by Scotchmen, and the opening 
 of a communication between the East and West across the Isthmus of Panama, 
 furnishes the foundation of this story, which is in all respects worthy of the 
 high reputation which the author of the ' Crescent and the Cross' had already 
 made for himself. The early history of the Merchant Prince introduces the 
 reader to the condition of Spain under the Inquisition ; the portraitures of 
 Scottish life which occupy a prominent ])lace in the narrative, are full of spirit ; 
 the scenes in America exhibit the state of the natives of the new world at that 
 period; the daring deeds of the Buccaneers supply a most romantic element in 
 the story; and an additional interest is infused into it by the introduction of 
 various celebrated characters of the period, such as Law, the French financier, 
 and Paterson, the founder of the Bank of England. All these varied ingredients 
 are treated with that brilliancy of style and powerful descriptive talent, by which 
 the pen of Eliot Warburton was so eminently distinguished." — John Bull. 
 
 THE EIEST LIEUTENANT'S STOEY. 
 
 BY LADY CATHABIlyTE LONG. 3 vols. 
 " As a tracing of the workings of human passion and principle, the book is full 
 of exquisite beauty, delicacy, and tenderness." — Daily News. 
 
REGINALD LYLE. 
 
 BY MrSS PARDOE. 3 v. 
 
 HIGH AND LOW; 
 
 OR, LIFE'S CHANCES AND CHANGES. 
 
 BY THE HON. HENRY COKE. 3 v. 
 
 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 BY MRS. TROLLOPE. 3 v. 
 
 " The knowledge of the world which Mrs- 
 TroUope possesses in so eminent a degree is 
 strongly exhibited in the pages of this 
 novel." — Observer. 
 
 The DEAN'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 OR, THE DAYS WE LIVE IN. 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 3 v. 
 
 " One of the best of Mrs Gore's stories. 
 The volumes are strewed with smart and 
 sparkling epigram." — Morning Chronicle, 
 
 CASTLE AVON. 
 
 By the Author of 
 " EMILIA WYNDHAM," &c. 3 v. 
 "One of the most successful of the au- 
 thor's works." — Post. 
 
 LADY MARION. 
 
 BY MRS. W. FOSTER. 3 v. 
 " This fascinating novel needs not the 
 attraction of the name of the late Duke of 
 Wellington's niece upon the title-page to 
 commend it to the novel readers of the 
 fashionable world. The work gives evidence 
 of talent of no common order." — John Bull. 
 
 THE LONGWOODS 
 OF THE GRANGE. 
 
 By the Author of 
 " ADELAIDE LINDSAY." 3 v. 
 
 " 'The Longwoods' are a family group, in 
 the story of whose life romance readers will 
 find a charm and an interest similar to that 
 which attends the annals of the ' Vicar of 
 Wakefield.' " — Daily News. 
 
 UNCLE WALTER. 
 
 BY MRS. TROLLOPE, 3 v. 
 
 "' Uncle Walter' is an exceedingly enter- 
 taining novel. It assures Mrs. TroUope more 
 than ever in her position as one of the ablest 
 fiction writers of the day." — Morning Post. 
 
 ALICE WENTWORTH. 
 
 3 v. 
 "A novel of exciting interest " — Post. 
 
 THE KINNEARS. 
 
 A SCOTTISH STORY. 3 v. 
 " We heartily commend this story to the 
 attention of our readers for its power, sim- 
 plicity, and truth. None can read its impres- 
 sive record without interest, and few without 
 improvement."— il/o)-raiH^ Post. 
 
 BROOMHILL ; 
 
 OR, THE COUNTY BEAUTIES. 
 
 " ' Broomhill' is a tale of life in polite 
 society. The dialogue is easy— the interest 
 is well sustained." — Athenaeum, 
 
 MARY SEAHAM. 
 
 BY MRS. GREY, 
 Author of " The Gambler's Wife." 3 v. 
 " Equal to any former novel by its author." 
 — Atheyiaum. 
 
 ANNETTE. A Tale. 
 BY W. F. DEACON. 
 "With a Memoir of the Author, bv the 
 Hon. Sir T. N. Talfourd, D.C.L." 3 v. 
 "'Annette' is a stirring tale. The 
 prefatory memoir by Sir Thomas Talfourd 
 would be at all times interesting, nor the less 
 so for containing two long letters from Sir 
 Walter Scott to Mr. Deacon, full of gentle 
 far-thinking wisdom."— .Ej:aTOi>jer. 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF AN 
 
 ETONIAN. 
 
 BY C. ROWCROFT, ESQ. 3 v. 
 
 "The life of an Etonian— his pranks, his 
 follies, his loves, his fortunes, and misfor- 
 tunes—is here amusingly drawn and happily 
 coloured by an accomplished artist. "The 
 work is full of anecdote and lively painting 
 of men and manners." — Globe. 
 
 THE BELLE OF THE 
 VILLAGE. 
 
 Bv the Author of 
 " The Old English Gentleman." 3 v. 
 " An admirable story. It may take its 
 place by the side of 'The Old English Gen- 
 tleman.'" — John Bull. 
 
 The LADY and the PRIEST. 
 
 BY MRS. MABERLY. 3 v. 
 
THE ARMY AND NAVY. 
 
 Published on the 1st of every Month, Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 COLBUEN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE, 
 
 AND 
 
 NAVAL AND MILITARY JOURNAL. 
 
 This popular periodical, which has now been established a quarter of 
 a century, embraces subjects of such extensive variety and powerful 
 interest as must render it scarcely less acceptable to readers in general 
 than to the members of those professions for whose use it is more par- 
 ticularly intended. Independently of a succession of Original Papers 
 on innumerable interesting subjects, Personal Narratives, Historical 
 Incidents, Correspondence, &c., each number comprises Biographical 
 Memoirs of Eminent Officers of all branches of service, Reviews of New 
 Publications, either immediately relating to the Army or Navy, or in- 
 volving subjects of utility or interest to the members of either. Full 
 Reports of Trials by Courts Martial, Distribution of the Army and Navy, 
 General Orders, Circulars, Promotions, Appointments, Births, Marriages, 
 Obituary, &c., with all the Naval and Military Intelligence of the Month. 
 
 "This is confessedly one of the ablest and most attractive periodicals of which 
 the British press can boast, presenting a wide field of entertainment to the 
 general as well as professional reader. The suggestions for the benefit of the 
 two services are distinguished by vigour of sense, acute and practical observation, 
 an ardent love of discii)line, tempered by a high sense of justice, honour, and a 
 tender regard for the welfare and comfort of our soldiers and seamen." — Globe. 
 
 " At the head of those periodicals which furnish useful and valuable information 
 to their peculiar classes of readers, as well as amusement to the general body of 
 the public, must be placed the ' United Service Magazine, and Naval and Military 
 Journal.' It numbers among its contributors almost all those gallant spirits who 
 have done no less honour to their country by their swords than by their pens, 
 and abounds with the most interesting discussions on naval and military affairs, 
 and stirring narratives of deeds of arms in all parts of the world. Every informa- 
 tion of value and interest to both the Services is culled with the greatest diligence 
 from every available source, and the correspondence of various distinguished 
 officers which enrich its pages is a feature of great attraction. In short, the 
 ' United Service Magazine' can be recommended to every reader who possesses 
 that attachment to his country which should make him look with the deepest 
 interest on its naval and military resources." — Sun. 
 
 " This truly national periodical is always full of the most valuable rr.atter for 
 professional men." — Moiming Herald. 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
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