Frank Fairlegh

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"'Then and there,
Rehearse and declare'

all my heinous crimes, offences and misdemeanours; whereupon the
aforesaid signiors did solemnly shake their bald heads, and appear
exceedingly shocked and particularly puzzled. Well, at last I was called
upon for my defence, and, having made up my mind for some time what line
I would take, I cut the matter very short, by owning to have assisted
in ringing the bells, which I confessed was an act of folly, but nothing
more, and that the idea of its constituting an offence punishable by law
was absurd in the extreme. This sent them to book, and, after turning
over sundry ponderous tomes, and consulting various statutes of all
sorts and sizes, besides whispering together, and shaking their
heads once and again, till I began to fear that their necks would
be dislocated, they arrived at the conclusion that I was right, or
thereabouts. This fact the eldest, most bald, and most stupid of
the party, chosen by common consent, doubtless in virtue of these
attributes, as spokesman, proceeded to communicate to me in a very prosy
harangue, to which he appended a lecture--a sort of stock article, which
he evidently kept constantly on hand, with blanks which could be filled
up to suit any class of offenders. In this harangue he pointed out the
dangers of juvenile tricks, and the evils of dissipation, winding up
with the assurance that, as I seemed deeply sensible of the error of
my ways, they, the ~158~~magistrates, would, on my making a suitable
apology to that excellent public functionary, the Mayor of Hillingford,
graciously deign to overlook my misconduct. During his long-winded
address a new idea struck me, and when he had concluded I inquired, with
all due respect, whether 'I was to understand that it was quite certain
I had committed no offence punishable by law?' To this he replied, 'that
I might set my mind completely at ease upon that point; that though,
morally speaking, I had been guilty of a very serious misdemeanour, in
the eye of the law I was perfectly innocent'. 'In that case, gentlemen,'
replied I, 'the liberty of the subject has been infringed; I have been
kept in illegal confinement for some hours, and I believe I have my
remedy in an action for false imprisonment against Mr. Dullmug. Does not
the law bear me out in what I state?' Again they had recourse to their
books, and were unwillingly forced to confess that I was right.' Then,'
continued I, 'so far from making any apology to Mr. Dullmug, unless that
gentleman consents to beg _my_ pardon, and gives me a written apology
for the unjust and illegal prosecution to which he has subjected me,
I shall at once take the necessary steps to proceed against him.' Oh!
Frank, I would have given something to have had you there, old boy!
when I announced this determination; there was such a shindy as I
never before witnessed: old Dullmug was furious, and vowed he'd never
apologise: I declared if he didn't, nothing should prevent me from
bringing my action: the magistrates tried to persuade me, but I was
inflexible; and (by Jove! I was very near forgetting the best part of it
all) my governor, who was in court, the moment he found the law was on
my side, turned suddenly round, swore I had been shamefully used, and
that if it cost him every farthing he possessed in the world, he would
see justice done me. So the end of it was that old Dullmug was forced to
write the apology; it now lies in my writing-desk, and I look upon it
as one of the proudest trophies man ever possessed. So, Master Frank,
considering all things, I think I may reckon I got pretty well out of
that scrape.

"Ever your affectionate,

"F. C.

"P.S.--What have you said or done to render old Vernor so bitter against
you? Clara Saville tells Lucy, that, when she informed him of her having
met and conversed with you alone in the park that day, he flew into
~159~~such a rage as she had never seen him in before, and abused you
like a pickpocket; and she says she feels certain that, for some cause
or other, he entertains a strong personal dislike to you. _Entre nous_,
I don't think the fair Clara seems exactly to sympathise with him in
this feeling. Considering that you had somewhat less than half an hour
to make play in, from Lucy's account you do not seem to have wasted much
time. Ah! Master Frank, you are a naughty boy; I can't help sighing when
I reflect, how anxious your poor dear mother must feel about you, when
she knows you're out."

"Still the same light-hearted merry fellow as ever," exclaimed I, as I
closed the letter; "how long, I wonder, will those buoyant spirits of
his resist the depressing effect which contact with the harsh realities
of life appears always sooner or later to produce? Strange, what he says
about that Mr. Vernor; I am not conscious that I ever met the man till
the evening of the ball, and yet I fancied there was something which
seemed not utterly unfamiliar to me in the expression of his face.
Vernor! Vernor! I don't believe I ever heard the name before--it's very
odd. Of course, what he says about Miss Saville is all nonsense; and yet
there was something in her manner, which made me fancy, if I had time
and opportunity--pshaw! what absurdity--I shall have enough to do if I
am to imagine myself in love with every nice girl who says, 'Thank you'
prettily for any trifling service I may chance to render her. I am sure
she is not happy, poor thing! Seriously, I wish I were sufficiently
intimate with her to be able to afford her the advice and assistance of
a friend, should such be ever required by her. I should take the liberty
of asking old Vernor what he meant by his extraordinary behaviour
towards me, were I to see much more of him; there's nothing like a
little plain speaking. But I need, not trouble my brains about the
matter; I shall probably never meet either of them again, so what does
it signify? She certainly is the loveliest girl I ever saw, though!
heigho!" and, with a sigh, for which I should have been somewhat
puzzled rationally to account, I took up my gun, and set off for a day's
shooting with Harry Oaklands. ~160~~

CHAPTER XX -- ALMA MATER

"He's a good divine that follows his own instructions; I can
easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of
the twenty to follow my own teaching. The brain may devise
laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree."
--_Merchant of Venice_.

TIME, that venerable and much-vituperated individual, who, if he has to
answer for some acts savouring of a taste for wanton destruction--if
he now and then lunches on some noble old abbey, which had remained a
memorial of the deep piety and marvellous skill of our forefathers--if
he crops, by way of salad, some wide-spreading beech or hoary
patriarchal oak, which had flung its shade over the tombs of countless
generations, and, as it stood forming a link between the present and the
past, won men's reverence by force of contrast with their own ephemeral
existence--yet atones for his delinquencies by softening the bitterness
of grief, blunting the sharp edge of pain, and affording to the
broken-hearted the rest, and to the slave the freedom, of the
grave;--old Time, I say, who should be praised at all events for his
perseverance and steadiness, swept onward with his scythe, and cutting
his way through the frost and snow of winter, once more beheld the dust
of that "brother of the east wind," March, converted into mud by the
showers of April, and the summer was again approaching. It was on a fine
morning in May, that, as Oaklands and I were breakfasting together in my
rooms at Trinity, we heard a tap at the door, and the redoubtable Shrimp
made his appearance. This interesting youth had, under Lawless's able
tuition, arrived at such a pitch of knowingness that it was utterly
impossible to make him credit anything; he had not the smallest particle
of confidence remaining in the integrity of man, woman, or child; and,
like many another of the would-be wise in their generation, the only
flaw in his scepticism was the bigoted nature of his faith in the false
and hateful doctrine of the universal depravity of the human race.
He was the bearer of a missive from his master, inviting Oaklands and
myself to a wine-party at his rooms that evening.

"I suppose we may as well go," said Oaklands; "I like a positive
engagement somewhere--it saves one the trouble of thinking what one
shall do with oneself."

~161~~"You can accept it," replied I, "but it would be a waste of time
which I have no right to allow myself; not only does it make one idle
while it lasts, but the next day also, for I defy a man to read to any
purpose the morning after one of Lawless's symposia."

"Call it supper, my dear boy," returned Oaklands, stretching himself;
"why do you take the trouble to use a long word when a short one would
do just as well? If I could but get you to economise your labour and
take things a little more easily, it would be of the greatest advantage
to you;--that everlasting reading too--I tell you what, Frank, you are
reading a great deal too hard; you look quite pale and ill. I promised
Mrs. Fairlegh I would not let you overwork yourself, and you shall not
either. Come, you must and shall go to this party; you want relaxation
and amusement, and those fellows will contrive to rouse you up a bit,
and do you good."

"To say the truth," I replied, "that is one of my chief objections to
going. Lawless I like, for the sake of old recollections, and because he
is at bottom a well-disposed, good-hearted fellow; but I cannot approve
of the set of men one meets there. It is not merely their being what
is termed 'fast' that I object to; for though I do not set up for a
sporting character myself, I am rather amused than otherwise to mix
occasionally with that style of men; but there is a tone of recklessness
in the conversation of the set we meet there, a want of reverence for
everything human and divine, which, I confess, disgusts me--they seem to
consider no object too high or too low to make a jest of."

"I understand the kind of thing you refer to," answered Oaklands, "but I
think it's only one or two of them who offend in that way; there is one
man who is my particular aversion; I declare if I thought he'd be there
to-night I would not go."

"I think I know who you mean," replied I; "Stephen Wilford, is it not?
the man they call 'Butcher,' from some brutal thing he once did to a
horse."

"You're right, Frank; I can scarcely sit quietly by and hear that man
talk. I suppose he sees that I dislike him, for there is something in
his manner to me which is almost offensive; really at times I fancy he
wishes to pick a quarrel with me."

"Not unlikely," said I; "he has the reputation of being a dead shot with
the pistol, and on the strength of it he presumes to bully every one."

"He had better not go too far with me," returned ~162~~Oaklands, with
flashing eyes; "men are not to be frightened like children; such a
character as that is a public nuisance."

"He will not be there to-night, I am glad to say," replied I, "for I
met him yesterday when I was walking with Lawless, and he said he was
engaged to Wentworth this evening; but, my dear Harry, for Heaven's sake
avoid any quarrel with this man; should you not do so, you will only be
hazarding your life unnecessarily, and it can lead to no good result."

"My dear fellow, do I ever quarrel with anybody? there is nothing worth
the trouble of quarrelling about in this world; besides, it would be an
immense fatigue to be shot," observed Harry, smiling.

"I have no great faith in your pacific sensations, for they are nothing
more," rejoined I; "your indolence always fails you where it might be
of use in subduing (forgive me for using the term) your fiery temper;
besides, in allowing a man of this kind to quarrel with you, you give
him just the opportunity he wants; in fact you are completely playing
his game."

"Well, I can't see that exactly; suppose the worst comes to the worst,
and you are obliged to fight him, he stands nearly as good a chance of
being killed as you do."

"Excuse me, he does nothing of the kind; going out with a professed
duellist is like playing cards with a skilful gambler; the chances are
very greatly in his favour: in the first place, nine men out of ten
would lose their nerve entirely when stationed opposite the pistol of
a dead shot; then again, there are a thousand apparent trifles of which
the initiated are aware, and which make the greatest difference, such as
securing a proper position with regard to the sun, taking care that your
figure is not in a direct line with any upright object, a tree or post
for instance, and lots of other things of a like nature which we know
nothing about, all of which he is certain to contrive to have arranged
favourably for himself, and disadvantageously for his opponent. Then,
having as it were trained himself for the occasion, he is perfectly cool
and collected, and ready to avail himself of every circumstance he might
turn to his advantage--a moment's hesitation in pulling the trigger when
the signal is given, and he fires first--many a man has received his
death-wound before now ere he had discharged his own pistol."

"My dear boy," said Harry, "you really are exciting and alarming
yourself very unnecessarily; I am not going to quarrel with Wilford or
anybody else; I detest ~163~~active exertion of every kind, and consider
duelling as a fashionable compound of iniquity, containing equal parts
of murder and suicide--and we'll go to Lawless's this evening, that
I'm determined upon--and--let me see--I've got James's new novel in my
pocket. I shall not disturb you if I stay here, shall I? I'm not going
to talk."

Then, without waiting for an answer, he stretched himself' at full
length on (and beyond) the sofa, and was soon buried in the pages of
that best of followers in the footsteps of the mighty Wizard of the
North--Walter Scott--leaving me to the somewhat less agreeable task of
reading mathematics.

CHAPTER XXI -- THE WINE-PARTY

"This night I hold an old-accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love."

"A fair assembly, whither should they come?

Servant.--Up-----!

Romeo.--Whither?

Servant.--To supper."
--_Shakspeare_.

"All is not false that seems at first a lie."
--_Southey_.

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

I do bite my thumb, sir!

Do you quarrel, sir?

Quarrel, sir! No, sir!

If you do, sir, I am for you."
--_Shakspeare_.

LET the reader imagine a long table covered with the remains of an
excellent dessert, interspersed with a multitude of bottles of all
shapes and sizes, containing every variety of wine that money could
procure, or palate desire; whilst in the centre stood a glorious
old china bowl of punch, which the guests were discussing in
tumblers--wine-glasses having been unanimously voted much too slow.
Around this table let there be seated from fifteen to twenty men, whose
ages might vary from nineteen to three- or four-and-twenty; some smoking
cigars, some talking vociferously, some laughing, some though they were
decidedly the minority, listening: but ~164~~all showing signs of being
more or less elated by the wine they had taken. Let the reader
imagine all this, and he will have formed a pretty correct idea of the
supper-party in Lawless's rooms, as it appeared about ten o'clock on the
evening subsequent to the conversation I have just detailed.

"Didn't I see you riding a black horse with one white stocking
yesterday, Oaklands?" inquired a young man with a round jovial
countenance, which might have been reckoned handsome but for the extreme
redness of the complexion, and the loss of a front tooth, occasioned by
a fall received in the hunting field, whose name was Richard, or, as he
was more commonly termed, Dick Curtis.

"Yes," replied Oaklands, "I daresay you did; I was trying him."

"Ah! I fancied he was not one of your own." "No; he belongs to Tom
Barret, who wants me to buy him; but I don't think he's strong enough to
carry my weight; there's not substance enough about him; I ride nearly
eleven stone."

"Oh! he'll never do for you," exclaimed Lawless. "I know the horse well;
they call him Blacksmith, because the man who bred him was named Smith;
he lives down in Lincolnshire, and breeds lots of horses; but they are
none of them, at least none that I have seen, what I call the right
sort; don't you buy him,--he's got too much daylight under him to suit
you."

"Too long in the pasterns to carry weight," urged Curtis.

"Rather inclined to be cow-hocked," chimed in Lawless.

"Not ribbed home," remarked Curtis.

"Too narrow across the loins," observed Lawless.

"He'll never carry flesh," continued Curtis.

"It's useless to think of his jumping; he'll never make a hunter," said
Lawless.

"Only hear them," interrupted a tall, fashionable-looking young man,
with a high forehead and a profusion of light, curling hair; "now
those two fellows are once off, it's all up with anything like rational
conversation for the rest of the evening."

"That's right, Archer, put the curb on 'em; we might as well be in
Tattersall's yard at once," observed another of the company, addressing
the last speaker.

"I fear it's beyond my power," replied Archer; "they've got such
an incurable trick of talking equine scandal, and taking away the
characters of their ~165~~neighbours' horses, that nobody can stop them
unless it is Stephen Wilford."

The mention of this name seemed to have the effect of rendering every
one grave, and a pause ensued, during which Oaklands and I exchanged
glances. At length the silence was broken by Curtis, who said:--

"By the way, what's become of Wilford? I expected to meet him here
to-night."

"He was engaged to dine with Wentworth," said Lawless; "but he promised
to look in upon us in the course of the evening; I thought he would have
been here before this."

As he spoke a tap was heard at the room-door.

"Well, that's odd," continued Lawless; "that's Wilford for a ducat; talk
of the devil,--eh, don't you know? Come in."

"You had better not repeat that in his hearing," observed Archer,
"though I believe he'd take it as a compliment on the whole; it's my
opinion he rather affects the satanic."

"Hush," said Curtis, pressing his arm, "here he is."

As he spoke the door opened, and the subject of their remarks entered.
He was rather above the middle height, of a slight but unusually elegant
figure, with remarkably small hands and feet, the former of which were
white and smooth as those of a woman. His features were delicately
formed and regular, and the shape of his face a perfect oval; strongly
marked eyebrows overshadowed a pair of piercing black eyes; his lips
were thin and compressed, and his mouth finely cut; his hair, which was
unusually glossy and luxuriant, was jet black, as were his whiskers,
affording a marked contrast to the death-like pallor of his countenance.
The only fault that could be found in the drawing of his face was that
the eyes were placed too near together; but this imparted a character of
intensity to his glance which added to, rather than detracted from, the
general effect of his appearance. His features, when in repose, were
usually marked by an expression of contemptuous indifference; he seldom
laughed, but his smile conveyed an indication of such bitter sarcasm
that I have seen men, whom he chose to make a butt for his ridicule,
writhe under it as under the infliction of bodily torture. He was
dressed, as was his wont, entirely in black; but his clothes, which were
fashionably cut, fitted him without a wrinkle. He bowed slightly to the
assembled company, and then seated himself in a chair which had been
reserved for ~166~~him at the upper end of the table, nearly opposite
Oaklands and myself, saying as he did so: "I'm afraid I'm rather late,
Lawless, but Wentworth and I had a little business to transact, and I
could not get away sooner".

"What devil's deed have they been at now, I wonder?" whispered Oaklands
to me.

"Manslaughter, most likely," replied Archer (who was seated next me, and
had overheard the remark), "Wilford appears so thoroughly satisfied with
himself; that was just the way in which he looked the morning he winged
Sherringham, for I saw him myself."

"Send me down the claret, will you, Curtis?" asked Wilford. "Punch is a
beverage I don't patronise; it makes a man's hand shaky."

"If that is the case," returned Archer, "you ought to make a point of
drinking it for the good of society, my dear Wilford; let me help you to
a glass."

"Nonsense, Archer, be quiet, man; here, taste this cool bottle, Wilford;
claret's good for nothing if it's at all flat," exclaimed Lawless,
drawing the cork of a fresh magnum as he spoke.

"I differ from you in that opinion, Archer," returned Wilford, fixing
his keen black eyes upon the person he addressed with a piercing glance;
"society is like the wine in this glass," and he filled a bumper to
the brim with claret as he spoke; "it requires a steady hand to keep
it within its proper bounds, and to compel it to preserve an unruffled
surface"; and so saying he raised the glass to his lips without spilling
a drop, still keeping his eyes fixed upon Archer's face with the same
withering glance.

"Well, I have often heard of looking daggers at a person," continued
Archer, who had been drinking somewhat deeply during the evening, and
now appeared possessed by a spirit of mischief leading him to tease and
annoy Wilford in every way he could think of; "but Wilford does
worse, he positively looks pistols--cocked and loaded pistols--at one.
Fairlegh, I shall screen myself behind your broad shoulders; I never
could stand fire." So saying he seized me by the elbows, and, urging me
forward, crouched down behind me, affecting the extremity of terror.

The scowl on Wilford's brow deepened as he spoke, but, after a moment's
hesitation, apparently considering the affair too absurd to take notice
of, he turned away with a contemptuous smile, saying, "You make your
punch too strong, Lawless".

Archer instantly recovered his erect attitude, and with ~167~~a flushed
face seemed about to make some angry reply, when Lawless, who appeared
nervously anxious that the evening should pass over harmoniously,
interposed.

"Archer, you're absolutely incorrigible; keep him in order, Fairlegh,
eh? give him some more punch, and fill your own glass--it has been
empty I don't know how long. I'll find a toast that will make you
drink--bumpers round, gentlemen, 'to the health of the prettiest girl in
Hertfordshire'. Are you all charged? I beg to propose

[Illustration: page167 The Wine Party]

"Excuse my interrupting you, Lawless," exclaimed I--for I felt certain
who it was he was thinking of; and the idea of Miss Saville's name
being mentioned and discussed with the tone of licence common on such
occasions, appeared to me such complete profanation, that I determined,
be the consequences what they might, to prevent it--"Excuse my
interrupting you, but I should feel greatly obliged by your substituting
some other toast for the one you are about to propose".

"Eh, what! not drink the young woman's health? why I thought you admired
her more than I do: not drink her health? how's that, eh?"

"I shall be most happy to explain to you the reasons for my request at
some other time," replied I; "at present I can only add that I shall
consider it as a personal favour if you will accede to it."

"It does not appear to me to require an OEdipus to discover Mr.
Fairlegh's reasons for this request," observed Stephen Wilford; "he
evidently does not consider the present company deserving of the high
honour of drinking the health of a young lady whom _he_ distinguishes by
his admiration."

"Not over-flattering, I must say," muttered Lawless, looking annoyed.

"I suppose he's afraid of our hearing her name, lest some of us should
go and cut him out," suggested Curtis in an undertone, which was,
however, perfectly audible.

"In the meanwhile, Lawless, I hope you're not going to indulge your
friend's caprice at the expense of the rest of the company," resumed
Wilford; "having raised our expectations you are bound to gratify them."

Lawless, who evidently hesitated between his desire to assert his
independence and his wish to oblige me, was beginning with his usual,
"Eh? why, don't you see,"--when I interrupted him by saying, "Allow me to
set this matter at rest in a very few words. Lawless, I hope, knows me
well enough to feel sure that I could not ~168~~intend any disrespect
either to himself or to his guests--I believe it is not such an
unheard-of thing for a gentle-man to object to the name of any lady
whom he respects being commented upon with the freedom incidental to a
convivial meeting like the present--however that may be, I have asked
Lawless as a favour not to drink a certain toast in my presence; should
he be unwilling to comply with my request, as I would not wish to be
the slightest restraint upon him at his own table, I shall request his
permission to withdraw; on this point I await his decision. I have only
one more observation to make," continued I, looking at Wilford, who was
evidently preparing to speak, "which is, that if, after what I have just
said, any gentleman should continue to urge Lawless to give the toast to
which I object, I must perforce consider that he wishes to insult me."