Frank Fairlegh

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Worn out by the fatigues and anxieties of the day, we gladly followed
my mother's suggestion of going to bed in good time, although I did not
retire for the night till I had seen Harry Oaklands, and given him an
account of ~468~~ our adventures. Wilford's fate affected him strongly,
and, shading his brow with his hand, he sat for some moments wrapped in
meditation. At length he said, in a deep low tone, "These things force
thought upon one, Frank. How nearly was this man's fate my own! How
nearly was I being hurried into eternity with a weight of passions
unrestrained, of sins unrepented of, clinging to my guilty soul! God has
been very merciful to me." He paused; then, pressing my hand warmly,
he added, "And now, good-night, Frank; to-morrow I shall be more fit to
rejoice with you in your prospects of coming happiness; to-night I would
fain be alone--you understand me". My only reply was by wringing his
hand in return, and we parted.

Reader, such thoughts as these working in a mind like that of Harry
Oaklands, could not be without their effect; and when in after
years, having by constant and unceasing watchfulness conquered his
constitutional indolence, his voice has been raised in the senate of
his country to defend the rights and privileges of our pure and holy
faith--when men's hearts, spell-bound by his eloquence, have been turned
from evil to follow after the thing that is good, memory has brought
before me that conversation in the library at Heathfield; and, as I
reflected on the effect produced on the character of Oaklands by the
fearful death of the homicide Wilford, I have acknowledged that the ways
of Providence are indeed inscrutable.

I was roused from a deep sleep at an uncomfortably early hour on the
following morning, by a sound much resembling a "view halloo," coupled
with my own name, shouted in the hearty tones of Lawless; and, flinging
open the window, I perceived that indefatigable young gentleman employed
in performing some incomprehensible manouvres with two sticks and a
large flint stone, occasionally varying his diversion by renewing the
rough music which had broken my slumbers.

"Why, Lawless, what do you mean by rousing me at this unreasonable hour?
it's not six o'clock yet. And what in the world are you doing with those
sticks?"

"Unreasonable, eh? well, that's rather good, now! Just tell me which is
the most unreasonable, to lie snoring in bed like a fat pig or a fatter
alderman, such a beautiful morning as this is, or to be out and enjoying
it--eh?"

"You have reason on your side, so far, I must confess."

"Eh? yes, and so I always have, to be sure. What am I doing with the
sticks, did you say? can't you see?"

~469~~ "I can see you are fixing one in the ground, taking extreme pains
to balance the stone on the top of it, and instantly endeavouring
to knock it off again with the other; in which endeavour you appear
generally to fail."

"Fail, eh? It strikes me that you are not half awake yet, or else your
eyesight is getting out of condition. Six times running, except twice,
when the wind or something got in the way, did I knock that blessed
stone off, while I was trying to wake you. Epsom's coming round
soon, don't you see, so I'm just getting my hand in for a slap at the
snuff-boxes. But jump into your togs as fast as you can, and come out,
for I've got such a lark to tell you."

A few minutes sufficed to enable me to follow Lawless's recommendation,
and long before he had attained the proficiency he desired in his
"snuff-box practice," I had joined him.

"There!" he exclaimed, as he made a most spiteful shot at the stone,
"that's safe to do the business. By Jove, it has done it too, and no
mistake," he continued, as the stick, glancing against the branch of
a tree, turned aside, and ruining a very promising bed of hyacinths,
finally alighted on a bell-glass placed over some pet flower of Fanny's,
both of which it utterly destroyed.

"Pleasant that, eh?--ah, well, we must lay it to the cats--though if the
cats in this part of the country are not unusually robust and vicious,
there's not a chance of our being believed."

"Never mind," remarked I, "better luck next time. But now that you have
succeeded in dragging me out of bed, what is it that you want with me?"

"Want with you, eh?" returned Lawless, mimicking the half-drowsy,
half-cross tone in which I had spoken; "you're a nice young man to talk
to, I don't think. Never be grumpy, man, when I've got the most glorious
bit of fun in the world to tell you, too. I had my adventures yesterday
as well as you. Who do you think called upon me after you set out?
You'll never guess, so I may as well tell you at once; it was--but you
shall hear how it happened. I was just pulling my boots on to try
a young bay thoroughbred, that Reynolds thinks might make a
steeple-chaser--he's got some rare bones about him, I must say. Well, I
was just in the very act of pulling on my boots, when Shrimp makes his
appearance, and squeaking out, 'Here's a gent, as vonts to see you, sir,
partic'lar,' ushers in no less a personage than Lucy Markham's devoted
admirer, the drysalter."

~470~~ "What! the gentleman whose business we settled so nicely the day
before yesterday? Freddy Coleman's dreaded rival?"

"Eh? yes, the very identical, and an uncommon good little follow he
is too, as men go, I can tell you. Well, you may suppose I was puzzled
enough to find out what he could want with me, and was casting about for
something to say to him, when he makes a sort of a bow, and begins:--

"'The Honourable George Lawless, I believe?'

"'The same, sir, at your service,' replies I, giving a stamp with my
foot to get my boot on.

"'May I beg the favour of five minutes' private conversation with you?'

"'Eh? oh yes, certainly,' says I. 'Get out of this, you inquisitive
little imp of darkness, and tell Reynolds to tie the colt up to the
pillar-reins, and let him champ the bit till I come down; that's the way
to bring him to a mouth;' and, hastening Shrimp's departure by throwing
the slippers at his head, I continued, 'Now, sir, I'm your man; what's
the row, eh?'

"'A-hem! yes, sir, really it is somewhat a peculiar--that is a
disagreeable business. I had thought of getting a friend to call upon
you.'

"'A friend, eh? oh! I see the move now--pistols for two, and coffee
for four; invite a couple of friends to make arrangements for getting
a bullet put into you in the most gentlemanly way possible, and call it
_receiving satisfaction_,--very satisfactory, certainly. Well, sir, you
shall soon have my answer: no man can call George Lawless a coward; if
he did, he'd soon find his eyesight obscured, and a marked alteration in
the general outline of his features; but I never have fought a duel, and
I never mean to fight one. If I've smashed your panels, or done you any
injury, I am willing to pay for repairs, and make as much apology as one
man has any right to expect from another; or, if it will be a greater
ease to your mind, we'll off coats, ring for Shrimp and Harry Oaklands'
boy to see fair play, and have it out on the spot, all snug and
comfortable; but no pistoling work, thank ye.'

"Well, the little chap didn't seem to take at all kindly to the notion,
though, as I fancied he wasn't much of a bruiser, I offered to tie my
right hand behind me, and fight him with my left, but it was clearly
no go; so I thought I'd better hold my tongue, and leave him to explain
himself. After dodging about the bush for some time, he began to get the
steam up a little, and when he ~471~~ did break cover, went away at a
rattling pace,--let out at me in style, I can tell you. His affections
had been set on Lucy Markham ever since he had had any, and I had
been and destroyed the happiness of his whole life, and rendered him
a miserable individual--a mark for the finger of scorn to poke fun at.
Shocking bad names he did call himself, to be sure, poor little beggar!
till 'pon my word, I began to get quite sorry for him. At last it came
out, that the thing which chiefly aggravated him was, that Lucy should
have given him up for the sake of marrying a man of rank. If it had been
any one she was deeply attached to, he would not have so much minded;
but it was nothing but a paltry ambition to be a peeress; she was
mercenary, he knew it, and it was that which stung him to the quick.

"Well, as he said this, a bright idea flashed across me, that I could
satisfy the little 'victim,' as he called himself, and get my own neck
out of the collar, at one and the same time; so I went up to him, and
giving him a slap on the back that set him coughing like a broken-winded
hunter after a sharp burst, I said, 'Mr. Brown, I what the females call
sympathise with you;--your thing-em-bobs--sentiments, eh? are perfectly
correct, and do you credit. Now listen to me, young feller;--I'm
willing to do my best to accommodate you in this matter, and, if you're
agreeable, this is the way we'll settle it. You don't choose Lucy
should marry me, and I don't choose she should marry you;--now if you'll
promise to give her up, I'll do the same. That's fair, ain't it?' 'Do
you mean it really?' says he. 'Really and truly,' says I. 'Will you
swear?' says he. 'Like a trooper, if that will please you,' says I.
'Sir, you're a gentleman--a generous soul,' says he, quite overcome;
and, grasping my hand, sobs out, 'I'll promise'. 'Done, along with you,
drysalter,' says I, 'you're a trump;' and we shook hands till he got
so red in the face, I began to be afraid of spontaneous combustion.
'There's nothing like striking when the iron's hot,' thinks I; so I
made him sit down there and then, and we wrote a letter together to old
Coleman, telling him the resolution we had come to, and saying, if he
chose to bring an action for breach of promise of marriage against us,
we would defend it conjointly, and pay the costs between us. What do you
think of that, Master Frank? Eh?"

"That you certainly have a more wonderful knack of getting into scrapes,
and out of them again, than any man I ever met with," replied I,
laughing.

~472~~ Before we had finished breakfast Peter Barnett made his
appearance. On his return to Barstone, he was informed that Mr. Vernor
had been seized with an apoplectic fit, probably the result of the
agitation of the morning. He was still in a state of stupor when Peter
started to acquaint us with the fact, and the medical man who had been
sent for considered him in a very precarious condition. Under these
circumstances, Mr. Frampton immediately set out for Barstone, where
he remained till the following morning, when he rejoined us. A slight
improvement had taken place in the patient's health; he had recovered
his consciousness, and requested to see Mr. Frampton. During the
interview which ensued, he acknowledged Mr. Frampton's rights, and
withdrew all further opposition to his wishes.

After the lapse of a few days, Mr. Vernor recovered sufficiently to
remove from Barstone to a small farm which he possessed in the north,
where he lingered for some months, shattered alike in health and
spirits. He steadily refused to see either Clara or myself, or to accept
the slightest kindness at our hands; but we have since had reason to
believe, that in this he was actuated by a feeling of compunction,
rather than of animosity. Nothing is so galling to a proud spirit, as to
receive favours from those it has injured. In less than a year from
the time he quitted Barstone Priory, a second attack terminated his
existence. On examining his papers after his decease, Peter Barnett's
suspicions that Richard Cumberland was Mr. Vernor's natural son were
verified, and this discovery tended to account for a considerable
deficiency in Clara's fortune, the unhappy father having been tempted
to appropriate large sums of money to relieve his spendthrift son's
embarrassments. This also served to explain his inflexible determination
that Clara should marry Cumberland, such being the only arrangement by
which he could hope to prevent the detection of his dishonesty.

Reader, the interest of my story, always supposing it to have possessed
any in your eyes, is now over.

Since the occurrence of the events I have just related the course of my
life has been a smooth, and, though not exempt from some share in the
"ills that flesh is heir to," an unusually happy one.

In an address, whether from the pulpit or the rostrum, half the battle
is to know when you have said enough--the same rule applies with
equal force to the tale-writer. There are two errors into which he may
fall--he may say too little, or he may say too much. The first is a
venial ~473~~ sin, and easily forgiven--the second nearly unpardonable.
Such, at all events, being my ideas on the subject, I shall merely
proceed to give a brief outline of the fate of the principal personages
who have figured in these pages ere I bring this veritable history
to a close. Cumberland, after his flight from the scene at the
turnpike-house, made his way to Liverpool, and, his money being secreted
about his person, hastened to put his original plan into execution. A
vessel was about to start for America, by which he obtained a passage to
New York. In the United States he continued the same vicious course of
life which had exiled him from England, and, as a natural consequence,
sank lower and lower in the scale of humanity. The last account heard
of him stated that, having added drinking to the catalogue of his
vices, his constitution, unable to bear up against the inroads made by
dissipation, was rapidly failing, while he was described to be in the
most abject poverty. The captain of an American vessel with whom I am
slightly acquainted, promised me that he would gain more particulars
concerning him, and, if he were in actual want, leave money with some
responsible person for his use, so as to ensure him against starvation.
The result of his inquiries I have yet to learn.

Old Mr. Coleman was, as may be imagined, dreadfully irate on the receipt
of the singular epistle bearing the joint signatures of Lawless and Mr.
Lowe Brown, and was only restrained from bringing an action for breach
of promise by having it strongly represented to him that the effect of
so doing would be to make himself and his niece ridiculous. Freddy and
Lucy Markham had the good sense to wait till Mr. Coleman had taken the
former into partnership, which he fortunately inclined to do almost
immediately; being then, with the aid of Lawless's receivership, in
possession of a very comfortable income, the only serious objection
to the marriage was removed; and the father, partly to escape Mrs.
Coleman's very singular and not over-perspicuous arguments, partly
because he loved his son better than he was himself aware, gave his
consent.

George Lawless is still a bachelor. If questioned on the subject, his
invariable reply is, "Eh, married? Not I! Women are a kind of cattle,
don't you see, that I never did understand. If it was anything about
a horse now--" There are some, however, who attribute his celibacy to
another cause, and deem that he has never yet seen any one calculated
to efface the memory of his sincere though eccentric attachment to my
sister Fanny.

~474~~ It was on a bright summer morning that the bells of the little
church of Heathfield pealed merrily to celebrate a triple wedding; and
fairer brides than Fanny, Clara and Lucy Markham, or happier bridegrooms
than Harry Oaklands, Freddy Coleman and myself, never pronounced the
irrevocable "I will". There were smiles on all faces; and if there
were a few tears also, they were such as angels might not grudge to
weep--tears of pure, unalloyed happiness.

Years have passed away since that day--years of mingled light and shade;
but never, as I believe, have either of the couples then linked together
shown, by thought, word or deed, that they have failed in gratitude to
the Giver of all good things, who in His mercy had granted them the rare
and inestimable blessing of sharing the joys and sorrows of this world
of trial with a loving and beloved companion.

Clara and I reside at Barstone Priory, which is also Mr. Frampton's
home, when he is at home; but his wandering habits lead him to spend
much of his time in a round of visits to his friends; and Heathfield
Hall and Cottage, Leatherly and Elm Grove, are in turn gladdened by the
sound of his kindly laugh and sonorous grunts.

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