Chapter XIII: Act II: Scene I (1)

A public-house, "Black Horse," in the Borough. A tap-room. _Mags_ and
_Poppleton_ discovered drinking "heavy wet." _Mags_ rather fresh, and
_Poppleton_ evidently the worse of liquor. _Mags_, after a long pull,
deposits the pot upon the table.

_Pop._--Now for your news, Mags.

_Mags._ I told you, worthy Pop,
That Stubs and Smith put keepers on the shop.

_Pop._--And how's our missus?

_Mags._ Why, hearty, when last seen
With a Life-Guardsman, crossing Turnham-green.

_Pop._--And honest Snags?

_Mags (with emotion)._ Ah! would that epithet were true,
Or I could keep the sad details from you!
Snags is not _honest_!

(_Poppleton buttons his coat, and puts himself into a boxing
attitude._)

He has robb'd the till,
And lost the money, betting at a mill!

(_Noise without. Door opens. Enter Young Clipclose hastily._)

_Mr. C._--What, Mags and Pop! the coves I wish'd to see
Above all others. Curse my pedigree!

AIR--_Mr. Clipclose._--("I've been roaming.")

I've been nabb'd, sirs,--I've been nabb'd, sirs,--
And bundled off direct to jail,
By the villains when they grabb'd, sirs,
And now I'm out upon stag-bail.

(_Mr. C. seizes the pewter in his right hand._)

_Mr. C._--Is this good stout?

_Mags (feelingly)._ My honest master, quaff!
You'll find it strengthening, real half-and-half.

AIR--_Poppleton._--("Here we go up, up, up.")

Come, Bob, take a sup, sup, sup!
Let the liquor your stiff neck slide down, boy;
There's nothing like keeping steam up,
When a man's at the worst, and done brown, boy.

(_Clipclose starts, looks anxiously at Mags._)

_Mr. C._--How's all at home,--I mean on Ludgate-hill,--
And have you heard the winner of the mill?

_Mags (with considerable hesitation)._--We all, alas! for Fortune's
frowns seem fix'd on.
Poor Jerry Scout is bundled off to Brixton;
The shop's done up; and, for your lady wife,
I fear she's joined the Guards, yclept "The Life;"
On other things, barring the fight, I'm barren,
And Owen Swift was beat by Barney Aaron.

(_Clipclose staggers across the room, and catches at the
chimney-piece._)

_Mr. C._--My wife levanted, and the shop done up!
Mags, hand the quart; I need another sup.
Othello like, Bob's occupation's done;
For I back'd Owen freely two to one.
Like Antony at Actium, this fell day
Strips me of all, shop, cash, and lady gay.
Would I had nerve to take myself away!

_Pop._ (_aside._)--I'll watch him close. Although his looks are
placid,
He'll take a dose, I fear, of prussic acid.

(_Enter Pot-boy._)

_Pot-boy._--Is there a gent call'd Mr. Clipclose here?

_Mr. C._--I am that wretched man! (_Slaps his forehead._)

_Pot-boy._ Who pays the beer?

_Pop._--I.

_Pot-boy._--Here's a note. (_To Mr. C._) Lord, but the man looks
queer!

(_Mr. Clipclose reads it; jumps up, and whistles "Bobbing Joan."_)

QUARTETTO.

_Mags._

Master, are you mad?

_Mr. C._

No; but I'm distracted.

_Pot-boy._

Times are wery bad,

_Pop._

And I in grief abstracted.

_Mags._

Odds! he'll take his life!

_Mr. C._ (_kissing the billet._)

Sweet note! thou'rt balm and manna!

_Mags to Pop._ (_who is reading it over Mr. C.'s shoulder._) Is
it from his wife?

_Pop._ (_slaps his thigh._)

No! from Miss Juliana!"

_Clipclose_, when he reads it, rushes out; _Mags_ after him.
_Poppleton_ attempts to follow, but is detained by pot-boy. He forks
out tanner, and disappears. SOLO--_Apollonicon._ Hurried music
descriptive of three cabs: _Clipclose_ in 793, at a rapid pace;
_Mags_, 1659; _Poppleton_ 1847, pursuing. Scene closes.

SCENE II.

Thompson and Fearon's, Holborn; gin-palace at full work; company less
select than numerous, and ladies and gentlemen taking "some'ut short"
at the counter. Enter, in full uniform. Captain Connor; O'Toole and
Blowhard in shell jackets. They call for a flash of lightning, touch
glasses affectionately, and bolt the ruin. The captain stumps down
for all.

GLEE--_Connor, O'Toole, and Blowhard._

_Capt._

Gin cures love, my boys, and gin cures the colic;

_O'T._

Gin fits a man for fight, or fits him for a frolic;

_Blow._

Come, we'll have another go, then hey for any rollic!

_Trio._

Come, we'll have another go, and hey then for a rollic!

_Blow._--Lass! (_to an attendant, whom he chucks under the chin,_)
some more jacky! Connor, do you still Bend at the shrine of her on
Ludgate-hill?

_OT. (contemptuously)._--Zounds! a cit's helpmate. That would never
do. One of us Guards, and one of taste like you.

_Capt._--Faith, honest Blowhard, and you, my pal, O'Toole, Tho' fond
of flirting, yet your friend's no fool! Think ye that I could live
upon my pay, And keep four wives on three and six a day? No. Let me
have a monied mistress still, My El Dorado be a tradesman's till.
Love fed by flimsies, is the love that thrives, And let the mercers
keep the Guardsman's wives.

_O'T._--I see how matters stand, my trump; enough.

_Blow._ (_to O'T._)--He's wide awake, Tim. (_To the Capt._) Con.
you're up to snuff!

_Capt._--Come, one more round of jacky, and we part,-- I, to the
peerless lady of my heart In Stamford-street;--to Knightsbridge
barrack you; And mind don't split that I was out at Kew.

(_They take each another johnny, shake hands, and separate. The scene
closes._)

SCENE III.

A drawing-room; doors in the flat; one opening into Miss Juliana
Smashaway's boudoir, and the other to her bed-chamber. She is
discovered standing at the window in a pensive attitude. She sighs
heavily, and rubs her temples with "eau de Cologne."

_Miss S._--He comes not--half-past four! Ah, fickle Connor! Is this
thy plighted faith, and thrice-pledged honour? Was it for this, I
waived a grocer's hand, And twice refused a counter in the Strand,
Sent back an offer from a Tenth Hussar, And without warning left Soho
bazaar, Rejected Griskin, that rich man of mutton; Shy'd Lincoln
Stanhope, and cut Manners Sutton?

(_Sudden noise. Voices without._)

_1st voice._--Fare's sixteen-pence, and with one bob I'm shamm'd!
Fork out the four-pence!

_2nd voice._ First I'd see you d--d!

(_Door opens. Clipclose rushes in, and embraces Miss Smashaway._)

_Miss S._ (_with considerable spirit._)--Unhand me, fellow! Whence
this bold intrusion? I think I'll faint, I feel in such confusion.

DUET--_Clipclose and Miss S._--("Pray Goody.")

_Mr. C._

Oh, come, Juliana, lay aside your anger and surprise; One
trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know. I saw a ready
pardon seal'd already in your eyes, Else, 'pon my soul! I scarce
had ventur'd so.

_Miss S._

True, sir; but you, sir, Should recollect what's due, sir, To one
so young and innocent

_Mr. C._

As pretty Missus Ju--. Oh, come, Miss S. do lay aside your anger
and surprise; A trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know. I
saw a ready pardon seal'd already in your eyes, Else, 'pon my
soul! I had not ventur'd so.

(_Cab stops suddenly at the door. Miss S. looks out alarmed. Loud
knocking. Alarum._)

_Miss S._--Lost--lost for ever!

_Mr. C._ Pray, madam, what's the matter?

_Miss S._--Heard ye no broadsword on the pavement clatter?

_Mr. C._--A broadsword! Zounds! My teeth begin to chatter!

_Miss S._--Where shall I hide him?--(_Opens the chamber door._)--In,
sir, or you 're dead.

_Mr. C._--Can nothing save me?

_Miss S._ Creep beneath the bed.

(_Door opens. Mags peeps in._)

_Mags._--She's quite alone. Oh, happy Matthew Mags!

(_Maid-servant enters._)

_Maid._--A chap's below who says he's Samuel Snags.

_Mags._--I'm a done man; for that 'ere cove will blow me.

_Miss S._--Follow me in, and I will safely stow ye.

(_Enter Snags._)

_Snags._--Divine Miss Smashaway, I humbly kneel To plead a passion
you can never feel; A smile will save, a frown as surely kill, One
who for you has robb'd his master's till.

_Miss S._--Well, after that the man deserves some pity.-- Knocking
again! and here comes my maid Kitty.

(_Enter Maid._)

_Maid._--One Mr. Poppleton.

_Miss S._ Was ever one so courted?

_Snags._--All's up with me; for life I'll be transported! Ma'am,
could you save a lover?

_Miss S._ Let me see. Oh, yes; the bed will surely cover three.

(_Puts Snags into bed-chamber. Enter Poppleton._)

_Pop._--Where is my charmer?

(_Enter Maid, hastily._)

_Maid_ (_to Pop._) Sir, you're dead as mutton; The Captain's come.
Your life's not worth a button.

_Pop._--Where shall I hide?

_Miss S._ (_to the Maid._) Put him with t'other three; They're the
same firm, "Clipclose and company."

(_A heavy footstep is heard, and a sword strikes against the stairs.
Enter the Captain, whistling "Darby Kelly."_)

_Miss S._ (_flies into his arms._)--My own loved Guardsman, and my
fancy beau. Oh, Terence Connor! (_Kissing him._)

_Capt._ (_embracing her._)--Sweet Juliana, O!

_Miss S._--Why did you dally, dearest; tell me all? Were you on guard?

_Capt._ Yes, sweetest, at Whitehall.

_Miss S._--Ah, you false man,--(_taps his cheek playfully,_)--I'll
watch you close.

(_Somebody sneezes within._)

_Capt._ What's that?

_Miss S._--Nothing, dear Terence, but the landlord's cat.

(_Somebody coughs twice._)

_Capt._--A cough!--another! Do cats cough so, my fair? Ha! her cheeks
redden! Tell me who is there? That guilty look! Zounds! If my fears
be true, He'll curse the hour he dared to visit you!

(_Draws his sword, and rushes into the bed-chamber. Miss S. faints.
Voices within._)

_Capt._--A man!--my eyes! another!--and another! A fourth one still!

_Snags._ I'm dead with fright!

_Pop._ I smother!

(_Capt. drives them before him into the drawing-room._)

_Capt._ (_in a frenzy._)--Why, hell and Tommy! the maid whom I adore
To prove untrue, and play me false with four! But all shall die!

(_Captain Connor cuts No. 6. with his sword, while Clipclose and
company fall upon their knees._)

_Mags._ Oh, Lord! I'm dead already!

_Capt._--Prepare for death!

_Snags and Pop._ Indeed, sir, we an't ready.

_Mr. C._--Probably, sir, affection for my wife Might plead my pardon,
and reprieve my life.

(_Enter, hastily, Mrs. Clipclose and Annette._)

_Mrs. C._--Why, what's all this? What do my eyes discover? An errant
husband, and a truant lover! (_Aside to Mr. C._)--Was it for this I
gave my faith to you? (_Aside to Capt. C._)--Was it for this I drove
you out to Kew, Paid cab and lunch, brown stout, and ruin blue?

(_Capt. C. drops the point of his sword, and evinces great
contrition for attempting the lives of the company, when enter an
elderly pieman with a juvenile dealer in "all-hots," attended by
two policemen. Pieman identifies Miss Smashaway._)

_Pieman._--That 'ere flash madam hit me in the withers.

_All-hot (pointing to Mr. Clipclose)._--And that cove knock'd my
kitchen-range to shivers!

_Mr. C._ (_to Policeman._)--Let me explain, sir.

_Miss S._ Pray, sir, let me speak.

_Policeman._--Silence! and keep your gammon for the beak.

(_A rumbling noise heard underneath, attended by a disagreeable
vapour._)

_Policeman._--Zounds! what is this? it smothers me almost. Is it the
gas-pipe?

_Capt. C._ No, dash my wig! a ghost!

(_Slow music. Apparition of Old Clipclose rises through the stage,
dressed in a white shirt, and scarlet nightcap._)

ROUNDELAY--_Ghost and Company._

("Good morrow to you, Madam Joan.")

_Ghost._

All in the family way, Whack-fal-li, fal-la-di-day! Are you met
here to take tea? Whack-fal-li, &c. Or is it love-making you're
come? Tol-de-re-lol, &c. Or to keep clear away from a bum?
Whack-fal-li, &c.

_Miss S._

Oh, no, sir! we're going to jail, Whack-fal-li, &c. Unless,
Mister Ghost, you'll go bail, Whack-fal-li, &c.

_Policeman._

A spectre, Miss S. will not do, Whack-fal-li, &c.

(_To the Ghost._)

Where the blazes! should we look for you? Whack-fal-li, &c.

(_Enter Capt. C's four wives._)

_1st Wife._

Ah, Terry, you traitor, you're there! Whack-fal-li, &c.

_2nd Wife._

As usual, deceiving the fair! Whack-fal-li, &c.

_3rd Wife._

You'll pay dear enough for your pranks! Whack-fal-li, &c.

_4th Wife._

You're broke, and reduced to the ranks! Whack-fal-li, &c.

(_Capt. C. seems thunderstruck, grinds his teeth passionately, then
strikes his forehead, and sings._)

AIR--_Capt. C._--("The night before Larey was stretch'd.")

_Capt. C._

By St. Patrick, I'm done for, at last! From a captain come down
to a private. Terry Connor, your glory is past; A very nice pass
to arrive at!

(_To the Ghost._)

I say, you old rum-looking swell, I would deem it a favour, and
civil, In spite of your sulphur'ous smell, To take me down stairs
to the devil, And get me a troop in his guards.

_Ghost_ (_to the Capt._)--Shut your potato-trap! we still refuse--
The corps's so moral--Life-Guardsmen and Blues.

_4th Wife._--Cheer up, my Connor; 'twas in jest I spoke, When I
affirm'd my best beloved was broke.

_Ghost (addressing the company)._--Ladies and Gemmen, give the ghost
a hearance, As this, his first, must be his last appearance. (_To
Mr. and Mrs. Clipclose_)--Bent upon wedlock, and an heir, to vex ye,
If toasted cheese had not brought apoplexy, I died asleep, and left
my hard-won riches; Search the left pocket of my dark drab breeches;
Open the safe, and there you'll find my will; Deal for cash only and
stick to Ludgate-hill; Watch the apprentices, and lock the till; And
quit the turf, the finish, and the mill; Turn a new leaf, and leave
off former sins; Pay the pieman, and mend young "All-hot's" tins.

_Mr. C._ (_doubtfully._)--Did you die rich, dad?

_Ghost._ Rich as any Jew; And half a plum, son Bob, devolves on you.

_Mrs. C._--What a dear ghost, to die when he was wanted! Will you
forgive me?

_Ghost._ Ma'am, your pardon's granted. My time's but short; but
still, before I go, With Miss Juliana I would sport a toe.

_Miss S._--With all my heart. What would your ghostship order?

_Ghost._--Tell them to play, "Blue bonnets o'er the border."

_Apollonicon_ strikes up the country-dance. _Ghost_ leads off with
_Miss Smashaway_; the _Captain_ follows with _Mrs. Clipclose_;
_Clipclose_, _Mags_, _Snags_, and _Poppleton_ each choose one of the
_Captain's Wives_; the _Police_ dance with the _Ladies' Maids_; and
the _Pieman_ with "_All-hot_." Twice down the middle, poussette, and
form hands round. At the end of the dance, the _Ghost_ vanishes, and
the remainder of the _dramatis personæ_ take hands, and advance to
the stage-lights.

GRAND FINALE--("There's nae luck about the house.")

Dad's away, and we may play, Nor dread Old Grumpy's frown; Well
may we say, "thrice happy day When Square-toes toddled down!"
There's now luck about the house, There's now luck to a'; There's
now luck about the house Since grumpy dad's awa!

(_Curtain falls amid tremendous applause, and a call for the author._)

CRITICAL REMARKS BY AN M.P.

"I am not in the habit of frequenting the theatres, nor indeed any public house, except the House of Commons; neither do I pretend to be particularly conversant with the drama: but, by general consent, this play has been declared not inferior to the happiest effort of the bard of Avon, as player-people call William Shakspeare. I have not seen it represented; for, the free list being suspended, prudence would not permit me to attend. Had half-price been taken, I think I should have gone to the two-shilling gallery; but this question is irrelevant.

"The author deserves well of his country. Indeed, his is a double claim; and the debt consequently due by the public would amount to a large _tottle_. No doubt the restoration of the drama is a matter of some importance; but surely the diminution of drumsticks is one of infinitely greater consideration!

"I perceive by the playbills,--one of which I was enabled to obtain _gratis_,--that a gentleman called Tambourette performs upon two drums with a single stick. Now, I call the public attention to this important discovery; and, in these times of retrenchment and reform, the introduction of this system into our military establishment should be at once insisted on. The saving would be immense. Assuming that there are one hundred and three battalions of foot, and, on an average, twelve drums to each regiment,--a shameful waste of public money, by-the-bye, one drum and fife being quite sufficient for each corps, as they only alarm an enemy in war-time, and, in peace, destroy the utility of servant-maids by seducing them eternally to the windows. Well, even permitting this extravagant number to remain; by adopting Mr. Tambourette's system of performance, one thousand two hundred and thirty-six drumsticks would be saved to the country. Now, averaging the cost of the smaller-sized drumstick at sixpence, and the larger at one shilling, a reduction in the army estimates might be effected of _one thousand one hundred and thirty-three small_ and _one hundred and three large ones_; making a _tottle_ to the credit of the nation of 33_l._ 9_s._ 6_d._!!!

"If the author will furnish me with the necessary information to enable me to frame a bill, I will move for a return of the drummers attached at present to the army: specifying their respective names, weights, heights, and ages, and take the earliest opportunity of bringing the matter before parliament.

"J.H.

"July 1, 1837.

"P.S. If one thousand two hundred and thirty-six drumsticks be dispensed with, it follows that a similar number of drummers' hands will then remain unoccupied. Might not a _one-handed fife_ be introduced, or a pandean pipe substituted, and fifers totally abolished? I see no reason why the same man should not play the drum and fife together. This, indeed, would be a reduction worthy a reformed parliament, and a tremendous saving to the public purse.

"J.H."

THREE NOTCHES FROM THE DEVIL'S TAIL; OR, THE MAN IN THE SPANISH CLOAK.

A TALE OF "ST. LUKE'S."

I had often met with him before in my travels, and had been much struck with the peculiar acumen of his remarks whenever we entered into conversation. His observations were witty, pungent, and sarcastic; but replete with knowledge of men and things. He seemed to despise book-knowledge of every kind, and argued that it only tended to mislead. "I have good reason to be satisfied on this point," he said to me one day at Vienna. "History is not to be relied on; a fact is told a hundred different ways; the actions of men are misrepresented, their motives more so; and as for travels, and descriptions of countries, manners, customs, &c. I have found out that they are the most absurd things in the world,--mere fables and fairy tales. Never waste your time on such trash!"

I again met this gentleman in Paris; it was at a _salon d'écarté_; and he amused me much by informing me of the names and circumstances of the most distinguished persons present. Whether English, French, or Germans, he knew something of the private history of each, some ridiculous adventure or silly _contre-tems_. I marvelled how he could have collected so great a store, such as it was, of anecdote and information; how he carried it all in remembrance; and, still more, at the perfect _sang-froid_ with which he detailed these things under the very noses of the persons concerned, who would, had they heard them, no doubt have made as many holes in his body with "penetrating lead" as there are in a cullender.

To avoid getting into any scrape myself, I invited this _well-informed_ gentleman to spend an evening with me at my hotel, where, over a bottle of claret, we might discuss some of those amusing matters, more, at least, to my own ease. Before we separated, I pointed out a certain Englishman to him, who was playing high, and did not notice us: I asked him "If he knew anything respecting that gentleman?" I had my private reasons for asking this question, unnecessary now to mention, and was pleased to find my colloquial friend knew, as they say, "all about him;" so we parted, with a promise on his side that on the following evening he would visit me, and give me every particular.

He came punctually to appointment, but I could not prevail on him to put off his large Spanish cloak, what they call technically "_an all-rounder_;" he complained of cold, said he had been accustomed to a _warm climate_, and sat down just opposite to me, when, without hesitation, in a sort of business-like way, he entered at once into the details I most wished to know respecting the young Englishman we had left at the _salon d'écarté_; and left no doubt on my mind, from some circumstances I already knew respecting him, that the account was most veracious. I fell into a fit of musing in consequence of his narration, which he did not interrupt by a single remark; but, fixing his eyes upon me, seemed to be amusing himself with watching the progress of my thoughts.

"It will never do!" said I, forgetting I was not alone; "he is not worthy of her."

I stopped, and the stranger rose, gave me a peculiar significant look, and was retiring, but I would not permit it; and, apologising for my abstraction, insisted that he should finish the bottle with me: so he sat down again, and we tried to converse as before, but it would not do.

There we sat, facing each other, and both nearly silent; and now it was that I remembered I had never once seen this stranger without this same Spanish cloak,--a very handsome one it is true, richly embroidered, and decorated with Genoese velvet, and a superb clasp and chain of the purest gold and finest workmanship. I pondered on this circumstance, as I recollected that even in Italy and the Ionian islands, where I had before met him by some extraordinary chance, as well as at Constantinople and at Athens, he had always been enveloped in this same most magnificent mantle. At last I thought of the fable of the man, the sun, and the wind; so concluded that he wore this Spanish cloak to guard him equally from heat and cold, to exclude the sun's rays and the winter's winds; or, perhaps, I argued, he wears it to conceal the seedy appearance of his inner garments, or sundry deficiencies of linen, &c. "Things will wear out, and linen will lose its snowy whiteness, but what the devil have I to do with the matter? Let him wear his cloak, and sleep in it too, if it please him; why should I trouble my head about it?"

"You are returning to England soon, sir," said, at length, the cloaked stranger (but I am certain that I had not intimated such intention to him); "I am proceeding there myself on some pressing business, and will do myself the honour of there renewing our acquaintance."

I paused and hesitated ere I replied to this proposition. It is one thing to invite an agreeable stranger to drink a bottle of claret with you at an hotel in Paris, and another to bring him to the sanctuary of your home, to the fireside of an Englishman, to the board of your ancestors, to suffer him to gaze freely on the faces of your sisters, and to pay his court at his ease to every other female relative beneath the paternal roof!

The stranger saw my embarrassment, and seemed to penetrate the cause. He gave me a smile of most inexplicable expression as he said,

"Your late father, Sir George F----, and myself, were old acquaintances. We spent some months together at Rome, and met with a few adventures there, which I dare say have never reached the ears of his son."

This was said in his usual sarcastic way; but I could not endure that he should allude in the slightest manner of disrespect to my deceased father; so I answered, with much reserve, and some sign of displeasure, "That I did not wish to pry into the youthful follies of so near a relative; at the same time I thought it odd I never should have heard my father mention that he had formed any particular intimacy with any one at Rome, but, on the contrary, had even been given to understand that all his recollections of the Eternal City were rather of an _unpleasing_ nature."

"Did he never mention to you the baths of Caracalla?" demanded my strange guest; "but it matters little, for the son of Sir George F---- merits every attention from me _on his own account_, as well as for the sake of _another_----" He did not finish the sentence; but, folding his cloak more closely round him, he made me a profound bow, something between an Eastern salaam and the bow of a dancing-master, and politely took his leave.

For two or three days I thought much of this extraordinary man; but after that time I became so deeply interested in a Platonic _liaison_ with Madame de R----, the beautiful wife of a Parisian banker, that I forgot him altogether. I had to read, as well as to write, sentimental _billets-doux_ sometimes twice a day, for so often they passed between my fair Platonist and myself. I had to select all her books, her flowers, and to choose her ribbons. I know not how it might have ended, for affairs began to wear a very critical aspect; but I was summoned to England by an express. My beloved mother was dangerously ill. I tore myself away, disregardful of the tears that gathered in the brightest pair of eyes in the world, and travelled post-haste to Calais.

Scarcely had I put my foot on the deck of the vessel ere I perceived my acquaintance of the Spanish cloak. There he was, walking up and down the deck,--tall, erect, gentlemanly; there was his magnificent cloak, without a wrinkle or a spot, the gloss still on it. I sat still, and watched him, not without a sensation of annoyance, as I was not at all in the humour just then to enter into conversation. I was uneasy respecting the life of an only parent, and I had just parted with one of the prettiest women in France, at the moment, too, when we both wished Platonism in the same place its founder was, dead and buried; but I might have saved myself the trouble of being annoyed, for the stranger did not seem to recognise me, nor wish to speak to any one. His carriage was lofty and reserved; his eye was proud, and sought to _overlook_ the rest of the passengers as unworthy of its notice; and so marked was his avoidance of myself, that I began to feel piqued, and to imagine that my own personal appearance, if not our former knowledge of each other, might have gained for me the honour of his notice. Never before did I see so imperious an eye, or so magnificent a cloak!

The passage was a very boisterous one; and all the passengers, both male and female, began to show evident signs enough that the human animal was never intended by Nature to ride upon the ocean's billows. Strange sounds were heard from the very depths of human stomachs, as if in response to the roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves! I began to sympathise most sincerely with the unhappy sufferers; for such sights and sounds are sure to affect the feelings of those who both see and hear. In short, I began to look grave, and become squeamish. I saw nothing but livid lips and blue cheeks around me,--a perfect pandæmonium of wretchedness; yet there walked the stately man in the cloak, perfectly unmoved in countenance and stomach. I perceived he had lighted a cigar, which glowed of a bright red colour, and threw a glow over his handsome features.

I grew still worse, and my disorder was coming to its climax, when the eye of the stranger for the first time condescended to notice me, and he bowed ceremoniously, with a smile which seemed to say, "I wish you joy, young man, of your sea-sickness!" I turned from him, and sincerely wished him in the same condition as myself and the other victims of the wrath of Neptune. He advanced towards me.

"You look ill, sir!" he exclaimed. "Take the advice of an old sailor; only try one of my cigars; _they are not of common use_; one or two whiffs will drive away your nausea. I never knew them fail."

Now I loathe smoking at all times; it is a vulgar and idle amusement, fit only, as a modern writer says, for "the swell-mob;" but at this moment the thought of it was execrable. I could have hurled the stranger, when he offered me one of his cigars already ignited, into the sea.

"I never smoke, sir," said I, pettishly, "and I always get as far away as I can from those who do. May I thank you to go a little to the windward?"

"My dear sir, do not be obstinate," said the pertinacious stranger; "we have many hours before we shall touch the shore, for you see both wind and tide are against us. I assure you the remedy is always efficacious;" and he handed me a lighted cigar, immediately under my nose.

I snatched at the burning preparation, and flung it overboard, with an exclamation of no gentle kind; it dropped into the boiling waves, making a noise like a hissing red-hot iron, as it is put by the smith into the water of the stone cistern.

"It is not of the slightest consequence," said my tormentor, affecting to believe I had dropped the cigar by accident, "I have plenty more in my case;" and with the most provoking coolness he lighted another from his own, and presented it to me. I was puzzled what to do, for the courtesy of this man was extreme. I was exceedingly sick, and wished to get rid of him; for who likes to have a witness during the time of Nature's distress? I therefore accepted his cigar, and turned from him, with a very equivocal bow of acknowledgement.

There was something of a very refreshing nature in the smell of this extraordinary-looking cigar, which was burning steadily in my hand. I resolved to try its boasted efficacy; and accordingly put it to my lips, and inhaled its fragrance. In a moment I was well, more than well; for a delicious languor seized me. After that, my nerves were braced, invigorated; I felt as a hunter does after a long day's sport, hungry almost to famine, and I descended to the saloon, and called lustily to the steward to bring me a cold fowl, a plate of ham, and a bottle of porter. No more nausea, no more livid lips and blue cheeks. All of a sudden I became eloquent, poetical, and brimful of the tender passion. I wished to console some of my fair companions who were languishing around me, and offered my cigar to all who would accept it. Had it not been for an occasional thought of my mother's illness, which would intrude upon me whether I wished it or not, what folly and entanglement might I have got into with a pretty milliner on board, just returned from Paris, with fashions in her head, and French levity in her heart!

I ought to have acknowledged my obligation to the stranger for his remedy; but I had conceived so insuperable a dislike to him, that I could not account for it, and my only wish was to escape from his society at Dover, as I feared he would offer to accompany me to London, and I could hardly refuse him after the service he had rendered me. I therefore lingered below some few minutes when we arrived, and looked cautiously around me when I ascended the companion-ladder; but the stranger was gone. I saw no trace of his august person then, or his superb Spanish cloak.

I hastened on with four horses to ---- Square, and met my weeping sisters. My mother still breathed; but that was all. The physicians could not comprehend her malady, but agreed to call it a general debility, an exhaustion of the vital energies, without any particular complaint. She was extremely weak, but knew me instantly, and smiled her welcome as I knelt and kissed her hand.

My mother was only of the middle age, which made it more strange that physical weakness should thus overpower her. I inquired at what time she was first seized; and on reference to my note-book, found out that her first appearance of illness was at the _precise hour_ when the stranger in the Spanish cloak was sitting with me at my hotel, and talking to me of my father. Well! what of that? it was a mere chance!

It is no use disguising it. I am naturally superstitious. We can no more help the frailties of our minds than the blemishes of our features. As I sat by my declining mother's side, I pondered again and again on this mysterious stranger. I recollected how he had cured me of my sickness in a moment; how wonderfully he knew the private history of every individual; and I ended by believing that there was something of a supernatural agency about him. "Perhaps," thought I, starting up suddenly, and speaking aloud, "perhaps this wonderful cigar of his might recover my beloved mother." I searched every pocket, hoping that a remnant of it might have remained: but, no; it had been whiffed away by the ladies in the cabin, and I had not a vestige left.

When once an idea seizes hold on the mind, it scarcely ever lets go its hold. I began to consider myself mad, yet could not prevent myself from going out I knew not whither, to make inquiries for the cloaked stranger, and request him to give me another of his marvellous cigars. As I passed Louisa and Emily, my sisters, and----, now no more, they were alarmed by the wildness of my looks, and endeavoured to arrest my progress.

"I go to seek a remedy for my mother," exclaimed I, breaking from them, and I darted from the house.

I made inquiries at all the principal hotels and club-houses for the stranger in the magnificent cloak. The waiters at the Oriental, the Travellers, and the Albion, had all seen him, but knew not his address or name. I sought him in the parks, at the exhibitions; but could not find him. At length I thought of the British Museum, but _why_ I did so appears to me most mysterious; I drove instantly thither, and ran through all the rooms with the most searching gaze. In George the Fourth's splendid library there, seated at his ease by special permission from Sir Henry Ellis, I beheld the man I sought, with a large folio volume of Eastern learning spread open before him.

I felt ashamed to address him; for, had I not been most uncourteous, most repulsive to him? and now I wanted another favour. I stood before the table at which he sat, and watched his countenance as he seemed engrossed with his Oriental literature; but it was only for a moment, for he raised his eyes by some sudden impulse, and fixed them straight upon me.

The stranger acknowledged me not even by a bow or a look of recognition. I knew not what to say to him, yet the case was urgent.

"Pardon me, sir," I stammered out, "I fear I interrupt you; but----"

"Proceed, sir," said the stranger, coldly. "I am always ready to listen to the son of Sir George F----, for I owe to the father some obligation."

"You possess the power of allaying the most tormenting sickness by some mysterious drug or preparation," I said, hesitating as I spoke: "that was no common cigar. Have you other remedies?"

"A thousand," replied the stranger. "Pray go on."

"My mother lies dangerously ill; can you restore her?"

"May I behold the patient?" demanded the stranger, and an inexpressible glance flashed from his brilliant eyes.

What made me tremble at this natural request? for such it might have been deemed, since every medical man has free liberty to inquire into the symptoms of the case before he prescribes.

Fixedly did his eyes rest on mine; they seemed as if turned to stone, for they moved not in the slightest degree.

"I will _describe_ my mother's case to you, sir," I said, evasively.

He made me no answer; but, casting down his eyes, he calmly resumed his reading, and I walked up and down the spacious apartment, in which there were not above a dozen other persons, in a state of mind resembling a chaos, occasionally glancing with angry eyes at the reading stranger, who seemed perfectly composed, and unconscious of my presence.

"What a fool am I!" said I, mentally; "what _harm_ can this man do my dying mother? but, then, _she_ may see him--this being that resembles a demi-god--and _she_ too of so peculiar a mind, so enamoured of all that is great and wonderful; so romantic, too! Wretch that I am! is my beloved mother's life to be sacrificed--at least the chance of saving her--to a wild and jealous fantasy? No!" and I walked up again to the table.

The stranger was rising as I approached him, had closed his book, and returned it to the librarian. He would have passed me, but I laid my hand upon his arm.

"Most extraordinary being!" said I, "_come_, I conjure you, and save my mother!"

He entered my carriage without saying a word, and silently followed me to the apartment of my languishing parent, who was dozing in a sort of lethargic stupor, that appeared to be the precursor of death. My two sisters stood gazing on her pale features, and---- was holding her thin white hand in one of hers, and bathing it with her tears.

The stranger took my mother's hand from hers, and--I cannot be mistaken, for I watched every movement--some strong agitation, some convulsive spasm, passed over his countenance as he looked upon that face which never had its equal yet on earth; but, whatever was his emotion, he soon mastered it, and desired that a silver plate and lamp might be brought to him.

From a small crystal box the stranger took out a brown preparation, and, breaking it in two, placed them on the silver plate; then with a slip of paper lighted from the lamp he ignited the substance so placed, which sent up a pale blue flame, and a most intoxicating odour. He desired that my mother should be raised in bed, even to a sitting posture, when he placed the blazing plate immediately beneath her nostrils, and some portion of the actual flame entered and curled about her face. My sisters shrieked, but ---- spake not a word, and I waited the result with agonised impatience.

"She revives! she revives!" exclaimed the latter, "and my blessed aunt will live!"

It was true. Years have gone by, and _my mother is still alive_. Never has she had an hour's illness from that hour. Was I grateful to the stranger for saving a life so prized? No. In my heart I loathed him at the very time he was heaping benefits upon me. And why? I detected a look of wonder, and admiration, and gratitude, and a smile of ineffable beauty directed towards him by one who----

Disguising as well as I was able the hatred that swelled within my heart, I offered to place on the finger of this mysterious visitant a ring of great value, that belonged once to my father. He started as he saw it, and, pressing a secret spring in it that I knew not of, restored it to me.

"It was a present from myself to him at Rome," he said, and his voice faltered, "for a signal benefit conferred. Behold! there is my own miniature!"

And it was so. Most exquisitely painted was there concealed, a minute resemblance of himself. I now perceived, and I cursed him in my heart for it, that ---- retained the ring, after having expressed her astonishment at the fidelity of the likeness. I rudely snatched it from her hand, and threw the ring from me.

"Theodore," said my mother, "give me that ring. I know full well who it was presented that ring to him who is now no more. Marquis! I must speak to you alone, but not now. Come hither to-morrow. Now, I beseech you, retire!"

How dreadful is it to bear about with us the seeds of insanity. I have felt them shoot and grow within me from my childhood. The fibres had twined about my very being. _I knew_ that madness must some time or other scorch my brain; I was full of delusions; I could behold nothing clear with my mental vision. I once heard a learned physician say to my father, "Take care of him, sir. Excitement may drive that boy mad. Do not let him study too much; and, above all, I trust he will never meet with disappointment in any affair of the heart."

Have I met with such? Let me not think about it, or----_And yet I am not mad now._

From this time I became gloomy and morose, and always worse whenever this accursed man in the Spanish cloak came to the house, which now was very often. He charmed all but myself. I hated the sound of his voice. My sisters would come and try to soothe me into sociability and calmness. I repelled them with harshness and severity; and even when my gentle cousin tried each soft persuasive art to lead me to his presence, I taunted her in the cruellest manner with her hypocrisy, as I chose to call her blandishments, and bade her "go to the fascinating marquis, and heap her witcheries on him." Nothing could exceed the patience of this devoted being, her sweetness of temper, her angelic forbearance, but my own ferocity and hellish brutality; yet how did I love her, even when I bitterly reviled her! Once, when I observed that ring upon her finger, which my mother had permitted her to wear,--that ring, bearing the portrait of _that man_,--I absolutely spurned her from my presence, and wonder now that I did not murder her.

Cloud after cloud obscured the light of reason in my brain, and it was deemed advisable by those who loved me still, notwithstanding my growing malady, to have some one with me night and day, lest I should lay violent hands upon myself, as if a life like mine were worth the caring for.

An intelligent young man, one of my tenants, accepted this painful task, and he performed it with gentleness and fidelity. He soon perceived that I grew more furious when the voice or the name of the Marquis ---- met my ears. He mentioned this circumstance to my mother, and from that time the marquis was not permitted to enter the house. I heard of this at first with incredulity, then with complacency. By degrees I grew calmer. I was afterwards shown a letter from the cloaked stranger, dated Rome; and it confirmed their assertions. I once more enjoyed the society of my family, and basked in the smiles of my beloved cousin. She was all kindness, all attention; and I began to flatter myself that the ardent love I had borne her from my very boyhood was returned. It was her reserve that before drove me from my country.

To my great astonishment and delight, that young Englishman who had interested me so much in the _salon d'écarté_ at Paris, was formally refused by her who was dearer to me than life. He was of ancient family, and of great possessions; I knew he loved her, and feared he would gain her: but on my saying one day, as if by accident, in her presence, "that I feared S---- gamed high, and consequently was not worthy of the regard of any woman of discretion," she gave me a smile of ineffable sweetness, and told me, "It was of little consequence to her his frailties or his virtues; for she had long determined to give him a refusal, and, in fact, had done so before he went to Paris."

I considered the _manner_ of my cousin, more than her mere words, as encouragement to myself, and with all the ardour of my nature declared to her my passion. These were her words in reply: "Theodore, I pretend not to misunderstand you; and, if it be any comfort to you, believe that I most tenderly return your affection. But, oh, my beloved cousin! think how you have been afflicted,--and then ask yourself whether I ought to listen to your proposals? whether you ought to marry? Theodore, I solemnly promise you that, for your sake, never will I wed another; but, oh! ask me not to become your wife whilst you are subject to such a fearful malady."

In vain I represented to her that my late mental affliction had been caused wholly by my fear of losing her, as I believed that detested foreigner was exactly the man to charm her, and thus I considered her lost to me for ever.

"This, dear Theodore," she answered, "is one of your delusions. You had no cause why you should form such a preposterous notion,--a man old enough to be my father, and----"

"That is true," said I, "there is disparity of years; but, then, what a splendid being!"

"Yes," she replied coldly, "he wears a most magnificent cloak."

"Not always, sure?" I asked inquiringly, for I had never entered the room where he was, since he had cured my mother. "Did he not remove it when he dined and drank tea with you so often, and stayed so late, that I could have torn him to pieces for it?"

"Softly, my beloved cousin," said the sweet girl, placing her soft hand before my lips; "why are you so excited now when talking of this stranger? _Your_ mother, Theodore, has been restored by him; and for that service what do we not all owe him?"

"Was it for this," I said, "from gratitude alone, you wore that ring?"

"Yes, from gratitude only. Are you now satisfied?"

"Blessings on you, dearest, for your kindness!" I continued. "But say, did you ever see him without that cloak?"

"Never, Theodore, never. It was always too hot or too cold; or he was poorly, or some excuse or other. We never could persuade him to take off that cloak."

I fell into a long reverie after this; nor could I blame her for her decision. I knew myself that my brain was not steady, and consequently I had no right to marry, to entail on my innocent offspring such a calamity. But then this inexplicable stranger;--perhaps he had the power to cure me,--he had already performed almost a miracle; if he could but settle my head, my beloved cousin would become mine, and I should be free from those fears that were constantly besetting me of becoming incurably mad.

Nothing would now do but my immediately setting out for Rome to seek the stranger with the large Spanish cloak. My mother did not think it advisable that I should go alone; so it was determined that she, with Louisa and Emily, accompanied by our sweet relative, should bear me company to Italy, and thither we accordingly went. We lingered not on our progress to look at curiosities, or paintings, or prospects. We journeyed as fast as four horses could carry us, and arrived quite safe at imperial Rome.

I was sorry to learn that the Marquis ---- was now at Naples; and, after settling my family in an elegant villa a few miles from modern Rome, I set off in quest of the man for whom I had an antipathy, powerful, incurable; and for what purpose? To request his aid, mysterious, perhaps sinful, to cure me of a disorder, of which the consciousness was part of its calamity. The raving madman, at least, is saved from _knowing_ his own misery.

I had not been an hour at Naples, attended by my favourite servant, the young man who once acted to me as my keeper, when I saw from the window of my hotel the cloaked stranger pass with a lady on his arm. But I hesitated not,--I might lose him for ever; so I ran into the street, and hastily accosted him.

What I said to him I know not, for my words were wild and ambiguous; but he promised that he would dine with me the following day, although his manners were even more reserved than when I spoke to him at the Museum.

Our instincts ought ever to be attended to; the brute creation follow nothing else, and _they_ commit no sin. The first time I saw this stranger, he was looking at an inscription at Athens, and I felt a secret desire to get from his presence; but he entangled me with his talk, his knowledge of everything around, his high bearing, his intelligent eyes, and his superb Spanish cloak.

Again we were seated at the same table, and I again requested him to remove his mantle.

"Not yet," he said significantly; "but after the cloth is removed I will, if you still wish it, take off this upper clothing."

Oh how sarcastically were these words pronounced! My heart beat violently; I could not eat, and became abstracted and melancholy; not a word was said respecting my request to him, nor did he ask me why I sought him. He ate in silence, and seemed to have forgotten he was not alone.

When the table was cleared, the stranger coolly took a book from under his cloak, and began to read; whilst I, pondering on all I had ever known of him, began to feel the most burning desire to see this man once _without_ his cloak, and was determined to do my utmost to effect it.

"The cloth _is_ now removed, signor," said I, "and you promised _then_ you would take off that everlasting garment."

"It displeases you, then?" retorted my companion. "_Is it not unsafe to penetrate below the exterior of all things?_ Is not the surface ever the most safe? Is not the _outer_ clothing of nature ever the most beautiful to the eye? What deformity dwells in mines, in caverns, at the bottom of the ocean! Nature wears a cloak as beautiful as mine: do you wish also to strip off her covering as well as mine?"

"At this moment, signor," said I gloomily, "I was not thinking of Nature at all, but of the strangeness of your ever wearing that cloak."

"Was it for this you came from England, Sir Theodore?" inquired the marquis, "and sought me at Naples? The knowledge, I should deem, could never compensate you for the loss of your cousin's society so many days."

"It was not for this I sought you, noble marquis," I replied, piqued at his irony; "but, when a man ever wears a cloak, it must be for some purpose."

"Granted," slowly said my companion; "I have such purpose."

"Which you promised to unfold!" I exclaimed, with pertinacity. "Is it still your pleasure so to do?"

"_It is necessary first that we should have no intruders_," he answered, with a tone that froze me to the heart. Oh, how cutting, how sarcastic did it sound in my ears!

"No person will enter this apartment save my faithful servant, Hubert; therefore----"

"I promised to enlighten the master, and not the servant. If you insist on this strange request, the door must be securely locked; there must be no chance of interruption."

"Oh, what a fuss," I thought, "about a mantle! Why, _he_ must be mad too! How can he cure me of an evil he has himself? Lock the door, forsooth, because he takes off his cloak! But I must humour him, I suppose, or he will find an excuse for breach of promise." As I thought this, I walked to the door, locked it, and, placing the key upon the table, merely said, "Now, signor, your promise?"

"Would it not be prudent, young gentleman," he observed, laying his finger on my sleeve, "that you should speak of your request,--that one that brought you hither, and which I should conceive of more importance than the satisfying an idle curiosity,--would it not be wiser of you to mention this previously to my taking off my cloak."

"Oh, what importance he attaches to so trifling a thing!" thought I; "but, after all, the man is right; I had better attend to the most essential, nor was I wise to couple two requests together."

"Signor Marquis," said I, "have you any cure for insanity?"

"_I cured your father_," was the answer, "and this your mother knows. He in return did _me_ a service; he presented me with--this excellent cloak."

I was more puzzled than ever; I had never before _heard_ that my poor father had unsettled reason, but many circumstances made me now believe it. I fancied too that my youngest sister gave indications of the same disorder; she was growing melancholy and reserved. "Oh, heavens!" thought I, "there will be more work for this man to do; I had better invite him at once to England, and make him physician in ordinary to our family."

"I have an engagement at nine," said the stranger; "have you any other inquiries to make?"

"But, if you _cured_ my father, Signor Marquis," I observed, "how is it that I have inherited the disease? Should not the _cure_ have eradicated it for ever from him and his posterity?"

"Is it not enough that I prevented the display of such a malady during his life? that I drove away the cloud that obscured his day, so that the sun of reason shone brightly on him until his death? What had I to do with future generations? with a race of men then unborn? _I performed my contract_, and he was satisfied. Shall the son be more difficult to please than the father?"