Chapter II

After this most disagreeable ejectment, the character of which might be well expressed in the words which Mr. Kane O’Hara has put into the mouth of the kicked-out-of-Heaven Apollo, who calls his expulsion from the higher regions and his fall to earth, “a pretty decent tumble!” it may naturally be supposed that our sprightly friend, Jack, was rather out of sorts. As he baffled the wind which drove the sharp rain peppering into his eyes, new lights seemed to burst upon him; and in recalling to mind the whole course of his proceedings with the ladies, “trifles light as air,” came one after the other to his recollection, which, coolly and calmly combined, tended to exhibit himself _to_ himself in anything but a favourable point of view.

He began all at once to perceive that the lovers as well as the ladies had all along been playing upon him; and the idea that both of them should have accepted him seemed, in the midst of the soaking shower, an absurdity only to be equalled by his having himself made the double proposal. In fact, it is quite curious, as a matter of natural history, to consider the extraordinary effects produced upon the pretender by the wretchedness of his present position; and one might have hoped that such an exposure, and such a degradation, would have cured his affectation and pretension for ever:--but no. As soon as the next day dawned and the sun again shone, Jack’s despondency was at an end, and his natural disposition for bouncing rather sharpened than checked by the desire he now felt of showing how little he cared for his late disaster, and how much better he could do for himself now that he was freed from his self-imposed fetters.

It nevertheless suggested itself to him, that it would be wiser and more prudent to choose another sphere of action; for, besides having a better chance of success, it would remove him for the present from the town which held the ladies and their lovers, with all or any of whom he felt a meeting for the next few weeks would be extremely disagreeable.

In casting about for a retreat, he recollected that Lord Tom, as Sir Charles had truly said, was staying at Dover; and as that circumstance would secure him a friend, and probably some introduction into society there, he determined upon following his noble friend thither forthwith; and therefore upon his often-tried principle of figuring in print amongst the great and gay, he caused his portmanteau and bag to be deposited at a hotel in the vicinity of his town “plate,” at which he slept that night, and at the door of which the Branch Coach of the Dover Union, would call for him the next morning, and convey him to The Bricklayers’ Arms, with the certainty that he would, on the second day after his arrival on the coast, find amongst the “fashionable departures” in the fashionable London newspapers, the words--“Mr. Brag, from Pumpkin’s Hotel, for Dover.” It would have been easier to have slept at his lodgings at Kennington, and hired somebody to carry his baggage from his “little place in Surrey” to the Kent Road--but no:--then he must have been at the expense of paying for the announcement of his own removal, whereas by his present arrangement he got _that_ gratis, and flourished at the hotel for a few hours for less money than the insertion would have cost him, had he adopted the other means.

At one time, soon after his father’s death, Jack made an attempt at popularity amongst the sicklies at Cheltenham, and contributed to one or two public charities, and two or three private subscriptions for distressed objects. Upon these occasions he regularly transmitted his donation to the printer of the newspaper, with directions to deduct the charge of inserting his name and liberality in the columns of his “widely circulated” journal, and hand the balance of whatever he enclosed to the charity:--for instance, one pound for the subscription, and five-and-twenty shillings for advertising his benevolence three times.

This ostentatious virtue has a parallel in an anecdote recorded, falsely or correctly, I know not which, of a late celebrated dissenting preacher, who, upon the occasion of visiting a family reduced to a dreadful state of poverty, found the father of four or five starving children shirtless in bed; his necessities having driven him to sell his last remaining garment. A sight like this, could not fail to move so exemplary a man: he desired the children to quit the room, and forthwith divested himself of the shirt he himself wore, to “cover the nakedness” of the emaciated sufferer. This being done, the children were called back, and bid by their parent to go on their knees to the pious minister, who had deprived himself of his own garment to comfort their father. They did so; they wept for gratitude,--and they did more: all four of them went,--one east, one west, one south, and one north,--and proclaimed the excellence of the pastor; and when he quitted the house which he had adorned by his presence, women, standing at their doors, bent lowly before him, and pointed him out to the babes in their arms, whom he blessed; and when their husbands came home from work the story was told, and repeated, until at length it reached the “public,” who joined in the praise and admiration, which soon became general. What would they have said or thought if they had known that this saintly person, who had won all their love and gratitude, had, in order to produce the desired effect, put on, before he left home, the particular shirt which he thus sacrificed _over the one that he actually wore_!

It might be thought an ill compliment to one of the parties, to make a comparison between this departed worthy and Jack Brag; but if the history be a true one, there is not much to choose between them. Jack however found, that with all his much-spoken-of benevolence, he could gain no solid advantage by conciliating the affections of a maiden lady, whose fortune he knew to be considerable, and who was of a most charitable turn of mind, and he therefore quitted Cheltenham nearly as much discomfited as he now found himself on his departure from London--only the retirement in that case had been altogether voluntary. In his last failure his exit was far less qualified, and, in truth, he felt very much like the gentleman who in ancient verse says--

“Perhaps it was right to dissemble her love;
But why did she kick me down stairs?”

The journey to Dover is not one which requires much space for detail, although scarcely a road out of London affords more striking evidence of the wealth and importance of the British metropolis. The frequent glimpses of the majestic Thames, bearing on his ample breast a daily fleet of countless vessels, and which especially strike the foreign traveller just on leaving Milton, where the expansive reach of the Upper Hope first catches the eye,--are full of beauty and interest. The verdant fields and “hedge-rows green,” with the hop-gardens in full bloom, clustering even more gracefully than the boasted vine, afford a delightful contrast to the wide waste of _la belle France_, which, perhaps, one has just left; while, as far as comforts go, the inns at Rochester, Sittingbourne, and Canterbury, afford all that can be desired, at least to those who can afford to desire them.

Amongst the mutations of fashion, few appear to be so reasonable as that by which Dover (the “Clavis et repagulum totius regni,” as Matthew Paris calls it) has become a place of favourite resort for the best society. It combines a great variety of attractions, and, as long as England continues at peace with France, the daily intercourse between the two countries produces a constant activity, and a change of visiters every twenty-four hours, for the enlivenment and amusement of those who take up their residence in it for the season.

“No promontory, town, or haven, in Christendom is so placed by nature and situation, both to gratify friends and annoy enemies, as this town of Dover. No place is so settled to receive and deliver intelligence for all matters and actions in Europe from time to time; no town is by nature so settled either to allure intercourse by sea, or to train inhabitants by land, to make it great, rich, fair, and populous; nor is there in the whole circuit of this famous isle, any port, either in respect of security or defence, or of traffic or intercourse, more convenient, needful, or rather of necessity to be regarded, than this of Dover.”

So sayeth Sir Walter Raleigh, in his memorial to Queen Elizabeth; and if that much-injured worthy were alive to see his favourite town at this period, he would be quite satisfied that his successors in this transitory world have ably worked out his principle. The people of the present day are assiduously continuing their improvements under the sanction of the illustrious Lord-Warden. Nor are the improvements in the port and harbour the only testimonies of its flourishing condition; squares, gardens, streets, rows, crescents, parades, esplanades, and terraces, are rising from the beach, and form a delightful contrast to the business-like appearance of the thickly-thronged pier, and the London-like gaiety of Snargate, with all the attractions of Muddle’s and Mummery’s.

In this agreeable _locale_ was John Brag, Esq. deposited at a quarter before seven o’clock; and having caused himself to be set down at the corner of a lane leading up to one of the best houses in the place, he called a little boy with a ragged jacket and well-tarred trowsers, to carry his portmanteau and bag to one of the smallest hostelries in the town, which stands in Church Street, and rejoices in the sign of “The Three Mackerels,” at which “hotel” Brag proposed to occupy an apartment at the very top of the house,--for the benefit of the air.

The first desideratum in mechanics is the production of the greatest possible power in the smallest possible space; and the attainment of this advantage, in a moral point of view, was the ever-present object of Jack’s ambition; that is to say, to make as much show as possible at the least possible expense:--for Jack, in the outset of his feverish efforts at settling himself in good society, had disbursed so largely, that it had become a matter of prudence, if not of necessity, to “shave close.” Several of his greatest friends were his largest debtors; and Lord Tom Towzle, as has been before hinted, had not unfrequently availed himself of Jack’s anxiety to oblige. Having, in two or three instances, discovered that either the well was dry, or that the pump would not work, his lordship had latterly given up soliciting the aid of his lively acquaintance, but at the same time had evinced less desire for the advantages of his agreeable society. Jack, however, who was one of the regular cur tribe, who sneak back to the vulgar great upon the “cut and come again” principle, resolved, if he could not get his principal out of the penniless lordling, to take his interest in the way of introductions to good company; and so, like Sinbad’s old man, he took the earliest opportunity of mounting his lordship the next morning.

After a night, not blest with the most soothing dreams, Jack rose from his bed, dressed, and descended from his eyrie, resolved to find Lord Tom in time for his morning meal; and having discovered a back entrance to the alehouse in which he had stowed himself away, he proceeded by that route to the “Ship” inn, where, he guessed--and, as it turned out, correctly--his noble friend was staying:--and there, as he proposed, surprised, not altogether agreeably, his noble friend in the act of sitting down to breakfast.

“Why, Brag,” said his lordship, “what the deuce has brought you here? Where’s the widow? Has Lydiard shot himself?--or have you shot him, and bolted?”

“None of it,” said Brag:--“no--that game’s up:--cut the connexion altogether, smack, smooth, and no mistake. Lydiard may have her--win her and wear her for his pains. Rather too cunning for me--can’t bear forwardness--eh!--you take. I value nothing that does not require some hunting after.”

“What!--then you have abandoned her,” said Lord Tom; “left her mourning!--hard-hearted Jack!

‘Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,
From street to street the raving Dido roves.
So when the watchful shepherd from the blind,
Wounds, with a random shaft, the careless hind,
Distracted with her pain, she flies the woods,
Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods
With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart
Sticks in her side, and rankles at her heart.’”

“There it must stick,” said Jack--“that’s all I know. I’m off there: I have seen enough of that house and its inhabitants:--old birds are not caught with chaff--eh! No, no--I know enough of the females to take care of myself.”

“Come,” said Lord Tom, “sit down, and eat: my notion is, that starving is good for no complaint. Keep your heart up by keeping your stomach full; so, now

‘Rebellion’s dead and let us go to breakfast.’”

Brag needed no more pressing invitation to do ample justice to the substantial repast which was placed before him; and his exertions in the way of replenishing afforded very satisfactory evidence that he was not pining for the loss of his “ladye-love,” and that his indifference was genuine and sincere.

“All the world here,” said Lord Tom--“not a house to be had--people you know by dozens. How long do you stay?”

“Never pin myself to time,” said Jack--“as long as I find it pleasant. Have about fifteen invitations to different places in the country:--can’t cut myself into bits--go to as many as I can. This fish is uncommon good--eh!--fresh out of the water, and no mistake.”

“How’s your mother, Jack?” said Lord Tom.

“Can’t say,” said Jack; “haven’t seen her since the ‘Bridge’ day.”

“Then you don’t know whether she has forgiven you?” said his lordship.

“Oh! she’s like me,” said Brag, “she don’t bear malice. I dare say it’s all right, up and straight down, and no mistake, by this time. Talking of that,--are there any likely females for a matrimonial concern here?”

“Why,” said his lordship, “I have been here so short a time, that I can’t present you with a list; but in the afternoon the band will play on the Parade, and we’ll go and see the turn-out. You still stick to the marrying line?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “when I can see one to suit. I’ll have another cup of tea, my lord,” continued he. “I say--talking of suiting--just look there--of course tiled, as I say:--read _that_, and then, I think, you won’t wonder at my cutting the widow.”

Saying which, the generous gentleman, the _kickee_ of the family, tossed the accepting letter of Mrs. Dallington across the table to his lordship, for his perusal and edification.

“Well,” said Lord Tom, “what in the world would you have?--here is consent, or the deuce is in it. I don’t see exactly how you could get out of the business after this.”

“I tell you, my lord, I cut and run,” said Jack. “What I saw the evening before last, when I went, settled it. I took my hat and walked--wouldn’t even stop to supper:--a regular turn off.”

“What _did_ you see,” said Lord Tom.

“Mum!” said Jack, “that never passes my lips. Where the female sex is concerned, honour is everything. I know you wouldn’t wish me to say more: the thing’s over now, and there’s an end: but if I _do_ marry, rely upon it, neither Mrs. Dallington nor Miss Englefield shall visit my wife: that’s all:--_entree nows_, as the French says, and no mistake.”

“Well, I am sorry to hear this,” said Lord Tom; “for although, somehow, I was never a favourite there, I had the merit of introducing you to them, and I wish the acquaintance had been more satisfactory. I suppose they will take up with their long-dangling lovers.”

“Perhaps yes,” said Brag, putting his finger to his nose--“perhaps no: that’s no affair of mine. All _I_ mean to say is, the ladies are ‘much of a muchness,’ as I _could_ show you--only, as I say, honour’s the thing, and no mistake.”

“I believe, Jack,” said Lord Tom, “you have a great deal to answer for. What’s gone with the unfortunate victim of your success whom we met in Regent Street?”

“Hang me if I know!” said Jack. “Poor girl! I sometimes do think of _her_. Wouldn’t do now for a wife--but--else--nice little thing in her way.”

“Didn’t you say she was somehow connected with you?” said Lord Tom.

“Yes, distantly--very distantly,” said Jack, wondering in his own mind when he had ever been sufficiently candid, or drunk, to have admitted the connexion in any degree whatever: “her brother, the Major, married a relative of mine.”

“I think it is rather lucky,” said Lord Tom, “that her brother, the Major, does not take it into his head to make some enquiries upon the subject of the affair.”

“He’s abroad,” said Jack; “besides--all snug--never suspected. Her mother wonders why I have cut them, no doubt:--out of my line--can’t keep on visiting:--one thing at one time, eh! different at another, you know. Don’t mean to marry her, eh!--a little too late, eh!--all that sort of thing.”

Lord Tom, since the affair of the “Bridge” appointment, and the disclosures which the respectable Mrs. Brag had thought proper to make upon that occasion, began to grow a little more suspicious of his friend’s strict adherence to the truth than he previously had been; but as he was bound to countenance him as long as he remained in society, by his pecuniary obligations to him, he resolved to keep secret all the facts which had come to his knowledge, but at the same time more attentively to watch his future proceedings: indeed, the matter of Mrs. Dallington’s note which he exhibited, combined with Brag’s manner in describing his own indignation and disgust, had the effect of rather unsettling his mind upon _that_ business, and he resolved to write to somebody in town for a correct version of the break-off, which, under the circumstances, could not fail to create a sensation in--as everybody calls his own circle--“the world;” Lord Tom thinking, that if Jack were convicted of romancing at the expense of the characters of all the men and women with whom he was permitted to associate, it would be absolutely necessary to shake him off, and leave him to any legal remedy he might think fit to adopt for the recovery of the money he had borrowed of him, which his lordship quite well knew he had lent as a consideration for any good offices which he might be able to do for him in the way of patronage.

After the discussion of breakfast, my lord and his little-expected tiger began their perambulations. The Pier was visited, although the freshness of the breeze kept the “females” from that delightful promenade. In the course of their walk they encountered a certain Sir James Gunnersbury, an old artillery officer of Lord Tom’s acquaintance, who with the greatest warmth and cordiality invited his lordship to dine with him that day _sans-façon_, if he happened to be disengaged.

The critical moment had arrived, and Jack, who heard the invitation given, actually shook with apprehension as to the course his noble friend might think fit to pursue; his delight was great, however, when he heard his noble patron hesitatingly decline the bidding on the score of being engaged to “his friend, who was on a visit to him for a few days.” The truth was, that Lord Tom had no great inclination to accept the invitation, and rather wished to back out upon the plea of being tied to his visiter. The gallant officer, however, was quite resolved to have him, and entreated his lordship to do him the favour to present him to his companion, in order that he might express his wish that _he_ also would honour him and Lady Gunnersbury with his company.

To Jack this was the most agreeable thing in the world; and if it had not been so, it would have been extremely difficult to evade it. Brag looked at his lordship, who made no sign of either a negative or an affirmative character, and accordingly his “friend” bowed, rather awkwardly, and said he should be most happy: and the affair being settled, Sir James, “his pig-tail fluttering in the wind,” made the best of his way home to the house which he and his family occupied in the Parade.

“Rather a nuisance,” said Lord Tom, after he had taken his departure: “deuced dull his parties in town:--Lady Gunnersbury, the greatest bore on earth--and two daughters, who sing all night; a remarkably slow coach of a son,--and not a particularly good cook. However, we may see something to amuse us.”

“Daughters!” said Brag: “rich--eh?”

“Poor as church mice, I take it,” said his lordship, “and no beauties:--fancy themselves blue.”

“Blue!” said Jack--“what an odd notion.”

“Very odd, indeed,” replied Lord Tom; “but they talk--as you will hear. All I hope is, it is not a mere family party--for we shall die of the blues ourselves if it is.”

Brag, who was too happy at the idea of opening a new connexion, now that he saw his noble friend’s kindness of manner towards him, began to wish that he had at once proceeded to “The Ship,” instead of having studied economy so deeply as to ensconce himself in a minor and obscure house of entertainment;--it would be so much more convenient--so much more agreeable--and he could then be continually with his noble friend:--but now the great difficulty, in his small mind, was how to get his portmanteau and bag conveyed from “The Three Mackerels” to the leading hotel of the place. This required considerable dexterity to manage, but at last his genius triumphed; and having got into his apartment, he sent for a fly, in which he deposited his property; and having driven to the hotel, paid the fly-driver his fare, and dismissed him without permitting him to exchange a syllable with any of the waiters, or ostlers, or porters near, which might have the effect of enlightening them as to the “place from whence he came:” such pains and trouble did he always take, to seem to be, that which he was not, nor ever could be.

Upon this special occasion he was remarkably unfortunate; for although he had managed so much of the affair as has just been described, he was not destined to sail out of it altogether with flying colours. It was about five o’clock in the afternoon when some gay friends of Lord Tom’s had just arrived at the “Ship,” whence they were to start for Calais in the morning, to whom his lordship had just introduced our hero, and the coffee-room was thickly peopled with persons of certain consideration, when a waiter advanced to Jack, who was laying down the law about some horse that was to run at Doncaster in a somewhat authoritative tone, and told him a young woman wished to speak to him.

“Hallo! Jack,” said Lord Tom--“what! at your old tricks already!--more fascinations--no time lost. Where is she?”

“At the door, my lord,” said the waiter.

“I’ll come this moment,” said Jack. “’Pon my life! I don’t know what it means.”

“By Jove! but we’ll see,” said his lordship; and accordingly he and the two or three men of his group who perceived that they might presume a little upon the goodnature of their new acquaintance Brag, rushed out into the hall, where stood before them on the steps, a poor wretched-looking girl, wearing black stockings, a cracked chip bonnet, a begrimed gown, and a dirty green baize apron.

The moment the horrid vision met Brag’s eyes, he recognized it:--it was the one sole, solitary she-servant of the pot-house he had so skilfully abandoned.

“Oh! sir,” said the girl,--“I beg your pardon,--but missus found your nightcap and comb in the attic after you were gone--so she bid me run and bring them to you.”

“Where do you come from, my dear?” said Lord Tom, with a killing gravity of countenance.

“‘The Three Mackerels,’” said the girl, “where that little gentleman in the white cords slept last night.” Saying which, she produced the articles in question,--the cap not bearing quite the lily-hue, and the comb, unclean as it was, being somewhat scant of teeth.

The expression of Jack’s countenance at the moment this exhibition took place was beyond description wretched. The friend and associate of Lord Tom Towzle--the companion of peers and dandies--to be the owner of two such objects!--as the French say; and that those _objets_ should have been transmitted to him from the “attic” of “The Three Mackerels,” where he “had slept the night before!”

But the worst was not yet over:--what was he to do with the cap and comb, now that he had gotten them?--for he had, almost unconsciously, taken them into his possession:--Throw them away he could not; deny them he dare not,--for, upon the edge of the cap, the letters B, R, A, G, were marked in red silk capitals. Must he “quit the gay throng,” and carry them himself up to his present dormitory?--or must he spread the history of the affair still more, by handing them over to a waiter or a chambermaid to deposit them there for him?

The laughter which this incident provoked it was impossible for the spectators entirely to conceal; and the fact that it elicited, as to the “_venue_” of Jack’s last night’s lodging, did not at all decrease Lord Tom’s suspicions that his friend was habitually disposed to justify his possession of the name in which he rejoiced.

Brag thought, and thought wisely, that the best thing he could do was to, what he called “cut and run;” and so if he could not check the mirth which the exposure of his weakness had excited, he might at all events escape the misery of hearing it ringing in peals round his devoted head; accordingly, grasping the nightcap and comb, and devoutly wishing both of them midway between Calais and Dover, or anywhere else in the world but where they were, he bounded up stairs to his newly-acquired apartment.

Had so miserable an animal as a punster been present at Brag’s sudden departure, there would have doubtlessly been sundry criminalities committed in the way of quibbles, about Brag’s being armed _cap_-a-pied but not _comb_-il-faut, or some such nonsense; luckily, however, the audience and spectators were well-bred, well-dressed gentlemen, and disdained a joke with as much sovereign contempt as if they could have made one themselves. They looked at each other; those with moustachios twisted their whiskers--those with none, rubbed their foreheads; and all of them turned involuntarily to Lord Tom, as the sun of the sunflowers, in hopes of ascertaining who the little gentleman in the white cords was, who had just run up stairs with part of his bed-room furniture from the sign of “The Three Mackerels.”

Lord Tom was a man of the world, as the reader may naturally believe: by his manner he repudiated any intimate acquaintance with Jack; proclaimed him an excellent rider, light weight, and up to any hounds; and further announced his intention of taking him over to Paris, to “astonish the natives” in the Champ de Mars by carrying off all the prizes at the races on the following Sunday, to the infinite dismay of the sporting world of that lively city. His lordship accompanied this account of his obsequious friend with an indescribable look, which left his lordship entirely exonerated from any responsibility on the score of his manners or habits, and gave a tone to the character of the _liaison_ between them, in the smallest degree flattering to the vulgar coxcomb who had recently escaped.

When the hour of dressing for dinner approached, Brag “showed” again--the coast was then clear; but Lord Tom, if he had not very much desired to benefit himself by Jack’s only available accomplishment on the turf, and had not moreover felt conscious of the “debt of honour, which must be paid,” would most gladly have either persuaded him not to accompany him to General Gunnersbury’s, or to permit him to send an excuse on account of a sudden attack of spasms--a raging tooth-ache--or any other of those “ills which flesh is heir to,” and which, as Dr. Short told Mr. Brown in India, make no external show; but Jack would not give his lordship the slightest chance or opportunity to get off the engagement.

It was just as the clock was striking seven that Lord Tom and his squire proceeded on foot, enveloped in cloaks to screen themselves from the effects of a regular gale of wind across the bridge, and pursued their way along the coast, making first for Mrs. Dutsell’s baths, and thence taking a fresh departure for the great bombardier’s hospitable mansion on the Parade--a perfect silence having been observed by both parties as to the episode of the cap and comb, any reference to which, Lord Tom knew would be unpleasant to his companion, and the particulars of which he thought it most judicious not to touch upon, since, as the reader knows, his lordship meant to make use of Jack on the race-course.

When the visiters entered the drawing-room, Lord Tom was horror-struck and Jack delighted at finding a large party already assembled, amongst whom were several people whom he knew, and some few whom he did not know; however, the body consisted of not less than fourteen persons, who were destined to be crammed into a dining parlour, licensed, by size, not to carry more than ten inside.

Jack was presented to Lady Gunnersbury, who did not hear his name, and subsequently to the two young ladies--young by courtesy--upon whom Jack, very shortly after the performance of the ceremony of introduction, began to play off some of his most insinuating tricks. The way in which the tall, gaunt damsels looked at him, most forcibly reminded Lord Tom, who was watching his progress, of the regards of mingled curiosity and surprise with which the Brobdignagian virgins considered Gulliver; Jack, however, nothing daunted, went off at score; and during the dreadful quarter of an hour before dinner, when the company were as cold and as stiff as wax-work, Jack’s voice was specially audible. When, however, dinner was announced, the unfortunate interference of precedence with pleasure threw him out, and he found himself last, and “least,” except young Gunnersbury, to quit the drawing-room, the fair ladies of the party being appropriated to persons having ascertainable rank, and _he_ left next what he called the “crowpee,” with the back of his head exposed not only to the draughts of wind from the sea, which found their way through the hall, but to certain thumps and bumps of the door of the room itself, whenever it was necessary to open or shut it.

The “crowpee” was, of course, young Gunnersbury; and Jack’s left-hand neighbour was a German baron, who spoke no English. The heir of the house was particularly fine; and even if he condescended to notice any of the stray guests whom his father was in the habit of inviting, while they were actually at table, made a point of cutting them dead, if he met them anywhere else the next day. He took an inveterate aversion at first sight, from Jack and his curls and studs, and never deigned even to look at, much less to speak to him, throughout the rest of the dinner: Jack’s position was therefore not particularly enviable.

To describe accurately Lady Gunnersbury’s character and conversation is, I apprehend, beyond the reach of pen. The old lady, who neither looked, nor, it is to be presumed, felt old, lived in a state of perpetual anxiety to talk to everybody near and about her, upon every subject which they might be discussing, being at the same time most punctiliously, or rather pesteringly, civil and attentive to her guests, especially at dinner. This assiduity was derived from the age and mode in which she had been educated; and her evident anxiety to talk with everybody about everything arose from the circumstance of her having once been deaf for several years together, of which infirmity, Time, or some successful aurist, had cured her. It was her desire to show not only that she was no longer deaf, but that she could hear half a dozen things at once, and reply to them all, that produced an effect of which I despair of being able to convey even a faint idea.

On the right hand of her ladyship, who assumed the head of the table, sat the Earl of Dullingham; on the left, Lord Tom, next to whom the Countess was placed, on the right hand of Sir James Gunnersbury, on whose left was Mrs. Carnaby; next to her was seated a Mr. Paddle, and between him and the “crowpee” Mr. Carnaby. Next the earl, on the other side of the table, was the elder Miss Gunnersbury; and between her and her sister Sir Henry Rockly. Next to the younger miss was deposited the German baron; and between the baron and the “crowpee,” Brag.

Seated and settled, and the soup discussed, the conversation became general, but not universal. The neighbours who were acquainted with each other began to chat; the Earl and Maria--the Countess and Sir James--Lady Gunnersbury and Lord Tom--Rockly and Eliza--Paddle and Mrs. Carnaby--Carnaby and young Gunnersbury;--but Brag and the Baron were basketed. Had Brag been placed next either of the girls, he flattered himself, from the play he had made up-stairs, and the way in which his little attentions had been received, that he should have got on remarkably well, and no mistake; but being hedged in between two men, one of whom could not, and the other of whom would not, speak, was anything but smack smooth, straight up and right down, in his opinion.

When the Babel-like noise of the jovial party was at its height, Lady Gunnersbury began to be in her glory: in every dialogue she must have a word--in every tête-à-tête discussion an interference; and in something like this fashion did she continue one incessant gabble of confusion, such as could not well have been worse confounded.

“My dear Lord, take some of these cutlets.--I think so, Mrs. Carnaby; always said she was beautiful; dresses so well.--Done with sauce _à la Soubise_.--I’m glad you like Dover, Lord Thomas; the pier is so charming--so fine and clear in a morning-walk.--Looks so well in that pretty pink bonnet, Mrs. Carnaby.--Thank you, I’ll take the sweet: limit myself to two glasses at dinner.--Capital invention,--four thousand gallons in a minute!--Very full, just now.--Maria, what will you have, dear?--you eat nothing.--Wonderful accumulation of shingle.--As you say, Sir Henry, what a man Shakespeare was!--dear, dear!--quite a wonder rising in that dark age.--Striped red and white, was it, Mr. Paddle?--I love balloons.--Sir Walter Raleigh wrote it, my lord: I heard you ask Maria. I forget how many plays he wrote--fifty-two, I think. What a shocking thing to cut his head off, my lord, after all that time--wasn’t it?--A blue body with red wheels--I heard you tell Sir James about the coach.--So superior to any writer of his time.--With morocco squabs.--A little bread-sauce, if you please.--From Lord Mackdaudle’s place in Scotland; always sends us plenty.--Tremendous sight the parachute, as you say.--Come in boxes once a week. I don’t think it quite so good as his last.--I heard your opinion of Captain Marryat’s book; one of our very best writers.--Meyer and Miller make for Sir James: you were asking my son, Mr. Carnaby, about shoemaking.--In three volumes, with plates--And a little of the _fondu_.--We get it from the library.--Eliza, dear, Mr. Paddle wishes to drink wine with you. Different place this from Paris, Mr. Paddle.--With a shifting rumble, Sir James, if you please.--Won’t Baron Bumbeltronden take _fondu_? You speak German, Eliza, ask the baron; I don’t: I am no great linguist. I am very much of the opinion that one tongue is sufficient for one woman.”

“Especially, my dear,” said Sir James, “if, like Dr. Johnson’s memorable sheep’s tail, it be long enough.”

Under the heavy fire of my lady’s eloquence, the dinner proceeded as dinners usually do. Jack had not opened his lips, except to put the viands and wines of his gallant host into his mouth; and although Lord Tom supported him by asking him to drink wine with him, young Gunnersbury devoted himself entirely to Carnaby, to whom, when he did speak, he spoke in an under-tone, keeping, as it were, aloof from all the guests excepting the Earl and Countess, to whom he was obsequiously polite, and Sir Henry Rockly, to whom he was remarkably civil. Sir James, however, called upon Jack to do him a similar favour to that which he had done Lord Tom; but in inviting him to the social intercourse, he unfortunately called him Mr. Bag, instead of Brag, which excited some attention, caused a slight whispering, and excited a few titterings.

There is always in women a goodness of feeling towards those whom they imagine to be ill at ease with themselves; a kind of pity certainly not akin to love, but which shows itself in an anxiety to “make things agreeable.” This sort of sentiment both the young ladies entertained towards Brag: they saw how perfectly uncomfortable he was, and Eliza, who was nearer to him than her sister, after ineffectually telegraphing her brother to be civil to the stranger, put herself sufficiently forward to afford him a gracious look, which encouraged him to suggest a glass of champagne. Had he seen the expression of young Gunnersbury’s countenance while this ceremony was in progress, it would have turned his Silleri into prussic acid: the frown he bestowed upon his sister the first time their eyes met after it was over, even more distinctly marked his high mightiness’s entire disapproval of the whole proceeding.

According to Brag’s calculation, they had sat at least five hours after dinner before Lady Gunnersbury, whose incessant volubility it would be impossible to follow, at least with any chance of catching it, until at length that exemplary lady at once delighted and astounded him by announcing the retreat of the ladies.

“Dear Lady Dullingham, I am ready,” said the hostess. “_I_ see, Sir James; hate the custom nevertheless--separating after dinner.--I hear you, Sir Henry: with a band of music and a cold collation, I agree; but in England.--Oh, fie! Mr. Paddle, that is really ungallant--unlike you.--In a barge by moonlight; don’t do so in Paris, Sir Henry.--What Eliza says is quite right; but such a bad singer: however, we must bow to custom, Lady Dullingham.--I quite agree with you, Mrs. Carnaby, about the bull-fights.--Isn’t it quite extraordinary?--Prejudice and custom, as you say.--Lights up-stairs.--With the matadores and picadores, and--The omelette soufflée, Sir Henry, I know.--Delicate creatures, indeed!--handfuls of nuts to throw the men down.--Very extraordinary.--At Tortoni’s, Hardy’s, or anywhere else, all the same.--Entirely steam.--Very fine sight, I dare say--two hundred horse power.--The meat, I believe, is given to the poor.--The “Nel più” is the only thing she does decently well.--I differ with you still about the omelette.--Dragged away by horses.--Dear George, do ring the bell.”

The last words were music to Jack’s ears; and they were followed, in less than five minutes, by the adjournment of the “females,” Lady Gunnersbury stopping kindly to hope that he had not felt any draught of air from the door during dinner,--an act of civility and courtesy which her son, by his look, deemed entirely superfluous, but which induced Sir James, the moment the ladies were gone, to insist upon Brag’s closing up on his side, in order to rescue him from the taciturnity of the baron, and the studied coldness of his son.

Lord Tom, in the plenitude of his good-nature, seeing Brag so unusually nervous and depressed, became anxious to put him at his ease, and bring him out; besides which, he felt in some sort offended by the supercilious manner which Mr. Gunnersbury had thought proper to adopt towards a guest of his father’s, whom he knew to be a friend of his. His lordship therefore gave Brag an “excellent character” in a whisper to Sir James, and, above all, lauded his judgment in horseflesh and his skill in equitation, to which he was the more readily inclined because his praises upon that point were really well-merited, and because the noble and taciturn Earl of Dullingham, who sat on the opposite side of the table, had been, in his day, a great sporting man, and who, although now declined into the vale of years, and retired from “the turf,” still, as the old coachman loves the crack of the whip, entered with more interest into conversations touching such matters than any other.

“It strikes me,” said Sir James, “that our Government ought in some way to interfere in order to prevent the exportation of our best English horses, the effect of which must eventually be, not only the improvement of the breed in countries which, however peaceable the world looks just now, must and will, in the course of time, be at war with us, but the deprival of the English cavalry of their acknowledged superiority in cattle, at all events, over our enemies.”

“If I had _my_ way,” said Brag, encouraged by the deference with which Sir James addressed this observation specially to him, “not a nag should go abroad--no, not at any price. I have been over and over again offered lumps of money for some of my hunters to go to France and Germany, and the deuce knows where. No, says I, not a bit of it: I’m English from top to toe--straight up, right down, and no mistake. I’ll be no party to mending the foreign breed, let what may happen.”

The German baron coughed, and young Gunnersbury silently expressed his astonishment at the burst which his father’s injudicious patronage of the stranger had occasioned.

“You are a true sportsman, sir,” said Lord Dullingham, gravely taking a pinch of snuff.

“And,” said Lord Tom, “as good a rider as you’ll see from Totness to Newcastle.”

“I do flatter myself,” said Jack, “I can come it strong in that line”--(Here Sir Henry Rockly exchanged a look with Carnaby)--“and no mistake. Lord Tom knows what I’m up to. In one week I’ve hunted five times, rode two trotting matches, and three steeple chases, picked up a hundred stones with my mouth in fifty-five minutes, and killed two hundred and nineteen brace of partridges.”

“With a long bow,” said somebody, loud enough to be heard by everybody except Jack himself, who was now on his hobby.

“I stick at nothing in that way,” said Brag--“do I, my lord?”--looking at Lord Tom. “Many a time I’ve gone after hounds for twenty minutes, as blind as a bat, as wet as a rat, and as sick as a cat, with the skin of my leg rasped up by the top of a grower from my shin to my knee, and only brought to my senses then by bumping my head right against that of my horse, for all the world like a flash of lightning, that loosened all my teeth in their sockets. That’s what I call going across a country, and no mistake. I’d have backed my “Tantrum” against anything of his age and inches that ever switched rasper. Jem Jiggins had the handling of him for some time, and a queer one he was, at first; but they as begins rum, turns out generally well in the end. One day, however, sold him:--run three foxes, one after another, right on end, seventy-two miles and a half in all!--he was done:--got my money for him though, after that. Had him painted; the picture is now at a little place I have in Surrey, with me on his back, topping a flight of rails, just alongside of “Fly-away Dick,” with portraits of two or three Melton men in the distance--eh!--that’s good.”

This sudden dash out of his super-incumbent despair, and the way in which he helped himself to the veteran bombardier’s port-wine, in preference to claret, convinced Lord Tom that he was determined to rally against the tyrannical treatment which he had received from the young squire.

“Have you hunted much in Dorsetshire, sir?” said the earl; “if you have not, I should think the Vale of Blackmore would give you some opportunities of showing your skill amongst the drains: half the fences are double, and the ditches wide and deep.”

“No, my lord,” said Brag, “I’ve never seen much of that country, but shouldn’t care if I did. I’ve heard of it, and all the history of Oliver’s blind mare; but folks _do_ stretch sometimes. There’s a story of a Lord Penfeather, or some such chap, which he used to tell of himself--of taking a double fence and a double ditch, and afterwards clearing a Dorchester doctor, horse and all, who had grounded on the top of his nob just outside a drain beyond _that_:--that’s what I call going it. However, nobody’s alive that saw it, so we have it all upon my lord’s word, and that’s not much of a go, I take it.”

A sudden death-like silence ensued, interrupted only by a few hems from Sir James Gunnersbury and Sir Henry Rockly, a look of dismay from Lord Tom, and a simper of exultation from the young squire. The pause did not last long; everybody appeared astonished, but nobody more than Jack. The silence was at last broken.

“I assure you, sir,” said Lord Dullingham, in the most solemn manner, “the story is true--the doctor’s name was Flapps. He indeed is dead, but there are others who saw it done, still living.”

“Oh,” said Brag, still unenlightened, “I don’t know--but I _do_ know a great many of Lord Penfeather’s friends who say ‘no go.’ If your lordship saw it, why, in that case, it’s all right, and no mistake; but from what they say of the chap himself who said he did it, why--”

“I did it myself, sir!” said the earl, more energetically than he usually said anything, drawing himself up into an erect position, looking pitchforks and tenter-hooks at Brag, and taking a pinch of snuff with all the dignity of the old school.

“That _is_ Lord Penfeather,” said Lord Tom, wishing to bring the affair to a speedy conclusion; “at least he was so, when he took the extraordinary leap in question.”

“Oh!” said Brag, turning as white as a sheet--“Ah!--yes, my lord--I--”

At this most critical minute, when acted upon by various and very different feelings, every gentleman present most anxiously expected a _denouement_, the butler, an old and valued servant of Sir James, made his appearance to announce coffee in the drawing-room, and being privileged, by long service, to use a certain degree of familiarity with his master, added, in an audible whisper to that exemplary officer--“There’s a large brig come ashore at the back of the pier, Sir James: it’s blowing terrible hard--and they are afraid she’ll be totally lost.”

“Brig ashore!” cried Brag, most unceremoniously availing himself of a communication not made to him, and at the same moment jumping up--“I’m off, Sir James; excuse me--I _may_ be of use:--swim like an otter. Swam all the way from Oxford to London in nineteen hours without stopping. Have saved nine lives already: got three medals from the Humane Society: don’t value the surf of a sixpence. I’ll bet fifty to four I’m on board that brig in ten minutes from leaving your house--back in less than an hour. I know you’ll excuse me:--don’t you think I’m right--eh? Humanity--philanthropy--and all that--straight up, right down, and no mistake. Be with you again almost directly.”

Saying which, and without waiting for an answer, away Jack bustled, leaving his astonished companions in amazement; Lord Tom, however, not a little annoyed that he should, in the end, have so far justified young Gunnersbury’s _hauteur_ in the beginning.

The earl bore the imputation of exaggerating his leap with perfect good-humour, and explained to the rest of the party his own astonishment at the occurrence; but Lord Tom, beaten by the event, declined going up-stairs, upon the plea of endeavouring to prevent his friend from rashly endangering his life; and when the other guests repaired to the drawing-room, he hastened to the beach, where, truly indeed, the sea was breaking over the ill-fated vessel, which kept striking so awfully and so frequently, as to leave little hope of her extrication. He could, however, learn no tidings of Brag. It was quite true, however, that a venturous gentleman had been seen swimming with a rope through the surf, and had succeeded in rescuing two ladies--but he was gone; and so, after an hour’s fruitless search for his intrepid friend, Lord Tom proceeded to “The Ship,” where he found that Mr. Brag, after having read the day’s London paper, and drunk two glasses of hot brandy and water, had gone to bed, and had been, at the time of his lordship’s arrival, more than an hour snug in his “nest.”