Chapter IV

It was late before Lord Wagley returned from his cruise. He had been to Southampton; and Brag was anxiously awaiting his arrival to talk over the affair of the yacht, when, as he came ashore, he beheld his lordship accompanied in his boat by a stranger. Under the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, every new-comer awakened his apprehensions lest something should _éclater_ which might militate against his election into the Club, now rendered an object of first-rate importance to him by the expression of Lady Lavinia’s wishes regarding “The Psyche.”

The boat touched the sloping _chaussée_, and my lord leaped on shore: the stranger followed. His lordship hailed Jack in his usual friendly and familiar manner--so far all was right, and “no mistake.” He next introduced the stranger to him with a greater air of _empressement_ than appeared to Jack absolutely necessary: the manner implied that they would become extremely intimate,--or rather that circumstances somehow connected their fates, the true meaning and extent of which Mr. Brag could not clearly comprehend.

“My dear Brag,” said his lordship, “this is Mr. Leveret, my solicitor and friend.”

Jack bowed in his best fashion, but there was something in the expression of the new-comer’s countenance which puzzled him.

“His visit,” continued his lordship, “is one which mingles business with pleasure. He tells me that some infernal farmer down at that place Wigglesford, or Wagglesford, or whatever it is called, has given notice of action about our trespassing in the steeple-chase, and that you, like myself, are one of the defendants--have you heard of it before?”

“Heard of it!” said Jack; “all I heard of it was, that a queer-looking chap came into one of my apartments at the hotel at Eastbourne, and gave me a long slip of paper looking like an overgrown checque, and told me something about a trespass; in course, I took it: and when I asked him what next I was to do, he told me to put it in my pocket, which accordingly I did, and never meant to trouble my head about it any more one way or another, and no mistake.”

“It is fortunate,” said Mr. Leveret, “that I have run down to see his lordship upon the point: there are seven defendants included in the action, and whatever may be the result, you, sir, should be at least put upon a footing with the others.”

“In course,” said Jack: “what must I do then?”

“In the first place,” said Leveret, “we must put in an appearance; but that, such is the benign character of the English law, would have been done for you by a fiction, which would, involuntarily on your part, carry you forward in the case; but as I am here, if you will tell me whom your professional advisers are, I can communicate with them, and make the thing perfectly easy.”

“I have no professional adviser,” said Jack, “except Mr. Grout, my apothecary, and I haven’t much need of _him_. I find air and exercise----”

“You misunderstand me, sir,” said Leveret--“I mean a legal adviser.”

“I never had such a thing in my life,” said Jack, “and don’t know where to find one.”

“Put your affairs into Leveret’s hands,” said Lord Wagley; “you will find him a man of honour, and a most agreeable companion: his advice upon any point, whether professional or not, is invaluable.”

“Your lordship does me too much honour,” said Leveret. “I am sure I shall be extremely happy to do anything in _my_ power to serve any friend of your lordship’s.”

“In course I shall be too happy,” said Jack; “so, if you please, we’ll consider that settled.”

Leveret bowed again.

“Shall we be very considerably smashed,” said Lord Wagley, “in this absurd business?”

“It is impossible at present, my lord,” said Leveret, “to judge how things will turn out. A verdict against us, I look upon to be inevitable. But I am told that the plaintiff, Grindlestone, has taken up the matter not half so much upon the ground of the trespass, as because the newspapers stated the property trespassed on, to belong to Mr. Brag. This has nettled him; besides, he has a wife, who has taken offence at something which my new and excellent friend has done, and who, as I hear, has worried him into this action accordingly.”

“That’s just it,” said Jack; “the female sex are always at the bottom of everything. I certainly _do_ recollect her, at the time we were looking over the country thereabouts; and I suppose it was because I did not pay my compliments to her in a more--what you call--slap-up manner, that she got cantankerous.”

“Why,” said Leveret, smiling, “the story which I have heard, sir, does not impute any backwardness on _your_ part. I have seen Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock, and Shackleton, of Pump Court, Temple,--at least Mr. Tatlock, who manages this case for the house,--and I really believe the whole thing originates in some petty spite.”

“Petticoat spite, according to your version,” said Lord Wagley; “but don’t you think, Leveret, we might compromise the affair?”

“Compromise, my lord,” said Leveret, “is the last thing I should recommend: it is never satisfactory, even in the best of cases. A matter referred to arbitration, let it be decided how it may, convinces nobody--pleases nobody. No: I should say, let it go into Court: we shall retain Sir Frederick, Sir William, and two or three more of the best----”

“What!--to defend this thing?” said Lord Wagley.

“To be sure, my lord,” said Leveret. “We then fight them double-handed: by retaining the good ones, we not only get them ourselves, but hinder _them_ from obtaining their services. We’ll give them the Attorney and Solicitor-General, if they choose to have them; but it is everything to nail the talent:--that’s it, my lord.”

“And what damages will they get?” said Lord Wagley.

“There’s no accounting for the fancies of juries,” said Leveret:--“may be twenty pounds--may be five hundred. In point of fact, the question is one simply of trespass, by which no positive mischief has been done, and therefore no special damages can be sought: it is a mere thing of right, and Mrs. Grindlestone, who sticks up for her husband’s privileges, is, as I have already said, the great inciting cause of the proceeding.”

Jack was by no means pleased with the pertinaciousness with which Mr. Leveret adhered to his opinion as to the share Mrs. Grindlestone had in the lawsuit, because he well recollected having been extremely civil, as he called it, to the lady, who was a remarkably pretty woman, free in her manner, and lively in her conversation; but who, for that very reason, did not exactly admire the conduct which our little hero had been pleased to adopt in the course of the only dialogue which passed between them, and in which Jack had thought proper to suit the action to the word, and endeavour to make himself most particularly agreeable by a practical illustration of his tender feelings towards her. Of this _tête-à-tête_ Jack had never said one syllable to anybody; and, now that the animosity of the lady exhibited itself in so violent and revengeful a manner, he thought it quite as well to keep his secret, and endeavour to impress the minds of the lord and the lawyer with the notion that her anger had been excited rather by his neglect of _her_ advances, than his own presumption and impertinence.

The conversation, as far as law was concerned, soon terminated. Jack was regularly put under Leveret’s care, and with the appearance of dinner ended all farther discussion. Everything was _en train_; the matter was in Leveret’s hands, and nothing could be better; and Jack, who, so long as he got rid of anything unpleasant at the moment, cared little for results, tried back upon the confident assertion of the clerk of Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock, and Shackleton, that he need not trouble himself any more about it; and out of this assurance, and the gaiety and ease with which his newly acquired acquaintance and councillor spoke of the business, he derived so much satisfaction, that when the wine had twice or thrice circulated after dinner, he felt as light as air, and perfectly careless of consequences.

The moment he had acquired confidence enough to revert to his favourite--his engrossing topic, he resumed his observations on “The Psyche”--his desire to have a yacht--his special desire to have that particular yacht.

“Well,” said Lord Wagley, “nothing can come off more opportunely: Leveret knows all the circumstances of the case, and how I come to have the selling of her. If you like to have her, I’ll make it perfectly easy to you: you shall give me a bill at your own date; and I would not, I declare to you, press the thing, only I know she is a bargain;--in fact, a bank-note.”

“Your lordship is very good,” said Jack. “I own I don’t know much of yachting--but she looks a good-un; and I have more reasons than one for wishing to be--eh?--you know.”

“I understand,” said his lordship. “And now I tell you what--Leveret and you talk it over to-morrow; whatever _he_ thinks fair about it, I agree to, now. He can act rather as a mutual friend than a lawyer,--and so--you settle it all between you: he knows what Chipstead gave for her, and the circumstances under which she is to be sold--so, there now--”

“I shall be too happy to do anything in my power,” said Leveret, who was a remarkably gentlemanlike man, and evidently well-disposed towards his noble client and his curious guest.

“I fancy,” said Lord Wagley, whose great object was to sell the yacht, “‘The Psyche’ will not be long without a mistress--eh, Brag? You are always dangling, I see, at Lady Lavinia’s.”

“Umph!” said Jack--“I like that sort of society. Somehow she knows a great deal of one thing and another--and is uncommon good-natured to _me_: as for Miss Hastings, she is what I call a regular beauty, and no mistake.”

“Yes,” said Lord Wagley, “handsome enough, but poor, and over head and ears in love with an author,--one of her aunt’s lions, who writes poetry--‘Sonnets to her Eyebrow,’--and reads it to her, when he can find an opportunity. The Lady Lavinia likes to have him at her little parties, because he has got a name; but she has expressed her opinion pretty clearly to Miss Fanny as to the nature of her acquaintance--talks first of his merits and accomplishments, then of his want of money and the precariousness of authorship,--prohibits her niece from entertaining anything but a platonic friendship for him, and then invites him, night after night, to recite poems and sing love-songs for the amusement of her visiters. Lady Lavinia herself has a large income; but Fanny, who is a daughter of her only sister, who died young, and soon after her marriage, has but little: the whole bulk of the property went to the present Lord Scredington, who was a nephew of the late earl. My belief is,” added his lordship, “that Lady Lavinia, although she _is_ my fifteenth cousin, or some such thing, would be nothing loth to become a wife again.”

“Yet,” said Jack, delighted with what he heard, “she talks a great deal of her _first_.”

“To be sure,” said his lordship; “she thinks, by showing how devoted she was to _him_, to induce somebody to be his successor. And now I’ll tell you what my further opinion is,--that she will change her name within three months of your possessing ‘The Psyche.’”

“I think she _has_ a turn for marrying,” said Jack, who was putting his head into the trap which his two friends had set for him, as kindly as possible, “and I don’t know why she shouldn’t,--she’s a sensible, agreeable, creechur; and I think her little parties--at least the two nights I have been there--uncommon pleasant,--and no mistake.”

As the conversation proceeded, Jack warmed, and at last they went the length of drinking the health of the future mistress of “The Psyche,” accompanied with remarks and observations which settled the point, and unequivocally alluded to the individual lady; and this, and an expression of Lord Wagley’s decided conviction that Jack would be a member of the Yacht Club before he was a week older, sent him to bed perfectly happy, and utterly forgetful of everything disagreeable that had passed during the last month.

This may seem strange when the nature of these occurrences is taken into calculation; but that which is stranger still, is the fact that, for once in his life, Jack was not entirely mistaken in the effect he had produced. Lady Lavinia really thought him a ‘fine man.’ She saw that he was not particularly learned, but she thought him vivacious and agreeable: such thoughts having gained possession of her mind, because, of the three days which had elapsed since he was first presented to her, two and a half had been devoted to her.

In the morning, Leveret and Mr. Brag had their final consultation on the subject of the yacht. They went on board: Jack poked about in every hole and corner, looked at every part of her with that sort of waggish curiosity which a monkey might be supposed to exhibit under similar circumstances. The captain, as Chipstead’s schipper was called, pointed out all her perfections, and expatiated upon her sailing qualities, all of which was, as the reader may imagine, Greek to our hero; who, nevertheless, was captivated with the accommodations she possessed, and which, while she was lying in the harbour as steady and as even upon her keel as Saint Paul’s Cathedral on its foundations, seemed to him straight up, right down, and no mistake.

Four men and the captain would be a capital complement for her; and the captain, who had been five years with Lord Flipflap before he engaged with Captain Chipstead, was a treasure and a host in himself. The thing was clearly settled; a man once bitten with a fancy, has only to be cherished and encouraged a little, and he is sure to put into execution the most absurd possible project. A cat in a bowl, in the middle of a duck-pond, could not be more completely out of her element than Jack Brag in a yacht; but the conceit, the ambition, and, above all, the hope of overcoming all obstacles by rising higher than he ever yet had attempted, confirmed him in the undertaking; and having partaken of some luncheon which Lord Wagley had ordered to be prepared on board, and having drunk success to yachting several times over, he pressed his kind friend Leveret’s hand, in token of the conclusion of his bargain, and was put on shore at the “Fountain,” owner of “The Psyche,” for which he was to give a bill at two months for eight hundred pounds,--a circumstance not of the slightest earthly importance, because, as Lord Wagley had said the night before, and the captain and the attorney had repeated in the morning, she was as good as a bank-note for that money, the great struggle about her being, who was to possess her; so that any day in the week he could dispose of her, and get abundance of thanks for sparing her.

Lord Wagley was out sailing; indeed, his lordship appeared particularly anxious not to have any personal share in making the bargain. Accordingly, Jack and the lawyer whiled away time,--first by calling at Lady Lavinia’s, and then climbing the hill by Northwood-Park Gate, and then, by strolling along the road towards Newport; their conversation turning chiefly on nautical matters, upon which Mr. Leveret was very little better informed than his client. Having concluded their excursion, they strolled back again, enquired at the turnpike about some shorter road homeward, and at last found themselves once more on the Parade.

There they met Lady Lavinia and Fanny, there Jack formally announced the purchase he had made, and there received her ladyship’s compliments and congratulations on the event; there too they found Mr. Selwyn, the devoted admirer of Miss Hastings, and it took but a few moments to perceive that their affection was reciprocal; but, as has already been observed, the pretensions of the young author were rigidly discountenanced by Lady Lavinia, who, having besieged and implored him into being her visitor, had become most anxious to get rid of him without the _éclat_ of dismissing a lover, and above all, without souring the temper of his muse, and probably inducing something from his pen which might make her uncomfortable for the rest of her life.

A shrewd old lady long since dead, once expressed her opinion to me that, in a worldly point of view, it was much better to be feared than loved in society. That Selwyn was popular, and even beloved, there can be no doubt, but that with all his gentleness and gaiety, he possessed the power of making “the galled jade wince,” is equally true; and although it is farthest from my thoughts to hint that any such character could be justly appropriated to Lady Lavinia Newbiggen, still she felt that she _had_ weak points, and had no desire that her blots should be hit by so able a master. Thus she was poised between the fear of giving him offence, and wishing most devoutly that he would take it. To carry this point she had formed a scheme, which she eventually put into execution, with what success the reader will hereafter know.

In the course of four or five days, during which Jack, who had taken a great fancy to Leveret, and took his opinion upon every point, our hero, was actually put into possession of ‘The Psyche,’ in consideration of his acceptance. That he was not at present to be balloted for at the Club, arose from some regulation as to the meeting of an adequate number of members, or some other reason, which Wagley most plausibly gave, his object merely being to dispose of the craft. Jack’s dismay, however, when he found that the distinguished burgee which formed one of her chiefest ornaments while fluttering at her topmast head, was to be dowsed so soon as she ceased to be the property of Captain Chipstead, was great; and his nervousness when he went on board and, while looking over her sails with a nautical eye, which were bent for his inspection, felt the influence of her Pearl-like mainsail, even under the lee of the houses, was most remarkable.

Wagley had strenuously advised him to retain the captain and crew:--“couldn’t do better.” This advice he implicitly followed, and proceeded to endeavour to elicit from this merman and his followers, what he ought farther to do.

“It depends greatly on gentlemen’s fancies, sir,” said Bung, the captain: “some likes one thing, and some another. I suppose you’ll take longish trips, sir? she’s as fine a sea-boat as ever swam;--lies like a duck on the water. “Yes,” said Jack, “Yes, I shall go out and about like the others, you know,--all straight up, and right down,--and no mistake.”

“What I mean is, sir,” said Bung, (evidently a relation of the truly nautical Cowes family, the Corks,) “some gentlemen likes to have everything reg’lar ship-shape--just as one as if we was aboard of a man-o’-war. If you likes to have ‘Psyche’ kept in that manner,--all, as I calls it, slap-up,--these four men don’t mind punishment:--they’ve got their Guernsey shirts all worked, you see, with her name upon them, as likewise upon their hats; and if she’s to be handled like a king’s-cutter, they don’t value the ‘cat’ of a farden. Here, Bill, you come aft;--show the gentleman your frock.”

Accordingly a regular fine-looking Vectan stepped up to Jack and exhibited to him his hat and striped frock, whereupon were worked in the one instance, and painted in the other,--the letters P S Y C H E, the which exhibition astonished Jack not a little, it being the first time he had ascertained that such was the mode of spelling Mrs. Cupid’s name,--a circumstance which might have been ascertained by any more observant person than Bung, inasmuch as Mr. Brag, after looking at the object before him, repeated in a tone sufficiently audible to have attracted ‘ears polite,’--“Physic,--what the deuce does that mean?”

“I should in course,” said Brag to his captain, “like to have her uncommon smart,--and all that; but I don’t understand what you mean about the men not caring for the ‘cat.’”

“What I mean, sir,” said Bung, “is, that among the tip-toppers of our squadron, them as we call the moon-rakers, and angel-disturbers,--they keep up reg’lar navy discipline, and whenever a man gets intosticated in regard of liquor,--goes ashore without leave,--stays ashore after his leave is out, or does anything lubberly, they has him seized up to a grating, and gives him ‘a couple of dozen!’”

“A couple of dozen what?” said Jack.

“Lashes, sir,” said Bung.

“And do they stand it?” asked Jack.

“It’s all matter of agreement in the outset,” said Bung. “It’s a regular understood thing in a smart craft,--five pounds a flogging;--that’s the price, sir; and some of the nobs here, as is what they thinks uncommon slap-up, stumps to the tune of two or three hundred a year a-piece, to support discipline: howsomever, here, in this bit of a thing, it arn’t likely we should never come to _that_; only I mention it at first, because it’s always considered in the wages.”

“Bit of a thing!” muttered Jack, who felt, while he was beginning to get extremely uncomfortable on the deck of his yacht, himself scarcely second to Nelson, and ‘The Psyche’ not at all inferior to ‘The Victory.’ “No,--no,” said he, “I shan’t want that sort of thing. I shall take it easy, and have no floggings.”

“I suppose,” said Bung, “you would like to get what’s wanting in the way of stores aboard as soon as possible.”

“Stores!” said Jack, and his mind reverted to the shop “I’d rather have moulds or wax.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bung--“not such like as that; your servant will bring them sort of things off, I dare say. No; I’ve just made out a bit of a list of some of the things we shall want:--

3 casks of beef.
3 do. pork.
6 bags biscuit.
3 barrels of beer.
2 firkins Irish butter.
200 fathom of inch and a-half rope.
1 small anchor, three and a-half cwt.
80 blocks, of sizes.
4 small barrels superfine tar.
15 bolts of best canvass.

And a few other little necessaries; such as four new oars and a mast for the boat: and then, sir, the copper is a little scraped under her counter, which will want looking after; and some of the glasses in the skylights is damaged; and I think, sir, it would be as well to tell the carpenter to run his eye along the bowsprit, I’m not quite sure that it isn’t sprung. I’ve looked at it myself, and so has Jim; but it’s best to be all right. We had a jolly good bump against a lubberly West-Indiaman--pitched right into her bows--the last time the captain was out.”

“Why,” said Jack, rattling the few shillings which were in his pockets, as if they were the more endeared to him on account of the departure of so many of their associates, “that seems a good deal, but I suppose you know best.”

“It’s all necessary, sir, you may rely upon it,” said Bung. “We want some slops sadly.”

“What!” said Jack, “besides the beer?”

“Beer won’t keep men warm, sir,” said Bung.

“Oh, no, in course,” said Jack; “when it is cold they shall have whatever they want.”

“It’s clothes I mean, sir,” said Bung: “and about spirits, sir--will your servant sarve out--or how?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jack, “that will be best.”

“Just as you please, sir,” said Bung. “The captain used to send forward what was wanted, under my care:--but just as you please.”

“I’ll go down stairs,” said Jack, “and look about me----”

“Here, Jim,” cried the captain--“are you there?--the gentleman is going below.”

And down he went, in a sort of mist and maze, caused by the accumulation of expense and difficulty for which he was in no way prepared, and which completely upset the wisdom of the French proverb, which says, “_Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute_.”

Jack’s great object in what he called “going down stairs” was, to be left for a few minutes to his own reflections, which, however, were anything but agreeable. A yacht in the abstract was a very charming thing, and the absolute necessity of possessing one, before he could become associated club-wise with Lord Wagley and his friends, rendered it most of all desirable; but he saw in a moment that he had quite mistaken and miscalculated the whole affair. Nor did the preparations so anxiously suggested by Bung,--involving, as they evidently did, the possibility of lengthened excursions,--seem in the slightest degree more agreeable to his imagination. Bung, however, followed him below, and made sundry remarks upon the hinges of a door which wanted mending, and the handles of some drawers which required altering; nor did he leave him until Brag, resolved to enjoy the privilege of command for which he had paid, or was to pay, so dearly, dismissed him, and abandoned himself to the enjoyment of just as much motion, produced by the displayed mainsail, as made his head ache, without his exactly finding out why, and the delights of the fragrance of the best possible pitch and tar with which certain seams in the neighbourhood of the cabin had been recently payed.

Jack threw himself upon his crimson moreen cushions, and voted himself a rash enterprising hero; but as the yacht would always fetch her price, and as Lady Lavinia had really--for so it was--made an unequivocal demonstration of regard for him, in which very curious prepossession she was mightily encouraged by Lord Wagley, and even by Fanny Hastings, who looked to anything like a matrimonial engagement for her aunt as a certain precursor of her own union with her talented, not rich, lover, the literary man;--he considered himself, under the peculiar circumstances in which he had contrived to place himself, fully justified in making his present experiment.

As the new owner of “The Psyche” was casting his eyes around the close-smelling box in which he was revelling, they suddenly rested upon a book. Jack was no great reader, but his anxiety was awakened to know what work it could be that had been left in his possession: he poked across the cabin, and secured the treasure, and found it to be the Code of Signals belonging to _the_ Club--or squadron, as it has since been called--of which he was so anxious to become a member. Jack, who was cunning enough to know that he could not use these signals until he had received the accolade, thought it nevertheless a great object to secure the book, so as to inform himself of what was going on when the squadron was telegraphing; accordingly he resolved upon making extracts into his own pocket-book, leaving the inestimable treasure itself untouched; and accordingly he began without loss of time to transcribe, at random, such as he thought most interesting.

No.
208. “Send some cutlets on board.”
Do. (With a gun.)--“And potatoes.”
211. “The last snuff is not good.”
214. “Send Hawkesly’s mixture.”
506. “Lemons.”
507. “Punishment.”
692. “The enemy is in sight.”
693. “Get dinner at ----”
(Followed by numeral for hour.)
1264. “Tarts from Southampton.”
---- (With two balls from the Club-house
post.)--“Champagne.”
(Numeral for bottles.)
1271. “How d’ye do?”
1272. “Pretty well, I thank you.”
Do. (With a gun.)--“How are _you_?”
1308. “Ladies are sick; send off large
boat.”
1309. “Aye, aye!”

NIGHT SIGNALS.

Two guns, and a }
light at gaff. } “We are becalmed.”

A blue light, and }
three guns in }
quick succession } “Dear me!--you don’t say so?”
through the Club-house }
rails. }

One gun, and } “Don’t wait dinner; we can’t
two lights at top-mast } get back.”
head. }

One gun, and a }
rocket from Club-house. } “We don’t mean it.”

One gun, and two } “Send off boat-cloaks, and
rockets. } umbrellas.”

One gun through }
club-house rails. } “Aye, aye!”

Jack had scarcely made these few interesting and important extracts before he heard his captain coming, what he called, “down stairs.” He threw down the mystic volume, huddled his memoranda into his pocket, and feigned sleep--

----“the certain knot of peace;
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe;
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release;
Th’ indifferent judge between the high and low”--

in order to impress Bung with an idea of the perfect at-home-ishness which he felt in his _own_ yacht.

Bung came to announce that the boat was alongside, and to enquire whether he would like to go ashore; to which the newly-installed lord and master of the barque replied in the affirmative, gladly seizing the proffered opportunity of releasing himself from the growing qualmishness which oppressed him, not of himself having ascertained what specific instructions he was required to give, or what special order to make, in order to procure his transportation to _terra firma_.

As Jack stepped over the side, which he did with considerable apprehension, and just as he had bumped himself, first on the gunwale, secondly on one of the thwarts, and thirdly and lastly into the stern-sheets of the boat, Bung enquired whether he was to order the few little items which he had mentioned as being essentially necessary to the nautical existence of “The Psyche,” and received from Brag his full authority to do so,--inasmuch as, if they could not be done without, what was to be done but have them. The splendid manner in which these instructions were given, struck awe and gratitude into the hearts and minds of the two pullers, who touched their hats as Jack stepped on shore, “just all as one” as if he had been an admiral: Jack, however, felt a pang in the midst of all this elevation. They pulled to the landing-place by the flag-staff at the end of the Parade, farthest from the Castle, instead of to the sloping _chaussée_ close to it,--that being sacred to the use of the members of the Club.

This little drawback, however, would be got over in a few days, and Jack looked forward to the assumption of the uniform, which he had ordered three days before, as a matter of certainty; and with this prospect before him, leading as it did to the accomplishment of his great project with regard to Lady Lavinia, he plunged at once into the expenses and extravagances which appeared likely in the end to work his destruction. Jack, however, possessed a certain degree of that sort of self-preservative prudence which closely resembled cunning; and while he was playing this game, living upon the means he still possessed, and purchasing, upon the credit of his acceptances, property which he was made to believe would fetch its price after it had served his turn, he came to a resolution not upon any account to trench upon the three hundred pounds which Salmon had paid into his banker’s; he having ascertained the fact of such payment having been made, by a letter of enquiry upon the subject addressed to the firm.

At this juncture, and while Jack is waiting to get Psyche in order,--and while Selwyn, the gentle and the witty, is urging his suit with Fanny Hastings,--and Lord Wagley is preparing to soften Jack’s fall with respect to the Club, the reader may not dislike to know the result of the “journey to London,” effected by the Thespians and Salmons on the day of Jack’s hurried departure from Lewes.

As they proceeded, the gloom and sullenness of the bride did by no means abate; neither did Mr. Salmon’s apprehensions with regard to a collision between the lady _within_, and the lady _without_, in any degree subside, inasmuch as the only subject upon which his wife spoke with anything like common sociability was that of the mutton-chops at Godstone.

The Fates, however, seemed to frown even more severely than the fair; for before they had reached East Grinstead, the sky, erst blue and beautiful, was suddenly overcast with heavy clouds, which in a very short time evinced the strongest disposition to “pour down hail:” the wind rose, and blowing strong from the northward, drifted the heavy torrent right in their teeth, and in a very short time drenched Titsy, J. S. and every other object animate or inanimate which was exposed to its influence on the uttermost side of the coach.

That these copious tributes had a tendency to cool the bride’s temper, or wash from the tablets of her mind the sorrows and the sense of injury with which they were so fatally inscribed, the reader cannot imagine: on the contrary, as each succeeding fold of her ample drapery became susceptible of the moisture, she became proportionably more irritable. The philosophers tell us that water thrown on fire gives it additional power, and, sure enough, by the time they _did_ reach East Grinstead she was in a state of excitement hardly to be described.

Jem thought, in his own mind, that this would be a good opportunity to persuade her, as Falstaff says to Bardolph, to “lay out,” and descending from her exaltation, order a “pochay” to town: but he did not dare to make the proposition, because Titsy suggested to _him_ that, as there were only two men inside besides the ladies,--little did she think who they were,--there could be no doubt that one of them, “’specially the little one, for he was so genteel,” would offer to give up his seat to _her_. The bare possibility of such a thing put Salmon into a fever; not that his wife’s eye, unaccustomed to the rougeing, powdering, lip-salving, eyebrowing, and all concomitant stage tricks, was likely to recognise as the lovely bright-eyed Desdemona of the preceding evening, the sallow little woman who, unlaced, unplaited, unpainted, and packed up for travelling, in a plaid cloak, and huge shawl, looked as unlike either what Mrs. Salmon had seen in the street of Lewes, or on the stage of the theatre, as--no matter what--the simile is difficult,--the parallel might be dangerous.

While the horses were being changed, neither of the gentlemen “insides” got out; nor did they evince either pity or compassion for the saturated sufferer, who was not backward in reminding them of her presence by stamping with her feet on the boot in order to keep up the circulation, producing a noise which must have sensibly reminded them of the evidences of impatience so frequently afforded by the gods in the galleries.

The weather cleared a little as they proceeded; but the gleams of sunshine, like those of hope to other sufferers, were but transient, and before they actually reached Godstone it had resumed its wonted severity. It was here that Salmon felt determined to assume the command, and hire a ‘pochay,’ as he called it; and when the coach drove up to the door, before his better half had even commenced her descent, he enquired if such a thing could be had: the answer was in the negative, all their horses were out, and no less than two parties were staying in the house from their inability to forward them.

This discussion, however, was overheard by Mr. Teeardeyell and his shadow, who nearly annihilated Salmon by telling him that they were about to leave the coach there, in order to go across to a friend’s house near Reigate, where they were expected at dinner, and that therefore their two places would be quite at his service and that of the lady.

To use Mr. Salmon’s own description of his feelings at hearing this announcement, you might have knocked him down with a feather. His wife and Molly Hogg in the same coach,--two fighting-cocks in a sack could not prove more formidable companions: however, there was no help for it; and accordingly Salmon handed his precious charge into the parlour, where _the_ long-desired chops, and “something hot,” were on the instant produced, in order to assuage the angered feelings of the gentle Titsy.

To Salmon’s great joy, neither of the ladies in the coach got out; they fell to, upon their well flattened sandwiches, and were assisted in their dirt-devouring pursuit by their companions, who stood at the door and partook of the bounty of _la belle Marie_. For the benefit of the house, they borrowed a tumbler of the waiter, one of the gentlemen drank a little water, and the other lighted his cigar by the kitchen fire. While all this was going on, and Mr. and Mrs. Salmon were regaling, Jem’s eyes were constantly fixed on the coach; and, as he saw his wife replenishing her glass with strong ale, he felt his heart sink from apprehension of the result.

“You don’t eat, Mr. S.” said the lady: “left your appetite behind you, I suppose,--in the playhouse, most likely?”

“I _do_ eat,” said Salmon.

“Not as you did coming down,” replied the lady. “Them as is in love never eats.”

This by way of prelude to the performance was complete; and when the coachman put his head into the room, with the usual “_Now_, sir, if _you_ please,” the summons sounded worse in Mr. Salmon’s ears, than the Clown’s invitation to Barnardine to come down and be hanged; he fidgetted, and shuffled. “If,” thought he, “I could say one word by way of preparation to Miss H. not to mind her,--not to speak; but how can I? what is to be done?” the waiter came into the room to be paid, else he would have feigned going out to pay him. “Come, sir, if _you_ please,” was repeated; when, just as they were obeying the second appeal, Mr. Teeardeyell looked in and said, “Come, sir, you are keeping the stage waiting;” at the same moment holding up his finger so as to attract Salmon’s attention.

“Dropped one of my gloves,” said Salmon, turning back to affect to look for it. This _ruse_ succeeded. Teeardeyell seized the moment, “All’s right inside,--no fear,--there’s nobody in the coach whom _you_ know, and remember you know nobody.”

This mysterious counsel was evidently well meant, and was accordingly received with a look of gratitude. Fortified by this, Salmon saw with comparative satisfaction the waiter and chambermaid assisting to squeeze his wife into the coach; and as soon as that important operation was performed, he stepped in after her.

“Please ma’am,” said Mrs. Salmon to her _vis-à-vis_, “will it be agreeable for you just to put your other leg outside o’ mine? Thank ye, ma’am;--shocking bad day. I’m all in a muck, just as if I had been sitting in a washing-tub the whole of the morning.”

Jem did not hear much of this, so completely was he astounded with what he saw. Mrs. Hogg sat opposite to Mrs. Salmon. According to Mr. Teeardeyell’s direction, he took no notice of _her_, nor did she acknowledge _him_; and, as Mrs. Salmon had never seen her, all went well: but opposite to Jem sat a little crumped-up woman, apparently sixty, wearing a pair of green glasses, who was speedily described by Mrs. Hogg as a French lady “just landed at Brighton from Dieppe, who had come on a visit to her, who had never been in England before, and spoke no English; which,” continued the matron, “is very awkward, because I _speak no_ French; so I am taking her to London, to a brother of mine, where the whole family are excellent French scholars, and she will be quite comfortable.”

Salmon had seen Miss Hogg get into the coach with her mamma, and her mamma was there still, and nobody in the shape of woman had left the carriage during their journey; but so plausibly did the exemplary lady tell the history of the Frenchwoman, and so perfectly did his opposite neighbour look the part, that James was perfectly puzzled: nor would he have been satisfied of the beauty of the fiction and the skill of Miss H., if he had not been made aware of her identity by one or two of those little nudges which are sometimes given and received by travellers, in what are called public conveyances, in the most private manner. He was soon satisfied that Mary _was_ there, and acting as well as ever she did in her life.

Nothing occurred to mar the serenity of the journey; indeed, Mrs. Salmon, overpowered by the “heavy wet” which she had taken within and without, sank into an agreeable slumber, which afforded her affectionate husband an opportunity of entering into a whispered explanation of his regrets and agony at what had taken place, which was gradually warming into an agreeable interchange of soft things, when he was all at once checked in his eloquence by Mrs. Hogg’s saying “Fox,” in the loudest tone and with marked emphasis, meaning thereby to convey to her friends in one of the shortest possible monosyllables her suspicion that Mrs. Salmon was not quite so fast asleep as she pretended to be.

Her apprehensions, however, were ill-founded; nor did she awake from her repose, except for a few moments while they were changing the horses at Croydon, until, having arrived at the “Elephant and Castle,” it became necessary that the _companions_ should separate,--Mr. and Mrs. Salmon going by the “City Branch,” and the ladies proceeding in the coach to what is called, by the truly elegant, the “West End.” Here the affair had terminated happily, the scheme had succeeded, and stratagem was triumphant: but such was the _espiéglerie_ of Miss Hogg, and such her unwillingness either that her own skill in disguises should go unnoticed, or that Salmon should, as they say, “get off altogether” from the punishment due to his infidelity to _her_ in marrying without even so much as apprising her of his intention, that just as the parties had divided, and as the coaches were driving off in different directions, the young lady whipped off her green spectacles, and, popping her head out of the window, said, “Good day, Mrs. S.! when you go to the play next, I hope you’ll contrive to behave better.”

This was “letting slip the dogs of war” with a vengeance: these words opened worlds of deception and dissimulation to Mrs. Salmon’s wondering mind. She now saw that she had been duped and deceived intentionally, and her husband was in the plot; all his protestations that what had been done, was done for the best, that it would have been most shocking to have had anything like a quarrel in the coach, and so on, were wholly unavailing in the way of soothing her: she was implacable; nor was Salmon himself less irate with the Thespian, who certainly had sacrificed to vanity and jealousy the peace and tranquillity of a couple which she at first had unintentionally disturbed.

What the ultimate results of this travelling masquerade were, the reader may yet live to hear.