Chapter II (2)

But the next morning all our hopes were dashed again; delirium had returned, as had been feared, and the feverish symptoms seemed to gain strength rather than abate. Bleeding and other usual remedies had been had recourse to already to a perilous extent, and in Russell's present reduced state, no further treatment of the kind could be ventured upon. "All we can do now, sir," said Dr Wilson, "is little more than to let nature take her course. I _have known_ such cases recover." I did not ask to see Mary Russell that day; for what could I have answered to her fears and inquiries? But I thought of Ormiston's words; surely she ought to have some friend--some one of her own family, or some known and tried companion of her own sex, would surely come to her at a moment's notice, did they but know of her trying situation. If--if her brother were to die--she surely would not be left here among strangers, quite alone? Yet I much feared, from what had escaped him at our last interview, that they had both incurred the charge of wilfulness in refusing offers of assistance at the time of their father's disgrace and flight, and that having, contrary to the advice of their friends, and perhaps imprudently, taken the step they had done in coming to Oxford, Mary Russell, with something of her brother's spirit, had made up her mind now, however heavy and unforeseen the blow that was to fall, to suffer all in solitude and silence. For Ormiston, too, I felt with an interest and intensity that was hourly increasing. I met him after morning chapel, and though he appeared intentionally to avoid any conversation with me, I knew by his countenance that he had heard the unfavourable news of the morning; and it could be no common emotion that had left its visible trace upon features usually so calm and impassible.

From thoughts of this nature, indulged in the not very appropriate locality of the centre of the quadrangle, I was roused by the good-humoured voice of Mrs Meredith--"our governess," as we used to call her--who, with the Doctor himself, was just then entering the college, and found me right in the line of her movements towards the door of "the lodgings." I was not until that moment aware of her return, and altogether was considerably startled as she addressed me with--"Oh! how do you do, Mr Hawthorne? You young gentlemen don't take care of yourselves, you see, when I am away--I am so sorry to hear this about poor Mr Russell. Is he so very ill? Dr Meredith is just going to see him."

I coloured up, I dare say, for it was a trick I was given to in those days, and, in the confusion, replied rather to my own thoughts than to Mrs Meredith's question.

"Mrs Meredith! I really beg your pardon," I first stammered out as a very necessary apology, for I had nearly stumbled over her--"May I say how very glad I am you are returned, on Miss Russell's account--I am sure"----

"Really, Mr Hawthorne, it is very natural I suppose, but you gentlemen seem to expend your whole sympathy upon the young lady, and forget the brother altogether! Mr Ormiston actually took the trouble to write to me about her"----

"My dear!" interposed the Principal.

"Nay, Dr Meredith, see how guilty Mr Hawthorne looks! and as to Mr Ormiston"---- "Well, never mind" (the Doctor was visibly checking his lady's volubility), "I love the poor dear girl so much myself, that I am really grieved to the heart for her. I shall go down and see her directly, and make her keep up her spirits. Dr Wilson is apt to make out all the bad symptoms he can--I shall try if I can cure Mr Russell myself, after all; a little proper nursing in those cases is worth a whole staff of doctors--and, as to this poor girl, what can she know about it? I dare say she sits crying her eyes out, poor thing, and doing nothing--_I'll_ see about it. Why, I wouldn't lose Mr Russell from the college for half the young men in it--would I, Dr Meredith?"

I bowed, and they passed on. Mrs Principal, if somewhat pompous occasionally, was a kind-hearted woman. I believe an hour scarcely elapsed after her return to Oxford, before she was in Russell's lodgings, ordering everything about as coolly as if it were in her own house, and all but insisting on seeing the patient and prescribing herself for him, in spite of all professional injunctions to the contrary. The delirium passed off again, and though it left Russell sensibly weaker, so weak, that when I next was admitted to see him with Smith, he could do little more than feebly grasp our hands, yet the fever was evidently abated; and in the course of the next day, whether it was to be attributed to the remedies originally used, or to his own youth and good constitution, or to Mrs Meredith's experienced directions in the way of nursing, and the cheerful spirit which that good lady, in spite of a little fussiness, succeeded generally in producing around her, there was a decided promise of amendment, which happily each succeeding hour tended gradually to fulfil. Ormiston had been unremitting in his inquiries; but I believe had never since sought an interview either with the brother or sister. I took advantage of the first conversation Russell was able to hold with me, to mention how very sincerely I believed him to have felt the interest he expressed. A moment afterwards I felt almost sorry I had mentioned the name--it was the first time I had done so during Russell's illness. He almost started up in bed, and his face glowed again with more than the flush of fever, as he caught up my words.

"Sincere, did you say? Ormiston sincere! You don't know the man as I do. Inquired here, did he? What right has he to intrude his"----

"Hush, my dear Russell," I interposed, really almost alarmed at his violence. "Pray, don't excite yourself--I think you do him great injustice; but we will drop the subject, if you please."

"I tell you, Hawthorne, if you knew all, you would despise him as much as I do."

It is foolish to argue with an invalid--but really even my friendship for Russell would not allow me to bear in silence an attack so unjustifiable, as it seemed to me, on the character of a man who had every claim to my gratitude and respect. I replied therefore somewhat incautiously, that perhaps I did know a little more than Russell suspected.

He stared at me with a look of bewilderment. "What do you know?" he asked quickly.

It was too late to hesitate or retract. I had started an unfortunate subject; but I knew Russell too well to endeavour now to mislead him. "I have no right perhaps to say I know anything; but I have gathered from Ormiston's manner, that he has very strong reasons for the anxiety he has shown on your account. I will not say more."

"And how do you know this? Has Mr Ormiston dared"----

"No, no, Russell," said I, earnestly; "see how unjust you are, in this instance." I wished to say something to calm him, and it would have been worse than useless to say anything but the truth. I saw he guessed to what I alluded; and I gave him briefly my reasons for what I thought, not concealing the interview with his sister, at which I had unintentionally been present.

It was a very painful scene. When he first understood that Ormiston had sought the meeting, his temper, usually calm, but perhaps now tried by such long hours of pain and heaviness, broke out with bitter expressions against both. I told him, shortly and warmly, that such remarks towards his sister were unmanly and unkind; and then he cried, like a chidden and penitent child, till his remorse was as painful to look upon as his passion. "Mary! my own Mary! even you, Hawthorne, know and feel her value better than I do! I for whom she has borne so much."

"I am much mistaken," said I, "if Ormiston has not learned to appreciate her even yet more truly. And why not?"

"Leave me now," he said; "I am not strong enough to talk; but if you wish to know what cause I have to speak as I have done of your friend Ormiston, you shall hear again."

So exhausted did he seem by the excess of feeling which I had so unfortunately called forth, that I would not see him again for some days, contenting myself with learning that no relapse had taken place, and that he was still progressing rapidly towards recovery.

I had an invitation to visit my aunt again during the Easter vacation, which had already commenced, and had only been prevented from leaving Oxford by Russell's alarming state. As soon, therefore, as all danger was pronounced over, I prepared to go up to town at once, and my next visit to Russell was in fact to wish him good-by for two or three weeks. He was already sitting up, and fast regaining strength. He complained of having seen so little of me lately, and asked me if I had seen his sister. "I had not noticed it until the last few days," he said--"illness makes one selfish, I suppose; but I think Mary looks thin and ill--very different from what she did a month back."

But watching and anxiety, as I told him, were not unlikely to produce that effect; and I advised him strongly to take her somewhere for a few weeks for change of air and scene. "It will do you both good," I said; "and you can draw another L50 from your unknown friend for that purpose; it cannot be better applied, and I should not hesitate for a moment."

"I would not," he replied, "if I wanted money; but I do not. Do you know that Dr Wilson would take no fee whatever from Mary during the whole of his attendance; and when I asked him to name some sufficient remuneration, assuring him I could afford it, he said he would never forgive me if I ever mentioned the subject again. So what remains of the fifty you drew for me, will amply suffice for a little trip somewhere for us. And I quite agree with you in thinking it desirable, on every account, that Mary should move from Oxford--perhaps altogether--for one reason, to be out of the way of a friend of yours."

"Ormiston?"

"Yes, Ormiston; he called here again since I saw you, and wished to see me; but I declined the honour. Possibly," he added bitterly, "as we have succeeded in keeping out of jail here, he thinks Mary has grown rich again." And then he went on to tell me how, in the days of his father's reputed wealth, Ormiston had been a constant visitor at their house in town, and how his attentions to his sister had even attracted his father's attention, and led to his name being mentioned as likely to make an excellent match with the rich banker's daughter. "My father did not like it," he said, "for he had higher views for her, as was perhaps excusable--though I doubt if he would have refused Mary anything. I did not like it for another reason: because I knew all the time how matters really stood, and that any man who looked for wealth with my sister would in the end be miserably disappointed. What Mary's own feelings were, and what actually passed between her and Ormiston, I never asked; but she knew my views on the subject, and would, I am certain, never have accepted any man under the circumstances in which she was placed, and which she could not explain. I did hope and believe, however, then, that there was sufficient high principle about Ormiston to save Mary from any risk of throwing away her heart upon a man who would desert her upon a change of fortune. I think he loved her at the time--as well as such men as he can love any one; but from the moment the crash came--Ormiston, you know, was in town at the time--there was an end of everything. It was an opportunity for a man to show feeling if he had any; and though I do not affect much romance, I almost think that in such a case even an ordinary heart might have been warmed into devotion; but Ormiston--cold, cautious, calculating as he is--I could almost have laughed at the sudden change that came over him when he heard the news. He pretended, indeed, great interest for us, and certainly did seem cut up about it; but he had not committed himself, I conclude, and took care to retreat in time. Thank Heaven! even if Mary did ever care for him, she is not the girl to break her heart for a man who proves so unworthy of her regard. But why he should insist on inflicting his visits upon us now, is what I cannot make out; and what I will not endure."

I listened with grief and surprise. I knew well that not even the strong prejudice which I believed Russell to have always felt against Ormiston, would tempt him to be guilty of misrepresentation; and, again, I gave him credit for too much penetration to have been easily deceived. Yet I could not bring myself all at once to think so ill of Ormiston. He had always been considered in pecuniary matters liberal almost to a fault; that he really loved Mary Russell, I felt more than ever persuaded; and, at my age, it was hard to believe that a few thousand pounds could affect any man's decision in such a point, even for a moment. Why, the very fact of her being poor and friendless was enough to make one fall in love with such a girl at once! So when Russell, after watching the effect of his disclosure, misconstruing my silence, proceeded to ask somewhat triumphantly--"_Now_, what say you of Mr Ormiston?"--I answered at once, that I was strongly convinced there was a mistake.

"Ay," rejoined he with a sneering laugh; "on Ormiston's part, you mean; decidedly there was."

"I mean," said I, "there has been some misunderstanding, which time may yet explain: I do not, and will not believe him capable of what you impute to him. Did you ever ask your sister for a full and unreserved explanation of what has passed between them?"

"Never; but I know that she has shunned all intercourse with him as carefully as I have, and that his recently renewed civilities have given her nothing but pain." My own observation certainly tended to confirm this; so, changing the subject--for it was one on which I had scarce any right to give an opinion, still less offer advice, I asked whether I could do anything for him in town; and, after exchanging a cordial good-by with Miss Russell, in whose appearance I was sorry to see strong confirmation of her brother's fears for her health, I took my leave, and the next morning saw me on the top of "The Age," on my way to town.

There I received a letter from my father, in which he desired me to take the opportunity of calling upon his attorney, Mr Rushton, in order to have some leases and other papers read and explained to me, chiefly matters of form, but which would require my signature upon my coming of age. It concluded with the following PS.:--

"I was sorry to hear of your friend's illness, and trust he will
now do very well. Bring him down with you at Christmas, if you can.
I hear, by the way, there is a _Miss_ Russell in the case--a very
fascinating young lady, whom you never mention at all--a fact which
your mother, who is up to all those things, says is very
suspicious. All I can say is, if she is as good a girl as her
mother was before her--I knew her well once--you may bring her down
with you too, if you like."

How very unlucky it is that the home authorities seldom approve of any little affairs of the kind except those of which one is perfectly innocent! Now, if I _had_ been in love with Mary Russell, the governor would, in the nature of things, have felt it his duty to be disagreeable.

I put off the little business my father alluded to day after day, to make way for more pleasant engagements, until my stay in town was drawing to a close. Letters from Russell informed me of his having left Oxford for Southampton, where he was reading hard, and getting quite stout; but he spoke of his sister's health in a tone that alarmed me, though he evidently was trying to persuade himself that a few weeks' sea-air would quite restore it. At last I devoted a morning to call on Mr Rushton, whom I found at home, though professing, as all lawyers do, to be full of business. He made my acquaintance as politely as if I had been the heir-expectant of an earldom, instead of the very moderate amount of acres which had escaped sale and subdivision in the Hawthorne family. In fact, he seemed a very good sort of fellow, and we ran over the parchments together very amicably--I almost suspected he was cheating me, he seemed so very friendly, but therein I did him wrong.

"And now, my dear sir," continued he, as we shut up the last of them, "will you dine with me to-day? Let me see; I fear I can't say before seven, for I have a great deal of work to get through. Some bankruptcy business, about which I have taken some trouble," he continued, rubbing his hands, "and which we shall manage pretty well in the end, I fancy. By the way, it concerns some friends of yours, too: is not Mr Ormiston of your college? Ay, I thought he was; he is two thousand pounds richer than he fancied himself yesterday."

"Really?" said I, somewhat interested; "how, may I ask?"

"Why, you see, when Russell's bank broke--bad business that--we all thought the first dividend--tenpence-halfpenny in the pound, I believe it was--would be the final one: however, there are some foreign securities which, when they first came into the hands of the assignees, were considered of no value at all, but have gone up wonderfully in the market just of late; so that we have delayed finally closing accounts till we could sell them to such advantage as will leave some tolerable pickings for the creditors after all."

"Had Ormiston money in Mr Russell's bank, then, at the time?"

"Oh, yes: something like eight thousand pounds: not all his own, though: five thousand he had in trust for some nieces of his, which he had unluckily just sold out of the funds, and placed with Russell, while he was engaged in making arrangements for a more profitable investment; the rest was his own."

"He lost it all, then?"

"All but somewhere about three hundred pounds, as it appeared at the time. What an excellent fellow he is! You know him well, I dare say. They tell me that he pays the interest regularly to his nieces for their money out of his own income still."

I made no answer to Mr Rushton at the moment, for a communication so wholly unexpected had awakened a new set of ideas, which I was busily following out in my mind. I seemed to hold in my hands the clue to a good deal of misunderstanding and unhappiness. My determination was soon taken to go to Southampton, see Russell at once, and tell him what I had just heard, and of which I had no doubt he had hitherto been as ignorant as myself. I was rather induced to take this course, as I felt persuaded that Miss Russell's health was suffering rather from mental than bodily causes; and, in such a case, a great deal of mischief is done in a short time. I would leave town at once.

My purse was in the usual state of an undergraduate's at the close of a visit to London; so, following up the train of my own reflections, I turned suddenly upon Mr Rushton, who was again absorbed in his papers, and had possibly forgotten my presence altogether, and attacked him with--

"My dear sir, can you lend me ten pounds?"

"Certainly," said Mr Rushton, taking off his spectacles, and feeling in his pockets, at the same time looking at me with some little curiosity--"certainly--with great pleasure."

"I beg your pardon for taking such a liberty," said I, apologetically; "but I find I must leave town to-night."

"To-night!" said the lawyer, looking still more inquiringly at me; "I thought you were to dine with me?"

"I cannot exactly explain to you at this moment, sir, my reasons; but I have reasons, and I think sufficient ones, though they have suddenly occurred to me."

I pocketed the money, leaving Mr Rushton to speculate on the eccentricities of Oxonians as he pleased, and a couple of hours found me seated on the Southampton mail.

The Russells were surprised at my sudden descent upon them, but welcomed me cordially; and even Mary's pale face did not prevent my being in excellent spirits. As soon as I could speak to Russell by himself, I told him what I had heard from Mr Rushton.

He never interrupted me, but his emotion was evident. When he did speak, it was in an altered and humbled voice.

"I never inquired," he said, "who my father's creditors were--perhaps I ought to have done so; but I thought the knowledge could only pain me. I see it all now; how unjust, how ungrateful I have been! Poor Mary!"

We sat down, and talked over those points in Ormiston's conduct, upon which Russell had put so unfavourable a construction. It was quite evident, that a man who could act with so much liberality and self-denial towards others, could have had no interested motives in his conduct with regard to Mary Russell; and her brother was now as eager to express his confidence in Ormiston's honour and integrity, as he was before hasty in misjudging him.

Where all parties are eager for explanation, matters are soon explained. Russell had an interview with his sister, which brought her to the breakfast table the next morning with blushing cheeks and brightened eyes. _Her_ misgivings, if she had any, were easily set at rest. He then wrote to Ormiston a letter full of generous apologies and expressions of his high admiration of his conduct, which was answered by that gentleman in person by return of post. How Mary Russell and he met, or what they said, must ever be a secret, for no one was present but themselves. But all embarrassment was soon over, and we were a very happy party for the short time we remained at Southampton together; for, feeling that my share in the matter was at an end--a share which I contemplated with some little self-complacency--I speedily took my departure.

If I have not made Ormiston's conduct appear in as clear colours to the reader as it did to ourselves, I can only add, that the late misunderstanding seemed a painful subject to all parties, and that the mutual explanations were rather understood than expressed. The anonymous payment to Russell's credit at the bank was no longer a mystery: it was the poor remains of the College Tutor's little fortune, chiefly the savings of his years of office--the bulk of which had been lost through the fault of the father--generously devoted to meet the necessities of the son. That he would have offered Mary Russell his heart and hand at once when she was poor, as he hesitated to do when she was rich, none of us for a moment doubted, had not his own embarrassments, caused by the failure of the bank, and the consequent claims of his orphan nieces, to replace whose little income he had contracted all his own expenses, made him hesitate to involve the woman he loved in an imprudent marriage.

They were married, however, very soon--and still imprudently the world said, and my good aunt among the rest; for, instead of waiting an indefinite time for a good college living to fall in, Ormiston took the first that offered, a small vicarage of L300 a-year, intending to add to his income by taking pupils. However, fortune sometimes loves to have a laugh at the prudent ones, and put to the rout all their wise prognostications; for, during Ormiston's "year of grace"--while he still virtually held his fellowship, though he had accepted the living--our worthy old Principal died somewhat suddenly, and regret at his loss only gave way to the universal joy of every individual in the college (except, I suppose, any disappointed aspirants), when Mr Ormiston was elected almost unanimously to the vacant dignity.

* * * * *

Mr Russell the elder has never returned to England. On the mind of such a man, after the first blow, and the loss of his position in the world, the disgrace attached to his name had comparatively little effect. He lives in some small town in France, having contrived, with his known _clever management_, to keep himself in comfortable circumstances; and his best friends can only strive to forget his existence, rather than wish for his return. His son and daughter pay him occasional visits, for their affection survives his disgrace and forgets his errors. Charles Russell took a first class, after delaying his examination a couple of terms, owing to his illness, and is now a barrister, with a reputation for talent, but as yet very little business. However, as I hear the city authorities have had the impudence to seize some of the college plate in discharge of a disputed claim for rates, and that Russell is retained as one of the counsel in an action of replevin, I trust he will begin a prosperous career, by contributing to win the cause for the "gown."

I spent a month with Dr and Mrs Ormiston at their vicarage in the country, before the former entered upon his official residence as Principal; and can assure the reader that, in spite of ten--it may be more--years of difference in age, they are the happiest couple I ever saw. I may almost say, the only happy couple I ever saw, most of my married acquaintance appearing at the best only _contented_ couples, not drawing their happiness so exclusively from each other as suits my notion of what such a tie ought to be. Of course, I do not take my own matrimonial experience into account; the same principle of justice which forbids a man to give evidence in his own favour, humanely excusing him from making any admission which may criminate himself. Mrs Ormiston is as beautiful, as amiable, as ever, and has lost all the reserve and sadness which, in her maiden days, overshadowed her charms; and so sincere was and is my admiration of her person and character, and so warmly was I in the habit of expressing it, that I really believe my dilating upon her attractions used to make Mrs. Francis Hawthorne somewhat jealous, until she had the happiness to make her acquaintance, and settled the point by falling in love with the lady herself.

THE MAGIC LAY OF THE ONE-HORSE CHAY.

BY THE LATE JOHN HUGHES, A.M.

[_MAGA._ OCTOBER 1824.]

AIR--_Eveleen's Bower._

I.

Mr Bubb was a Whig orator, also a Soap Laborator, For everything's new christen'd in the present day; He was follow'd and adored by the Common Council board, And lived quite genteel with a one-horse chay.

II.

Mrs Bubb was gay and free, fair, fat, and forty-three, And blooming as a peony in buxom May; The toast she long had been of Farringdon-Within, And fill'd the better-half of the one-horse chay.

III.

Mrs Bubb said to her Lord, "You can well, Bubb, afford Whate'er a Common Council man in prudence may; We've no brats to plague our lives, and the soap concern it thrives, So let's have a trip to Brighton in the one-horse chay.

IV.

"We'll view the pier and shipping, and enjoy many dipping, And walk for a stomach in our best array; I longs more nor I can utter, for shrimps and bread and butter, And an airing on the Steyne in the one-horse chay.

V.

"We've a right to spare for nought that for money can be bought, So to get matters ready, Bubb, do you trudge away; To my dear Lord Mayor I'll walk, just to get a bit of talk And an imitation shawl for the one-horse chay."

VI.

Mr Bubb said to his wife, "Now I think upon't, my life 'Tis three weeks at least to next boiling-day; The dog-days are set in, and London's growing thin, So I'll order out old Nobbs and the one-horse chay."

VII.

Now Nobbs, it must be told, was rather fat and old, His colour it was white, and it had been grey; He was round as a pot, and when soundly whipt would trot Full five miles an hour in the one-horse chay.

VIII.

When at Brighton they were housed, and had stuffed and caroused, O'er a bowl of rack punch, Mr Bubb did say, "I've ascertain'd, my dear, the mode of dipping here From the ostler, who is cleaning up my one-horse chay.

IX.

"You're shut up in a box, ill convenient as the stocks, And eighteenpence a-time are obliged for to pay; Court corruption here, say I, makes everything so high, And I wish I had come without my one-horse chay."

X.

"As I hope," says she, "to thrive, 'tis flaying folks alive, The King and them extortioners are leagued, I say; 'Tis encouraging of such for to go to pay so much, So we'll set them at defiance with our one-horse chay.

XI.

"Old Nobbs, I am sartin, may be trusted gig or cart in, He takes every matter in an easy way; He'll stand like a post, while we dabble on the coast, And return back to dress in our one-horse chay."

XII.

So out they drove, all drest so gaily in their best, And finding, in their rambles, a snug little bay, They uncased at their leisure, paddled out to take their pleasure, And left everything behind in the one-horse chay.

XIII.

But while, so snugly sure that all things were secure, They flounced about like porpoises or whales at play, Some young unlucky imps, who prowl'd about for shrimps, Stole up to reconnoitre the one-horse chay.

XIV.

Old Nobbs, in quiet mood, was sleeping as he stood (He might possibly be dreaming of his corn or hay); Not a foot did he wag, so they whipt out every rag, And gutted the contents of the one-horse chay.

XV.

When our pair were soused enough, and returned in their buff, Oh, there was the vengeance and old Nick to pay! Madam shriek'd in consternation, Mr Bubb he swore----! To find the empty state of the one-horse chay.

XVI.

"If I live," said she, "I swear, I'll consult my dear Lord Mayor, And a fine on this vagabond town he shall lay; But the gallows thieves, so tricky, hasn't left me e'en a dicky, And I shall catch my death in the one-horse chay."

XVII.

"Come, bundle in with me, we must squeeze for once," says he, "And manage this here business the best we may; We've no other step to choose, nor a moment must we lose, Or the tide will float us off in our one-horse chay."

XVIII.

So noses, sides, and knees, all together did they squeeze, And, pack'd in little compass, they trotted it away, As dismal as two dummies, head and hands stuck out like mummies From beneath the little apron of the one-horse chay.

XIX.

The Steyne was in a throng, as they jogg'd it along, Madam hadn't been so put to it for many a day; Her pleasure it was damped, and her person somewhat cramped, Doubled up beneath the apron of the one-horse chay.

XX.

"Oh would that I were laid," Mr Bubb in sorrow said, "In a broad-wheeled waggon, well covered with hay! I'm sick of sporting smart, and would take a tilted cart In exchange for this bauble of a one-horse chay.

XXI.

"I'd give half my riches for my worst pair of breeches, Or the apron that I wore last boiling-day; They would wrap my arms and shoulders from these impudent beholders, And allow me to whip on in my one-horse chay."

XXII.

Mr Bubb ge-hupped in vain, and strove to jerk the rein, Nobbs felt he had his option to work or play, So he wouldn't mend his pace, though they'd fain have run a race, To escape the merry gazers at the one-horse chay.

XXIII.

Now, good people, laugh your fill, and fancy if you will (For I'm fairly out of breath, and have said my say), The trouble and the rout, to wrap and get them out, When they drove to their lodgings in their one-horse chay.

XXIV.

The day was swelt'ring warm, so they took no cold or harm, And o'er a smoking lunch soon forgot their dismay; But, fearing Brighton mobs, started off at night with Nobbs, To a snugger watering-place, in the one-horse chay.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the authors' words and intent.

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