Chapter VI: Part 6

'There is a great deal to be said, Charlotte, on both sides; but tell me why ladies who have no fortunes to make, and whose election for weal or woe has been made years ago, continue to dress and dance, etc., just as they used to do when they were unmarried? Explain, if you please, the cause of these little performances before you utterly condemn the poor flies that are attracted by such Circean artifices.'

'Oh, William, I'm ashamed of you! You would go about to excuse the premeditated wickedness of men by trying to make out that the women are in fault in the first instance. I'm ashamed of you.'

'Ah, ma chère,' replied her husband, still laughing, 'however ingenious an attack may be as a defence, you have, in your ardour to defend your sex, forgotten to explain the spring of the _petits soin de toilette_ that I referred to.'

'What nonsense you talk!' replied the lady. 'Are ladies utterly to neglect themselves, and to appear as slatterns and slovens, merely because their husbands are away?'

'I see,' said her husband, 'that it matters nothing whether menkind have the right on their side or not; womenkind ever have the best of it with their tongues.'

'It is nothing of the kind,' said the lady; 'we have the best of it because we're in the right and you are not.'

'That's a pretty flourish, Charlotte, but it will hardly account for the impression made on the whole cantonment; and if my memory does not entirely mislead me, I think I can remember that but the day before yesterday a certain vivacious, voluble little friend of mine' ('I'll pinch you, William') 'said that the "deserted wives did not at least mourn in sackcloth and ashes." Didn't that little friend of mine say something to that effect?' said her husband, laughing so much that he could scarcely speak.

'Oh, you're a horrid fellow, and can remember anything you please, whether it was ever spoken or not.'

'Oh, Charly, Charly! you must be in a difficulty when you make such a dreadful charge as that, and, by innuendo, imply a doubt as to whether you ever spoke the words or not.'

'You've become a dreadful talker, William, and run into the greatest extravagance when you've nothing to the point to say; but pray recall your faculties. Here comes young Johnson, who joined us but the other day.'

After the usual salutations to the lady and gentleman, the young ensign said: 'Oh, Mrs. D., there's such fun going on, that I must tell you of it.'

'Pray do,' said the lady.

'Just sit where you are and keep your eyes open; in a few minutes you'll have Major B., in a handsome drag drawn by a pair of bays, with Mrs. W. by his side, drive by. Not to make the thing too particular, the old fox has got Mrs. Flower and my chum, Hopkins, in the back seat; but it would do your heart good to hear how strong the Major is coming it with the lady by his side. I must say he's a man of metal, for every time he has out that same drag and bays, it costs him 25 Rs.; old Brasher charges no less.'

Here Captain D. burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter, in which his wife, as it seemed almost against her will, joined, though in a subdued manner.

'Oh, don't laugh now,' said the youngster; 'wait till you see the party and the dashing turn-out. They say the Major was never known to do such a thing before.'

By and by the drag and party appeared, greeted by bows and salutations from all sides. The Major, not at all discomposed by the fire of small jests in the shape of compliments, inquiries, and hopes that he would never put down such a pretty turn-out, drove round the band-stand twice, and then pulled up by the side of Captain D.'s carriage.

'Upon my honour,' said Captain D., 'the regiment is very much indebted to you, Mrs. W., for having put the Major in the right way at last. No suggestions of ours were potent enough to induce him to sport a turn-out like that; it really does as much credit to the regiment as to himself.'

'Oh, pray do not imagine that I had anything to do with it,' said Mrs. W. 'I knew nothing about it until the arrangement had been made. Had I known anything about it I would not have suffered Major B. to incur such expense on my account; indeed, I have so much to thank him for that I was really vexed when I saw what his generosity and kindness had led him to do unknown to me. I declined at first to drive out in it, but I saw that he would think it ungrateful and unkind if I persisted in refusing to avail myself of what he was good enough to say would be a pleasure to him; moreover, as I knew the expense had been incurred I no longer refused, and, as you see, here I am. Besides, since this morning's post another reason has urged me to show my sense of Major B.'s kindness and attention in every way that I could that was right and proper. I only stay one day longer at Bangalore; my husband informs me that Colonel L. has granted permission to all the ladies left here to rejoin their husbands as soon as they can make arrangements to do so. I have already written to the commissariat officer to post bearers for me, and shall start early the morning after to-morrow.'

'Oh, Mrs. W., what terrible news this is for me!' exclaimed the Major. 'I wondered this morning, when I called, what urgent business you had to prevent you from seeing me, but now I understand it all; you were packing up your trunks.'

'Yes, Major, I was packing up. Surely you couldn't think I would lose any time, when what I have been waiting for so long has come at last, could you?'

'I suppose not,' said the Major with a very downcast air. 'But, you see, I have been hoping you would stay here a good while longer, and the blow comes suddenly upon me. I knew you would go one time or other, but I never thought it would be so soon.'

'And I never thought it would be so long,' said Mrs. W.

'But you don't really mean to be off the morning after next? Surely you can't mean that,' muttered or half whispered the Major, in a most imploring tone of voice.

'Oh, I can and do mean it most positively,' said Mrs. W., laughing in a most provoking way. 'I have ordered a set of bearers, and a masulchi, and shall be off by three o'clock--not five o'clock--in the morning.'

'That's too cruel of you, Mrs. W.; and to remind me of that sweet song I used to delight in hearing you sing.'

'Oh, I shall come back by-and-by, and then I'll sing it for you again,' replied Mrs. W., with a wicked smile that made all who saw and heard her, except the disconsolate Major, laugh outright.

'Ah,' said he, 'if I ever do hear you sing it again, it won't be the same song it was before to me.'

'And why not?' said the relentless Mrs. W., scarcely able to utter the words from suppressed laughter, which seemed also to have seized Mrs. D., Captain D., and the two younger fellows, Johnson and Hopkins. But the Major, indifferent to everything but his grief, only said: 'Well, Mrs. W., I will have a cavady cooly and the boxes filled with European articles got ready for your journey, and you must not deny me the melancholy pleasure of seeing you off, and saying farewell to you.'

Mrs. W., after a little struggle to overcome the former tendency, said: 'On no account would I hear of such a thing, Major. I'll wish you good-bye to-morrow evening, and as to the boxes, don't think of it. I have supplies of everything I can want on the road. Besides, I should have no means to carry them. I travel dawk.'

'Oh, well,' said the Major, 'I'll see to all that; and don't suppose that I shall let you leave Bangalore without being up to see you off, at whatever hour it may be.'

'Well, Major B., I can't prevent you from doing what you say you will do, but I certainly think you'd be much better in bed.'

As the band began to play the National Anthem, the carriages began to move off, but the two young men stayed behind to talk over the scene they had just taken part in. They ordered their horsekeepers to take their bays home, and then leisurely walked on to the mess-room, indulging, as they sauntered along, in repeated bursts of laughter. Johnson, who first recovered himself, said, turning to his friend: 'Now, can you fancy that anyone could be so blind as our worthy, the Major? The old fogey, in his latter days, has become so amorous, so demented, about Mrs. W., that he can't help making love to her before everybody.'

'That's plain enough, and patent to everyone who has got eyes and ears,' returned Hopkins. 'And to see how she treats him! Upon my soul, it's the finest fun I've had since I've been here,' remarked Johnson.

'Why,' returned Hopkins, 'she laughs at him so openly that if he were not what he is, he must see it.'

'But he don't,' said Johnson, 'that is the best of it--he don't, and goes on worshipping, and never minding, in a way that's unlike anything I ever saw before. I won't say "more majorum," for that would be a libel on all other majors.'

'Well,' said Hopkins, 'that would require a free translation indeed to translate it into wit, for which I suppose it's meant. You ought to rejoice old Leatherum is not behind you: he would score up marks against you for which you would not be able to find a free translation, I suspect.'

'You and old Leatherum be hanged!' said Johnson.

'Thank you for nothing,' returned Hopkins. 'Hang "_odi profanum vulgus_" whenever you please, but as for me, I'm not inclined that way just now, so won't trouble you for any such delicate attention. Besides, I shouldn't exactly rejoice to see you turn Jack Ketch after bearing her Majesty's colours.'

'It would scarcely be needful, I suspect, if I gave you rope enough,' returned Johnson.

'You seem to be particularly attached to this line of illustration, Johnson, but as it is not altogether new, let's try something else.'

'With all my heart,' returned Johnson, 'but what line shall we take up?'

'I don't know that we need take up any,' replied Hopkins. 'Suppose we get up on the morning after next in time to witness the parting between the Major and Mrs. W.?'

'Why, you don't think old "Amoroso" will really get up after what she said to him, do you?' said Johnson.

'I have a notion he will,' returned Hopkins, 'and if he does I would not miss the play for a trifle; it will be truly affecting.'

'Oh, it will be grand!' said Johnson, 'but I wish the lady had not been in such a mortal hurry to get back to her husband. Three o'clock is an uncommonly early hour.'

'If we want to see what goes on,' observed Hopkins, 'we mustn't mind that. It is agreed that we turn out on the chance.'

'Agreed,' said his chum. 'I'll tell Veeratawny to call us at half-past two; that fellow never makes a mistake. How he manages to wake whenever he is ordered to wake, I don't know; but he does it, that I know.'

'He's an invaluable fellow,' said Hopkins, as he entered the mess compound.

The usual revolution of the hours brought round three o'clock in the morning of the day named by Mrs. W. for her departure. Accordingly, her palankeen and twelve bearers were ready at her door, with two Cowry coolies and a masulchi. She was dressed, giving directions to her ayah, for whom a dooly had been procured, and who would reach the Bislay Ghaut, where the camp had been pitched, the day after her mistress. All the ladies who could afford to travel dawk agreed to go with Mrs. W., and consequently there were in her compound not less than four palankeens, four sets of bearers, cavadees, and masulchies. The ayahs were running about under unusual excitement, and the ladies were making the final arrangements in their palankeens.

Major B. now made his appearance, followed by a coolie bearing the box of European articles.

'You see, Mrs. W., though you are in such a hurry to run away from your friends, they are actuated by very different feelings, for which you are so hard-hearted as not to show the slightest sympathy.'

'Don't talk such nonsense, Major B., but like a kind, good friend go into the house and ask the ayah for my black bag. I've left it somewhere; I can't go without it.'

'Certainly, certainly,' replied the Major; 'happy to be employed in _your_ service in any way.'

'Now that I've got rid of that tiresome old man,' said Mrs. W., 'run, Anawah, and tell my bearers to bring my palankeen over to this side of the compound, so that Mrs. F.'s bearers and palankeen may stand nearest to the gate.'

This arrangement having been effected, the torches were lighted, and the whole party was about to start, when the Major rushed out of the house, and ran up to the palankeen nearest to the gate, exclaiming, 'Dear Mrs. W., the black bag cannot be found anywhere. I am so sorry.' Then seizing the lady's hand, he pressed it to his lips. 'But, surely,' he said, still holding her hand, 'you won't be so obdurate after everything I've done to show how dearly I prize the smallest token of kindness from you, you won't, I'm sure you won't, deny me one farewell salute,' and at the same time he put his head into the palankeen to possess himself of the small token he had solicited. But before he could do so, the lady had saluted him with such a sounding box on the ear that he recoiled two or three paces, saying as she administered the sedative, 'Och, thin, you auld baste, get out of that!'

Screams of laughter from the other side of the hedge informed the discomfited would-be Lothario that there had been witnesses of his ignominious defeat, and while he stood with one hand up to the side of his face, paralyzed with mortification and vexation, the palankeens moved off. Then he heard one of the observers say to the other: 'Wasn't it a sounder!'

'That it was, and no mistake,' replied his companion. Then both broke into another fit of laughter. Who the two watchers were it is not necessary to say.

When the calling hours came round they had a charming little narrative for their friends, which flew round the cantonment like wildfire, to the intense delight of the hearers as well as reporters.

Lest the more sensitive, sympathizing half of the creation might imagine that, actuated by despair, the hero of this passing scene sought some tragic remedy to quiet his distracting sorrow, or like those youths that died for love,

'Wandering in the myrtle grove,
His gentle spirit sought the realms above,'

as Mr. Pope tells us, it is satisfactory to be able to inform these sensitive souls that the Major did this literatim, for having evaded for three days any appearance at mess by reporting sick, he obtained three months' leave of absence to the Neilgherry Hills, said to be above 6,000 feet above the level of the sea.

When on the hills, the Major must be regarded as an exalted character, but let us breathe in the softest whisper that he was not. No, he was not a heroic specimen of manhood, that is the melancholy truth; and however distressing the fact may be to Paul de Koch (or his shade), instead of resorting for help to a bullet, or prussic acid, or a pan of charcoal, as all Paul's heroes and heroines did, he only fled to the hills from the looks and laughter of his companions.

No. VII.

THE RACE STAND AND THE FANCY BALL.

The scene that now presents itself is that of the race stand at Bangalore. The ring, twenty yards distant, is just opposite, with the winning-post about four yards in front of it. All 'the beauty and fashion,' as the newspapers phrase it, are seated in the front rows of the stand, or are fast coming in. Old Tommy H., the General, is seated beside his beloved Anna, who is not merely General, but Generaless too. She is at least forty years younger than her husband, who cannot be less than seventy, while if she numbers thirty-two or three it is the utmost she can be rated at. She is a fine woman, with fine features, and withal, and in spite of the great disparity in years, a kind, loving, affectionate wife. It is no wonder, then, that the old man loves her--he says he cannot love her enough; and truly the poor old fellow tries to act up to that saying. At a review, a brigade field-day or sham fight, Mrs. H.'s military ardour sometimes carries her away. She is a splendid horsewoman, and is seen galloping about at full speed from point to point, the Adjutant-General of Division sailing after her in the vain endeavour to keep beside her, while the General is trying to maintain his seat and a very gentle canter at the same time. To restrain the instincts of an admirably trained charger whose native fire has been cooled and partly tamed by fifteen years' service, is sometimes effected, but at other times with so little success that a horsekeeper, running on either side of him, is obliged to hold down his legs, and thus keep him in the saddle. The General is, besides, fully engaged in soothing the ungovernable creature by patting him on the neck, and speaking to him in the most endearing way, and these manoeuvres seem to be perfectly well understood by the sagacious quadruped. The kind of conversation carried on between them was something after the following fashion: 'Wo ho, proud animal. Soh ho, my steed!--Neigh, neigh!--'Soh ho, soh ho! But why these bounds and curvets?'--Neigh, neigh!--'There, there! wo ho, noble beast,' the patting being all the time assiduously continued.

These exhibitions of horsemanship naturally amused all who beheld them, and led to a good deal of idle chaff and fun. Adolphe D., the Divisional Adjutant-General, was asked whether any order had yet arrived from headquarters to invest the lady in her husband's cocked hat, coat, and continuations, etc., and to clothe him in her petticoats, etc.; for, if not, and the Arabs, who at this time mustered strong at Kurnool, should make a raid into the Mysore country, all the inhabitants of Bangalore might get up one fine morning and find their throats cut; and a great deal more in the same strain.

However, as neither the old General nor his wife heard these stupendous efforts of wit, they were not rendered for ever miserable by them. On the contrary, sitting beside each other at the race-stand, they appeared particularly happy and comfortable. Pretty Mrs. D. was conspicuous amongst the ladies, she and her squire, Lieutenant M. of the Horse Artillery, being characterized as a particularly handsome pair. Unfortunately, they were neither paired nor coupled, Captain D. being the owner, or, it might be said, the reputed owner, of Eve's fair daughter.

It would be an endless task to enumerate all those who were present. First, all the sporting men were there, decked in hunting coats, buckskins, and top-boots. This list included Colonel MacC., Lieutenant M., H.A., Captain Venables, H.M.'s 39th Regiment, Long E. of 7th N. Cavalry, Suscat and Humphries of the N. Cavalry, Captain L. of the H.A., some strangers, sporting men, some civilians from Madras, and the Mofussil, several dragoon officers, and some few, besides Captain Venables, from H.M.'s 39th and the Native Infantry Regiments. Most of these occupied the ring, where the gentlemen who were to ride were dressing, or weighing, or being weighed. It was a busy, bustling scene. Some had field-glasses slung over their shoulders; the greater number had notebooks in their hands.

The race-stand was now crowded with officers of all arms, some few civilians and ladies, many of them from Madras, Arcot, etc. The jockeys were many of them dressed and ready, whip in hand, for a final weighing; the horsecloths were being taken off the horses, and all began to examine the printed papers in their hands. Ten horses were to run. Lieutenant M., in jockey costume, now walked from the band-stand to the seat in the race-stand occupied by Mrs. D., who said: 'What is it, Frank?' 'I only came over to point out the horses to you,' returned her friend; 'they are going to walk them about for a little while, and I'll stay with you till the first bell rings.' 'That's a good boy!' said the lady, looking at him as I should not have liked her to look had I been Captain D. But, alas! alas! _Hei mihi quod nullis amor est, medicabilis herbis._ So Ovid said years agone, and so he might say again could he again return to earth.

'Well, that beautiful creature is Colonel Cubbon's, and so is that.' 'And the dark gray, whose is that?' 'Oh, that is Anatomy. Well, he's a handsome fellow, too, but in too good condition for such a name.' 'Whose horse is he?' 'He belongs to General Mrs. H.' 'Oh, really,' said the lady, 'what an odd name! But, no; it isn't. Nothing could be more appropriate for Anna Tommy.' 'Well done, Emma!' said her escort; 'that's capital. Isn't that good, Colonel Williamson?' 'What?' said the Colonel; 'I didn't hear.' Mrs. D.'s _bon mot_ was repeated, and all who heard it applauded loudly. 'On my word,' said Colonel W., 'Mrs. D., you're a monopolist. The ladies say you have more good looks than should fall to any one person's share, and not content with that, you throw all your friends into the shade by your wit.' 'I'm _sure_,' replied Mrs. D., 'the ladies didn't say that; you say it for them. It would be only too delightful if it were true.' 'It is quite true, Mrs. D.; two delightful things are wit and beauty.' 'Oh yes; quite true if one possessed them.' 'Come, come, you're not going to outface me in that way,' said Colonel W., 'with such proofs before my eyes and in my ears.' 'Oh,' said Mrs. O., in a half whisper to Mrs. C, 'she has brass enough to outface old Nick himself; anyone with half an eye could see what she is, only these men, especially old ones, are such unutterable fools.' Mrs. D. probably heard something and guessed more, for she leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily; then, casting an expressive glance towards Mrs. O., she said: 'Who is it, Frank, that says, "The highest compliment one woman can pay another is when the one exhibits malignity and envy towards the other"--who is it?' 'I fancy,' returned Frank, 'you mean that clever sample of female vanity, Madame de Staël. But how did you make acquaintance with her? I thought you didn't care for that sort of thing.' 'I do read sometimes, Frank.' 'Yes, I know you do; I caught you reading the "Bride of Abydos" the other day.' 'Yes; I do read Byron, and have the honesty and courage to admit that I do; others read, and deny that they do so. But I'm not going to fight with you now; this isn't the right time or place, sir. But I'm in high spirits this morning, and I ought to be, for I have won high compliments from Colonel Williamson--he who never speaks of our poor sex without bringing up all our transgressions, from that little mistake our unhappy great-grandmother made to the various errors, _faux pas_, or misdemeanours attaching to Madame de Maintenon or the Marchioness of H.'

'Well, "mera jan," I must run. I have scarcely time to weigh again and mount. They are ringing that bell with the utmost violence and impatience.' 'Go, then; mount and win,' said the lady. 'So I always do,' said he, whispering something in her ear. 'Begone, you wicked boy!' said she, laughing, but pushing him away. 'Now that there's a vacancy,' said the old Colonel, 'I'll occupy M.'s place, and repeat all those transgressions you refer to, solely, you know, to make myself agreeable.' 'That's rather an odd way of doing it, isn't it?' replied Mrs. D. 'It's something like beating one till you're tired, and then claiming credit for leaving off a minute or two.' 'No, no; it's a great deal more than that. I apply soothing plasters, don't I? and dress you very nicely, don't I?' 'Nothing of the sort. I have my ayah to do that; and if you're going to beat me again, on the strength of your nice dressing, I tell you I won't suffer it.' 'Well, then, just to please you, instead of dressing, I'll do the other thing, if you will only let me; in short, I'll do anything to please.' 'Well, then, Colonel W., you'll stop, if you please. I have, and you have, allowed your tongue greater latitude than ought to have been allowed, so if you please you'll stop now, and we'll talk of something else.' Old W. was quick enough to understand from the lady's tone and manner that she would resent any prolongation of the giff-gaff he had been indulging in, so, like an experienced warrior, he drew off his forces, and said: 'Come, then, I'll go on with the horses.' The lady, to show that she had forgiven the old sinner, said with an arch smile: 'I see how it is. Mrs. Williamson does not keep you at all in order; she must do better in future, or I shall warn her if she doesn't. You're such an impetuous old gentleman that she'll have you paying adoration to all the ladies in the station.' 'Oh no,' returned old W., 'you wouldn't do that: have some compassion. Spare me that.' 'A-ha!' said Mrs. D., 'so I have found a crevice in your armour, have I? Ha, ha, ha!' laughing maliciously. 'Well, sir, behave yourself, and try and control your juvenile impetuosity. Ha, ha, ha! How M. will laugh when I tell him!' 'No, no; you won't tell him--I'm sure you won't.' 'I rather think I shall,' said the lady. 'Are you afraid of twelve paces?' 'As far as that,' replied Colonel W., 'I fear nothing, and I've proved that more than once. We can settle it over a handkerchief if M. likes; but I am afraid to face the ridicule, the scandal, and the gossip that a meeting between me, a married man, and M. on account of a married lady, might and would give rise to. I confess I am afraid of that. Come, be generous, and don't say anything about my small delinquencies.' 'Well, sir, if you'll promise to behave yourself, I will for the present hold my tongue.' 'That's kind. Now we'll look at the horses.' So the horses were looked at and pointed out individually, and their qualities and prospects descanted on. By and by the start took place. M.'s horse Leander won; Trojan, the horse backed by Captain Venables, second; and Roderic, Colonel MacC.'s horse, third; the rest nowhere. Mrs. D.'s delight was inexpressibly great, and while she was talking with the utmost volubility she declared she had no words to express it.

In the midst of the glee and the rejoicing, M. made his appearance, but with a countenance expressive of anything but mirth and satisfaction. 'What's the matter, Frank?' said Mrs. D. 'Nothing,' said M., 'but that I have lost the race.' 'How can that be?' said the lady. 'Your horse came in first.' 'Yes; but when the jockey was weighed, it was found that he had lost weight.' 'Oh, how sorry I am,' said Mrs. D.; 'I could actually cry, I'm so vexed.' 'Don't do that, "mera jan," don't do that; I'd rather lose the next race than that you should do that.' 'Well, Frank, I won't if I can help it.' 'I am really sorry,' said Colonel W.; 'but how did it happen?' 'I can't tell, and the boy can't tell. He is a good lad, and is now doing what you were almost doing, Emma; he is crying his eyes out because he has lost the race and I have lost my money.' 'But how did it occur?' 'I suppose some of the shot escaped out of the shot-belt, though how they could I don't know. However it came about, it has happened, and I have lost the race.' 'Well,' said the Colonel, 'you take it very philosophically.' 'Why should I not do so? fretting or fuming won't help me. Losing my temper won't save me from losing my money.' 'True,' returned the Colonel; 'but few exhibit so much command over themselves.' 'Few are like Frank,' said Mrs. D. 'But how much weight did the boy lose?' 'I forget exactly; not many grains over allowances.' 'And must you lose the race for that? that is hard.' 'No, "mera jan," it is the law, the rule; and it is as fair for one as the other.' 'Why, then, don't they have a piece of lead scraped or filed down to what is exactly required, and then if it were sewn into the jacket it could not be lost.' 'Not a bad plan, Emma, truly; but it can only help us for the future; it cannot help us on this occasion.' 'What I can't understand is how Cubbon's horses, by far the best of those which started, did not win.' 'It was in consequence of their acknowledged superiority that they lost,' replied M. 'Isn't that a paradoxical remark,' asked Mrs. D. 'No, Emma,' said M.; 'they carried too much extra weight. I knew they would lose, and I told the Colonel so, and advised him to scratch them. I also said I thought that the committee had decided erroneously; but he was so good and so generous that he declared he would rather lose than spoil the race and the general pleasure. Oh, he is _primus et solus_.' All sung Colonel Cubbon's praises, and then all prepared for the second heat.

Not to make my story too long, it is merely necessary to state the facts as they occurred. Trojan was first. The little mare Kate (M.'s horse) came in second, but again M. lost through his jockey, this time evidently by villainy; the boy had chosen to lose his whip. This would not have occurred had the lad who rode the first race been allowed to ride the second, which M. himself wished. His wishes were, however, overruled by his friends; so the honest but unfortunate jockey was discarded and the scoundrel trusted, as too often happens in this world in more important matters. As he himself said, 'Fate was determined to win the race against him.'

Poor fellow! that day's sport made him an indebted and distressed man all his days. On the other hand Fate, or Dame Fortune was equally determined that Captain Venables should be a winner. First, the horse he backed so largely was an ugly, awkward, bony-looking brute that would never have had the ghost of a chance had not the committee, most unaccountably, at the last moment almost, doubled the length of the course. This enabled Trojan's wind and bottom to tell. Secondly, by another oversight, the weight named for him to carry was insignificant. For, by height, and size, and strength, he ought to have carried a stone more than he did; but, in truth, his other qualities were overlooked; his Roman nose and awkward appearance, together with his comparative want of speed, which was well known, deceived the members of the committee. He was scoffed at as a competitor, and was generally put down as nowhere in the race, and consequently the bets and odds were heavy against him. Had it not been for the double course, which made the stretch close on three miles, the knowing ones would have been quite right; but the alteration, which was purely accidental, upset all their calculations. Still, had it not been for the first jockey's accident and ill-luck, Leander would have won. As it was, Captain Venables won everything; his gains were calculated at more than £2,000, and, as everyone said, lucky it was for him that he did win. Had he lost, he had nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer in the shape of payment but his commission.

All the senior officers of the 39th had been constant and earnest in their remonstrances and entreaties to Captain Venables to draw back, and not to involve himself to such a perilous extent; but all to no purpose. An obstinate fit of deafness, and, as it was looked on, madness, seemed to have got possession of him. He would hear nothing, see nothing, and say nothing except, 'Well, we shall see,' and such like cool, determined phrases. Everyone set him down as an obstinate madman, whose ruin was certain. Major S. said to him after a long, earnest, and fruitless remonstrance, 'Well, Venables, I shall be sorry, after twenty years' service, to see you carrying a musket, but there's nothing else before you that I can see.' 'But,' replied V., 'I can see something else, Major; you will never see me carrying a musket.' 'I hope not,' replied the Major, as he walked out intensely disgusted and disappointed.

The real meaning of the expression was not understood till after the speaker's death. Then, as members of the committee appointed for that purpose were examining and noting down his effects, a bottle labelled 'Cyanide of Potassium' was found; it contained fully two ounces, not having been opened. This of itself might not have excited much suspicion, as several officers were then amusing themselves with learning how to plate copper and other articles, for which the salt in question was largely used; but that it had been obtained for another and far more deadly object was made clear by a book found near the bottle. This was the last edition of Taylor on poisons. The section on prussic, or hydrocyanic, acid and its compounds had evidently been carefully studied; there were many marks and annotations in the handwriting of the winner of the race in pencil, and one which explained the writer's feelings and intentions so plainly as to remove all doubt from the minds of the committee. The words were these, after underlining the quantities required to kill an adult, 'But, after all, I may not require it.' The Father of all mercy graciously removed him from the world without having the contemplated crime to answer for.

The manner of this unfortunate man's death was as follows: After the second heat, when all doubt was removed, and it was certain that Trojan had won so largely, Captain Venables flushed up so as to appear almost purple in the face. My brother was standing directly opposite in the race-stand, and at the time watching the winner. He beheld the extraordinary flush mentioned, saw it gradually fade and pass away, and a deadly paleness succeed to it; finally, he saw the most extraordinary changes take place. The officer's face became brown, leaden, almost green, and at last a little flushed; then he tottered, and would have fallen but that a friend held him up and supported him until a palankeen could be found; into this he was placed and conveyed home. Dr. Davis, the assistant surgeon of the regiment, was sent for; he directed his patient to take a glass of hot brandy-and-water directly, to be undressed, and put to bed. The report spread everywhere that Captain Venables, the winner of the race, had been so overcome by the excitement as to be seriously ill; that he had drunk a glass of brandy-and-water, had been put to bed, and was not to be disturbed till to-morrow. Few except my brother thought that anything beyond over-excitement was the matter; but he had closely observed the extraordinary changes exhibited by the poor man's face, and feared a fatal issue. Almost every other person said: 'Oh, he'll be all right to-morrow. Oh, it's nothing but over-excitement; he knew if he had lost that he would have to sell his commission, and have to serve in the ranks, so, after all, his being upset by his wonderful escape and good fortune is nothing to be wondered at.'

This being the general opinion, little more was said or thought of Captain Venables; but there was great stir and bustle amongst the young people, and especially amongst the young ladies, nor indeed was the stir and excitement confined to the young people. A fancy ball, to follow on the evening of the races, was too important and rare an occurrence to be lightly passed over. This momentous consummation to the races had been announced more than six weeks before, so tailors and a variety of curious artificers had been busy during the month. Ladies and gentlemen had also been unusually busy. The result of all this preparation was a very splendid collection of fancy costumes and groups taken from Scott's novels, as well as from the more sober though less delightful pages of history. Some of the groups and costumes were so exceptionally good that they really deserve a passing notice.

Of these groups Queen Elizabeth and three ladies of her court, in the costume of that day, with their grand ruffs, farthingales, and trains were very effective. Their four cavaliers, all habited in the well-known dress worn by Sir Walter Raleigh, formed a much-admired set for a quadrille. Queen Mary and her four Marys, with cavaliers wearing Highland dresses, formed another set for a quadrille, and were much admired. Another group habited as Virgins of the Sun also attracted much notice, the leader being Mrs. W. This naturally gave rise to several facetious remarks, which I leave to the imagination of the reader. Then after the groups there were several couples, which elicited marked applause. Mrs. C. and Mrs. M., as two Greek ladies, were greatly admired. Then Mrs. L. and Mrs. C., habited in the costume worn in the reign of George I., were acknowledged by all to be capital, and won universal admiration. Miss S., whose fine figure, beautiful complexion, and good-natured face must not be omitted, habited as a flower-girl, won many admirers. Other young ladies were seen disporting themselves as Persians, Circassians, Swiss maidens, sylphs, and vivandieres, and were all more or less admirable, and when mingled with the requisite number of Turks, Greeks, Hungarians, devils, and scaramouches, made up a beautiful and interesting _mélange_ of characters. But the admired of all admirers was Mrs. S., in Scott's too charming character of Rebecca. To very handsome and expressive features, and to a tall, faultlessly graceful figure, this lady added the appropriate beauty of a brunette. Her dark eyes were fringed with long silken lashes; her long and luxuriant dark tresses, partly escaping from ribbons and turban, fell in natural curls on her neck and shoulders, and, seen through her gauze veil, formed a wealth of beauty which set off and enhanced the witchery of a bust that Leda herself might have envied. Her costume, closely copied from the description given in 'Ivanhoe,' completed the enchantment wrought by her appearance. Her elegant little feet and slippers, almost concealed by her full silken trousers, when they did appear, gave a provoking glimpse of that perfection of form which her dress concealed. She was by all admitted to be the cynosure of all eyes.

But where was the Bois-Guilbert who ought to have been her cavalier? Ah, where indeed? 'Tell it not in Gath, speak it not in the streets of Ascalon.' The Bois-Guilbert, who was to have been personated by her husband, Captain S., was unable to stand or even to articulate; he was lying on his bed, partly undressed, almost unable to move, and in a pickle that cannot be described. Poor Rebecca! her sorrowful expression of countenance was felt too deeply to be regarded as acting, or if it was it was acting with an aching heart. Unhappily the condition in which Captain S. was found was almost a nightly occurrence; and yet this very man, when sober, was without exception the handsomest and finest man in the cantonment.

The sensitive mind recoils with indignation, disgust, and horror from the picture presented. God's grandest gift to man, his intellect (which, far better than any trivial anatomical distinction, distinguishes him from the beast), wilfully, wickedly, and wantonly thrown aside to gratify the lowest of all propensities. But the drunkard does more than this. It is a libel on the beast to say that the drunkard makes a beast of himself; he makes himself worse and lower than the beast, for the beast does not get drunk. It is only man who gets drunk; it is only man who dares to insult his Creator in this detestable manner--who dares to fling back in His face his best gift, and who thus displays, at one time and in one act, his disobedience, his wickedness, his folly, and his ingratitude. And if we now inquire how a persistence in drinking ends, the hospital, the gaol, and the workhouse answer. While, during life, as the man pursues the dreadful downward path, he forfeits every kindly feeling on the part of those who once loved him, and would have done their best to serve him, in death he is remembered only as 'that drunken fellow' So-and-so. Some former friend, who knew him before he had yielded to this enthralling vice, may say perhaps: 'Well, I am sorry for poor ----. I knew him when he was as nice a fellow as you could wish to see; and to think that he, or such as he, should be among the victims of the Vampire Drink, is very sad; I cannot bear to think of it.' This is the career of the drunkard in this world. What it must be in the world to come, when he must give an account of his life, is dreadful to reflect on.

If the drunkard is a married man, his offences and his wickedness are greater still; all that applies to the unmarried man applies to him, and in addition cruelty of the worst kind--cruelty so heartless and so unnatural that, though we know it, we can scarcely believe it possible. The fiercest and most ravenous beasts of prey (though not gifted with human feelings and intelligence) do not desert their mates, nor their young; but the drunkard who is married not only deserts both, but will, to gratify his filthy passion, drink away his income, drink away his status in society, drink away his future prospects, and thus reduce wife and children from the position in which they were born, and had heretofore moved, to want, penury and degradation. Still not contented, but prompted by the horrible love of drink, the married drunkard deprives his wretched, miserable wife of the trifle she earns weekly, striving to stave off actual starvation, sells or pawns everything the unhappy pair once possessed, and the wife dies in the streets of starvation, cold, and misery. This is the natural result of drunkenness when observed in its effects on the classes that live by their daily labour. Let us trace in a higher grade the effects produced by indulgence in this baleful habit. The drunkard before his marriage manages to conceal his practices not only from the young lady he woos to be his wife, but from her friends. He, however, soon shows his colours. If in the army the natural consequence is that he drinks himself out of his commission. By the generosity of his Colonel and brother officers, he is allowed to sell, and the proceeds are made over to his unfortunate wife, who is deeply compassionated by all the regiment. And shall this mean, selfish wretch, who has wrecked the peace and prosperity of those whom he has sworn to love and cherish--sworn on the altar of the Most High--not be answerable? Shall he who has kept his holy marriage vows by bringing privation and misery on those who should be nearest and dearest, not be answerable? Innocence and virtue toiling in distress appeal to Heaven strongly. Man may disregard, but there is One who will not disregard--One who has said: 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' A mother toiling to feed her children--toiling in an altered and reduced position, to which she has been brought by her drunken husband--is too sad, too noble a sight, not to attract the eye of mercy. If the destroyer has one spark of human feeling left, the knowledge of what he has done must be like the fire of hell in his heart and brain; but words in such a case are vain. 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay,' and to the Lord's vengeance such men must be left.

The effects of drunkenness, as exhibited by married and unmarried men, have been drawn from instances unhappily too well known to the author. Let us look now at the effects of this national sin, this degrading, despicable form of selfishness, regarded from a public point of view. What do the public prints tell us? What do we read of every day? Is there a crime that can be named that cannot be shown to have originated in drunkenness? Wife and child murder are actually common as one of these results. The vile husband comes home drunk, a quarrel ensues between him and his wife, and she--perhaps with her infant, or little boy or girl--is kicked to death by the infuriated savage. And what is too often the result? If the human brute expresses sorrow, and says he had taken a drop too much, he is allowed in some way or other to escape. Either the coroner and his jury bring in manslaughter, or the sapient judge and jury, by whom the ruffian is tried, find some legal reason to let him off, or the jury refuse to hang. They are too pitiful, but they have no pity for the unfortunate woman and her child or children. Drunkenness, as it is now regarded, is positively a protection to the murderer. Let us see how it acts in cases of less enormity than murder. Someone, man or woman, is beaten or kicked within an inch of his or her life, and the excuse invariably is that the beast had been drinking. Magistrates almost always ask this question. Policemen never fail to state that the man was, or was not, drunk. If the statement is that he was not drunk, it invariably acts as an aggravation of guilt; and, _vice versâ_, if the culprit is pronounced to have been drunk, it is at once received as a palliation. That which in common-sense is a positive crime, _per se_, is made by irrational custom to lessen and mitigate a greater crime.

The plea put forward to defend this practice is this: Would you punish severely the man who, from the influence of seductive company, or from any other cause, happens to get tipsy, even if he should commit manslaughter or other serious offence while under the effects of vicious stimulation? Certainly not. But this is mere sophistry. It is not an accident we have to consider; it is that of men who night after night deprive themselves of their senses by drink. In this case it appears clear that the fact of the man being drunk is a serious addition to his crime, as he has wilfully, and with his eyes open, deprived himself of his senses. This portion of the subject is too wide, too vast, for me to enter upon, as it necessarily touches the legal aspect of the question; and there are no doubt numberless legal gentlemen, gifted with fine and acute intellects, who are fully equal to the determination of the intricacies and difficulties of the question.

To the reader, the author feels that he owes an apology for having in a light work, devoted chiefly to the worship of Momus, been led to say what he has said on legislative matters; the delict was not intentional, it arose naturally from the incident related, and from consideration of the dreadful evils of intemperance, and the defects of the statutes passed in reference to it. Yet, if from the melancholy details recorded with reference to gambling on the racecourse, and the miserable instances of drunkenness brought forward (which, be it remembered, are cases actually observed), one solitary individual be induced to reflect on the life-long misery which almost surely will result from pursuing either of these baneful paths, and he by this means is led to pause in his ruinous career, the effects of the fault may perhaps go far to obtain pardon for it. Nor can the author think that because his principal object is to amuse, he should altogether be debarred from sometimes assuming a graver tone. Examples of individual sorrows, failings or crimes, ought not to be altogether useless, seeing that they are pages of individual history, and all history we know teaches by example.

Having now offered his apology, and recorded his plea for a favourable judgment, his long digression draws to a close, and he returns to the fancy ball, the description of which was interrupted by feelings excited in consequence of the condition recorded of Captain S. Let us now forget the unhappy man, and mingle with the gay crowd.

It has been before observed that the 'Virgins of the Sun' attracted a good deal of rather quizzical notice on account of their leader, or high priestess, or whatever else she may have termed herself. Now it so happened that this lady unintentionally afforded new cause for the same sort of notice. She wore, as all the young ladies in her train did, a veil attached to her head-dress, from which it descended to her feet, falling in graceful folds about her person. As the room became warmer, in spite of the punkahs which were kept constantly going, for the dancers--among whom Mrs. W. (the _quasi_ virgin) had distinguished herself--the veil became unbearable. Mrs. W. rejoiced in rather a superfluity of flesh; she was a sanguine, full-blooded woman, with a large endowment of adipose tissue. We would on no account be so vulgar as to say that she was a fat woman; all that can be asserted, with due regard to the _bienséances_, is that she was decidedly, very decidedly, stout. The heat, the dancing, and the lady's full temperament, made the veil insufferable; it was accordingly laid aside, then at once were displayed charms that it is most difficult to do justice to. A dress laced in to the last point of endurance, and at the back so liberally cut down that the view afforded was unusually extensive, may give some notion of the length and breadth of the prospect. The heat, the exercise, and the constitution of the lady may, to those who have carefully studied such natural phenomena, suggest that a lovely roseate hue, a truly infantine tint, overpowered the native alabaster of the skin. The effect of the painfully heroic efforts to obtain a waist had produced a strong line down the spine, and had, moreover, accumulated masses of roseate adipose tissue on either side of that line. The _tout ensemble_ presented such a comical resemblance to something that may be imagined though it may not be uttered, that the whole room was in a titter.

'Did ever you see anything like it, in your life?' said Mrs. C. 'Why, to tell you the truth, my dear, I think I have,' said Mrs. O., laughing immoderately; 'have not you? Think now!' 'Oh,' said one of the young ladies, 'I never!' 'On my life,' said old Mrs. Fitslik, 'it's like nothing in the world but a baby's ----.' 'Well,' replied Mrs. O., 'if it is, it must be an unusually well-developed baby; but I suppose "Virgins of the Sun" may have unusually developed babies, if they have any.'