Old Friends Part 4

VIII.

_From Nicholas to the Editor of the St. James's Gazette_.

It is only too probable that a later generation has forgotten "Nicholas,"

the sporting Prophet of "Fun," in the reign of Mr. Hood the younger. The little work, "Nicholas's Notes," in which Mr. W. J. Prowse collected the papers of the old Prophet, is, indeed, not an "edition de looks," as the aged Seer says, with his simple humour. From the Paradise of Fiction, however (and the Paradise of Touts), Nicholas has communicated, perhaps to the Psychical Society, the following Epistle. His friendly mention of a brother journalist speaks well for the Old Man's head and heart.

The Paradise of Fiction, Feb. 9, 1888.

SIR,-My dear young friend, it is ten to one, and no takers, that the public, than whom, between you and me, I do not think much of them, have forgotten Nicholas, or even never heard of the Prophet. Youth will be served; and it is now between twenty years since he left off vaticinating in "Fun," during young Mr. Hood's time, of future sportive events for to come, and came to live _here_ with the other celebrated characters of Fiction, than whom I am sure a more mixed lot, though perhaps a little gay. It having come to the Prophet's knowledge that some of them was writing letters to "The St. James's Gazette" (than which I am sure none more respectable, though perhaps a little not quite so attentive to sportive interests as it might be), he have decided that Nicholas will take up his pen once more, as of old.

The State of the Turf, my dear young friend, since an old but still handsome bird would freely alight (when not warned off) on Newmarket Heath, have caused Nicholas some anxiety. Sir, between you and me, _it is rapidly getting no better_. Here is Lord - (than whom a more sterling sportsman) as good as saying to Sir - (than whom, perhaps), "Did you ever hear of a sporting character called Swindells?" And the Prophet _have_ been told that it may furnish matter for the gentlemen of the long robe-which, in my time, many of them was backers of horses.

And all along of what? Why, of the "inexplicable in-and-out running of horses," as the "Standard" says, and as will often happen, you, perhaps, having a likely dark one as you want to get light into a high-cla.s.s autumn handicap. The days is long past since Nicholas was nuts on the game little Lecturer, but still has the interests of the Turf at heart; and, my dear young friend, if horses never ran in and out, where would be "the glorious uncertainty of the sport"? On the whole, then, if asked my opinion on this affair, the Prophet would say-putting it ambiguous-like-"Gentlemen, when there's so much dirty linen to wash, can't you remember that we're all pretty much tarred with the same brush?" A great politician-which a lot of his family is here, Coningsby, and the Young Duke, and many other sportsmen-used to say as what the Turf was "a gigantic engine of national demoralisation;" which Nicholas is not quite sure but what he was right for him, though his language on rather a large scale. Horses running in and out is inexplicable! Why, gents all, which of us _wouldn't_ do it, if he had the chance to put the pot on handsome, human nature being what it is, especially considering the lowness of the market odds as you have often and often to be content with. In short, the more you stir it the more it won't exactly remind you of gales from Araby the Blest; than which a more delightful country, only not to be found on any atlas as Nicholas ever cast a glance at the map, however large.

But enough of a subject than which perhaps one more painful to me; the Prophet having often and often, in early days, been warned off Newmarket Heath himself, and called a "disreputable old tout," though only labouring in his vocation.

(Make a new beginning here, please, Printer.)

It have come to the knowledge of the Prophet that his "Notes" are not quite so much read as they once was, partly owing, no doubt, to the book being not so much an "edition de looks" as rather a low-lived lot, to a casual eye, at fourpence; the picture outside representing Nicholas rather as having had too much for to drink than as a prominent member of the Blue Ribbon Society, which it did not exist in his period, nor would it have enjoyed, to any considerable extent, my personal or pecuniary support, he having something else to do with his money. (Printer, please put in a full stop somewhere here, Nicholas being a little out of the habit of writing for the periodical press.) He have also heard that it is proposed in literary circles to start a "Nicholas Society" for the purpose of printing a limited edition of my works including my lost treatise of Knur and Spell, on j.a.panese paper, ill.u.s.trated with photo-gravelures; they having come in since the Prophet's period, though perhaps a little gay.

But, my dear though exquisite young friends, is there no better way of rallying round the Prophet than _this_? I have heard, from characters in ancient literature, such as Agamemnon-than whom a more energetic soldier, though perhaps a trifle arbitrary-the Prophet _have_ heard, I say, that a deal of liquor used to be poured on the graves of coves like him and me, and that it did them good. This may be the case, and anyway the experiment is well worth trying; though, I would say, do not let it be milk, as I gather was customary in early times, as didn't know any better; but, if possible, a bottle or two of sherry wine, to which, as is well beknown, Nicholas was partial. He will now conclude; and the Prophet hopes that an experiment, than which, I am sure, one more deeply interesting, will not be deferred; he not much taking to the liquor here, though the company makes up for a great deal, especially an Irish officer by the name of Costigan, than whom a sweeter singer or a more honourable gentleman; and signs himself, with grat.i.tude for past favours, and kind respects to the Editor of the "Guardian,"

NICHOLAS.

IX.

_From the Earl of Montrose to Captain Dugald Dalgetty_.

Whoever has read the "Memoirs of Monsieur d'Artagnan"-a Marshal in the French King's service-as they are published by Monsieur Alexandre Dumas in "Les Trois Mousquetaires," will not have forgotten that duel behind the Luxembourg, in which, as is declared, an Englishman ran away from the Chevalier d'Herblay, called Aramis in his regiment. Englishmen have never held that Monsieur Dumas was well informed about this affair. The following letters of the Great Marquis and Captain Dalgetty from the "Kirkhope Papers" prove that Englishmen were in the right.

-, 164-.

SIR,-Touching that I did, to your apprehension, turn away from you with some show of coldness on your late coming, it may be that you but little misread me. But, for that no man is condemned without a hearing, I would fain know under your own hand the truth concerning that whereof a shameful report is bruited abroad, even in the "Gallo Belgicus" and the "Fliegender Mercoeur" of Leipsic-namely, that in a certain duel lately fought in Paris behind the Palace of the Luxembourg, four Englishmen encountering as many Musketeers of the French King's, one out of this realm, to our disgrace, shamefully fled; and he (by report) Rittmaster Dugald Dalgetty. Till which, bruit be either abolished, and the stain-as an ill blot on a clean scutcheon-wiped away, or as shamefully acknowledged as it is itself shameful, I abide, as I shall hear from yourself,

MONTROSE.

_From Captain Dugald Dalgetty_, _of Drumthwacket_, _to the Most n.o.ble and Puissant Prince James_, _Earl of Montrose_, _commanding the musters of the King in Scotland_. _These_-

MY LORD,-As touching the bruit, or _fama_, as we said at the Mareschal College, I shall forthwith answer, and that _peremptorie_. For this story of the _duello_, as a man may say (though, indeed, they that fought in it were not in the dual number, as your Grecian hath it, but eight soldados-seven of them gallant men), truly the story is of the longest; but as your lords.h.i.+p will have it, though more expert with the sword than the goosequill, I must even buckle to.

Let your lords.h.i.+p conceive of your poor officer, once lieutenant and Rittmaster under that invincible monarch, the bulwark of the Protestant faith, Gustavus the Victorious; conceive, I say, Dugald Dalgetty, of Drumthwacket that should be, in Paris, concerned with a matter of weight and moment not necessary to be mooted or minted of. As I am sitting at my tavern ordinary, for I consider that an experienced cavalier should ever lay in provenant as occasion serveth, comes in to me a stipendiary of my Lord Winter, bidding me know that his master would speak to me: and that not _coram populo_, as I doubt not your lords.h.i.+p said at St.

Leonard's College in St. Andrews, but privily. Thereon I rise and wait on him; to be brief-_brevis esse laboro_, as we said lang syne-his lords.h.i.+p would have me to be of his backers in private rencontre with four gentlemen of the King's Musketeers.

Concerning the cause of this duello, I may well say _teterrima causa_.

His lords.h.i.+p's own sister Milady Clarik was in question; she being, I fear me, rather akin in her way of life to Jean Drocheils (whom your lords.h.i.+p may remember; for, the Baillies expulsing her from Aberdeen, she migrated to St. Andrews, _ad eundem_, as the saying is) than like, in her walk and conduct, to a virtuous lady of a n.o.ble family. She was, indeed, as current rumour had it, the light o'love or _belle amie_ of Monsieur d'Artagnan, his lords.h.i.+p's adversary.

But of siclike least said soonest mended. I take cloak and sword, and follow with his lords.h.i.+p and two other experienced cavaliers unto the place of rencontre, being a waste croft whereon a loon was herding goats, behind the Palace of the Luxembourg. Here we find waiting us four soldados, proper tall men of their hands, who receive us courteously. He that first gave cause of quarrel to my Lord Winter bore a worthy name enough out of Gascony, that is _arida nutrix_, as we said at the Mareschal College, of honourable soldados-to wit, as I said, he was Monsieur d'Artagnan. To his friends, howbeit, he gave sic heathen t.i.tles as I never saw or heard of out of the Grecian books: namely, Monsieur Porthos, a very tall man, albeit something of a _lourdaud_; Monsieur Athos; and he that was to be mine own opposite, Monsieur Aramis. Hearing these outlandish and insolent appellations, I thought it becoming me, as an honourable cavalier, to resent this fas.h.i.+on of presenting: and demurred that a gentleman of the House of Dalgetty of Drumthwacket could neither take affront from, nor give honourable satisfaction to, a nameless landlouper. Wherein your lords.h.i.+p, I doubt me not, will hold me justificate.

Lord Winter h.o.m.ologating mine opinion, he that called himself Athos drew each of us apart, and whispered the true names and qualities territorial of these gentlemen; the whilk, as may befall honourable soldados, they had reason sufficient to conceal while serving as private gentlemen in a regiment, though disdaining to receive halberds, as unbecoming their birth. He that aligned himself forenenst me was styled the Chevalier d'Herblay; and, the word being given, we fell to.

Now, mine adversary declining to fight _comminus gladio_, but breaking ground in a manner unworthy of a gallant soldado, and the place, saving your presence, being somewhat slippery and treacherous because of the goats that were fed there, I delivered a sufficient onslaught; and he fell, his sword flying from his hand. When I had taken his weapon-the _spolia opima_, as we said at Mareschal College-I bid him rise, and then discoursed him on the dishonour of such a hasty defeat. Then, he confessing himself to me that, though under arms, he was a young fledgeling priest in Popish orders, I began upon him with such words on his disgracing the n.o.ble profession of arms as might have made him choose to return to his cloister; when suddenly he fled, and, being young and light-footed, robbed me, not only of such caduacs and casualties as an experienced cavalier might well take from his prisoner for ransom, but also, as now it appears, of my good name. For I doubt not that this musketeer priest, Monsieur Aramis, or l'Abbe d'Herblay (for he hath as many names as I have seen campaigns), was the loon that beguiled with a lying tale the newsman of the "Gallo Belgicus." And I have ever seen that an honourable soldado will give the go-by to these newsmen and their flying sheets, as unworthy of the notice of honourable cavaliers; of whom (recommending your lords.h.i.+p for the truth of my tale to my Lord Winter, now with his gracious Majesty the King) I am fain to subscribe myself one, and your lords.h.i.+p's poor officer, as ye shall entreat him,

DUGALD DALGETTY, of Drumthwacket,

Late Commander of the whole stift of Dunklespiel on the Lower Rhine.

X.

_From Mr. Lovelace to John Belford_, _Esq._

The following letter must have been omitted from the papers to which Mr.

Samuel Richardson, the editor of "Clarissa," had access. It was written, apparently, after the disgraceful success of Lovelace's disgraceful adventure, and shows us that scoundrel in company not choice, indeed, but better than he deserved, the society of Mr. Thomas Jones, a Foundling.

Mr. Jones's admirable wife (nee Western), having heard of Lovelace's conduct, sent her husband to execute that revenge which should have been competed for by every man of heart. It will be seen that Mr. Jones was no match for the perfidies of Mr. Lovelace. The cynical reflections of that bad man on Lord Fellamar, and his relations with Mrs. Jones, will only cause indignation and contempt among her innumerable and honourable admirers. They will remember the critical and painful circ.u.mstances as recorded in Mr. Henry Fielding's biography of Mr. Jones.

_Parcius junctas quatiunt fenestras_ _Ictibus crebris juvenes protervi_.

CURSE upon thy stars, Jack! How long wilt thou beat me about the head with thy musty citations from Nat Lee and thy troop of poetical divines?

Thou hast driven me to motto-hunting for the comeliness of mine epistle, like the weekly scribblers. See, Jack, I have an adventure to tell thee!

It is not the avenging Morden that hath flashed through the window, sword in hand, as in my frightful dream; nor hath the statue of the Commandant visited me, like Don Juan, that Rake of Spain; but a challenger came hither that is not akin to my beloved Miss. Dost remember a tall, fresh-coloured, cudgel-playing oaf that my Lady Bellaston led about with her-as maids lead apes in h.e.l.l, though he more of an ape than she of a maid-'tis a year gone? This brawny-beefed chairman hath married a fortune and a delicious girl, you dog, Miss Sophia Western, of Somerset, and is now in train, I doubt not, to beget as goodly a tribe of chuckle-headed boys and whey-faced wenches as you shall see round an old squire's tomb in a parish church. Wherefore does he not abide at this his appointed lawful husbandry, I marvel; but not a whit!

Our cursed adventure hath spread from the _flippanti_ of both s.e.xes down to the heathenish parts of Somerset; where it hath reached Madam Jones's ears, and inflamed this pretty vixen with a desire to avenge Miss Harlowe on me, and by the cudgel of Mr. Jones, his Sophia having sent him up to town for no other purpose. De la Tour, my man, came to me yesterday morning with the tidings that the New Giant, as he supposes, waits on me to solicit the favour of my patronage. I am in the powdering closet, being bound for a rout, and cry, "Let the Giant in!" Then a heavy tread: and, looking up, what do I see but a shoulder-of-mutton fist at my nose, and lo! a Somerset tongue cries, "Lovelace, thou villain, thou shalt taste of this!" A man in a powdering closet cannot fight, even if he be a boxing glutton like your Figs and other gladiators of the Artillery Ground. Needs must I parley. "What," says I, "what, the happy Mr. Jones from the West! What brings him here among the wicked, and how can the possessor of the beauteous Sophia be a moment from her charms?"

"Take not her name," cries my clod-hopper, "into thy perjured mouth.

'Tis herself sends me here to avenge the best, the most injured . . . "

Here he fell a-blubbering! Oh, Belford, the virtue of this world is a great discourager of repentance.

"If Mr. Jones insists on the arbitrament of the sword . . . " I was beginning-"Nay, none of thy Frenchified blades," cries he, "come out of thy earth, thou stinking fox, and try conclusions with an English cudgel!"

Belford, I am no cudgel-player, and I knew not well how to rid myself of this swasher.

"Mr. Jones!" I said, "I will fight you how you will, where you will, with what weapon you will; but first inform me of the nature of our quarrel.

Would you blazon abroad yet further the malignant tales that have injured both me and a lady for whom I have none but the most hallowed esteem? I pray you sit down, Sir; be calm, the light is ill for any play with cudgel or sword. De la Tour, a bottle of right Burgundy; Mr. Jones and I have business, and he hath travelled far."

In a trice there was a chicken, a bottle, a set of knives and forks, a white cloth, and a hungry oaf that did eat and swear! One bottle followed another. By the third Mr. Jones embraced me, saying that never had a man been more belied than I; that it was Lord Fellamar, not I, was the villain. To this effect I own that I did myself drop a hint; conceiving that the divine Sophia must often have regretted our friend Fellamar when once she was bound to the oaf, and that Jones was capable of a resentful jealousy. By midnight I had to call a chair for my besotted challenger, and when the Avenger was there safely bestowed, I asked him where the men should carry him? His tongue being now thick, and his brains bemused, he could not find the sign of his inn in his noddle. So, the merry devil prompting me, I gave the men the address of his ancient flame, my Lady Bellaston, and off they jogged with Jones.