Curiosities of Impecuniosity Part 18

As quickly as possible the next morning the owner of the snuff-box sought the old general, told him everything, and made him an ample apology. They were at once friendly as of old. After some conversation, the owner of the snuff-box said, "But may I ask you why you so resolutely refused to be searched?" "Alas!" said the soldier, "I refused to be searched because, though I had not stolen your snuff-box, I had stolen your food. I blush to own, sir, that the greater part of every morsel put upon my plate was transferred to a pocket-handkerchief (spread upon my knee beneath the table), and taken home to a starving wife and family."

Equally, if not more romantic is another military story, also related by Julian Young, which, were it not for the unquestionable _bona fides_ of that gentleman, might well be questioned, so suggestive is it of a page from a novel.

An aristocratic lady residing on the family estate in Ireland advertised for a governess for her daughters. The successful candidate was a young French lady of talent and fascinating manners. She had not long taken up her residence with the lady and her daughters when she inspired the nephew of her mistress with a tender pa.s.sion. A gentleman of principle, and only possessing slender means, he resolved to control his sentiment and in no way reveal it.

Some months elapsed, and one morning while the family were at breakfast, they were surprised by the entrance of a servant, who inquired of the lady of the house if she could see visitors. Asking who they were, she was informed that the party consisted of two gentlemen, who had travelled there in a coach-and-four, attended by a livery servant, evidently a foreigner. Thinking that visitors at such an early hour must have important business, the servant was told by his mistress that she would at once see them. She remained with the visitors some little time, and then returned, informing the governess that her presence was immediately required by the two gentlemen, who had come on important business.

The governess was absent more than half an hour, and on her return to the breakfast-room appeared to be labouring under strong excitement. She then begged Lady E---- to be kind enough to step into the library to speak to two friends of hers, who had something of great importance to communicate.

The mistress of the establishment complied, and the governess, left with her pupils, was interrogated with much amusing curiosity by them on the strange visit of two gentlemen at such an early hour in the day. The governess, in a tremor of nervousness, answered nothing, left her pupils, and going to her own apartment, locked herself in.

The interview between Lady E---- and the strangers was exceedingly interesting. One of the visitors spoke to her in French, and at great length. Having prefaced what he had to say by apologising for the seeming intrusion, Lady E---- was informed that he was delegated by the governess to perform a duty which rightly devolved upon herself, but which she had not the moral courage to discharge. It was also stated by the speaker that Mademoiselle H---- acknowledged gratefully the extraordinary kindness with which she had been treated. Lady E---- was then told that in pretending to be dependent on her own exertions for bread, the governess had imposed on her mistress. She was, it was said, as well born as Lady E----, and almost as opulent. It was at the request of the visitors that Mademoiselle H---- had answered the advertis.e.m.e.nt, for the reason that perhaps under such a roof as Lady E----'s the young lady would be spared the persecution of an unscrupulous kinsman, who conceived that his cousin was endeavouring to supplant him in the good graces of a relative whose favours he had forfeited solely by misconduct. The older kinsman alluded to had just died, and had bequeathed his sole possessions to the governess. She was mistress of a chateau in Southern France, in addition to an unenc.u.mbered rent-roll of 7000 a year. In conclusion, the gentleman in his own name and that of his fellow trustee begged to state that in a month's time the presence of Mademoiselle H---- would be imperative, for the purpose of hearing the will read, and to meet the avocat, the executors, and certain other persons interested. Complimenting the mistress of the Irish mansion upon her urbanity, the visitors withdrew, jumped into their carriage, and were driven away as rapidly as they came.

The daughters of Lady E---- and her nephew were made acquainted with the good fortune of the French governess. She had won the affections of her pupils, and they regretted parting with her. However, they rejoiced at her prosperity. The nephew's heart glowed with hope and affection. Had he been richer he would before have declared his pa.s.sion. On hearing his aunt's recital of the governess's actual position he at once resolved to press his suit. When Mademoiselle H---- had listened to his declaration of love, she met it with haughty demeanour and frigid words, stating that she suspected her money had more attraction for him than her person, a.s.signing as her reason for such impression that he had shunned her while he thought her poor, but had sought her as soon as he had found her to be rich. He a.s.sured her that he had loved her at first sight, but had been deterred by honourable motives and the smallness of his fortune from thinking of matrimony; that he had purposely kept out of danger's way, but that as to wis.h.i.+ng to marry her for the sake of her money, it was a cruel imputation, and stung him to the quick. He then quitted her soon afterwards, mounted a horse, rode away and found a notary public. When he again saw Mademoiselle H---- he put into her hands a doc.u.ment by which he conveyed to her unconditionally and absolutely every farthing he had in the world. In return for it he asked for the lady's hand and heart. He added that if he proved unworthy of her, her money would be in her own power, and that if he lived to deserve her love, he was sure she would never let him want.

She yielded to his solicitations, and they eloped.

Scarcely had the honeymoon run its course when the husband discovered that he was united to a penniless woman. In spite of his reserve the governess had detected his pa.s.sion, and by the aid of confederates and her own adroitness had made herself possessor of his patrimony. The victim sought to repair his fortune at the sword's point in the Crimean war, where he obtained considerable distinction.

Incredible as this narrative may seem, there is a yet more marvellous one which must be true, since "it was in the papers."

In the autumn of 1827 two men were examined at the Marylebone police-court under circ.u.mstances of a peculiar and suspicious nature. The night previously a patrol in the New Road watched the men, and subsequently saw them deep in conversation by a lamp-post, and soon afterwards one man deliberately began to tie his companion up to the lamp-post, the suspended man offering no resistance to the labours of the improvised Jack Ketch.

The patrol interfered, and both men proceeded to beat him with great violence. Some watchmen of the district hearing the cries of the a.s.sailed constable hastened to the spot, and the constable's a.s.sailants were secured. While being examined before the magistrate, the men stated that they had been gambling by the light from the lamp, and that one of them had lost all his money to the other, and had then staked his clothes. The winner demurred to continue playing for the reason that if he again won he should not care to strip the loser of his habiliments. His enthusiastic companion rejoined that should he again lose, life would be worthless to him. A bargain was made to again play, it being understood that the unsuccessful gambler if again unlucky should be hung by his companion, who should strip him when dead. The fellow lost, and informed the magistrate that he was only submitting to the terms of the treaty when the patrol came up and interfered with himself and his companion. The magistrate concluding they had been intoxicated, discharged them with a caution.

A remarkably grim pa.s.sage this in a gambler's life, and unfortunately most of the selections in this section of the subject are more or less sombre, for romance is naturally more a.s.sociated with tragedy than comedy.

"Pitiful, wondrous pitiful," is my next ill.u.s.tration, which is related by Sir Walter Scott, who when attending Dugald Stewart's lectures on Moral Philosophy used to sit by the side of an amiable youth, in whose society he afterwards took great interest. They became companions, and frequently used to stroll out beyond the city, enjoying the charms of road and stream. One day during the perambulation they met a singularly venerable "Blue Gown," a beggar of the Edie Ochiltree stamp, clean and ruddy. The beggar had three or four times previously encountered Scott, who with his usual good-heartedness had relieved him in answer to solicitation. When Mr. Scott and his fellow-student pa.s.sed the old man, the companion of Scott exhibited peculiar restlessness and confusion. The beggar again had something dropped into his hand by Scott, who said soon afterwards to his companion, "Do you know anything to the dishonour of the old beggar?"

"G.o.d forbid!" said the youth, and bursting into tears added, "I am ashamed to speak to him; he is my father! He has laid by for himself, but he stands bleaching his head in the wind, that he may get means to pay for my education." Scott spoke words of tenderness and sympathy to the mendicant's son, and kept his secret.

Some time afterwards he again met the hale "Blue Gown." "G.o.d bless you!"

said the old man; "you have been kind to Willie. He has often spoken of it. Come to our roof, for my boy has been ill. It will strengthen him, if you will go and see him." At 2 o'clock on the following Sat.u.r.day, Willie's old fellow-student found the old man and his son waiting to receive him at their little cottage outside the city. It was a modest little tenement, and Willie sat on a bench before the door to enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne. The son of the voluntary mendicant looked wan and emaciated. He had been very ill.

There was a dinner of mutton, potatoes and whisky. They all enjoyed themselves, and during their conversation the old man said, "Please G.o.d I may live to see my bairn wag his head in a pulpit yet." Scott left them with tokens of good will and friends.h.i.+p. He communicated the story to his mother, who informed her husband, and it was at no distant time that Dr.

Erskine's influence (through the good offices of Mr. and Mrs. Scott) obtained the old man's son a tutors.h.i.+p in the north of Scotland.

To quit the pathetic for a moment, it would scarcely be thought likely that that necessary but extremely practical article--blacking--has ever been a.s.sociated with romance; but Mr. Smiles tells the story of a poor soldier having one day called at the shop of a hairdresser who was busy with his customers and asked relief, stating that he had stayed beyond his leave of absence, and unless he could get a lift on the coach, fatigue and severe punishment awaited him. The hairdresser listened to his story respectfully, and gave him a guinea. "G.o.d bless you, sir!" exclaimed the soldier, astonished at the amount. "How can I repay you? I have nothing in the world but this," pulling out a dirty piece of paper from his pocket; "it is a receipt for making blacking--it is the best that was ever seen; many a half-guinea I have had for it from the officers, and many bottles I have sold. May you be able to get something for it to repay you for your kindness to the poor soldier!" Oddly enough that dirty piece of paper proved worth half a million of money to the hairdresser. It was no less than a receipt for the famous Day and Martin's blacking, the hairdresser being the late Mr. Day.

The picture of little ones asking for bread and the parents finding none in the cupboard is a very old story. Domestic affection, struggling amidst difficulties and distress, has produced heroes and martyrs innumerable, but few more interesting than Peter Stokes, famous in years gone by as the "Flying Pieman." Every day at the beginning of the present century (excepting when it rained) the familiar figure of that now historic personage might have been seen in the steep thoroughfare between Staple's Inn and Field Lane. Peter obtained the _sobriquet_ of "Flying Pieman" from the celerity of his movements. There was some slight mistake concerning his nickname, for Peter Stokes sold baked plum pudding, not pies. Stokes was one of the celebrated old-fas.h.i.+oned London characters, as well known to c.o.c.kneys of that period as Billy Waters or the negro crossing-sweeper at the foot of Ludgate Hill.

Soon after the clock of St. Andrew's Church struck twelve, Stokes used to turn out of Fetter Lane with a tray of smoking hot plum pudding, the pudding cut into twelve slices, the price of each being a penny. Peter carried his tray in one hand and a bright silver scapula in the other. The customer received his slice of pudding from the scapula after a penny had been deposited upon the tray (Peter never gave change), the "Flying Pieman," as he perambulated or as he stopped, never being known to utter any other word than "Buy, buy, buy." He always wore a black vest, swallow-tailed coat, stout silk stockings, and shoes with bright silver buckles, while a snowy white ap.r.o.n and faultlessly frilled s.h.i.+rt completed a modish and impressive costume. No hat or cap adorned his head, the hair of which was close cropped and powdered.

Peter Stokes was sometimes known to have disposed of fifty rounds of pudding _per diem_. His customers have often included aldermen, ladies of quality, and blue blood bucks, but they received no more attention than did rougher and humbler patrons. The "Flying Pieman" was attentive to everybody, but he never turned back for anybody. Making his way deftly through crowds of pedestrians, hackney coaches or waggons, the "Flying Pieman" went straight on, calling out "Buy," and only stopped for the proffered penny; but his real history was indeed a curious one.

Contemporary with him was a portrait painter in Rathbone Place. The artist painted with great a.s.siduity in the morning, and his evening parties though homely, were pleasant and refined. A devoted wife and affectionate children cheered the life of the amiable and industrious artist. He was a genial-faced man, with dark brown hair. This artist and Peter Stokes were identical. When young, Stokes made a love-match, married upon next to nothing, and in a few years found himself the father of several children.

A modest, industrious, painstaking artist, he found but few to sit to him for a portrait. Things grew exceedingly bad with him.

One day he heard one of his boys crying for something to eat, and the artist found that his wife had no bread to give the hungry child. Peter Stokes hurried from his home with an almost wet picture, which he deposited at a neighbouring p.a.w.nbroker's. Returning, the needy artist saw at a street-corner a boy selling baked potatoes, and moreover the artist observed that the boy was doing a busy trade. Crus.h.i.+ng pride, and taking his faithful and devoted wife into close confidence, Peter unfolded a plan by which he too might sell something profitable in the street. Mrs. Stokes seconded the suggestion, and Peter soon commenced his career as a vendor of baked plum pudding. He threw a desperate card, but it turned up trumps.

Stokes's portraits have gone to the limbo of oblivion, but the peculiar method by which he impressed the crowd with his tray of baked plum pudding shows at any rate that its vendor had a good eye for artistic effect.

If it were, as some will doubtless say, "a sin and shame" that an artist of Peter Stokes's ability should have to turn itinerant vendor of pennyworths of pudding, the old adage "Be sure your sin will find you out"

was at fault for once; but to make up for the omission in his case, how wonderfully true was the proverb in the romantic history of Lord Chief Justice Holt, whose impecuniosity caused him to commit an act that resulted in a truly tragic _finale_.

Sir John Holt, famous for his integrity, firmness, and great legal knowledge, who filled the office of Recorder of London for a year and a half, losing it in consequence of his uncompromising opposition to the abolition of the "Test" Act, and whose upright discharge of the important duties of Lord Chief Justice gained him the highest honour and esteem, was as a youth wilful and dissipated. In some respects his deeds at that period bore likeness to those of the madcap Prince Hal, when that personage was the a.s.sociate of Falstaff. He was a roysterer, gambler and, according to some, highwayman. To use Lord Campbell's words, "They even relate, many years after that, when he was going the circuit as Chief Justice, he recognised a man convicted capitally before him as one of his own accomplices in a robbery, and that having visited him in gaol, and inquired after the rest of the gang, he received this answer: 'Ah! my lord, they are all hanged but myself and your lords.h.i.+p.'"

On one occasion, Holt, with a band of dissolute and reckless companions, found himself partic.i.p.ator in the perplexing results of a common bankruptcy. They were without the prospect of obtaining a supper. It was then agreed that they should make their way singly, each individual to do the best he could for himself. The band of roysterers separated, Holt finding himself on a lonely and cheerless road. He was intrepid, nimble witted, and full of self-possession. Spurring his horse, he set off at a gallop. Arriving in front of a little hostelry, he alighted from his steed, handed it over to the care of an ostler, and without more ado went into the house and ordered the best entertainment that it could afford.

Whatever hards.h.i.+ps he had undergone, Holt had now the pleasing expectation of a savoury supper and comfortable lodgment. Waiting for a smoking dish, the odour from which pleasantly saluted his nostrils, he carelessly strolled from the chamber where he had been sitting into the kitchen.

There the hostess was busy in her culinary labours, while near the blazing fire sat a girl about thirteen years old, pale, haggard, and s.h.i.+vering in an ague fit. John Holt, though a "ne'er do weel," and a wild impetuous fellow was not without the instinct of a compa.s.sionate heart. He asked many questions concerning the malady of the young girl as she moaned and rocked herself in the warmth of the ruddy embers. The mother replied that for a year her daughter had been stricken by the ague, that the labour of the doctors trying to cure her had been in vain, and that their charges had nearly brought the fortunes of the house to ruin.

The young student having listened to the story of the mother's misfortune, then spoke in contemptuous terms of doctors all round, bade her take courage and be of good cheer, for he was acquainted with a specific that would speedily take away her daughter's ague. "Indeed," said Holt, "you need be under no further concern, for you may a.s.sure yourself the girl shall never have another fit." Taking a piece of parchment from his breast pocket, he with much gravity and deliberation proceeded to inscribe some Greek characters on the sc.r.a.p, and having concluded his work, charged the mother to bind the parchment upon her daughter's wrist, allowing it to remain there until the ague departed. By some strange coincidence, or by the effects wrought upon the sympathies of the girl at the appearance and touch of the supposed charm, her ague did depart, and returned no more, at least not during the week John Holt remained the guest of mine hostess.

When he deemed it prudent or convenient to depart, he asked for his bill with that confidence so often masking the demeanour of the bold adventurer reduced to impecuniosity. But the hostess, smiling and embarra.s.sed, said she could make no demand for payment, and further added that she rather felt in the position of one owing something, than as one having something to receive. Indeed, she expressed sorrowfully that she could in no way compensate her guest for the miraculous cure which he had wrought, and that had she but known him sooner the expense of forty pounds would not have been swallowed up by the _posse_ of useless doctors. Overcome by the profuse thanks and grateful acknowledgments of his hostess John Holt condescended to waive paying his week's bill, and departed with much hilarity on his journey.

As months and years rolled away, the incidents of a busy life and the a.s.siduous practice of his profession crowded out of John Holt's memory the recollection of his strange and facetious adventure at the hostelry on the Oxford road. Holt's habits changed. He became the wise and impartial judge, so admirable and so competent, that even his stern Tory father (spite of the son's Liberal politics) grew proud of the man who in his youthful career at Oxford had been the wildest of the wild, and the most erring of the erring. The years have gone on, and when we turn again to John Holt, he is approaching his sixtieth year. The scene is still in the county of Oxford, but this time in one of the princ.i.p.al towns. The Summer a.s.sizes are being held, and the judges are sitting in all wonted solemnity and state. In the Criminal Court a cause of unusual interest is being heard.

At the bar there stands a poor, miserable and decrepit old woman. As she looks at the grave and dignified judge she shakes with terror. The causes of her fear are solemn and significant, for she is about to be tried for her life, on the charge of being a witch. In those days of which I am writing, there existed a terrible superst.i.tion in the popular mind concerning witchcraft, believed as it was to be the crime of all others the most destructive to man and the most impious in the sight of G.o.d. The comely, dignified and shrewd-eyed judge excites the keenest interest in the crowded court, for he is one of the "men of mark" of his age, the profound lawyer, the incorruptible dispenser of justice, and the champion of truth and freedom.

Witnesses are called. They give their evidence in a plain unpretentious manner, and it is certain that they possess a firm faith in what they allege against the miserable prisoner. The princ.i.p.al accusation against her is that she holds in her possession a potent and mysterious charm. It enables her to spread disease, or to cure it, and it is further stated that she has lately been detected using it. "Has anybody seen it?"

inquires the judge. "Yes, please you, my lord, and it is now here ready to be produced." His lords.h.i.+p directs that it shall be handed to him, and his order is obeyed. Behold! nothing but a dirty ball wrapped round with rag and pack-thread. Removing these, he discovers a sc.r.a.p of stained and time-worn parchment inscribed with characters in his own handwriting.

Chief Justice Holt, after the lapse of forty years, recognises the Greek letters which he had scrawled in the inn kitchen situate on the Oxford road.

Deep silence reigns in the crowded court-house, and every eye is turned on the judge. Lifting his head from his hands, in which it had been buried for a few moments, he says to the jury,--

"Gentlemen, I must now relate an incident of my life which ill-suits my position. To conceal that incident would be to increase the awful folly which I must atone. Did I conceal that folly of which I was guilty, I should endanger innocence and countenance superst.i.tion. This so-called charm which these poor ignorant people suppose to have the power of life and death is a senseless piece of parchment, on which with my own hand I wrote and gave the poor woman. This poor woman for no other reason stands before me accused of witchcraft." Chief Justice Holt then narrated the whole story of his adventure in his early years at the woman's hostelry on the Oxford road, and the recital produced such an effect upon the minds of the jury that his old hostess was not only acquitted, but was one of the last persons tried for the crime of witchcraft in this country.

I turn to another country and to incidents enveloped in a brighter and pleasanter atmosphere. Readers of the older French literature are familiar with the notes, verses, and dramas of Alexis Piron. The Burgundian _bon-vivant_ knew many adventures and much impecuniosity; but notwithstanding Fortune's buffets he retained "a revenue of good spirits,"

and when turned fifty years of age he partic.i.p.ated in a bit of romance.

One evening after supper he went to the shop of a grocer, Gallet, a song-writer and boon companion. A female entered the shop and asked for some coffee and matches. Gallet was away, so the poet undertook to serve the lady, saying to her, "Is that all you want?" The grocer entering added, "Mademoiselle ought to have a husband in the bargain." "Excellent,"

said Piron, "if the damsel will take up with any kind of wood for her arrow." A blush suffused the lady's cheeks, and she departed without making rejoinder.

Next morning she visited the poet. "Monsieur," said she with trepidation, "we are two children of Burgundy. I have long wanted to see a man of so much wit, and having learned yesterday that it was you with whom I had to do in M. Gallet's shop, I have come to-day without ceremony to pay you a visit. How weary you must grow here! I was very much afraid of finding some handsome lady from the theatre, but, heaven be praised!"--with a glance at the extreme poverty of his surroundings--"you live like a Trappist. Have you never thought of making an end of this?" Said Piron: "I leave the care of that to la Camarde; but if you please, what do you mean?" "I wish to say, have you ever thought of marriage?" "Not much.

Mademoiselle, pray sit down while I light the fire." "You don't know, Monsieur Piron! it will make you laugh." "So much the worse." "I shall speak plainly. If your heart, has the same sentiment as mine"--the poet was wonder-stricken, and looked at the lady in silence--"in a word, Monsieur Piron, I come to offer you my hand and heart, not forgetting my life-annuity of two thousand livres."

The poet controlled his merry temper, and was touched when he thought what a compa.s.sionate friend had been vouchsafed to him. He saw the woman's eyes moist with tears, and he embraced her. "I leave to you," said he, "all the preparations for the wedding. Gallet will write the epithalamium." "You will make me, Monsieur Piron, the happiest person in the world I did not hope for so happy a conclusion, for--I do not wish to conceal anything from you--I am _fifty-five_!" "Well," said Piron, with a slight shrug, "we have over a hundred years between us. We would have done well to have met sooner."

This marriage took place amid festivity. The old maid had a good heart and an amiable temper. She proved a faithful sister, friend, and servant to Piron. He had aromatic coffee in the morning, the beverage being all the more palatable, as it was accompanied by the maker's cheerful gossip in the chimney-corner. Madame Piron expressed herself enthusiastically about her husband's writings, and Piron felt no longer alone, was able to refuse going out to dinner in bad weather, and had a crown in his pocket when he sauntered in the suns.h.i.+ne. He was well off enough to occasionally give alms, and at last he could receive friends at his hearth. This episode in the life of Piron is one of the brightest romances of impecuniosity.

Scarcely less happy is an anecdote of Quin the actor, who, if he said many spiteful things, was not incapable of a generous action. James Thomson, another of the brotherhood of genius, found himself immured in a sponging-house. In his dolorous and solitary condition he was one evening surprised by a visit from Quin. They cracked a bottle, and as the night wore away a choice supper was served by one of the attendants of the prison. Thomson, a sensitive nervous man, partook of the dishes with indifferent appet.i.te, for his thoughts wandered to the payment of the bill. Another bottle of claret was drunk, and the visitor rose to depart.

"Mr. Thomson," said Quin, "before I go, let me say that there is an account between us." Thomson was alarmed, and stammered out that he was unaware of any obligations. "They are mine," replied Quin. "I have received so much delight from the writings of James Thomson, that I consider myself his debtor at least for a hundred pounds." Saying this, he placed a note for that amount on the table, shook the astonished poet by the hand, and bowed himself out.

I will conclude the selections of romantic impecuniosity with the case of Thomas De Quincey, who, according to some authorities, being afraid of an oral examination at Oxford College, left the university by stealth and wandered away, his stock of money being scant and his whereabouts quite unknown to his friends. He wandered about Denbighs.h.i.+re, Merioneths.h.i.+re, and Carnarvons.h.i.+re. Lodging at some place, De Quincey took affront at something said by a landlady, and abruptly left his quarters. In his "Confessions of an Opium Eater" he says,--

"This leaving the lodgings turned out a very unfortunate occurrence for me, because living henceforward at inns, I was drained of my money very rapidly. In a fortnight I was reduced to short allowance, that is I could allow myself only one meal a day. From the keen appet.i.te produced by constant exercise and mountain air acting on a youthful stomach I soon began to suffer greatly on this slender regimen, for the single meal which I could venture to order was coffee or tea.

This, however, was at length withdrawn, and afterwards so long as I remained in Wales I subsisted either on blackberries, hips, haws, etc., or on the usual hospitalities which I now and then received for such little services as I had an opportunity of rendering. Sometimes I wrote letters of business for cottagers who happened to have relations in Liverpool or London. More often I wrote love-letters to their sweethearts for young women who had lived as servants in Shrewsbury or any other towns on the English border. On all such occasions I gave great satisfaction to my humble friends, and was generally treated with hospitality; and once in particular near the village of Llan-y-styndw (or some such name), in a sequestered part of Merioneths.h.i.+re, I was entertained for upwards of three days by a family of young people with an affectionate and fraternal kindness that left an impression upon my heart not yet impaired. The family consisted at that time of four sisters and three brothers, all grown up, and all remarkable for elegance and delicacy of manners. So much beauty and so much native good breeding and refinement I do not remember to have seen before or since, in any cottage, except once or twice in Westmoreland and Devons.h.i.+re. They spoke English, an accomplishment not often met with in so many members of one family, especially in villages remote from the high road. There I wrote, in my first introduction, a letter about prize-money for one of the brothers, who had served on board an English man-of-war, and more privately, two love-letters for two of the sisters. They were both interesting-looking girls, and one of uncommon loveliness. In the midst of their confusion and blushes whilst dictating, or rather giving me general instructions, it did not require any great penetration to discover that what they wished was "that their letters should be as kind as was consistent with proper maidenly pride." I continued so to temper my expressions as to reconcile the gratification of both feelings, and they were as much pleased with the way in which I expressed their thoughts as, in their simplicity, they were astonished at my having so readily discovered them. The reception one meets with from the women of a family generally determines the tenor of one's whole entertainment. In this case I had discharged my confidential duties as secretary so much to the general satisfaction, perhaps also amusing them with my conversation, that I was pressed to stay with a cordiality which I had little inclination to resist. I slept with the brothers, the only unoccupied bed standing in the apartment of the young women; but in all other points they treated me with a respect not usually paid to purses as light as mine, as if my scholars.h.i.+p were sufficient evidence that I was of gentle blood."

Farther on he says,--

"The only friend I had in this strange poverty of mine on first coming to London was a young woman. She was one of that unhappy cla.s.s who belong to the outcasts and pariahs of our female population. For many weeks I had walked at night with this poor friendless girl up and down Oxford Street, or had rested with her on steps, or under the shelter of porticoes. One night when we were pacing slowly along Oxford Street, and after a day when I had felt unusually ill and faint, I requested her to turn off with me into Soho Square. Thither we went, and we sat down on the steps of a house which to this hour I never pa.s.s without a pang of grief and an inner act of homage to the spirit of the unhappy girl in memory of the n.o.ble act she performed. Suddenly as we sat I grew much worse: I had been leaning my head against her bosom. I sank from her arms and fell backwards on the steps. Uttering a cry of terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxford Street, and in less time than could be imagined returned to me with a gla.s.s of port wine and spices that acted upon my empty stomach, which at that time would have rejected all solid food, with an instantaneous power of restoration, and for this gla.s.s the generous girl without a murmur paid out of her own humble purse, at a time, be it remembered, when she had scarcely wherewithal to purchase the bare necessaries of life, and when she could have no reason to expect that I should ever be able to reimburse her."

I will conclude this chapter with two most truly remarkable stories. The first is one which Sir Walter Scott used to relate with his own inimitable powers of story-telling, and which, as the victim was his own cousin, the narrative on the lips of the novelist ever excited profound interest in the minds of listeners. It would seem that as a mids.h.i.+pman his cousin Watty was extremely popular on s.h.i.+p-board and on sh.o.r.e. He was a bit of a rip, but generous to a fault, handsome, merry and reckless. After one memorable long voyage he put in with others at Portsmouth, and enjoyed those roysterings, love pa.s.sages, tavern pleasures, and adventures so dear to the heart of "Jack ash.o.r.e." With a couple of companions Watty Scott was in the unenviable position of being left high and dry on the strand of impecuniosity. Moreover the three jolly sailors had run up an immense bill at a tavern on the Point, the settlement of which haunted them by day and by night. In their recklessness, almost amounting to despair, they still went on living high, and steeping recollection of their liabilities in the fumes of baccy and the odours of the flowing bowl.

At last came the fatal and imperative orders from official quarters that they must "s.h.i.+p off." Summoning up their best graces and most insinuating powers of expression in the way of eloquence, they sought an interview with their hostess, and acquainted her with their foolish but unfortunate position; to which account she listened with attention and deep interest.