The Hon. Philip Martindale, as we have said, went to bed and to sleep, forgetful of the fact of having exchanged cards with a fierce-looking dandy at the house of Sir Gilbert Sampson. The awful truth, however, was brought to his memory the following morning while he was sitting at breakfast. A messenger came, requiring the ear of the Hon. Philip Martindale immediately on very important business. The young gentleman paid ready attention to the messenger who brought a very polite message from one of the police-offices, stating that the magistrate requested Mr. Philip's attendance at the office as soon as possible. The message being urgent as well as polite, Mr. Philip went with the messenger. The magistrate very politely received the young gentleman in his private room. After a suitable preface of grave looks and wise truisms, the worthy magistrate very gravely said to Mr. Philip:

"I am sorry, sir, that I am placed under the disagreeable necessity of binding you over to keep the peace towards Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe."

With the most unaffected astonishment the young gentleman stared and started at the charge, and most seriously and sincerely did he disavow all malice against or even any knowledge of the person of Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe. His memory, however, was presently refreshed by the well-informed magistrate; and when he was questioned about the exchange of cards with a young gentleman at a party on the preceding evening, he forthwith drew from his pocket-book a very economical piece of card whereon, its edges having been previously or subsequently gilded, was engraved in good broad old English characters, Mr. Isaac SolomonsMr. Isaac Solomons; and in a snug sly corner, very small neatly-engraved character, was St. Mary Axe. This was proof positive. There was no denying or evading the fact, that he had received this card with the intention of making an arrangement for a duel with its owner. Now, had all the duelling-pistols in England been loaded, primed, cocked, and pointed to the person of the Hon. Philip Martindale, ready to be discharged into the head, heart, or any other vital part of the said honorable gentleman, he could not have felt more completely horrified than he did, at being detected with a card of Mr. Isaac Solomons, of St. Mary Axe. In a moment the thought rushed into his mind, that all the morning and daily evening papers would be employed in communicating to the world an affair of honor between the Hon. Philip Martindale and Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe. This was really mortifying, after the great pains which Mr. Philip had taken to keep up his dignity, and to support the glory and honor of his rank. It availed nothing that he had kept at a lordly distance the former companions of his legal studies, and that he had laid bets with dukes and lost money to black-legs: there was no pleasure to be enjoyed from these delightful reflections, so long as it was now likely to be proclaimed to all the world that the Hon. Philip Martindale had an affair of honor with Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe.

All these sorrows arose from the Hon. Philip Martindale having mistaken his own peculiar talents and capacities. Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, was the son of Mr. Isaac Solomons, senior. The old gentleman was one of those persons who did not think the affairs of the Hon. Philip Martindale sufficiently promising to accommodate him with a loan. The young gentleman had frequently met Mr. Philip at Epsom, Newmarket, and other places, where noblemen and gentlemen make large bets to keep up their own dignity, and to improve the breed of English horses. Mr. Philip, finding that persons of high rank gave countenance to these sports, thought of course that it was his business also to take part in the same; but being at the same time of very aristocratic feelings, he wished to keep inferior people at a distance: this, however, he could not always well effect. He found himself incompetent to the task of sustaining, with due propriety, the double character of blackguard and gentleman. Some have succeeded very well in this attempt, but Philip Martindale had not a sufficient stock of impudence for the purpose: he was, therefore, exposed frequently to mortifications, which seriously annoyed him. The person of Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, he remembered very well; but who or what he was, Mr. Philip did not know: he merely took him for a gentleman. Sufficiently mortified, therefore, was he by this development.

Patiently in appearance, but most impatiently and pettingly in spirit, did Mr. Philip undergo the good advice which the worthy magistrate was pleased to administer gratuitously and copiously. Much did he hear of the follies of youth, and of the dignity of his high rank, and the high character of Lord Martindale. There is, however, one pleasure in matters of advice given to such young gentlemen as Philip Martindale—there is the pleasure of hearing the last of it. But he was not certain when, if ever, he should hear the last of his affair of honor with Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe; for he soon found after his interview with the worthy magistrate, that the private hearing and all the particulars, and even more than all, had been given to the public. It is really a shame that, when people of rank make fools of themselves, they should be exposed.

It is not to be imagined that so observant a personage as old John Martindale should take no notice, and learn no intelligence, on the subject of Mr. Philip's interview with the worthy police magistrate. Had there been no other means of his ascertaining the fact, he was copiously supplied with all needful information by the active and intelligent Sir Andrew Featherstone, who had been of the party at Sir Gilbert Sampson's the preceding evening. Sir Andrew and Mr. John Martindale were in close conversation when Philip returned from the police-office. Sir Andrew, immediately on the appearance of the Hon. Philip Martindale, cordially congratulated the young gentleman on the escape which he had fortunately had from the duel, which seemed so imminently to threaten him. Philip did not receive the congratulations with a good grace, and endeavoured to affect not to understand what Sir Andrew alluded to; but old John Martindale, who was rather angry that Mr. Philip should have so exposed himself, very pettishly exclaimed:

"I'll tell you what, young gentleman, you may affect as much ignorance as you please, but the fact is, you have been making an arrant fool of yourself. If you had as great regard for a really good name as you pretend to have for what you call honor, you would not suffer yourself to be subject to such insults. An insignificant puppy like that, which you were quarrelling with last night, is absolutely incompetent to insult a man of real honor. You must have let yourself down most pitiably before he could have dared to offer an exchange of cards. I am ashamed of you. I hope Lord Martindale will not hear of your folly."

Philip frowned and looked big, and was preparing to make something of a reply; but poor Sir Andrew, who had been the informant who had excited this ebullition of wrath in the old gentleman's bosom, feeling himself a little annoyed at being witness of this lecture-like harangue, endeavoured to turn off the affair humorously.

"Well, well, my good friend, don't be angry. It is all very fortunate that things are no worse. If young gentlemen like a little fighting, why should they not enjoy themselves. You ought to be happy that your cousin has preserved his honor and shown himself a man of spirit, and come off with a whole skin. I remember the time when I would have given half my estate to have the credit of readiness to fight a duel without frightening myself by an actual conflict in the field of honor." Then addressing himself to Philip, he continued: "You were terribly frightened last night, I suppose. Could you sleep at all? I should like to know how a man feels when he expects to be called out. Is Mr. Isaac Solomons a good shot? But it would have been mortifying to be shot by a little Jew-boy—would it not, Philip?"

"Upon my word, Sir Andrew," replied the mortified young gentleman, "you presume very much upon our good acquaintance. I am very sorry that I have not the liberty at present of letting you know what it is to feel expecting to be called out. Suppose, when I am at liberty, I should ask you for satisfaction."

"Upon my word, Mr. Philip," replied Sir Andrew, "I would not give you satisfaction. I am very nervous—I cannot bear to be frightened. Besides, it spoils one's digestion to be in fear."

"Pshaw, nonsense!" interrupted Mr. John Martindale; "these matters are not to be made a joke of. It is serious to have one's name so exposed and made a public talk for the very rabble."

Old Mr. Martindale was manifestly quite out of humor, and young Philip Martindale was quite out of spirits. He had experienced the interference of his opulent relative in the government of his establishment and in the employment of his time, but he had never before heard him speak with such decided and authoritative harshness; and he attributed this to a suspicion which the old gentleman might entertain, that there had been, on the part of his dependent, other violations of propriety and decorum than the present. Sir Andrew Featherstone felt uncomfortable at the aspect of affairs, and speedily took his leave; but not without beseeching his young friend not to carry his feeling of honor so far as to cross the channel to settle the dispute.

When the impertinent baronet had departed, Mr. John Martindale renewed and repeated his disapprobation of his relative's conduct; and poor Philip had to undergo, without any alloy or abatement, a long and tedious lecture on the conduct which a young man of high rank ought to pursue. It was not very gratifying to him to find, that in no one instance he had acted as he ought. This, however, arose from his own unfortunate ignorance. He thought that he acted very much like a man of rank when he dropped all intimacy with the middling class of persons whom his legal studies had brought him acquainted with; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he patronised the ring by his presence, and supported it by his purse; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he attempted to improve the breed of English horses by playing at the hazard-table at Newmarket; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he encumbered and anticipated his revenue by the kind assistance of the Jewish people; he thought he acted like a man of high rank when, being very angry with Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe, he exchanged cards with the young gentleman, and designed to give him satisfaction by blowing out his brains; for if a man is not satisfied when his brains are blown out, he is never likely to be satisfied at all: he thought he had also acted like a man of high rank by taking a seat in parliament, and never attending to his business there except when his feeders whistled to him to come and vote. In all this, however, it seems that he erred. Indeed, it must be acknowledged that he did not feel very great satisfaction in his own conduct. He felt that he was not respectable. He had no real enjoyment in his follies; but he thought that if his means were increased, he should be more happy, and he now began to suspect more seriously than ever that he was suffering all the annoyance of dependence without any great hopes of reaping much ultimate advantage from it.

Left to himself, the thoughts of his dependent and equivocal situation rushed painfully and perplexingly into his mind. He saw no immediate prospect of extrication from his difficulties, except it should be in an advantageous marriage. Whatever ultimate advantage might result from marrying Clara Rivolta, it was very obvious that no immediate benefit would be derived from it. He would be thus rendering himself more than ever dependent on the caprice of his wealthy relative; and he did not much approve or admire the style of Signora Rivolta, whose notions of dignity differed much from his, and who possessed a very obvious and powerful influence over the mind of her father. Nothing appeared to promise him any effective liberation from his perplexities but a marriage with Miss Sampson. This, however, he could not contemplate with perfect satisfaction, and it began to be even less tolerable than it had formerly appeared. The more he knew of Miss Sampson, the more proofs did he find of her weakness and frivolity; and from the specimen which he had seen at the evening-party, he concluded that their city connexions were more numerous and less select than he had before imagined. Then again he recollected how sneeringly and contemptuously he had accustomed himself to speak and to think of vulgar people. For when Mr. John Martindale had offered him a residence at Brigland Abbey, and had, in making that offer, used such language as intimated his intention of constituting Mr. Philip his heir, the young gentleman began to swell and expand with very lofty thoughts, and to plume himself greatly on his rank, and to anticipate the embellishment and perhaps increase of his rank by means of an ample fortune. Gradually however these high thoughts abated, and the mortifications of dependence on a capricious old humorist became more sensible and annoying. And when the discovery of a daughter and her family had diverted the mind and thoughts of his opulent relative into another channel, then indeed did he most seriously tremble for his own fate.

From the painful thoughts into which these circumstances plunged him, he was roused by a message from his father, Lord Martindale, expressing a wish to see him immediately. The summons was immediately obeyed; and how great was his astonishment and concern at finding his lordship in his chamber with all the apparatus of sickness about him, and bearing on his countenance manifest symptoms of serious illness. Philip expressed and really felt great concern at these appearances, and began to reproach himself that he had neglected for several days past to call on his father and family. Lord Martindale desired him not to reproach himself on that head, for he felt assured that his son was not wanting in filial affection and regard for him. His lordship's voice was very feeble, but he exerted himself to say:

"I have sent for you, Philip, to explain some matters to you which might otherwise give you serious concern, should you not know them till my decease should reveal them."

Philip was about to speak, but Lord Martindale requested him to forbear, and proceeded:

"I am not sure that the illness under which I am now labouring will terminate fatally; but I have my apprehensions, and it is best to be prepared. The business on which I wish to speak to you, Philip, is the disposal of that part of my property which is in my own power to dispose of. The entailed estate must of course descend to you; and it might perhaps be supposed, as this estate is small compared with the income which I have spent, that I should bequeath you something more. My inclination would lead me to do so, but it is not in my power. I have lived for a long time on my capital, and that I am concerned to say is so much reduced, that instead of leaving you any thing in addition to the entailed estate, I must make it my request that you will as far as lies in your power assist your younger brothers. There is a living for Robert, but you must support him at the university; and as you have relinquished the profession, you must assist in preparing Henry for the bar. I know not what are the intentions of my cousin, John Martindale, and perhaps he hardly knows himself. This recent discovery of his daughter may and of course will make a serious alteration in the disposal of his property. I regret very much that you ever complied with his offer of the Abbey; I regret also that I ever accepted the offer of rank. These regrets, however, are of no avail. We must make the best of present circumstances. I see no probability of any other resource for you than an advantageous marriage or a place. The rank to which we are advanced must be supported by some means or other."

His lordship ceased. Philip was too much and too deeply interested to interrupt him till he finished; and then he uttered very earnest and sincere wishes for his father's recovery, and also he avowed that, whatever might be in his power, he would willingly do for his younger brothers. Seriously, however, he was affected at the prospect which was now before him; for by a little confused mental reckoning, he made it out that nearly the whole proceeds of the entailed estate were necessary for the payment of the encumbrances. Selfish or ungenerous the young man certainly was not—his only wish was to keep up his dignity, and get rid of the encumbrances with which he had embarrassed himself. He made to his father every protestation that under circumstances were necessary or requisite.

When, after a little farther talk on the subject, Lord Martindale seemed revived, Philip expressed his readiness to accept of and to perform the duties of any station or place that might be assigned him; but the difficulty with him was how such place was to be procured. Mr. Martindale the elder had, it is true, some borough influence, but not enough to command any thing great.

"Perhaps," said Philip, "it may be best to insure a fortune by a marriage which may easily be made. I allude to the daughter of Sir Gilbert Sampson."

Lord Martindale looked thoughtful, and was silent for a minute or two, and then said:

"It would have been more agreeable could you have formed an union with a lady of better family; but under present circumstances, I fear that if you have no insuperable objections, it will be advisable to submit to this arrangement. Sir Gilbert Sampson is a very respectable and intelligent man. I know nothing against him, but the unpleasant circumstance of his city origin."

This also was the only objection that Mr. Philip knew. His wealth was undoubted, and his affection for his child such as that his whole wealth would ultimately be hers. How much immediately would devolve upon her was uncertain. Philip would have had a little more confidence in proposing and in speaking of the subject of dowry, had he possessed some tangible rent-roll to exhibit on his own side; but the idea of carrying his nobility to market rather pained and mortified him. He would have confided to the liberality of Sir Gilbert; but the fact was, that he could not afford to confide to any one's liberality. Such also he knew to be Sir Gilbert's disposition, that desirous as the worthy citizen might be to purchase nobility for his child, he would not suffer the earnings of his industry to be made the means of liberating any nobleman's estate from the claims of the money-lenders.