Within a day or two afterwards, Mr. Tag-rag received a letter from the Lord Chamberlain's office, notifying him that his Majesty had been graciously pleased to appoint him draper and hosier to his Majesty! It occasioned him feelings of tumultuous pride and pleasure, similar to those with which the Earl of Dreddlington would have received tidings of his long-coveted marquisate having been conferred upon him. He started off, within a quarter of an hour after the receipt of the letter, to a carver and gilder a few doors off, and gave orders for the immediate preparation of a first-rate cast, gilded, of the royal arms; which, in about a week's time, might be seen, a truly resplendent object, dazzlingly conspicuous over the central door of Mr. Tag-rag's establishment, inspiring awe into the minds of passers-by, and envy into Mr. Tag-rag's neighbors and rivals. He immediately sent off letters of gratitude to Mr. Titmouse, and to "the Right Honorable, the Most Noble the Earl of Dreddlington;" to the latter personage, at the same time, forwarding a most splendid crimson satin flowered dressing-gown, as "an humble token of his gratitude for his Lordship's mark of particular condescension."

Both the letter and the dressing-gown gave great satisfaction to the earl's valet, (than whom they never got any farther,) and who, having tried on the glistening addition to his wardrobe, forthwith sat down and wrote a very fine reply, in his Lordship's name, to the note which had accompanied it, taking an opportunity to satisfy his conscience, by stating to the earl the next morning that a Mr. Tag-rag had "called" to express his humble thanks for his Lordship's goodness. He was, moreover, so well satisfied with this specimen of Mr. Tag-rag's articles, that he forthwith opened an account with him, and sent a very liberal order to start with. The same thing occurred with several of the subordinate functionaries at the palace; and—to let my reader, a little prematurely, however, into a secret—this was the extent of the additional custom which Mr. Tag-rag's appointment secured him; and, even for these supplies, I never heard of his getting paid. But it did wonders with him in the estimation of the world. 'Twas evident that he was in a fair way of becoming the head house in the trade. His appointment caused no little ferment in that nook of the city with which he was connected. The worshipful Company of Squirt-Makers elected him a member; and on a vacancy suddenly occurring in the ward to which he belonged, for he had a considerable shop in the city also, he was made a common council-man. Mr. Tag-rag soon made a great stir as a champion of civil and religious liberty. As for church and county rates, in particular, he demonstrated the gross injustice and absurdity of calling upon one who had no personal occasion for the use of a church, of a county bridge, a county jail, or a lunatic asylum, to be called upon to contribute to the support of them. A few speeches in this strain attracted so much attention to him, that several leading men in the ward (a very "liberal" one) intimated to him that he stood the best chance of succeeding to the honor of alderman on the next vacancy; and when he and Mrs. Tag-rag were alone together, he would start the subject of the expenses of the mayoralty with no little anxiety. He went to the chapel no longer on foot, but in a stylish sort of covered gig, with a kind of coal-scuttle shaped box screwed on behind, into which was squeezed his footboy, (who, by the way, had a thin stripe of crimson let into each leg of his trousers, upon Mr. Tag-rag's appointment to an office under the Crown;) he was, also, always a trifle later in arriving at the chapel, than he had been accustomed to be. He had a crimson velvet cushion running along the front of his pew, and the Bibles and hymn-books very smartly gilded. He was presently advanced to the honored post of chief deacon; and on one occasion, in the unexpected absence of the central luminary of the system, was asked to occupy the chair at a "great meeting" of the Society for the Promotion of Civil and Religious Discord; when he took the opportunity of declaring his opinion, which was enthusiastically cheered, that the principles of free trade ought to be applied to religion; and that the voluntary system was that which was designed by God to secure the free blessings of competition in spiritual teaching. As for Satin Lodge, he stuck two little wings to it; and had one of the portraits of Tittlebat Titmouse (as Tippetiwink) hung over his drawing-room mantel-piece, splendidly framed and glazed.

Some little time after Tag-rag had obtained the royal appointment, which I have been so particular in recording, Gammon, happening to be passing his shop, stepped in, and observing Mr. Tag-rag, very cordially greeted him; and then, as if it had been a thought of the moment only, without taking him from the shop, intimated that he had been westward, engaged in completing the formal details of a rearrangement of the greater portion of Mr. Titmouse's extensive estates, upon which that gentleman had recently determined, and the sight of Mr. Tag-rag's establishment had suggested to Mr. Gammon, that possibly Mr. Tag-rag would feel gratified at being made a party—for form's sake—to the transaction; as Mr. Gammon was sure that Mr. Titmouse would feel delighted at having associated with the Earl of Dreddlington, and one or two other persons of distinction, in the meditated arrangement, the name of so early and sincere a friend as Mr. Tag-rag; "one who, moreover"—here Gammon paused, and gave a smile of inexpressible significance, "but it was not for him to hint his suspicions"——

"Sir—I—I—will you come into my room?" interrupted Tag-rag, rather eagerly, anxious to have a more definite indication of Mr. Gammon's opinion; but that gentleman, looking at his watch, pleaded want of time, and suddenly shaking Mr. Tag-rag by the hand, moved towards the door.

"You were talking of signing, sir—Have you got with you what you want signed? I'll sign anything!—anything for Mr. Titmouse; only too proud—it's quite an honor to be in any way connected with him!" Gammon, on hearing this, felt in his pockets, as if he supposed that he should find there what he perfectly well knew had been lying ready, cut and dried, in his safe at Saffron Hill for months.

"I find I have not got the little document with me," said he, carelessly; "I suppose it's lying about, with other loose papers, at the office, or I may have left it at the earl's"—[though Gammon's objects required him here to allude to the Earl of Dreddlington, I think it only fair to say that he had never been, for one instant in his life, in that great man's company.]

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Gammon." said Tag-rag, considering—"Your office is at Saffron Hill? Well, I shall be passing in your direction to-morrow, on my way to my city establishment, about noon, and will look in and do all you wish."

"Could you arrange to meet the earl there?—or, as his Lordship's movements are—ah, ha!—not very"——

"Should be most proud to meet his Lordship, sir, to express my personal gratitude"——

"Oh, the earl never likes to be reminded, Mr. Tag-rag, of any little courtesy or kindness he may have conferred! But if you will be with us about twelve, we can wait a little while; and if his Lordship should not be punctual, we must even let you sign first, ah, ha!—and explain it to his Lordship on his arrival, for I know your time is very precious, Mr. Tag-rag! Gracious! Mr. Tag-rag, what a constant stream of customers you have!—I heard it said, the other day, that you were rapidly absorbing all the leading business in your line in Oxford Street."

"You're very polite, Mr. Gammon! Certainly, I've no reason to complain. I always keep the best of everything, both here and in the city, and sell at the lowest prices, and spare no pains to please; and it's hard if"——

"Ah, how do you do?" quoth Gammon, suddenly starting, and bowing to some one on the other side of the way, whom he did not see. "Well, good-day, Mr. Tag-rag—good-day! To-morrow at twelve, by the way?"

"I'm yours to command, Mr. Gammon," replied Tag-rag; and so they parted. Just about twelve o'clock the next day, the latter, in a great bustle, saying he had fifty places to call at in the city, made his appearance at Saffron Hill.

"His Lordship a'n't here, I suppose?" quoth he, after shaking hands with Mr. Quirk and Mr. Gammon. The latter gentleman pulled out his watch, and, shrugging his shoulders, said with a smile, "No—we'll give him half an hour's grace."

"Half an hour, my dear sir!" exclaimed Tag-rag, "I couldn't stay so long, even for the high honor of meeting his Lordship. I am a man of business, he isn't; first come first served, you know, eh? All fair that!" There were a good many recently engrossed parchments and writings scattered over the table, and from among them Gammon, after tossing them about for some time, at length drew out a sheet of foolscap. It was stamped, and there was writing upon the first and second pages.

"Now, gentlemen, quick's the word—time's precious!" said Tag-rag, taking up a pen and dipping it into the inkstand. Gammon, with an unconcerned air, placed before him the document he had been looking for. "Ah, how well I know the handwriting! That flourish of his—a sort of boldness about it, a'n't there?" said Tag-rag, observing the signature of Titmouse immediately above the spot on which he was going to place his own; there being written in pencil, underneath, the word "Dreddlington," evidently for the intended signature of the earl. "I'm between two good ones, at any rate, eh?" said Tag-rag. Gammon or Quirk said something about a "term to attend the inheritance"—"trustee of an outstanding term"—"legal estate vested in the trustees"—"too great power to be put in the hands of any but those of the highest honor."

"Stay!" quoth Gammon, ringing his little hand-bell—"nothing like regularity, even in trifles." He was answered by one of the clerks, a very dashing person—"We only wish you to witness a signature," said Gammon. "Now, we shall release you, Mr. Tag-rag, in a moment. Say 'I deliver this as my act and deed'—putting your finger on the little wafer there."

So said and so did Mr. Tag-rag as he had been directed; the clerk wrote his name under the witnessing clause, "Abominable Amminadab;" and from that moment Mr. Tag-rag had unconsciously acquired an interest in the future stability of Mr. Titmouse's fortunes, to the extent of some FORTY THOUSAND POUNDS.

"Now, gentlemen, you'll make my compliments to his Lordship, and if he asks how I came to sign before him, explain the hurry I was in. Time and tide wait for no man. Good-morning, gentlemen; good-morning; best regards to our friend, Mr. Titmouse." Gammon attended him to the door, cordially shaking him by the hand, and presently returned to the room he had just quitted, where he found Mr. Quirk holding in his hand the document just signed by Tag-rag; which was, in fact, a joint and several bond, conditioned in a penalty of forty thousand pounds, for the due repayment, by Titmouse, of twenty thousand pounds, and interest at five per cent, about to be advanced to him on mortgage of a portion of the Yatton property. Gammon, sitting down, gently took the instrument from Mr. Quirk, and with a bit of India-rubber calmly effaced the pencilled signature of "Dreddlington."

"You're a ve—ry clever fellow, Gammon!" exclaimed Mr. Quirk, presently, with a sort of sigh, and after, as it were, holding his breath for some time. Gammon made no reply. His face was slightly pale, and wore an anxious expression. "It will do now," continued Mr. Quirk, rubbing his hands, and with a gleeful expression of countenance.

"That remains to be seen," replied Gammon, in a low tone.

"Eh? What? Does anything occur—eh? By Jove, no screw loose, I hope?"

"No—but we're in very deep water now, Mr. Quirk"——

"Well—devil only cares, so long as you keep a sharp look-out, Gammon. I'll trust the helm to you! I'll pit you against Old Nick any day, friend Gammon!"

As Gammon did not seem in a talkative mood, Quirk shortly afterwards left him.

Now, though Mr. Tag-rag is no favorite of mine, I begin to feel a good deal of anxiety on his behalf. I wish he had not been in so vast a "hurry," in a matter which required such grave deliberation, as "signing, sealing, and delivering." When a man is called on to go through so serious a ceremony, it would be well if he could be apprised of the significance of the formula—"I deliver this as my act and deed." Thus hath expressed himself upon this point, a great authority in the law, old Master Plowden. 'T is a passage somewhat quaint in form, but not the less forcible and important in substance:—

"Words are oft spoken unadvisedly, and pass from men lightly and inconsiderately; but, where the agreement is by deed, there is more time for deliberation; for when a man passes a thing by deed, first, there is the determination of the mind to do it, and upon that he causes it to be written, which is one part of deliberation; and, afterwards, he puts his seal to it, which is another part of deliberation; and, lastly, he delivers the writing as his deed, which is the consummation of his resolution. So that there is great deliberation used in the making of deeds, for which reason they are received as a lien, final to the party, and are adjudged to bind the party, without examining upon what cause or consideration they were made."[24]

Possibly some one now reading these pages hath had most dismal experience in the matter above mentioned; and I hope that such dismal experience, a due reflection will avert from many a reader. As for Tag-rag, it may turn out that our fears for him are groundless: nevertheless one hates to see men do important things in a hurry:—and, as we shall lose sight of Mr. Tag-rag for some time, there can be no harm in wishing him well out of what he has just done.

and not otherwise.

The London season was now advancing towards its close. Fine ladies were sated and exhausted with operas, concerts, balls, routs, soirÉes, assemblies, bazaars, fÊtes, and the Park. Their lords were getting tired of their clubs during the day, and hurried dinners, late hours, foul air, and long speeches, at the two Houses; where, however they might doze away the time, they could seldom get the luxury of a downright nap for more than an hour or two together—always waking, and fancying themselves in the tower of Babel, and that it was on fire, so strange and startling were the lights and the hubbub! The very whippers-in were looking jaded and done—each being like a Smithfield drover's dog on a Monday night, which at length can neither bark nor bite in return for a kick or a blow, and, hoarse and wearied, falls asleep on his way home—a regular somnambulist. Where the Earl of Dreddlington and Lady Cecilia were to pass their autumn, was a question which they were beginning to discuss rather anxiously. Any one glancing over their flourishing list of residences in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, which were paraded in the Peerages and Court Guides, would have supposed that they had an ample choice before them: but the reader of this history knows better. The mortifying explanation—mortifying to the poor earl—having been once given by me, I shall not again do so. Suffice it to say, that Poppleton Hall, Hertfordshire, had its disadvantages; there they must keep up a full establishment, and receive county company and other visitors—being in arrear with much hospitality. 'Twas expensive work, also, at the watering-places; and expensive and also troublesome to go abroad at the earl's advanced period of life. Pensively ruminating on these matters one evening, they were interrupted by a servant bringing in a note, which proved to be from Titmouse—inviting them, in terms of profound courtesy and great cordiality, to honor Yatton, by making a stay there during as great a portion of the autumn as they could not better occupy. Mr. Titmouse frankly added, that he could not avoid acknowledging some little degree of selfishness in giving the invitation—namely, in expressing a hope that the earl's presence would afford him, if so disposed, an opportunity of introducing his host to any of the leading members of the county who might be honored by the earl's acquaintance; that, situated as Titmouse was, he owned to an increasing anxiety on that point. He added, that he trusted the earl and Lady Cecilia would consider Yatton, while they were there, as in all respects their own residence, and that no exertion should be wanting to render their stay as agreeable as possible. The humble appeal of Titmouse prevailed with his august kinsman; who, on the next day, sent him a letter saying that his Lordship fully recognized the claims which Mr. Titmouse had upon him as the head of the family, and that his Lordship should feel very glad in availing himself of the opportunity which offered itself, of placing Mr. Titmouse on a proper footing of intercourse with the people of the county. That, for this purpose, His Lordship should decline any invitations they might receive to pass their autumn elsewhere, &c. &c. &c. In plain English, they jumped (but as decorously as possible) at the invitation. It had emanated originally from Gammon, who, from motives of his own, had suggested it to Titmouse, bade him act upon it, and had drawn up the letter conveying it. I say, from motives of his own, Gammon was bent upon becoming personally acquainted with the earl, and fixing himself, if possible, thoroughly in his Lordship's confidence. He had contrived to ascertain from Titmouse, without that gentleman's being, however, aware of it, that the few occasions on which his (Gammon's) name had been mentioned by the earl, it had been accompanied by slighting expressions—by indications of even dislike and suspicion. Give him, however, thought he, but the opportunity, and he could very soon change the nature of the earl's feelings towards him. As soon, therefore, as the earl's acceptance of the invitation had been communicated to Gammon, he resolved to be one of the guests at Yatton during the time of the earl's stay—a step, into the propriety of which he easily brought Mr. Quirk to enter, but which he did not, for the present, communicate to Titmouse, lest he should, by prematurely disclosing it to the earl, raise any obstacle, arising out of an objection on the part of his Lordship; who, if he but found Gammon actually there, must submit to the infliction with what grace he might. In due time it was notified on the part of the earl, by his man of business, to Mr. Titmouse, (who had gone down to Yatton,) through his man of business, that the earl, and a formidable portion of his establishment, would make their appearance at Yatton by a named day. The earl had chosen to extend the invitation to Miss Macspleuchan and also to as many attendants as he thought fit to take with him, instead of letting them consume their board wages in entire idleness in town or at Poppleton. Heavens! what accommodation was required, for the earl, for the Lady Cecilia, each of their personal attendants, Miss Macspleuchan, and five servants! Then there were two other guests invited, in order to form company and amusement for the earl—the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de Millefleurs, and a Mr. Tuft. Accommodation must be had for these; and, to secure it, Mr. Titmouse and Mr. Gammon were driven to almost the extremities of the house. Four servants, in a sort of baggage-wagon, preceded the arrival of the earl and Lady Cecilia by a day or two, in order to "arrange everything;" and, somehow or another, one of the first things that was done with this view, was to install his Lordship's chief servants in the quarters of Mr. Titmouse's servants, who, it was suggested, should endeavor to make themselves as comfortable as they could in some little unfurnished rooms over the stables! And, in a word, before Mr. Titmouse's grand guests had been at the Hall four-and-twenty hours, there was established there the same freezing state and solemn ceremony which prevailed in the earl's own establishment. Down came at length, thundering through the village, the earl's dusty travelling-carriage and four; himself, Lady Cecilia, and Miss Macspleuchan within, his valet and Lady Cecilia's maid behind: presently it wound round the park road, crashing and flashing through the gravel, and rattling under the old gateway, and at length stood before the Hall door—the reeking horses pulled up with a sudden jerk, which almost threw them all upon their haunches. Mr. Titmouse was in readiness to receive his distinguished visitors; the carriage-door was opened—down went the steps—and in a few moments' time the proud old Earl of Dreddlington and his proud daughter, having entered the Hall, had become the guests of its flustered and ambitious little proprietor. While all the visitors—great and small—are occupied in their dressing-rooms, recovering themselves from the cramp and fatigue of a long journey, and are preparing to make their appearance at dinner, let me take the opportunity to give you a sketch of the only one of them, of the smaller sort, to whom you are at present a stranger: I mean Mr. Tuft—Mr. Venom Tuft.

Oft hath an inexperienced mushroom-hunter, deceived at a distance, run up to secure what seemed to be a fine cluster of mushrooms, growing under the shade of a stately tree, but which, on stooping down to gather them, he discovers with disappointment and disgust to be no mushrooms at all, but vile, unwholesome—even poisonous funguses: which, to prevent their similarly deluding others, he kicks up and crushes under foot. And is not this a type of what often happens in society? Under the "cold shade of aristocracy," how often is to be met with—the SYCOPHANT?—Mr. Venom Tuft was one of them. His character was written in his face. Disagreeable to look at—though he thought far otherwise—he yet contrived to make himself pleasant to be listened to, for a while, by the languid and ennuyÉ fashionable. He spoke ever—

His person was at once effeminate and coarse; his gesture and address were cringing—there was an intolerable calmness and gentleness about them at all times, but especially while laboring in his vocation. He had the art of administering appropriate and acceptable flattery by a look only, deferential and insinuating—as well as by words. He had always at command a copious store of gossip, highly seasoned with scandal; which he collected and prepared with industry and judgment. Clever toadies are generally bitter ones. With sense enough to perceive, but not spirit enough to abandon their odious propensities, they are aware of the ignominious spectacle they exhibit before the eyes of men of the least degree of independence and discernment, and whose open contempt they have not power or manliness enough to resent. Then their smothered rage takes an inward turn; it tends to, and centres in the tongue, from which it falls in drops of scalding virus; and thus it is, that the functions of sycophant and slanderer are so often found united in the same miserable individual. Does a sycophant fancy that his patron—if one may use such a term—is not aware of his degrading character and position? Would that he could but hear himself spoken of by those in whose presence he has last been prostrating himself! If he could but for one moment "see himself as others see him"—surely he would instantly wriggle out of the withering sight of man! But Mr. Tuft was not an everyday toady. Being a clever man, it occurred to him as calculated infinitely to enhance the value of his attentions, if he could get them to be regarded as those of a man of some ability and reputation. So reasonable a wish, as thus to rise to eminence in the calling in life to which he had devoted himself—viz. toadyism—stimulated him to considerable exertion, which was in time rewarded by a measure of success; for he began to be looked on as something of a literary man. Then he would spend his mornings in reading up, in those quarters whence he might cull materials for display in society at a later period of the day; when he would watch his opportunity, or, if none presented itself, make one, by diverting the current of conversation into the channel on which was the gay and varied bordering of his very recent acquisitions. All his knowledge was of this gossiping pro hÂc vice character.——He was very skilful in administering his flattery. Did he dine with his Grace, or his Lordship, whose speech in the House appeared in that or the preceding day's newspapers? Mr. Tuft got it up carefully, and also the speech in answer to it, with a double view—to show himself at home in the question! and then to differ a little with his Grace, or his Lordship, in order to be presently convinced, and set right by them! Or when conversation turned upon the topics which had, over-night, called up his Grace or his Lordship on his legs, Mr. Tuft would softly break in by observing that such and such a point had been "admirably put in the debate by some one of the speakers—he did not recollect whom;" and on being apprised of, and receiving a courteous bow from, the great man entitled to the undesigned compliment, look so surprised—almost, indeed, piqued! Carefully, however, as he managed matters, he was soon found out by men, and compelled to betake himself, with ten-fold ardor, to the women, with whom he lasted a little longer. They considered him a great literary man; for he could quote and criticise a good deal of poetry, and abuse many novels. He could show that what everybody else admired was full of faults; what all condemned was admirable: so that the fair creatures were forced to distrust their own judgment, in proportion as they deferred to his. He would allow no one to be entitled to the praise of literary excellence except individuals of rank, and one or two men of established literary reputation, who had not thought it worth their while to repel his obsequious advances, or convenient not to do so. Then he would polish the poetry of fine ladies, touch up their little tales, and secure their insertion in fashionable periodicals. On these accounts, and of his piquant tittle-tattle, no soirÉe or conversazione was complete without him, any more than without tea, coffee, ice, or lemonade. All toadies hate one another; but his brethren both hated and feared Mr. Tuft; for he was not only so successful himself, but possessed and used such engines for depressing them. Mr. Tuft had hoped to succeed in being popped in by one of his patrons for a snug little borough; but the great man got tired of him, and turned him off, though the ladies of the family still secured him occasional access to the dinner-table. He did not, however, make a very grateful return for such good-natured condescensions. Ugly and ungainly as he was, he yet imagined himself possessed of personal attractions for the ladies, and converted their innocent and unsuspecting familiarities, which had emanated from those confident in their purity and their elevation, into tokens of the ascendency he had gained over them; and of which, with equal cruelty, folly, and presumption, he would afterwards boast pretty freely. Till this came, however, to be suspected and discovered, Mr. Tuft visited a good many leading houses in town, and spent no inconsiderable portion of each autumn at some one or other of the country mansions of his patrons—from whose "castles," "halls," "abbeys," "priories," and "seats," he took great pride in dating his letters to his friends. I must not forget to mention that he kept a book, very gorgeously bound and embellished, with silver-gilt clasps, and bearing on the back the words—"Book of Autographs;" but I should have written it—"Trophies of Toadyism." This book contained autograph notes of the leading nobility, addressed familiarly to himself, thus:—

"The Duke of Walworth presents his compliments to Mr. Tuft, and feels particularly obliged by," &c.

"The Duchess of Diamond hopes Mr. Tuft will not forget to bring with him this evening," &c.

"The Marquis of M—— has the honor to assure Mr. Tuft that," &c.

"Dear Mr. Tuft,

"Why were you not at —— House last night? We were dreadfully dull without you! X —— just as stupid as you always say he is."

[This was from a very pretty and fashionable countess, whose initials it bore.]

"If Mr. Tuft is dead, Lady Dulcimer requests to be informed when his funeral will take place, as she, together with a host of mourners, intends to show him a last mark of respect."

"Dear Mr. Tuft,

"The poodle you brought me has got the mange, or some horrid complaint or other, which is making all his hair fall off. Do come and tell me what is to be done. Where can I send the sweet suffering angel?—Yours,

Arabella D——."

[This was from the eldest and loveliest daughter of a very great duke.]

"The Lord Chancellor presents his compliments, and begs to acknowledge the receipt of Mr. Venom Tuft's obliging present of his little 'Essay on Greatness.'"

These are samples, taken at random, of the contents of Mr. Tuft's book of autographs, evidencing abundantly the satisfactory terms of intimacy upon which he lived with the great; and it was ecstasy to him, to see this glittering record of his triumphs glanced over by the envious admiring eyes of those in his own station in society. How he delighted to be asked about the sayings and doings of the exclusive circles! How confidentially would he intimate the desperate condition of a sick peer—an expected Éclaircissement of some fashionable folly and crime—or a move to be made in the Upper House that evening! Poor Tuft little suspecting (lying so snug in his shell of self-conceit) how frequently he fell, on these occasions, among the Philistines—and was, unconsciously to himself, being trotted out by a calm sarcastic hypocrite, for the amusement of the standers-by, just as a little monkey is poked with a stick to get up and exhibit himself and his tricks. Such was Mr. Tuft, a great friend and admirer of "the marquis," through whose influence he had procured the invitation from Titmouse, in virtue of which he was now dressing in a nice little room at the back of the Hall, overlooking the stables; being bent upon improving his already tolerably familiar acquaintance with the Earl of Dreddlington and Lady Cecilia, and also extracting from the man whose hospitality he was enjoying, materials for merriment among his great friends against the next season.

When the party had collected in the drawing-room in readiness for dinner, you might have seen Mr. Tuft in earnestly respectful conversation with the Lady Cecilia; Mr. Gammon standing talking to Miss Macspleuchan, with an air of courteous ease and frankness—having observed her sitting neglected by everybody; the earl conversing now with the marquis, then with Titmouse, and anon with Tuft, with whom he appeared to be particularly pleased. Happening at length to be standing near Gammon—a calm, gentlemanlike person of whom he knew nothing, nor suspected that his keen eye had taken in his Lordship's true character and capacity at a glance; nor that he would, in a few hours' time, acquire as complete a mastery over his said Lordship, as ever the present famous hippodamist at Windsor,[25] by touching a nerve in the mouth of a horse, reduces him to helpless docility and submission—the earl and he fell into casual conversation for a moment or two. The air of deference with which Gammon received the slight advances of the great man, was exquisite and indescribable. It gave him clearly to understand that his lofty pretensions were known to, and profoundly appreciated by, the individual whom he was addressing. Gammon said but little: that little, however, how significant and decisive! He knew that the earl would presently inquire of Titmouse who the unknown visitor was; and that on being told, in the conceited and probably disparaging manner which Gammon knew Titmouse would adopt, if he supposed it would please the earl, that "it was only Mr. Gammon, one of his solicitors," he would sink at once and forever beneath the notice of the earl. He resolved, therefore, to anticipate—to contrive that it should ooze out easily and advantageously from himself, so that he could see the effect it had upon the earl, and regulate his movements accordingly. Gammon sat down before the fortress of the earl's pride, resolved that, for all it appeared so inaccessible and impregnable, it should fall, however his skill and patience might be taxed in the siege. Till he had cast his piercing eye upon the earl, Gammon had felt a little of the nervousness which one may imagine would be experienced by Van Amburgh, who, on being called into the presence of majesty to give a specimen of his skill upon an animal concealed from him, of whose name and qualities he was ignorant—should summon all his terrors into his eye, and string his muscles to their highest tension; and, on the door being opened, turn with smiling scorn—if not indignation—from a sucking pig, a calf, an ass, or a chicken. Something similar were the feelings experienced by Gammon, as soon as he had scanned the countenance and figure of the Earl of Dreddlington. He quickly perceived that the dash of awe which he had thrown into his manner was producing its due effect upon that most magnificent simpleton. Watching his opportunity, he gently introduced the topic of the recent change of ownership which Yatton had undergone; and in speaking of the manner in which Mr. Titmouse had borne his sudden prosperity—"Yes, my Lord," continued Gammon, with apparent carelessness, "I recollect making some such observation to him, and he replied, 'Very true, Mr. Gammon'"—Gammon finished his sentence calmly; but he perceived that the earl had withdrawn himself into his earldom. He had given a very slight start; a little color had mounted into his cheek; a sensible hauteur had been assumed, and by the time that Gammon had done speaking, the space between them had been—as Lord Dreddlington imagined, unobservedly—increased by two or three inches. Gammon was a man—an able and a proud man—and he felt galled; but, "let it pass," he presently reflected—"let it pass, you pompous old idiot; I will one day repay it with interest." The earl separated from him, Gammon regarding him as a gaudy craft sheering off for a while, but doomed to be soon sunk. Mr. Tuft, (who was the son of a respectable retired tobacconist,) having ascertained that Gammon was only Mr. Titmouse's attorney, conducted himself for a while as though there were no such person in the room; but being a quick observer, and catching once or twice the faint sarcastic smile with which Gammon's eye was settled on him, he experienced a very galling and uneasy consciousness of his presence. The marquis's superior tact and perception of character led him to treat Gammon very differently—with a deference and anxiety to please him, which Gammon understood thoroughly—in fact, he and the marquis had many qualities in common, but Gammon was the man of power. During dinner he sat beside Miss Macspleuchan, and was almost the only person who spoke to her—in fact, he said but little to any one else. He took wine with Titmouse with a marked, but guarded, air of confidence. The marquis took wine with Gammon with an air of studied courtesy. The earl's attention was almost entirely engrossed by Mr. Tuft, who sat next to him, chattering in his ear like a little magpie perched upon his shoulder. The marquis sat next to the Lady Cecilia; for whose amusement, as far as his cautious tact would allow him, he from time to time drew out their little host. At length, in answer to a question by the marquis, the earl let fall some pompous observation, from which the marquis, who was getting very tired of the vapid monotony which pervaded the table, ventured to differ pretty decisively. Tuft instantly sided with the earl, and spoke with infinite fluency for some minutes: Gammon saw in a moment that he was an absurd pretender; and watching his opportunity, for the first time that he had interchanged a syllable with him, with one word exposing a palpable historical blunder of poor Tuft's, overthrew him as completely as a bullet from a crossbow dislodges a tomtit from the wall on which he is hopping about, unconscious of his danger. 'Twas a thing that there could be no mistake about whatever.

"That's a settler, Tuft," said the marquis, after a pause: Tuft reddened violently, and gulped down a glass of wine; and presently, with the slightly staggered earl, became a silent listener to the discussion into which the marquis and Gammon had entered. Obtuse as was the earl, Gammon contrived to let him see how effectually he was supporting his Lordship's opinion, which Mr. Tuft had so ridiculously failed in. The marquis got slightly the worst of the encounter with Gammon, whose object he saw, and whose tact he admired; and with much judgment permitted Gammon to appear to the earl as his successful defender, in order that he might himself make a friend of Gammon. Moreover, he was not at all annoyed at witnessing the complete and unexpected discomfiture of poor Tuft, whom, for all his intimacy with that gentleman, the marquis thoroughly despised.

However it might possibly be that his grand visitors enjoyed themselves, it was far otherwise with Mr. Titmouse; who, being compelled to keep sober, was quite miserable. None of those around him were drinking men:—and the consequence was, that he would retire early to his bedroom, and amuse himself with brandy and water, and cigars, leaving his guests to amuse themselves with cards, billiards, or otherwise, as best they might. He did, indeed, "stand like a cipher in the great account;" instead of feeling himself the Earl of Dreddlington's host, he felt himself as one of his Lordship's inferior guests, struggling in vain against the freezing state and etiquette which the earl carried with him wherever he went, like a sort of atmosphere. In this extremity he secretly clung to Gammon, and reposed upon his powerful support and sympathy more implicitly than ever he had done before. As the shooting season had commenced, and game was plentiful at Yatton, the marquis and Tuft found full occupation during the day, as occasionally did Mr. Gammon. Mr. Titmouse once accompanied them; but having contrived very nearly to blow his own hand off, and also to blow out the eyes of the marquis, it was intimated to him that he had better go out alone for the future—as he did accordingly, but soon got tired of such solitary sport. Besides—hares, pheasants, partridges—old and young, cock or hen—'twas all one—none of them seemed to care one straw for him or his gun, let him pop and blaze away as loud and as long, as near or as far off, as he liked. The only thing he hit—and that plump—was one of his unfortunate dogs, which he killed on the spot; and then coming up with it, stamped upon the poor creature's bleeding carcass, saying with a furious oath—"Why didn't you keep out of the way, then, you brute?"

The earl was really anxious to perform his promise of introducing, or procuring introduction for Titmouse, to the leading nobility and gentry of the county; but it proved a more difficult task than his Lordship had anticipated—for Titmouse's early doings at Yatton had not yet been forgotten. Some of the haughty Whig gentry joined with their Tory neighbors in manifesting their open contempt and dislike, for one who could so disgrace the name and station to which he had been elevated in the county; and the earl had to encounter one or two somewhat mortifying rebuffs, in the course of his efforts for the establishment of his young kinsman. There were some, however, whom mere political considerations—others, whom deference for the earl's rank, and unwillingness to hurt his feelings—induced to receive the new Squire of Yatton on a footing of formal intimacy and equality; so that his Lordship's dignified exertions were not entirely useless. The whole party at the Hall attended the earl to church on the Sundays—entirely filling the squire's pew and the adjoining one; their decorous conduct presenting a very edifying spectacle to the humble congregation, and suggesting a striking contrast between the present, and the former, visitors of Mr. Titmouse. Worthy Dr. Tatham was asked several times to dinner, at the earl's instance; by whom he was treated on such occasions with great, though stately, courtesy. The only persons with whom the little doctor felt at his ease, were Mr. Gammon and Miss Macspleuchan, who treated him with the utmost cordiality and respect. What became during the day of the two ladies, I hardly know. There was no instrument at Yatton: bagatelle-board, and novels from a circulating library at York, frequent rides and drives through the grounds and about the country, and occasional visits to and from one or two families with whom Lady Cecilia had a town acquaintance, occupied their day; and in the evening, a rubber at whist, or ÉcartÉ, with the earl—sometimes, too, with the marquis and Mr. Tuft, both of whom lost no opportunity of paying marked attention to Lady Cecilia, with a view of dissipating as far as possible the inevitable ennui of her situation—would while away the short evenings, very early hours being now kept at the Hall. 'Twas wonderful that two such men as the marquis and Mr. Tuft could stay so long as they did at so very dull a place, and with such dull people. Inwardly they both voted the earl an insufferable old twaddler; his daughter a piece of languid insipidity; and one would have thought it daily more irksome for them to keep up their courtly attentions. They had, however, as may presently be seen, objects of their own in view.

As Gammon, a little to the earl's surprise, continued apparently a permanent guest at the Hall, where he seemed ever engaged in superintending and getting into order the important affairs of Mr. Titmouse, it could hardly be but that he and the earl should be occasionally thrown together; for as the earl did not shoot, and never read books, even had there been any to read, he had little to do, when not engaged upon the expeditions I have alluded to, but saunter about the house and grounds, and enter into frivolous, but solemn and formal conversation with almost any one he met. The assistance which Gammon had rendered the earl on the occasion of their first meeting at dinner, had not been forgotten by his Lordship, but had served to take off the edge from his preconceived contemptuous dislike for that gentleman. Gammon, however, steadily kept in the background, resolved that all advances should come from the earl. When, once or twice, his Lordship inquired, with what Gammon saw to be only an affected carelessness, into the state of Mr. Titmouse's affairs, Mr. Gammon evinced a courteous readiness to give him general information; but with an evident caution and anxiety, not unduly to expose, even to the earl—to Mr. Titmouse's distinguished kinsman, the state of his property. He would, however, disclose sufficient to demonstrate his zeal and ability on behalf of Mr. Titmouse's interests, his consummate qualifications as a man of business; and from time to time perceived that his display was not lost upon the earl. Mr. Gammon's anxiety, in particular, to prevent the borough of Yatton from being a second time wrested out of the hands of its proprietor, and returning, by a corrupt and profligate arrangement with Ministers, a Tory to Parliament, gave the earl peculiar satisfaction. He was led by the mention of this topic into a long conversation with Mr. Gammon upon political matters; and, at its close, was greatly struck with the soundness of his views, the decision and strength of his liberal opinions, and the vigor and acuteness with which he had throughout agreed with everything the earl had said, and fortified every position he had taken; evincing, at the same time, a profound appreciation of his Lordship's luminous exposition of political principles. The earl was forced to own to himself, that he had never before met with a man of Mr. Gammon's strength of intellect, whose views and opinions had so intimately and entirely coincided—were, indeed, identical with his own. 'Twas delightful to witness them upon these occasions—to observe the air of reverence and admiration with which Gammon listened to the lessons of political wisdom which fell, with increasing length and frequency, from the lips of his Lordship.

"??? ?a? ?p? ???ss?? ???t?? ??????? ??e? a?d?."

Nor was it only when they were alone together, that Gammon would thus sit at the feet of Gamaliel; he was not ashamed to do so openly at the dinner-table; but, ah! how delicately and dexterously did he conceal from the spectators the game he was playing—more difficult to do so, though it daily became—because, the more willing Gammon was to receive, the more eager the earl was to communicate instruction! If, on any of these occasions, oppressed by the multifariousness of his knowledge, and its sudden overpowering confluence, he would pause in the midst of a little series of half-formed sentences, Gammon would be, at hand, to glide in easily, and finish what the earl had begun, out of the earl's ample and rich materials, of which Gammon had caught a glimpse, and only worked out the earl's own, somewhat numerous, half-formed illustrations. The marquis and Mr. Tuft began, however, at length to feel a little impatient at observing the way which Gammon was making with the earl; but of what use was it for them to interfere? Gammon was an exceedingly awkward person to meddle with; for having once got fair play, by gaining the earl's ear, his accuracy, readiness, extent of information upon political topics, and admirable temper, told very powerfully against his two opponents, who at length interfered less and less with him; the marquis only feeling pique, but Tuft also showing it. Had it been otherwise, indeed, with the latter gentleman, it would have been odd; for Gammon seemed to feel a peculiar pleasure in demolishing him. The marquis, however, once resolved to show Gammon how distinctly he perceived his plan of operations, by waiting till he had accompanied the poor earl up to a climax of absurdity; and then, with his eye on Gammon, bursting into laughter. Seldom had Gammon been more ruffled than by that well-timed laugh; for he felt found out!

When the earl and his astute companion were alone, the latter would listen with lively interest, over and over again, never wearied, to his Lordship's magnificent accounts of what he had intended to do, had he only continued in office, in the important department over which he had presided, viz. the Board of Green Cloth; and more than once put his Lordship into a soft flutter of excitement, by hinting at rumors which, he said, were rife—that in the event of a change of ministers, which was looked for, his Lordship was to be President of the Council. "Sir," the earl would say, "I should not shrink from the performance of my duty to my sovereign, to whatever post he might be pleased to call me. The one you mention, sir, has its peculiar difficulties; and if I know anything of myself, sir, it is one for which—I should say—I am peculiarly qualified. Sir, the duty of presiding over the deliberations of powerful minds, requires signal discretion and dignity, because, in short, especially in affairs of state—Do you comprehend me, Mr. Gammon?"

"I understand your Lordship to say, that where the occasion is one of such magnitude, and the disturbing forces are upon so vast a scale, to moderate and guide conflicting interests and opinions"——

"Sir, it is so; tantas componere lites, hic labor, hoc opus," interrupted the earl, with a desperate attempt to fish up a fragment or two of his early scholarship; and his features wore for a moment a solemn commanding expression, which satisfied Gammon of the sway which his Lordship would have had when presiding at the council-board. Gammon would also occasionally introduce the subject of heraldry, asking many anxious questions concerning that exalted science, and also respecting the genealogies of leading members of the peerage, with which he safely presumed that the earl would be, as also he proved, perfectly familiar; and his Lordship would go on for an hour at once upon these interesting and most instructive subjects.

Shortly after luncheon one day, of which only Gammon, the earl, and the two ladies, were in the Hall to partake, Mr. Gammon had occasion to enter the drawing-room, where he found the earl sitting upon the sofa, with his massive gold spectacles on, leaning over the table, engaged in the perusal of a portion of a work then in course of periodical publication, and which had only that morning been delivered at the Hall. The earl asked Gammon if he had seen it, and was answered in the negative.

"Sir," said the earl, rising and removing his glasses, "it is a remarkably interesting publication, showing considerable knowledge of a very difficult and all-important subject, and one, in respect of which the lower orders of the people in this country—nay, I lament to be obliged to add, the great bulk of the middle classes also, are wofully deficient—I mean heraldry, and the history of the origin, progress, and present state of the families of the old nobility and gentry of this country." The work which had been so fortunate as thus to meet with the approbation of the earl, was the last monthly number of a History of the County of York, of which, as yet, only thirty-eight seven-and-sixpenny quarto numbers had made their appearance. It formed an admirable and instructive publication, every number of which had contained a glorification of some different Yorkshire family. The discriminating patronage of Mr. Titmouse for this inestimable performance, had been secured by a most obsequious letter from the learned editor, but more especially by a device of his in the last number, which it would have been strange indeed if it could have failed to catch the eye, and interest the feelings of the new aristocratical owner of Yatton. Opposite to an engraving of the Hall, was placed a magnificent genealogical tree, surmounted by a many-quartered shield of armorial bearings, both of which purported to be an accurate record of the ancestral glories of the house of "Titmouse of Yatton!" A minute investigation might indeed have detected that the recent flight of Titmice which were perched on the lower branches of this imposing pedigree, bore nearly as small a proportion to the long array of chivalrous Drelincourts and Dreddlingtons which constituted the massive trunk, as did the paternal coat[26] (to which the profound research and ingenuity of Sir Gorgeous Tintack, the Garter king-at-arms, had succeeded in demonstrating the inalienable right of Titmouse) to the interminable series of quarterings, derived from the same source, which occupied the remainder of the escutcheon. At these mysteriously significant symbols, however, Mr. Titmouse, though quite ready to believe that they indicated some just cause or other of family pride, had looked with the same appreciating intelligence which you may fancy you see a chicken displaying, while hesitatingly clapping its foot upon, and quaintly cocking its eye at, a slip of paper lying in a yard, covered over with algebraic characters and calculations. Far otherwise, however, was it with the earl, in whose eyes the complex and recondite character of the production infinitely enhanced its value, and struck in his bosom several deep chords of genealogical feeling, as he proceeded, in answer to various anxious inquiries of Gammon, to give him a very full and minute account of the unrivalled splendor and antiquity of his Lordship's ancestry. Now be it understood that Gammon—while prosecuting the researches which had preceded the elevation of Mr. Titmouse to that rank and fortune of which the united voice of the fashionable world had now pronounced him so eminently worthy—had made himself pretty well acquainted with the previous history and connections of that ancient and illustrious house, of which the Earl of Dreddlington was the head; and his familiarity with this topic, though it did not surprise the earl, because he conceived it to be every one's duty to acquaint himself with such momentous matters, rapidly raised Gammon in the good opinion of his Lordship; to whom at length, it occurred to view him in quite a new light; viz. as the chosen instrument by whose means (under Providence) the perverse and self-willed Aubrey had been righteously cast down from that high place, which his rebellious opposition to the wishes and political views of his liege lord had rendered him unworthy to occupy; while a more loyal branch had been raised from obscurity to his forfeited rank and estates. In fact, the earl began to look upon Gammon as one, whose just regard for his Lordship's transcendent position in the aristocracy of England had led even to anticipate his Lordship's possible wishes; and proceeded accordingly to rivet this spontaneous allegiance, by discoursing with the most condescending affability on the successive noble and princely alliances which had, during a long series of generations, refined the ancient blood of the Drelincourts into the sort of super-sublimated ichor which at present flowed in his own veins. The progress of the earl's feelings was watched with the greatest interest by Mr. Gammon, who perceived the increasing extent to which respect for him was mingling with his Lordship's sublime self-satisfaction; and, watching the opportunity, struck a spark into the dry tinder of his Lordship's vain imagination, blew it gently—and saw that it caught and spread. Confident in his knowledge of the state of affairs, and that his Lordship had reached the highest point of credulity, Gammon had the almost incredible audacity to intimate, in a hesitating but highly significant manner, his impression, that the recent failure in the male line of the princely house of Hoch-Stiffelhausen Narrenstein Dummleinberg[27] had placed his Lordship, in right of the marriage of one of his ancestors, during the Thirty Years' War, with a princess of that august line, in a situation to claim, if such should be his Lordship's pleasure, the dormant honors and sovereign rank attached to the possession of that important principality. The earl appeared for a few moments transfixed with awe! The bare possibility of such an event seemed too much for him to realize; but when further conversation with Gammon had familiarized his Lordship with the notion, his mind's eye involuntarily and naturally glanced to his old rival, the Earl of Fitz-Walter: what would he say to all this? How would his little honors pale beside the splendors of his Serene Highness the Prince of Hoch-Stiffelhausen Narrenstein Dummleinberg! He was not sorry when Mr. Gammon, soon afterwards, left him to follow out unrestrainedly the swelling current of his thoughts, and yield himself up to the transporting ecstasies of anticipated sovereignty. To such a pitch did his excitement carry him, that he might shortly afterwards have been seen walking up and down the Elm Avenue, with the feelings and air of an old King.

Not satisfied, however, with the success of his daring experiment upon the credulity and inflammable imagination of the aspiring old nobleman—whom his suggestion had set upon instituting extensive inquiries into the position of the Dreddlington family with reference to the foreign alliances which it had formed in times past, and of which so dazzling an incident might really be in existence—it occurred to Mr. Gammon, on another occasion of his being left alone with the earl, and who, he saw, was growing manifestly more pleased with the frequent recurrence of them, to sink a shaft into a new mine. He therefore, on mere speculation, introduced, as a subject of casual conversation, the imprudence of persons of rank and large fortune devolving the management of their pecuniary affairs so entirely upon others—and thus leaving themselves exposed to all the serious consequences of employing incompetent, indolent, or mercenary agents. Mr. Gammon proceeded to observe that he had recently known an instance of a distinguished nobleman, (whose name—oh, Gammon!—he for very obvious reasons suppressed,) who, having occasion to raise a large sum of money by way of mortgage, left the sole negotiation of the affair to an agent, who was afterwards proved to have been in league with the lender, (the mortgagee,) and had permitted his employer to pay, for ten or twelve years, an excess of interest over that for which he might, had he chosen, have obtained the requisite loan, which actually made a difference in the distinguished borrower's income of a thousand a-year! Here, looking out of the northeast corner of his eye, the placid speaker, continuing unmoved, observed the earl start a little, glance somewhat anxiously at him, but in silence, and slightly quicken the pace at which he had been walking. Gammon presently added, in a careless sort of way, that accident had brought him into professional intercourse with that nobleman—[Oh, Gammon! Gammon!]—whom he was ultimately instrumental in saving from the annual robbery which was being inflicted upon him. It was enough; Gammon saw that what he had been saying had sunk like lead into the mind of his noble and acute companion, who, for the rest of the day, seemed burdened and oppressed with either it or some other cause of anxiety; and, from an occasional uneasy and wistful eye which the earl fixed upon him at dinner, he felt conscious that not long would elapse, before he should hear something from the earl connected with the topic in question—and he was not mistaken. The very next day they met in the park; and after one or two casual observations, the earl remarked that, by the way, with reference to their yesterday's conversation, it "did so happen"—very singularly—that the earl had a friend who was placed in a situation very similar to that which had been mentioned by Mr. Gammon to the earl; it was a very intimate friend—and therefore the earl would like to hear what was Mr. Gammon's opinion of the case. Gammon was scarcely able to refrain from a smile, as the earl went on, evincing every moment a more vivid interest in behalf of his mysterious "friend," who at last stood suddenly confessed as the Earl of Dreddlington himself; for in answer to a question of Mr. Gammon, his Lordship unwittingly spoke in the first person! On perceiving this, he got much confused; but Gammon passed it off very easily; and by his earnest confidential tone and manner, soon soothed and reconciled the earl to the vexatious disclosure he had made—vexatious only because the earl had thought fit, so very unnecessarily, to make a mystery of an everyday matter. He rather loftily enjoined Mr. Gammon to secrecy upon the subject, to which Gammon readily pledged himself, and then they entered upon an unrestrained discussion of the matter. Suffice it to say, that in the end Gammon assured the earl that he would, without any difficulty, undertake to procure a transfer of the mortgage at present existing on his Lordship's property, which should lower his annual payments by at least one and a half per cent: and which, on a rough calculation, would make a difference of very nearly five hundred a-year in the earl's favor. But Gammon explicitly informed the earl that he was not to suppose that he had been overreached, or his interests been in any way neglected, in the original transaction; that it had been conducted on his Lordship's behalf, by his solicitor, Mr. Mudge, one of the most respectable men in the profession; and that a few years made all the difference in matters of this description; and before he, Mr. Gammon, would interfere any further in the business, he requested his Lordship to write to Mr. Mudge, enclosing a draft of the arrangement proposed by Mr. Gammon, and desiring Mr. Mudge to say what he thought of it. This the earl did; and in a few days' time received an answer from Mr. Mudge, to the effect that he was happy that there was a prospect of so favorable an arrangement as that proposed, to which he could see no objection whatever; and would co-operate with Mr. Gammon in any way, and at any time, which his Lordship might point out. Mr. Gammon was, in fact, rendering here a real and very important service to the earl; being an able, acute, and energetic man of business—while Mr. Mudge was very nearly superannuated—had grown rich and indolent, no longer attending to his practice with pristine energy; but pottering and dozing over it, as it were, from day to day; unable, from his antiquated style of doing business, and the constantly narrowing circle of his connections, to avail himself of those resources which were open to younger and more energetic practitioners, with more varied resources. Thus, though money was now much more plentiful, and consequently to be got for a less sum than when, some ten years before, the earl had been compelled to borrow to a large amount upon mortgage, old Mr. Mudge had suffered matters to remain all the while as they were; and so they would have remained, but for Gammon's accidental interference: the earl being not a man of business—one who could not bear to allude to the fact of his property being mortgaged—who did not like even to think of it; and concluded that good old Mr. Mudge kept a sufficiently sharp eye upon his noble client's interest. The earl gave Mr. Mudge's letter to Mr. Gammon, and requested him to lose no time in putting himself into communication with Mr. Mudge, for the purpose of effecting the suggested transfer. This Gammon undertook to do; and perceiving that he had fortunately made so strong a lodgement in the earl's good opinion, whose interests now bound him, in a measure, to Mr. Gammon, that gentleman thought that he might safely quit Yatton and return to town, in order to attend to divers matters of pressing exigency. Before his departure, however, he had a very long interview with Titmouse, in the course of which he gave that now submissive personage a few simple, perspicuous, and decisive directions, as to the line of conduct he was to pursue, and which alone could conduce to his permanent interests: enjoining him, moreover, to pursue that line, on terror of the consequences of failing to do so. The Earl of Dreddlington, in taking leave of Mr. Gammon, evinced the utmost degree of cordiality consistent with the stateliness of his demeanor. He felt, in fact, real regret at parting with a man of such superior intellect—one evincing such a fascinating deference towards himself, (the earl:) and it glanced across his Lordship's mind, that such a man as Mr. Gammon would be the very fittest man who could be thought of, in respect of tact, energy, and knowledge, to become prime minister to—his Serene Highness the Prince of Hoch-Stiffelhausen Narrenstein Dummleinberg!

The longer that the earl continued at Yatton—in which he could not have more thoroughly established himself if he had in the ordinary way engaged it for the autumn—the more he was struck with its beauties; and the oftener they presented themselves to his mind's eye, the keener became his regrets at the split in the family interests which had so long existed, and his desire to take advantage of what seemed almost an opportunity, specially afforded by Providence, for reuniting them. As the earl took his solitary walks, he thought with deep anxiety of his own advanced age, and sensibly increasing feebleness. The position of his affairs was not satisfactory. When he died, he would leave behind him an only child—and that a daughter—on whom would devolve the splendid responsibility of sustaining, alone, the honors of her ancient family. Then there was his newly discovered kinsman, Mr. Titmouse, sole and unembarrassed proprietor of this fine old family property; simple-minded and confiding, with a truly reverential feeling towards them, the heads of the family; also the undoubted, undisputed proprietor of the borough of Yatton; who entertained and avowed the same liberal and enlightened political opinions, which the earl had ever maintained with dignified consistency and determination; and who, by a rare conjunction of personal merit and of circumstance, had been elevated to an unprecedented pitch of popularity, in the highest regions of society; and who was, moreover, already next in succession, after himself and the Lady Cecilia, to the ancient barony of Drelincourt and the estates annexed to it. How little was there, in reality, to set against all this? An eccentricity of manner, for which nature only, if any one, was to blame; a tendency to extreme modishness in dress, and a slight deficiency in the knowledge of the etiquette of society, but which daily experience and intercourse were rapidly supplying; and a slight disposition towards the pleasures of the table, which no doubt would disappear on the instant of his having an object of permanent and elevating attachment. Such was Mr. Titmouse. He had as yet, undoubtedly, made no advances to Lady Cecilia, nor evinced any disposition to do so, though numerous and favorable had been, and continued to be, the opportunities for his doing so. Might not this, however, be set down entirely to the score of his excessive diffidence—distrust of his pretensions to aspire after so august an alliance as that with the Lady Cecilia? Yet there certainly was another way of accounting for his conduct: had he got already entangled with an attachment elsewhere?—Run after in society, as he had been, in a manner totally unprecedented during his very first season—had his affections been inveigled?—When the earl dwelt upon this dismal possibility, if it were when he was lying awake in bed, he would be seized with a fit of intolerable restlessness—and getting up, wrap himself in his dressing-gown, and pace his chamber for an hour together, running over, in his mind, the names of all the women he knew who would be likely to lay snares for Titmouse, in order to secure him for a daughter. Then there was the Lady Cecilia—but she, he knew, would not run counter to his wishes, and he had, therefore, no difficulty to apprehend on that score. She had ever been calmly submissive to his will; had the same lofty sense of family dignity that he enjoyed; and had often concurred in his deep regrets on account of the separation of the family interests. She was still unmarried—and yet, on her father's decease, would be a peeress in her own right, and possessed of the family estates. The fastidiousness which alone, thought the earl, had kept her hitherto single, would not, he felt persuaded, be allowed by her to interfere, for the purpose of preventing so excellent a family arrangement as would be effected by her union with Titmouse. Once married—and being secured suitable settlements from Titmouse—if there should prove to be any incompatibility of temper or discrepancy of disposition, come the worst to the worst, there was the shelter of a separation and separate maintenance to look to; a thing which was becoming of daily occurrence—which implied no real reproach to either party—and left them always at liberty to return to each other's society—when so disposed. And as for the dress and manners of Titmouse, granting them to be a little extravagant, would not, in all probability, a word from her suffice to dispel his fantastic vulgarity—to elevate him into a gentleman? Thus thought her fond and enlightened parent, and thus—in point of fact—thought also she; from which it is evident, that Titmouse, once brought to the point—made sensible where his duty and his privilege converged—it would be a straightforward plain-sailing business. To bring about so desirable a state of things as this—to give the young people an opportunity of thoroughly knowing and endearing themselves to each other, were among the objects which the earl had proposed to himself, in accepting the invitation to Yatton. Time was wearing on, however, and yet no decisive step had been taken. Lady Cecilia's icy coldness—her petrifying indifference of manner, her phlegmatic temperament and lofty pride, were qualities, all of which were calculated rather to check than encourage the advances of a suitor, especially of such an one as Titmouse; but, though the earl did not know it, there were others whose ardor and impatience to possess themselves of such superior loveliness, could not be similarly restrained or discouraged. Will not the reader find it difficult to believe, that Mr. Venom Tuft, having been long on the look-out for—Heaven save the mark!—an aristocratic wife, had conceived it not impossible to engage the affections of Lady Cecilia—to fascinate her by the display of his brilliant acquirements; and that the comparative seclusion of Yatton would afford him the requisite opportunity for effecting his wishes? Yet even so it really was: intoxicated with vanity, which led him to believe himself peculiarly agreeable to women, he at length had the inconceivable folly and presumption, on the morning after an evening in which he fancied that he had displayed peculiar brilliance, to intimate to her that his affections were no longer under his own control, having been taken captive by her irresistible charms. Vain thought! as well might a cock-sparrow have sought to mate himself with the stately swan! It was for some time rather difficult for the Lady Cecilia to understand that he was seriously making her a proposal. At length, however, she comprehended him: evincing the utmost degree of astonishment which her drooping eyelids and languid hauteur of manner would permit her to manifest. When poor Tuft found that such was the case, his face burned like fire, and he felt in a fierce fluster within.

"You haven't mistaken me for Miss Macspleuchan, Mr. Tuft, have you?" said Lady Cecilia, with a faint smile. "You and Mr. Titmouse and the marquis, I hear, sat much longer after dinner last night than usual!" Tuft was utterly confounded. Was her Ladyship insinuating that he was under the influence of wine? He was for a while speechless.

"I assure you, Lady Cecilia"——at length stammered he.

"Oh—now I understand!—You are rehearsing for Lady Tawdry's private theatricals? Do you play there next month? Well, I dare say you'll make a delicious Romeo." Here the earl happening to enter, Lady Cecilia, with a languid smile, apprised him that Mr. Tuft had been rehearsing, to admiration, a love-scene which he was studying for Lady Tawdry's theatricals; on which the earl, in a good-natured way, said that he should like to witness it, if not too much trouble to Mr. Tuft. If that gentleman could have crept up the chimney without being observed, he would have employed the first moment of sooty repose and security, in praying that the Lady Cecilia might bring herself to believe, that he had really been doing what at present he feared she only affected to believe, viz. that he had been only playing at love-making. He resolved to outstay the earl, who, indeed, withdrew in a few minutes' time, having entered only for the purpose of asking Lady Cecilia a question; and on her Ladyship and her would-be lover being again alone—

"If I have been guilty of presumption, Lady Cecilia"——commenced Tuft, with tremulous earnestness, looking a truly piteous object.

"Not the least, Mr. Tuft," said she, calmly smiling; "or, even if you have, I'll forgive it on one condition"——

"Your Ladyship has only to intimate"——

"That you will go through it all with Miss Macspleuchan; or, couldn't we get up a sweet scene with my maid? Annette is a pretty little thing, and her broken English"——

"Your Ladyship is pleased to be exceedingly severe; but I feel that I deserve it. Still, knowing your Ladyship's good-nature, I will venture to ask one great favor, which, if you refuse, I will within an hour quit Yatton; that your Ladyship will, in mercy to my feelings, mention this little scene to no one."

"If you wish it, Mr. Tuft, I will preserve your secret," she replied in a kinder and more serious manner than he had ever witnessed in her; and, when he had escaped into solitude, he could hardly tell whom he hated most—himself, or the Lady Cecilia. Several days afterwards, the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de Millefleurs, purposing to quit Yatton on his way northward, sought a favorable opportunity to lay himself—the brilliant, irresistible marquis—at the feet of the all-conquering Lady Cecilia, the future Lady Drelincourt, peeress in her own right, and mistress of the family estates. He had done the same kind of thing half a dozen times to as many women—all of them of ample fortune, and most of them also of rank. His manner was exquisitely delicate and winning; but Lady Cecilia, with a slight blush, (for she was really pleased,) calmly refused him. He saw it was utterly in vain; and for a few moments felt in an unutterably foolish position. Quickly recovering himself, however, he assumed an air of delicate raillery, and put her into such good humor, that, forgetful in the moment of her promise to poor Tuft, she, in the "strictest confidence in the world," communicated to the marquis the offer which Mr. Tuft had been beforehand with him in making to her! The marquis's cheek flushed and tingled; and, without being able to analyze what passed through his mind, the result may be stated as an intolerable feeling, that he and Tuft were a couple of sneaking adventurers, and worse—of ridiculous and exposed adventurers. For almost the first time in his life, he felt such an embarrassment amid the momentary conflict of his thoughts and feelings, as kept him silent. At length, "I presume, Lady Cecilia," said he, in a low tone, with an air of distress, and a glance which did more in his behalf with Lady Cecilia than a thousand of his most flattering and eloquent speeches, "that I shall, in like manner, afford amusement to your Ladyship and Mr. Tuft?"

"Sir," said she, haughtily, and coloring—"Mr. Tuft and the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de Millefleurs, are two very different persons. I am surprised, Monsieur le Marquis, that you should have made such an observation!"

Hereupon he felt greatly consoled, and perfectly secure against being exposed to Tuft, as Tuft had been exposed to him. Yet he was mistaken. How can the reader forgive Lady Cecilia for her double breach of promise, when he is informed, that only a day or two afterwards, Tuft and she being thrown together, partly out of pity to her rejected and bitterly mortified suitor, partly from an impulse of womanly vanity, and partly from a sort of glimpse of even-handed justice requiring such a step, as a kind of reparation to Tuft for her exposure of him to the marquis—she ("in the strictest confidence," however) informed him that his example had been followed by the marquis; utterly forgetful of that excellent maxim, "begin nothing of which you have not well considered the end." It had not occurred to her Ladyship as being a thing almost certain to ensue upon her breach of faith, that Tuft would ask her whether she had violated his confidence. He did so: she blushed scarlet—and though, like her august papa, she could have equivocated when she could not have lied, here she was in a dilemma from which nothing but a fib could possibly extricate her; and in a confident tone, but with a burning cheek, she told a falsehood, and had, moreover, the pain of being conscious, by Mr. Tuft's look, that he did not believe her.—Nothing could exceed the comical air of embarrassment of the marquis and Mr. Tuft, whenever, after this, they were alone together! How fearful lest—how doubtful whether—each knew as much as the other!

To return, however, to the Earl of Dreddlington, (who was utterly in ignorance of the marquis and Mr. Tuft's proposals to Lady Cecilia,) the difficulty which at present harassed his Lordship was, how he could, without compromising his own dignity, or injuring his darling scheme by a premature development of his purpose, sound Titmouse upon the subject. How to break the ice—to broach the affair—was the great problem which the earl turned over and over again in his mind. Now, be it observed, that when a muddle-headed man is called upon at length to act—however long beforehand he may have had notice of it—however assured he may have been of the necessity for eventually taking one course or another, and consequently, however ample the opportunity had for consideration, he remains confused and irresolute up to the very last instant—when he acts, after all, merely as the creature of caprice and impulse! 'Twas thus with Lord Dreddlington. He had thought of half a dozen different ways of commencing with Titmouse, and decided upon adopting each; yet, on the arrival of the anxiously looked for moment, he had lost sight of them all, in his inward fluster and nervousness.

'Twas noon, and Titmouse, smoking a cigar, was walking slowly up and down, his hands stuck into his surtout pockets, and resting on his hips, in the fir-tree walk at the end of the garden—the spot to which he seemed, during the stay of his grand guests, to have been tacitly restricted for the enjoyment of the luxury in question. As soon as Titmouse was aware of the earl's approach, he hastily tossed aside his cigar. The earl "begged" he would take another; and tried to calm and steady himself, by a moment's reflection upon his overwhelming superiority over Titmouse in every respect; but it was in vain.

Now—to pause for a moment—what anxiety and embarrassment would not his Lordship have been spared, had he been aware of one little fact; viz. that Mr. Gammon was unconsciously, secretly, and potently, his friend, in the great matter which lay so near to his heart? For so, in truth, it was. He had used all the art he was master of, and availed himself of all his mysterious power over Titmouse, to get him to make, at all events, an advance to his distinguished kinswoman. Considering, however, how necessary it was "to be off with the old love before he was on with the new," he had commenced operations by satisfying Titmouse how vain and hopeless, and, indeed, unworthy of him, was his passion for poor Miss Aubrey. Here, however, Gammon had not so much difficulty to contend with as he had anticipated; for Miss Aubrey's image had been long ago jostled out of Titmouse's recollection, by the innumerable brilliant and fashionable women among whom he had been latterly thrown. When, therefore, Gammon veraciously informed him that Miss Aubrey had fallen into a decline! and that, moreover, when he (Gammon) had, according to his promise to Titmouse, taken an opportunity of pressing his wishes upon her, she had scornfully scouted the bare notion of such a thing!

"'Pon—my soul! The—devil—she did!" said Titmouse, with an air of insolent astonishment. "The gal's a devilish pretty gal, no doubt," he presently continued, knocking the ashes off his cigar with an indifferent air; "but—it's too good a joke—'pon my soul it is; but d' ye think, Gammon, she ever supposed I meant marriage? By Jove!" Here he winked his eye at Gammon, and then slowly expelled a mouthful of smoke. Gammon had grown pale with the conflict excited within him, by the last words of the execrable little miscreant. He controlled his feelings, however, and succeeded in preserving silence.

"Ah—well!" continued Titmouse, after another whiff or two, with an air of commiseration, "if the poor gal's booked for kingdom come—eh? it's no use; there's no harm done. Deuced poor, all of 'em, I hear! It's devilish hard, by the way, Gammon, that the prettiest gals are always the soonest picked off for the churchyard!" As soon as Gammon had completely mastered his feelings, he proceeded to excite the pride and ambition of Titmouse, by expatiating upon the splendor of an alliance with the last representative of the elder branch of so ancient and illustrious a house; in fact, when Gammon came, he said, to think of it, he feared it was too grand a stroke, and that Lady Cecilia would not entertain the notion for a moment. He told Titmouse that she had refused crowds of young lords: that she would be a peeress of the realm in her own right, with an independent income of £5,000 a-year; and have mansions, seats, and castles, in each of the four quarters of the kingdom! Topics such as these excited and inflated Titmouse to the full extent desired by Mr. Gammon; who, moreover, with great solemnity of manner, gave him distinctly to understand, that on his being able to effect an alliance with the Lady Cecilia, absolutely depended his continuance in, or expulsion from, the possession of the whole Yatton property. Thus it came to pass, that Titmouse was penetrated by a far keener desire to ally himself to the Lady Cecilia, than ever the earl had experienced to bring about such an auspicious event; and at the very moment of Titmouse's catching sight of the earl, while pacing up and down the fir-tree walk, inhaling the soothing influence of his cigar—as I a short time ago presented him to the reader—he was tormenting himself with apprehensions that such a prize was too splendid for him to draw, and asking himself the constantly recurring question, how, in the name of all that was funny, could he set the thing a-going? When Greek met Greek, then came—it was said—the tug of war: and when the Earl of Dreddlington and Titmouse—a great fool and a little fool?—came to meet each other, impelled by the same wishes, and restrained by similar apprehensions, it was like the encounter of two wily diplomatists, sitting down with the intention of outwitting each other, in obtaining an object, in respect of which their aim was, in fact—unknown to each other—precisely coincident; this hidden coincidence being the exact point which their exquisite manoeuvres had succeeded in reciprocally masking: it being quite possible for Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo, thus pitted against each other, to have separated, after a dozen long conferences, each having failed to secure their common object—peace.

"Well, Mr. Titmouse"—commenced the earl, blandly, stepping at once, with graceful boldness, out of the mist, confusion, and perplexity which prevailed among his Lordship's ideas, few as they were—"what are you thinking about?—For you seem to be thinking!" and a courteous little laugh accompanied the last words.

"'Pon—'pon my life—I—I—beg your Lordship's pardon—but it's—monstrous odd your Lordship should have known it"—stammered Titmouse; and his face suddenly grew of a scarlet color.

"Sir," replied the earl, with greater skill than he had ever evinced in his whole life before—(such is the effect of any one's being intensely in earnest)—"it is not at all odd, when it happens that—the probability is—that—we are, perhaps—mind, sir, I mean possibly—thinking about the same thing!" Titmouse grew more and more confused, gazing in silence, with a strange simpering stare, at his noble companion, who, with his hands joined behind him, was walking slowly along with Titmouse.

"Sir," continued the earl, in a low tone—breaking a very awkward pause—"it gives me sincere satisfaction to assure you, that I can fully appreciate the delicate embarrassment which I perceive you are now"——

"My Lord—your Lordship's most uncommon polite"—quoth Titmouse, suddenly taking off his hat, and bowing very low. The earl moved his hat also, and slightly bowed, with a proudly gratified air; and again occurred a pause, which was broken by Titmouse.

"Then your Lordship thinks—a—a—that—it will do?" he inquired very sheepishly, but anxiously.

"Sir, I have the honor to assure you, that as far as I am concerned, I see no obst"——

"Yes—but excuse me, my Lord—your Lordship sees—I mean—my Lord, your Lordship sees——doesn't your Lordship?"

"Sir, I think—nay, I believe I do"—interrupted the earl, wishing to relieve the evident embarrassment of his companion—"but—I see—nothing that should—alarm you."

[How interesting to watch the mysterious process by which these two powerful minds were gradually approximating towards understanding each other! 'Twas a sort of equation with an unknown quantity, in due course of elimination!]

"Doesn't your Lordship, indeed?" inquired Titmouse, rather briskly.

"Sir, it was a saying of one of the great—I mean, sir, it is—you must often have heard, sir—in short, nothing venture, nothing have!"

"I'd venture a precious deal, my Lord, if I only thought I could get what I'm after!"

"Sir?" exclaimed the earl, condescendingly.

"If your Lordship would only be so particular—so uncommon kind—as to name the thing to her Ladyship—by way of—eh, my Lord? A sort of breaking the ice, and all that"——

"Sir, I feel and have a just pride in assuring you, that the Lady Cecilia is a young lady of that superior delicacy of"——

"Does your Lordship really think I've a ghost of a chance?" interrupted Titmouse, anxiously. "She must have named the thing to your Lordship, no doubt—eh, my Lord?"

This queer notion of the young lady's delicacy a little staggered her distinguished father for a moment or two. What was he to say? She and he had really often named the thing to each other; and here the question was put to him plumply. The earl scorned a flat lie, and never condescended to equivocation except when it was absolutely necessary.

"Sir," he said hesitatingly; "undoubtedly—If I were to say—that now and then, when your attentions have been so pointed"——

"'Pon my life, my Lord, I never meant it; if your Lordship will only believe me," interrupted Titmouse, earnestly; "I beg a thousand pardons—I mean no harm, my Lord."

"Sir, there is no harm done," said the earl, kindly. "Sir, I know human nature too well, or I have lived thus long to little purpose, not to be aware that we are not always master of our own feelings."

"That's exactly it, my Lord! Excuse me, but your Lordship's hit the thing off to a T, as folks say!"

"Do not imagine, Mr. Titmouse, that I think your attentions may have been unpleasant to the Lady Cecilia—by no means; I cannot, with truth, say any such thing!"

"Oh, my Lord!" exclaimed Titmouse, taking off his hat, bowing, and placing his hand upon his breast, where his little heart was palpitating with unusual force and distinctness.

"Faint heart, says the proverb, Mr. Titmouse, ah, ha!" quoth the earl, with gentle gayety.

"Yes, my Lord, it's enough to make one faint indeed! Now, if your Lordship—(I'm not used to this sort of thing, my Lord)—would just make a sort of beginning for me, my Lord, with the Lady Cicely, to set us going, my Lord—the least shove would do, my Lord—because, my Lord, courtship's a very—a—a"——

"Well, Mr. Titmouse," said the earl, with a gracious smile, "since your modesty is so overpowering—I'll try—to become your ambassador to the Lady Cecilia. If, Mr. Titmouse," his Lordship presently added in a serious tone, "you are fortunate enough to succeed in engaging the affections of the Lady Cecilia, you will discover that you have secured indeed an invaluable prize."

"To be sure, my Lord! And consider, too, her Ladyship's uncommon high rank—it's so particular condescending.—By the way, my Lord, will she—if she and I can hit it off, so as to marry one another—be called Mrs. Titmouse, or shall I be called Lord Titmouse? I wonder how that will be, my Lord? 'Tis only, your Lordship understands, on Lady Cicely's account I ask, because it's, in course, all one to me when once we're married."

The earl was gazing at him as he went on, with an expression of mingled surprise and concern: presently, however, he added with calm seriousness, "Sir, it is not an unreasonable question, though I should have imagined that you could hardly—be—but—in short, the Lady Cecilia will retain her rank, and become the Lady Cecilia Titmouse—that is, during my life; but on my demise, she succeeds to the barony of Drelincourt, and then will be called, of course, Lady Drelincourt."

"And what shall I be then, my Lord?" inquired Titmouse, eagerly.

"Sir, you will of course continue Mr. Titmouse."

"'Pon my life, my Lord—shall I indeed?" he interrupted with a crestfallen air, "must we be called Mr. Titmouse and Lady Drelincourt? Excuse me, my Lord, but it don't sound at all like man and wife."

"Sir, so it always has been, and will be, and so it ever ought to be," replied the earl, gravely.

"Well but, my Lord, (excuse me, my Lord)—but marriage is a very serious thing, my Lord, your Lordship knows"——

"It is, sir, indeed," replied the earl, gloom visibly overspreading his features.

"Suppose," continued Titmouse, "Lady Cicely should die before me?"

The earl, remaining silent, fixed on Titmouse the eye of a FATHER—a father, though a very foolish one; and presently, with a sensible tremor in his voice, replied, "Sir, these are rather singular questions—but," he paused for some moments—"in such a mournful contingency as the one you have hinted at"——

"Oh, my Lord! I humbly beg pardon—of course, I should be, 'pon my soul, my Lord, most uncommon sorry"—interrupted Titmouse, with a little alarm in his manner.

"I was saying, sir—that in such an event, if Lady Drelincourt left no issue, you would succeed to the barony; but should she leave issue, they will be called Honorable"——

"What!—'the Honorable Tittlebat Titmouse,' if it's a boy, and the 'Honorable Cecilia Titmouse,' if it's a girl?"

"Sir, it will be so—unless you should choose to take the name and arms of Dreddlington, on marrying the sole heiress"——

"Oh! indeed, my Lord? 'Pon my life, my Lord, that's worth considering—because—betwixt your Lordship and I, I a'n't over and above pleased with my own name. What will it cost to change it, now, my Lord?"

"Sir," said the earl, struck with the idea, "that is really a thing worth considering. But as for the expense—in an affair of such magnitude, sir, I presume it would not be a matter of serious consideration."

After some further conversation, the earl came plump upon the great pivot upon which the whole arrangement was to turn—settlements and jointures—oh, as to them, Titmouse, who was recovering from the shock of the discovery that his marriage, however it might degrade the Lady Cecilia, would not ennoble him—promised everything—would leave everything in the hands of his Lordship. Soon afterwards they separated; the earl suggesting to him, that probably in a matter of infinite delicacy, like that on which they had been conversing, he would keep his own counsel—to which also Titmouse pledged himself. Soon afterwards, and before seeing his daughter, with an anxious, but not an excited air, he ordered his horse, and took a long ride, accompanied only by his groom: and if ever in his whole life he had attempted serious REFLECTION, it was on the occasion of that same long, slow, and solitary ride; then, for the first time, he forgot his peerage, and thought only of the man—and the father.

But to what purpose? Shortly after his return, he sought the Lady Cecilia, and performed his promise, by preparing her to receive, probably on the ensuing day, the proposals of Tittlebat Titmouse.

The desired opportunity occurred the next day. Titmouse had slept like a top all night, after smoking in his bedroom a great many cigars, and drinking several tumblers of brandy and water. Lady Cecilia, however, had passed a very uneasy, and almost a sleepless night, and did not make her appearance at the breakfast-table. Understanding that her Ladyship was in the drawing-room, and alone, about noon, Titmouse, who had bestowed during the interval more than usual pains upon his dress, gently opened the door, and observing her reclining alone on the sofa, he closed the door behind him, with a sudden beating of the heart, and approached her, bowing profoundly. Poor Lady Cecilia immediately sat up, very pale and trembling.

"Good-morning, good-morning, Lady Cicely," commenced Titmouse, with evident agitation, taking a chair and sitting down in it, plump opposite to her.

"You aren't well this morning, are you, Lady Cicely?" he continued, observing how pale she looked, and that she did not seem disposed to speak.

"I am quite well," she replied in a low tone: and then each was silent.

"It's beginning to look like winter a little, eh, Lady Cicely?" said he, after an embarrassing pause, looking through the windows—and his words diffused an icy coldness over Lady Cecilia. 'Twas an overcast day; and a strong wind was stripping the sere and yellow leaves in great numbers from the lofty trees which were not far distant, and gave forth a melancholy, rushing, moaning sound.

"Certainly it is getting rather cheerless," replied Lady Cecilia, after several moments' pause. Titmouse turned pale; and twirling his fingers in his hair, fixed upon her a stupid and most embarrassing look, under which her eyes fell towards the ground, and remained looking in that direction.

"I—I—hope his Lordship's been saying a good word for me, Lady Cicely?" he inquired with an absurdly sheepish air.

"My father mentioned your name to me yesterday," she replied, trembling excessively.

"'Pon my soul, monstrous kind!" said Titmouse, trying desperately to look at his ease. "Said he'd break the ice for me." Here ensued another pause. "Everybody must have a beginning, you know. 'Pon my solemn honor, Lady Cicely, all he said about me is quite true." Profoundly as was Lady Cecilia depressed, she looked up at Titmouse for a moment with evident surprise. "Now, Lady Cicely, just as between friends, didn't he tell you something very particular about me? Didn't he? Eh?" She made him no answer.

"I dare say, Lady Cicely, though somehow you look sad enough, you a'n't vexed to see me here? Eh? There's many and many a woman in London that would—but it's no use now. 'Pon my soul, I love you, I do, Lady Cicely;" she trembled violently, for he was drawing his chair nearer to her. She felt sick—sick almost to death; and a mist came for a moment over her eyes.

"I know it's—it's a monstrous unpleasant piece of—I mean, it's an awkward thing to do; but I hope you love me, Lady Cicely, eh! a little?" Her head hung down, and a very scalding tear oozed out and trickled down her cheek. "Hope you aren't sorry, dear Lady Cicely? I'm most uncommon proud and happy! Come, Lady Cicely." He took the thin white hand that was nearest him, and raised it to his lips. Had his perceptions been only a trifle keener, he could not have failed to observe a faint thrill pervade Lady Cecilia as he performed this act of gallantry, and an expression of features which looked very much like disgust. He had, however, seen love made on the stage, frequently; and, as he had seen lovers do there, he now dropped down on one knee, still holding Lady Cecilia's hand in his, and pressing it a second time to his lips.

"If your Ladyship will only make me—so happy—as to be—my wife—'pon my life you're welcome to all I have; and you may consider this place entirely your own! Do you understand me, dearest Lady Cicely? Come! 'Pon my life—I'm quite distracted—do you love me, Lady Cicely? Only say the word." A faint—a very faint sound issued from her lips—'twas—blush for her, my lady reader—"Yes." [Oh, poor Lady Cecilia! Oh, fatal—fatal falsehood!]

"Then, as true as God's in heaven, dear gal, I love you," said he, with ardor and energy; and rising from his knee, he sat down beside her upon the sofa—placed an arm round her waist; with his other hand grasped hers—and—imprinted a kiss upon the pale cheek which had been so haughtily withdrawn from the presumptuous advances of the Marquis de Millefleurs, and from some half dozen others; several of whom had been men of commanding pretensions—elegant in person and manners—of great accomplishments—of intellect—of considerable fortune—of good family; but in her opinion, and that of the earl her father, not of family good enough, nor fortune considerable enough, to entitle any of them to an alliance with her.

"'Pon my life, Lady Cicely, you are a most lovely gal," quoth Titmouse, with increasing energy—"and now you're all my own! Though I am only plain Mr. Titmouse, and you'll be Lady Cicely still—I'll make you a good husband!" and again he pressed her hand and kissed her cold cheek. But slow and dull as were the Lady Cecilia's feelings, they were becoming too much excited to admit of her continuing much longer in the room.

"I'm sure—you'll—excuse—me, Mr. Titmouse," said she, rising, and speaking quickly and faintly. When she had regained her room, she wept bitterly for upwards of an hour; and Miss Macspleuchan, well aware of the cause of it, knew not how to console one who had so deliberately immolated herself before the hideous little image of Mammon; who, in degrading herself, had also—and Miss Macspleuchan, a true lady, when alone, shed bitter and scalding tears, and her bosom swelled with wounded pride and indignation at the thought—degraded her whole sex. In due time, however, the Aurora, a fashionable morning London newspaper, thus announced to the public, as an auspicious event, the one which I have so faithfully, feeling much pain the while, described to the reader:—

"It is rumored that Mr. Titmouse, who so lately recovered the very large estates of Yatton, in Yorkshire, and whose appearance in the fashionable world has created so great a sensation, and who is already connected, by consanguinity, with the ancient and noble family of Dreddlington, is about to form a closer alliance with it, and is now the accepted suitor of the lovely and accomplished Lady Cecilia Philippa Leopoldina Plantagenet, sole daughter and heiress of the Right Hon. the Earl of Dreddlington, and next in succession to the barony of Drelincourt, the most ancient, we believe, in the kingdom."