Various
International Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science, Vol. 1
SONG—BY MISS JEWSBURY
There once was a brave cavalier,
Commanded by Cupid to bow;
And his mistress, though lovely, I hear
Had a very Sultana-like brow;
In battles and sieges he fought
With many a Saracen Nero,
Till back to his mistress he brought
The fame and the heart of a hero:
But when he presumed to demand
The hero's reward in all story,
His mistress, in accents most bland—
Desired him to gather more glory
Poor Camille!
So back went the young cavalier,
(Where dwells such obedience now?)
And he wove amid pennant and spear,
A wreath for that fair cruel brow;
How crimson the roses he sent,
But not with the summer sun's glow;
'Twas the crimson of battle—and lent
By a brave heart forever laid low!
Now if such a lover I knew,
And if I might be his adviser,
I would bid him be tender and true,
But certainly bid him be wiser.
Poor Camille!
* * * * *
FROM PETRARCH
Weeping for all my long lost years, I go,
And for that love which to this world confined
A spirit whose strong flight, for heaven designed,
No mean example might one man bestow.
Thou, who didst view my wonderings and my woe,
Great King of heaven! unseen, immortal mind!
Succor this weary being, frail and blind;
And may thy grace o'er all my failings flow!
Then, though my life through warring tempests passed;
My death may tranquilly and slowly come;
And my calm soul may flee in peace at last:
While o'er that space which shuts me from the tomb,
And on my death-bed, be thy blessing cast—
From Thee, in trembling hope, I wait my doom.
* * * * *
[From Bentley's Miscellany]
THE FEMALE WRECKER; AND THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY
A BRACE OF GHOST STORIES
BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE EXPERIENCES OF A GAOL CHAPLAIN."
It was a glorious summer's evening in July. The sun, robed in a thousand hues of gorgeous brilliancy, was setting behind the noble hill which towers over the little hamlet of Shaldon; light pleasure-skiffs, with tiny sail, were dotted over the bay;20 the ebb tide was gently laving the hissing strand; and at intervals, wafted by the breeze, came from some merry party afloat, a ringing, joyous laugh, or some slight snatch of song. It was an evening which breathed serenity and repose.
Seated on one of the benches which skirt that pleasant promenade21 were two feeble-looking men, with whom the summer of life had apparently passed. They conversed slowly and at intervals. That the theme interested both was clear from the earnest tone of the one, and the attention rendered by the other. It was connected too in some way with the sea: for, from time to time, the speaker paused and eyed wistfully the slumbering monster at his feet; and more than once the ejaculation was audible—"the secret is buried there!"
"And you believe this?" said the listener, half incredulously, half respectfully, when his elderly companion ceased.
"I do—firmly."
The other smiled, and then continued in a lower tone—
"All delusion! the result of a heated fancy—all delusion from beginning to end!"
"What is delusion?" said a tall military-looking figure, striding up and joining the group. "We all have, at one period or other of our lives, to battle with delusion and succumb to it. Now. sir," turning to the elder gentleman (his name was Ancelôt) and making a courteous bow—"pray favor me with your case and symptoms."
The party addressed looked nettled, and replied—
"Mine was no delusion; it was a stern and solemn reality."
"Well, give it what name you please," returned his companion, "only let Major Newburgh hear the tale as you narrated it to me."
"To be again discredited? Excuse me, Trevor, no."
"Oh! but," interposed the major, "I'm of a very confiding disposition. I believe everything and every body. The more extraordinary the narrative, the more faith am I inclined to place in it. Trevor, there, as we all know," added he, laughingly, "has a twist. He's a 'total abstinence' man—a homeopathic man—a Benthamite, and secretly favors Mesmerism. With such abounding faith upon some points, we will allow him to be somewhat skeptical upon others. Come, your narrative."
"At the sober age of two-and-forty, a period when the season of delusion is pretty well over," said Mr. Ancelôt, pointedly, "I found myself in charge of a notorious fishing-village on the coast of Lincolnshire. It was famous, or rather infamous, for the smuggling carried on in its creeks, and for the vigilant and relentless wreckers which it numbered in its hovels. 'Rough materials!' said the bishop, Dr. Prettyman, when I waited upon him to be licensed to the curacy—rough materials to work upon; but by care and diligence, Mr. Ancelôt, wondrous changes may be effected. Your predecessor, a feeble-minded man, gave but a sorry account of your flock; but under your auspices, I hope they will become a church-going and a church-loving people! Make them churchmen—you understand me? Make them churchmen!'… Heaven help me! They needed first to be made honest and temperate—to be humanized and Christianized! 'Church-loving and church-going!' The chaplaincy of Newgate is not, perhaps, a sinecure; that of the Model Prison at Pentonville has, probably, its hours of toil; and that attached to Horsemonger Lane is not entirely a bed of roses; but if you wish to wear a man's heart and soul out; to depress his spirits and prostrate his energies—if you would make him long to exchange his lot with the day-laborer who whistles at the plow,—station him as a curate, far apart from his fellows, in a village made up of prize-fighters, smugglers, and wreckers!" To my lonely cure, with a heavy heart, I went; and by a most reckless and rebellious crew I speedily found myself surrounded—a crew which defied control. Intoxicating liquors of all kinds abounded. The meanest hovel smelt of spirits. Nor was there any want of contraband tobacco. Foreign luxuries, in a word, were rife among them. And yet they were always in want—always craving from their clergyman temporal aid—in his spiritual capacity they were slow to trouble him; had ever on their lips the entreaty 'give'—'give;' and always protested that they 'were come to their furthest, and had not a shilling in the world to help themselves withal.'
"For recklessness, drunkenness, and midnight brawls, all England could not match that parish.
"To the general and prevailing aspect of poverty, there was one, and that a marked exception. It presented itself in the person of Abigail Lassiter—a widow—who was reputed to be wealthy, and with whose means, unscrupulously acquired, a tale of murder was strangely blended. Abigail's husband had been a smuggler, and she herself was a daring and keen-eyed wrecker. For a season both throve. He had escaped detection in many a heavy run of contraband goods; and she had come in for many a valuable 'waif and stray' which the receding waters left upon the slimy strand. It was, however, her last venture, which, in her neighbors' language, had made her. Made her, indeed, independent of her fellows, but a murderer before her God!… About day-break in a thick misty morning in April, a vessel, heavily laden, was seen to ground on 'The Jibber Sand;' and after striking heavily for some hours, suddenly to part asunder. The sea was so rough, and the wind so high, that no help could be rendered from the shore. Midday drew on—came—passed, and the villagers assembled on the heights (their eyes fixed the while on the devoted vessel like vultures watching for their prey) had at length the satisfaction of seeing the laboring bark yield to the war of the elements, and her timbers float, piecemeal, over the waters.
"But nothing of any consequence came ashore. A stray spar or two, a hen-coop, two or three empty barrels, a child's light straw hat, and a sailor's cap—these were all.
"The gale held: the wind blew off shore, and at nightfall the wrecking-party, hungry, weary, and out of humor, retired to their cabins. About an hour after midnight heavy rain fell; the wind shifted, and blew inshore. With the first appearance of dawn, Abigail's cottage door was seen slowly to unclose, and she herself to emerge from it, and stealthily creep down to the shore. Once there, a steep sea-wall—thrown up to protect the adjoining lowlands from inundation—screened her from observation. She was absent about an hour, returned apparently empty-handed, reentered her cottage, nor passed its threshold again during the remainder of the day.
"But that was a memorable day for the industrious. My villagers were early astir. Their muddy shore was strewed with fragments of the wreck; and when the tide went down, and the gale moderated, half imbedded in the Jibber Sand was found 'goodly spoil.' Packages of costly shawls, hampers of Dutch liqueurs, bales of linen, several kegs of brandy, and two small canvas-bags containing bullion, were a few of the 'waifs and strays' which keen eyes speedily detected, and stalwart arms as speedily appropriated.
"Later on in the afternoon a very bustling personage made his appearance, much blown and overheated, who announced himself as 'acting under authority from Lloyd's,' and 'representing the under-writers.' At his heels, uttering volleys of threats, and menacing every soul he met with hideous 'penalties according to act of parliament,' followed a very lady-like young gentleman, with a thin reedy voice, and light down upon his chin, 'charged with protecting the public revenue.' Well for him in a dark night if he could protect himself!
"Worthy souls! They might as well have spared their well-fed nags, and have remained at home snugly housed in their chimney-corner. ''Tis the early bird that gets the worm.' They had missed it by hours. The spoil was housed. It was buried in cottage gardens, and cabbages planted over it. It was secreted among the thatch, where even the best trained bird-nesting urchin would have missed it. It was stored away under more than one hollow hearth-stone, on which a cheerful wood-fire was crackling and blazing. When were the 'womenkind' in a wrecker's village at a loss for expedients?
"But a discovery was made that afternoon, which, for the moment, made the boisterous gentleman from Lloyd's falter in his denunciations, and hushed the menaces of the indignant and well-dressed personage who protected the revenue, and saddened the few hearts amongst us not entirely devoid of feeling.
"On a little knoll—called in memory of an unfortunate suicide, 'The Mad Maiden's Knoll,'—was found the body of a lady, youthful and fair, and by her side that of a little infant, a few weeks old. The babe, carefully swathed in countless warm wrappers, was lying in a rude cradle of wicker-work; this was firmly fastened to the lady's waist, who, on her part, had been securely lashed to a spar. 'Twas a piteous sight! But one's sympathies were called into still more painful exercise when it was found that the unfortunate lady's corpse had been rifled by some unprincipled marauder; that both ears had been torn, and two of her fingers had been crushed and broken in the attempt to plunder them of the rings with which they had been laden. Nor was this all. Every part of her dress had been carefully examined. Her stays had been ripped open, and a packet, assumed to be of value, had apparently been taken thence. What strengthened this surmise was the fact that a fragment of a purple morocco note-case still adhered to her dress. This fragment bore the words in gilt letters, 'Bank Notes;' below were the initials 'F.H.B.' The sight drew forth general expressions of pity: but pity gave place to indignation when the district surgeon joined the group, and after a careful examination of the body, said slowly, 'I suspect—I more than suspect—I am almost positive, that this lady reached the shore alive. The winds and waves have not destroyed her. She has perished by the hand of another. Look here,' and he pointed to a small dark rim round the neck, 'this is the effect of strangulation; and my belief is that the corpse before us is that of a murdered woman.'
"The coroner of the district was summoned, a jury empanneled, and the simple facts relative to the discovery of the bodies of the woman and infant were briefly placed on record. Few cared to speak openly. All had an interest in saying as little as possible. 'Return an open verdict, gentlemen; return an open verdict by all means,' suggested the wary official; 'that is the shortest course you can adopt; safe and perfectly legal; it decides nothing, contradicts nothing, concludes nothing.' No advice could be more palatable to the parties he addressed. 'Found dead,' was the ready response; 'but by what means, drowning or otherwise; there is no evidence to show.'
"The coroner was delighted.
"'Precisely so; quite sufficient. My gig, and a glass of brandy and water.'"
* * * * *
"No one claimed the bodies. Early interment was necessary; and a few hours after the inquest was concluded, mother and child were consigned to their parent earth.
"Six weeks afterward, an elderly man, with a most imperious manner and a foreign accent, came down to the village and asked countless questions relative to the shipwreck. The unhappy lady, he said, was his niece; and earnest were the inquiries he made touching a large sum of money, which, to his certain knowledge, she had about her when she went on shipboard. Of this money, as a matter of course, no satisfactory tidings were forthcoming. He then became violent; called the village a nest of pirates; cursed the inhabitants without mercy; hoped that heaven's lightnings would speedily fall, and raze the hamlet to the ground; and indulged in a variety of comments, some just, some foolish, and all angry.
"But with all his anxiety about his niece, and all his burning indignation against her plunderers, he never visited the unhappy lady's grave; never directed a stone to be placed over her; never deplored her fate; never uttered a remark about her infant, save and except an avowal of his unbounded satisfaction that it had perished with the mother-his ever-recurring subject of regret was, not that he had lost his niece, but that he had lost her money!
"Oh world! how base are thy calculations, how sordid thy conclusions! The young, the fair, the helpless, the innocent may perish, it matters not. Loss of relatives, of children, of country, of character, all may be borne with complacency but—loss of money!
"Meanwhile the party who was suspected to have benefited most largely by the shipwreck, went about her daily occupations with her usual subdued and poverty-stricken air. There was nothing in Abigail Lassiter's dress or manner to indicate the slightest improvement in her worldly circumstances. She toiled as earnestly, dressed as simply, and lived as sparingly as ever. But quietly and almost imperceptibly a vast change was wrought in the aspect of her dwelling. It was carefully repaired and considerably enlarged, a small piece of pasture land was bought, and then a handsome Alderney cow made her appearance. A garden of some extent, at the rear of the cottage, was next laid out, and stocked, and last of all a commodious spring cart and clever cob were seen on the little homestead. But comfort there was none. An invisible hand fought against its inmates. Their career of success was closed. A curse and not a blessing was henceforth to track them. On a sudden the husband, Mark Lassiter, was betrayed in one of his smuggling expeditions, encountered the coast-guard where he least expected them, was fired at, captured, and died in jail of his wounds. The eldest son—'Black Ben,' the pugilist—killed his man, was accused of foul play, and compelled to fly the country. Robin, second mate of a merchant vessel then lying in Hull Docks, still remained to her, and him she hastily summoned home for counsel. Vain precaution! A final separation had already taken place between them. While wondering at his tardy movements, a brief unfeeling letter apprised her that, 'returning to his ship at midnight decidedly the worse for liquor,' Robin Lassiter had missed his footing on the narrow plank connecting the vessel with the shore, fallen into deep water, and had sunk to rise no more.
"These successive bereavements paralyzed her. For the first time the idea seems to have presented itself, that it was possible adversity might overwhelm her. She confined herself rigidly to her home; said that the moan of the sea wearied and worried her, and blocked up every window which looked upon the ocean! For hours she would sit, abstractedly, in silence. Then, wringing her hands, would wake up with a wistful cry, and repeat—'Wrong never comes right! Wrong never comes right!'
"Much as I knew she hated religion, its ministers, its sanctuary, and every object which, by possibility, could remind her that there was a coming future, I yet felt it my duty to make another and a third attempt at an interview. She received me ungraciously enough, but not insolently. Her fair, soft, feminine features betrayed evident annoyance at my visit, but still there was an absence of that air of menace and hatred which characterized her in former days.
"'You visit me?' was her inquiry; 'why?'
"'To condole with you on the ravages which death has made in your family.'
"Her reply was instant and firmly uttered.
"'Yes; two are gone. Their part is played and over. I presume they are at rest.'
"A passing remark followed, in which a hope was expressed that I should see her at church.
"'Never, until I'm brought there. I shouldn't know myself in such a place, nor would those who assemble there know me.'
"While framing my reply she continued—
"'Your visit, sir, is wholly unexpected; I have never troubled the clergy, and I hope they will not trouble me; I have my sorrows, and I keep them to myself.'
"'They will overwhelm you unless aid be granted—'
"She interrupted me.
"'I seek it not, and therefore have no right to expect it. But why should I detain you sir,' said she, rising from her seat; 'there are others who may prize your presence more than I do.'
"One of Wilson's little volumes was in my hand. I proffered it with the remark—'You will perhaps read this in my absence?'
"She declined it with a gesture of impatience.
"'No! no! I seldom read, and my hourly endeavor now is not to think!
This way lies your road, sir. Farewell.'
"A more thoroughly unsatisfactory interview it is scarcely possible to imagine.
"Two years had rolled away, when, one morning, a message reached me that 'Dame Lassiter was ill,' and wished I would 'call in the course of the day.' Within the hour came another summons: 'Dame Lassiter was much worse,' and begged to 'see me without delay.' Before midday I was at the cottage. Her sole attendant,—a bold, saucy, harsh looking girl of eighteen,—awaited me at the threshold.
"'Right glad am I you're come,' was her greeting; 'the mistress, sir, has been asking for you ever since day-break.'
"'She is worse then?'
"She lowered her voice to a whisper, and continued:—
"'She's going! She'll not hold it long. The doctors have given her up, and there's no more medicine to be gone for. This last is a sure sign.'
"'Is she sensible?'
"The girl hesitated.
"'In times she be,' was her reply, rather doubtfully given! 'in times she be; but there's something about her I don't quite fancy; the plain fact is, she's rather quair, and I shall go up to the village. You'll not mind being alone, I dare say?'
"And without waiting for a reply this careful and considerate attendant hurriedly opened the door; went out; and then locked it briskly and firmly on the outside. I was a prisoner, and my companion a dying woman! For the moment I felt startled; but a hollow moan of anguish, sadly and painfully reiterated in the chamber above, at once recalled me to my duties, and bade me seek the sufferer. In a room of fair dimensions lay, stricken and emaciated, the once active and dauntless Abigail. On entering I could with difficulty disguise my surprise at the variety of articles which it contained, and at the costliness and splendor of many of them. The curtains of the sick woman's bed were of figured silk damask; and though here and there a dark spot was visible where sea-water, or some other destructive agency, had penetrated, enough still remained to vindicate the richness of the fabric and the brilliancy of the color. The linen on the bed was of the finest texture, apparently the production of a Dutch loom, while the vessel which held her night-drink was an antique goblet, indisputably of foreign workmanship,—its materials silver and mother-of-pearl. Under the window, which commanded her flower garden, stood a small work-table of birds'-eye maple, which methought had once stood in the lady's cabin of some splendidly appointed steamer. Her wash-stand was of mahogany richly carved: on the shelf above it stood an ebony writing-desk, inlaid with silver; below was a lady's dressing case—ivory—and elaborately carved. Two cases of foreign birds of exquisite plumage completed the decoration of the apartment. It is true necessitous sailors and carousing smugglers might have contributed some of the costly articles I saw around me; but as I gazed on them the thought recurred, are not these the wages of iniquity? Have they not been rifled from the grasp of the helpless, the drowning, and the dying?
"I spoke. She was in full possession of her faculties; but manifestly near her end. I expressed my sorrow at finding her so feeble; told her that I had readily obeyed her summons; and asked her whether I should read to her.
"'Neither read to me,' was her distinct reply: 'nor pray with me; but listen to me. They tell me I have not many hours to live. If so, I have something to disclose; and some money which I should wish—I should wish'—she hesitated and became silent—'the point is, am I beyond recovery? If so I should desire that this money—'
"'Under any circumstances,' was my reply, 'confess all; restore all'
"She looked up quickly and said sharply; 'Why restore?'
"'To prove the sincerity of your regrets.'
"'Ah, well!' said she, thoughtfully, 'if I could only satisfy myself that recovery was impossible. I have much to leave behind me; and there are some circumstances—'
"She hesitated and was silent. A minute or two elapsed and I urged—
"'Be candid and be just,—make reparation while you possess the power.'
"'You advise well,' said she, faintly. 'I would fain relieve my mind. It is sorely oppressed, for with regard to my property—my—my savings—'
"As she spoke there arose, close to us, clear and painfully audible, a low, mocking laugh. It was not akin to mirth. There was no gladness in its tone. It betokened enmity, triumph, scorn. The dying woman heard it, and cowered beneath its influence. An expression of agonizing fear passed over her countenance. Some minutes elapsed before she could sufficiently command herself to speak or even listen.
"'Carry out forthwith,' said I, in a tone of resolution I could with difficulty command, 'carry out your present determination. Make restitution to the utmost of your power. Restore all; confess all.'
"'I will do so and now,' was her reply.
"Again that bitter, scornful, chilling laugh; and closer to us! To no ebullition of any earthly emotion can I compare it. It resembled none. It conveyed scorn, exultation, defiance, hatred. It seemed an uncontrollable burst of triumph over a parting and ruined soul. Again, I gazed steadfastly on the dying woman. A spasm convulsed her countenance. She pointed feebly to some unseen object—unseen at least by me—and clasped her hands with an imploring gesture. Another spasm came on-a second-a third—and all was silence. I was alone with the dead."
* * * * *
"And you are persuaded that these sounds were real and not fanciful, that imagination had nothing to do with the scene?" said the younger of the three when the aged speaker had concluded.
The reply was immediate.
"I state simply what I heard; that, and no more. No opportunity for trick existed. The cottage had one door, and but one. The dying woman and myself were the only parties within its walls. We were locked in from without: until the attendant returned and unclosed the door there was no possibility of either entering or quitting the dwelling. I was alone with the dead for upward of an hour—no enviable vigil—when it pleased her unfeeling and gossiping retainer to return and release me. Believe it, say you? I do believe it—and most firmly—as fact and not fancy."
"And what say you, Major?" pursued the questioner, turning to his military companion.
"I believe it also, and the more readily from recollecting what once occurred to myself. Soon after my awkward hit at Vittoria, where I received a bullet, which I carry about with me to this hour, I was ordered home on sick leave. Landing at Falmouth from a filthy transport, feeble, feverish, solitary and wretched, I was recognized by a former intimate, who followed me to my inn and insisted upon taking me down with him into –shire. Rest and country air, he was sure, would recruit me. In vain I explained the wretched cripple I was. In vain I submitted that the 'hospital mates,' one and all, entertained the worst opinion of my injury. He would take no denial. It was a case, he contended, not for the knife or the doctor; but for beef-steaks and Barclay's stout. And this opinion he would make good, in my instance, against the whole hospital staff at home and abroad. Too weak to contest the point, I gave in; and promised that, if living, that day week should find me at – House. The first part of my journey I made out with comparatively little suffering. The latter part, where I was obliged to have recourse to a hack chaise, neither wind nor weather tight—ill hung, and badly driven, was torture. At length, unable to endure longer agony, I got out; and bidding the postboy drive with my luggage to – House, limped along across the fields under the pilotage of an old laborer—it was a work of time—to my destination.
"My gray-haired guide, who commiserated my situation, was very inquisitive about 'the war and Lord Wellington;' asked whether all the Spaniards lived on 'mules' flesh fried with onions,' as he 'had been told for truth;' inquired what 'our side' thought of 'Boney's covenant with the devil,' a covenant, (according to his reading,) to this effect, that 'the devil had given Boney a lease of luck for threescore and three years, and that when it was up he was to be shot by a Spanish maiden with a silver bullet.' Many folks, he said, believed all this to be true and sartain; but that he, for his part, 'did not hold with it: what did I think?' But however talkative about the war, my venerable pilot was reserved about – House. I asked him if he knew it. 'These fifty years and more,' was his answer. 'The House of Mystery; good people live there now,—yes, good people, kind people,—a blessed change for all about and around the House of Mystery. More he would not utter. At length I reached the winning post, hobbled in, received a cordial welcome, and retired early to bed.
"None but those who have lain for weeks in a crowded military hospital, who have battled day by day with death, now flushed with fever, now racked with agonizing spasmodic action in every nerve, can conceive the effect of the quiet, the pure air, the bracing freshness of the country. The stillness which reigned around,—the peaceful landscape beneath my window,—the balmy fragrance of the flowers,—the hush of woods reposing in all the stillness of a summer's twilight,—the faint tinkling of the distant sheep-bell,—the musical murmur of the rill which gurgled gaily and gladly from beneath the base of the sun-dial,—the deer dotted over the park, and grazing lazily in groups beneath the branching oaks, made up a picture which soothed and calmed me. I went to bed satisfied that I should sleep. I did so without a single twinge till after midnight. Then I was roused by a grating sound at a distance. It drew nearer, became more and more distinct, and presently at a pelting pace, up drove a carriage and four. I say four, because a man used to horses all his life, can, by their tramp, judge, though blindfold, pretty accurately as to their numbers. I heard the easy roll of the carriage, the grating of the wheels on the gravel, the sharp pull-up at the main entrance, the impatient pawing of the animals on the hard and well-rolled road. All this I caught most distinctly. But though I listened keenly I heard no bell ring, no door unclose, no servant hasten to these new arrivals. I thought it odd. I struck my repeater. 'A quarter to one. Strange hour, surely, for visitors to arrive! However, no business of mine. I have not, happily, to rise and do the honors.' And, after a yawn or two, and a hurried, though I trust grateful acknowledgment for the comparative ease I was enjoying, I turned upon my side and dozed off. I had slept about two hours when a similar noise again aroused me. Up came another carriage at the same slapping pace. Pat, pat, pat, went the hoofs upon the hard avenue. The wheels rattled; the gravel grated on the ear; there was the same quick, sharp, knowing pull-up at the main door, and the same impatient stamp of high-fed steeds anxious to be off, and eager for the rest and feed of the stable. I became irritated and angry. 'A pretty house,' said I, 'for an invalid! Guests arriving at all hours! Moreover, a precious lot of fresh faces shall I have to encounter at the breakfast table. A nice figure I am! My walk particularly straight and lively! I shall be "the observed of all observers" with a vengeance. I wish with all my soul I had remained at Exeter. I had there my hospitable friends, the Greens, in "the Barn-field," to keep an eye to me, while here, carriages are driving up at a splitting pace from midnight to cock-crowing.' And fuming and fretting, chafed and annoyed, I lay feverish and discontented till daybreak.
"The next morning, having taken peculiar pains with my toilet, and having arrived at the inevitable conclusion that I hobbled worse than ever, and was as infirm as an old gentleman of eighty, I presented myself in the breakfast room.