Tales and Novels — Volume 02 / Popular Tales

CHAPTER II.

Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight; he then received the following letter:

“DEAR COUSIN WRIGHT,

“It is a very great pity that you could not be persuaded to come along with me to York races, where I have seen more of life, and of the world, in a week, than ever I did in all my life before.—York is a surprising fine town; and has a handsome cathedral, and assembly-room: but I am not in the humour, just now, to describe them: so I shall proceed to what is much better worth thinking of.

“You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in love, and never was I so happy or so miserable in my days. If I was not a farmer there would be some hopes for me; but, to be sure, it is not to be expected that such a lady as she is should think of a mere country booby; in which light, indeed, she was pleased to say, as I heard from good authority, she did not consider me; though my manners wanted polish. These were her own words. I shall spare nothing to please her, if possible, and am not wholly without hope, though I have a powerful rival; no less a person than the eldest son and heir of Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. But her virtue will never, I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to such addresses as his. Now mine are honourable, and pure as her soul; the purity of which no one could doubt, who had seen her last night, as I did, in the character of the Fair Penitent. She was universally admired: and another night sung and danced like an angel. But I can give you no idea of her by pen and ink; so I beseech you to come and see her, and give your advice to me candidly, for I have the highest opinion of your judgment and good-nature.

“I find you were quite right about that scoundrel who rode with me from Spalding! He has arrested me for a hundred guineas; and is, without exception, the shabbiest dog I ever met with: but I am out of his clutches, and have better friends. I will tell you the whole story when we meet, and pay you your hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as soon as you receive this, for every moment is an age to me: and I won’t declare myself, more than I have done, if possible, till you come; for I have a great opinion of your judgment; yet hope you won’t put on your severe face, nor be prejudiced against her, because of her being on the stage. Leave such illiberality to cousin Goodenough: it would be quite beneath you! Pray bring with you that volume of old plays that is at the top of my bed, under the bag of thistles; or in the basket of reeds that I was making; or in the out-house, where I keep the goose-quills and feathers. I don’t find my memory so clear, since my head is so full of this charming Alicia Barton. Pray make no delay, as you value the peace of mind of your

“Affectionate cousin and friend,

“PIERCE MARVEL.

“P. S. Mr. Barton, her brother, is the most generous of men, and the cleverest. He is not averse to the match. Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s son and heir, who is as insolent as his father, may find that a Lincolnshire farmer is not a person to be despised. I have thoughts of selling my farm of Clover-hill, and of going into another way of life; for which, as Mr. Barton said, and Alicia hinted, nay, as I am inclined to believe too, I am much better suited than for farming. Of this more when we meet. Pray set out as soon as you receive this. Alicia has dark eyes, and yet a fair complexion. I am sure you will like her.”

Far from feeling sure that he should like Miss Alicia Barton, Wright was so much alarmed for his cousin, on the perusal of this letter, that he resolved to set out immediately for York, lest the sale of Clover-hill should be concluded before his arrival. A new project and a new love were, indeed, powerful temptations to one of Marvel’s character.

As Goodenough was plodding at his accustomed pace in his morning’s work, he met Wright on horseback, who asked him if he had any commissions that he could execute in York, whither he was going.

“None, thank Heaven!” said Goodenough. “So I see it is as I always knew it would be! Marvel is ‘ticing you into his own ways, and will make you just such another as his self. Ay, you must go to York races! Well, so much the better for me. Much pleasure to you at the races.”

“I am not going to the races; I am going to do Marvel a service.”

“Charity begins at home: that’s my maxim,” replied Goodenough.

“It is quite fitting that charity should begin at home,” said Wright; “but then it should not end at home; for those that help nobody will find none to help them in time of need.”

“Those that help nobody will not be so apt to come to need,” replied Goodenough. “But yonder’s my men standing idle. If I but turn my head, that’s the way of them. Good morrow to you, cousin Wright; I can’t stand argufying here about charity, which won’t plough my ground, nor bring me a jot nearer to the ten thousand pounds’ legacy: so good morrow to you. My service to cousin Marvel.”

Goodenough proceeded to his men, who were in truth standing idle, as it was their custom to do when their master’s eye was not, as they thought, upon them; for he kept them so hard at work, when he was present, that not a labouring man in the country would hire himself to Goodenough, when he could get employment elsewhere. Goodenough’s partizans, however, observed that he got his money’s worth out of every man he employed; and that this was the way to grow rich. The question, said they, is not which of the three nephews will be the best beloved, but which will be the richest at the end of ten years; and, on this ground, who can dispute that Goodenough’s maxim is the best, “Charity begins at home?” Wright’s friends looked rather alarmed when they heard of this journey to York; and Marvel’s advocates, though they put a good face upon the matter, heartily wished him safe home.

Upon Wright’s arrival in York, he found it no easy matter to discover his cousin Marvel; for he had forgotten to date his letter, and no direction was given to inn or lodging: at last, after inquiring at all the public-houses without success, Wright bethought himself of asking where Miss Alicia Barton, the actress, lodged; for there he would probably meet her lover. Mr. Harrison, an eminent dyer, to whom he applied for information, very civilly offered to show him to the house. Wright had gained this dyer’s good opinion by the punctuality with which he had, for three years past, supplied him, at the day and hour appointed, with the quantity of woad for which he had agreed. Punctuality never fails to gain the good opinion of men of business.

As the dyer walked with Wright to Miss Barton’s lodgings, they entered into conversation about her; and Wright asked what character she bore. “I know nothing of her character for my own share,” said Harrison, “not being in that line of business; but I think I could put you into a way of seeing her in her true colours, whatever they may be; for she is very intimate with a milliner, whom my wife (though not with my good-will entirely) visits. In return for which, I shall be glad that you will do my business along with your own; and let me know if any thing is going wrong.”

The dyer introduced Wright to the milliner as a gentleman farmer, who wanted to take home with him a fashionable cap and bonnet, or two, for some ladies in Lincolnshire. The milliner ordered down some dusty bandboxes, which she protested and vowed were just arrived from London with the newest fashions; and, whilst she was displaying these, Wright talked of the races, and the players, and Miss Alicia Barton.

“Is she as handsome as they say? I have a huge cur’osity to see her,” said Wright, feigning more rusticity of manner and more simplicity than was natural to him. “I have, truly, a woundy cur’osity to see her, I’ve heard so much of her, even down in Lincolnshire.”

“If you go to see the play, sir, you can’t fail to have your curiosity gratified, for Miss Barton plays to-night—(Jenny! reach me a play-bill)—for her own benefit, and appears in her very best character, the Romp.”

“The Romp!—Odds! Is that her best character? Why, now, to my notion, bad’s the best, if that be the best of her characters. The Romp!—Odds so! What would our grandmothers say to that?”

“Oh, sir, times are changed, as well as fashions, since our grandmothers’ days,” said the milliner. “Put up this bonnet for the gentleman, Jenny.—I am sure I don’t pretend to say any thing in favour of the times, whatever I may of the fashions. But, as to fashion, to be sure no one can be more fashionable, here in York, than Miss Barton. All our gentlemen are dying for her.”

“Odds my life, I’ll keep out of her way! And yet I’ve a huge cur’osity to set my eyes upon her. Pray, now, could I any way get to the sight or speech of her in a room, or so? for seeing a woman on the stage is one thing, and seeing her off, as I take it, is another.”

“I take it so too, sir. Jenny, put up the cap for the gentleman, and make out a bill.”

“No, no; the bonnet’s all I want, which I’ll pay for on the nail.”

Wright took out a long purse full of guineas: then put it up again, and opened a pocket-book full of bank-notes. The milliner’s respect for him obviously increased. “Jenny! Do run and see who’s within there. Miss Barton was trying on her dress, I think, half an hour ago: may be she’ll pass through this way, and the gentleman may have a sight of her, since it weighs so much upon his mind. Let me put up the cap too, sir: it’s quite the fashion, you may assure the Lincolnshire ladies.—Oh! here’s Miss Barton.”

Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most bewitching smiles and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, she seated herself in a charming attitude; and, leaning pensively on the counter, addressed her conversation to her friend, the milliner: but, at every convenient pause, she cast an inquiring glance at Wright, who stood with his long purse of guineas in his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes before him, as if he had been so much astonished by the lady’s appearance, that he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was a remarkably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in reality as much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by hers. No forbidding reserve condemned him to silence; and, as if inspired by the hope of pleasing, he soon grew talkative.

“This is the most rare town, this, your town of York.” said he: “I do not well know how I shall ever be able to get myself out of it: so many fine sights, my eyes be quite dazzled!” “And pray, sir, which of all the fine sights do you like the best?” said the milliner.

“Oh! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights: and I know who I think the finest lady I ever beheld—but will never tell—never.”

“Never, sir?” said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly cast down her eyes. “Never’s a bold word, sir. I’ve a notion you’ll live to break that rash resolution.”

Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass.

“Why, where’s the use,” pursued Wright, “of being laughed at? Where’s the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, that would go for to pay a compliment, not well knowing how, to a lady that is used to have court made to her by the first gentlemen in all York?”

“Those that think they don’t know how to pay a compliment often pay the best to my fancy,” said the milliner. “What says Miss Barton?”

Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant to blush; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, with theatrical tones and gestures:

Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel came breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to be completely hidden by the door: and Marvel, not seeing his friend, addressed himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mistress.—The lady’s manner changed, and Wright had an opportunity of seeing and admiring her powers of acting. To Marvel, she was coy and disdainful.

“I expect my friend and relation in town every hour,” said he to her in a low voice; “and then I shall be able to settle with your brother about the sale of Clover-hill. You half promised that you would walk with me this morning.” “Not without my brother: excuse me, sir,” said the coy lady, withdrawing with the dignity of a princess. “When your friend arrives, for whose advice I presume you wait, you will be able to decide your heart. Mine cannot be influenced by base lucre, or mercenary considerations—Unhand me, sir.”

“I will run immediately to the inn, to see whether my friend is come,” cried Marvel. “Believe me, I am as much above mercenary considerations as yourself; but I have promised not to conclude upon the sale till he comes, and he would take it ill to be sent for, and then to be made a fool of.—I’ll run to the Green Man again immediately, to see if he is come.”

Marvel darted out of the shop. Wright, during this parley, which lasted but a few seconds, had kept himself snug in his hiding-place, and appeared to the milliner to be wholly absorbed in casting up his bill, in which there was a shilling wrong. He came from behind the door as soon as Marvel departed; and, saying that he would call for his purchases in an hour’s time, left the milliner’s, took a hackney coach, and drove to the Green Man, where he was now sure of meeting his cousin.

“Thank Heaven! you are come at last,” cried Marvel, the moment he saw him. “Thank Heaven! you are come! do not let us lose a moment. If you are not tired, if you are not hungry, come along with me, and I’ll introduce you to my charming Alicia Barton.”

“I am both tired and hungry,” replied Wright: “so let us have a hot beef-steak, and let me sit down and rest myself.”

It was the utmost stretch of Marvel’s patience to wait for the beef-steak; and he could scarcely conceive how any one could prefer eating it to seeing his charming Alicia. He did not eat a morsel himself, but walked up and down the room with quick steps.

“Oh! my dear Wright,” cried he, “it is a sign you’ve never seen her, or you would eat a little faster.”

“Does every body eat fast, who has seen Miss Barton?” said Wright; “then to be sure I should; for I have seen her within this half hour.”

“Seen her! Seen Alicia! Seen her within this half hour! That’s impossible.—How could you see her? Where could you see her?” “I saw her in your company,” rejoined Wright, coolly.

“In my company! How could that be, without my seeing you?—You are making a jest of me.”

“Not at all; only take care that you do not make a jest of yourself. I assure you that I say nothing but truth: I’ve seen you and your Miss Barton this very morning: nay, I’ll tell you what you said to her; you told her that you could not sell Clover-hill till I came to town.”

Marvel stared, and stood in silent astonishment.

“Ay,” continued Wright, “you see by this how many things may pass before a man’s eyes and ears, when he is in love, without his seeing or hearing them. Why, man, I was in the milliner’s shop just now, standing in the corner behind the door; but you could see nothing but your charming Miss Barton.”

“I beg your pardon for being so blind,” said Marvel, laughing; “but you are too good-natured to take offence; though you don’t know what it is to be in love.”

“There you are mistaken; for I am as much in love as yourself at this instant.”

“Then I’m undone,” cried Marvel, turning as pale as death.

“Why so?” said Wright; “will you allow nobody, man, to be in love but yourself? I don’t see why I have not as good a right to fall in love as you have.”

“To be sure you have,” said Marvel, trying to recover himself; “and I can’t say but what you deal fairly by me, to tell me so honestly at once. More fool I to send for you. I might have foreseen this, blockhead as I am! but you deal fairly by me, Wright: so I cannot complain, and will not, happen what may. Let him who can win her, wear her. We start fair; for though I have had the advantage of a first acquaintance, you are much the handsomer man of the two; and that goes for a great deal with some ladies, though not perhaps with Alicia Barton.”

“There, perhaps, you may find yourself mistaken,” replied Wright, with a significant look.

“You don’t say so? You don’t think so?” cried Marvel, with great emotion. “I say what I think; and, if I may trust a woman’s looks, I’ve some reason for my thoughts.”

Marvel took up the tankard which stood on the table, and swallowed down a hasty draught; and then said, though with an altered voice, “Cousin Wright, let him who can win her, wear her, as I said before. I sha’n’t quarrel with you if you deal fairly by me; so tell me honestly, did you never see her before this morning?”

“Never, as I am an honest man,” said Wright.

“Then, here’s my hand for you,” said Marvel. “All’s fair and handsome on your part. Happen what may, as I said before, I will not quarrel with you. If she was decreed to fall in love with you at first sight, why that’s no fault of yours; and if she tells me so fairly, why no great fault of hers. She has encouraged me a little; but still women will change their minds, and I shall not call her a jilt if she speaks handsomely to me. It will go a little to my heart at first, no doubt; but I shall bear it like a man, I hope; and I shall not quarrel with you, cousin Wright, whatever else I do.”

Marvel shook Wright’s hand heartily; but turned away directly afterwards, to hide his agitation.

“Why now, cousin Marvel, you are a good fellow; that’s the truth of it,” said Wright. “Trust to me: and, if the girl is what you think her, you shall have her: that I promise you.”

“That’s more than you can promise, being as you say as much in love as I am.”

“I say I’m more in love than you are: but what then, I ask you?”

“What then! why, we cannot both have Alicia Barton.”

“Very true. I would not have her if you would give her to me.”

“Would not have her!” cried Marvel, with a look of joyous astonishment: “but, did not you tell me you were in love with her?”

“Not I. You told it to yourself. I said I was in love; but cannot a man be in love with any woman in this whole world but Miss Barton?”

Marvel capered about the room with the most lively expressions of delight, shook hands with his cousin, as if he would have pulled his arm off, and then suddenly stopping, said, “But what do you think of my Alicia? Though you are not in love with her, I hope you think well of her?”

“I must see more of her before I am qualified to speak.”

“Nay, nay, no drawbacks: out with it. I must know what you think of her at this time being.”

“At this time being, then, I think, she is what they call a—coquette.”

“Oh, there you are out, indeed, cousin Wright! she’s more of what they call a prude than a coquette.”

“To you, perhaps; but not to me, cousin. Let every one speak of her as they find,” replied Wright.

Marvel grew warm in defence of Miss Barton’s prudery; and at last ended by saying, “that he’d stake his life upon it, she was no jilt. If she had taken a fancy to you, Wright, she would honestly tell me so, I’m convinced; and, when she finds you are thinking of another woman, her pride would soon make her think no more of you. ‘Tis but little she could have thought in the few minutes you were in her company; and it is my opinion she never thought of you at all—no offence.”

“No offence, I promise you,” said Wright; “but let us put her to the trial: do you keep your own counsel; go on courting her your own way, and let me go mine. Don’t you say one word of my being here in York; but put her off about the sale of Clover-hill, till such time as you are sure of her heart.”

To this proposal Marvel joyfully agreed; and, as to the time of trial, Wright asked only one week. His cousin then told him the new scheme, from which he expected to make so much: it had been suggested by Alicia’s brother. “I am to sell Clover-hill; and, with the money that I get for it, Barton and I are to build and fit up a theatre in Lincoln, and be the managers ourselves. I assure you, he says, and they all say, I should make a figure on the stage: and Miss Barton whispered, in my hearing, that I should make a capital Lothario,” added Marvel, throwing himself into a stage attitude, and reciting, in a voice that made Wright start,

“Very fine, no doubt,” said Wright; “but I am no judge of these matters; only this I am sure of, that, with respect to selling Clover-hill, you had best go slowly to work, and see what the sister is, before you trust to the brother. It is not for my interest, I very well know, to advise you against this scheme; because, if I wanted to make certain of your not coming in for my uncle’s legacy, I could not take a better way than to urge you to follow your fancy. For, say that you lay out all you have in the world on the building of this playhouse, and say that Barton’s as honest a man as yourself: observe, your playhouse cannot be built in less than a couple of years, and the interest of your money must be dead all that time; and pray how are you to bring yourself up, by the end of the ten years? Consider, there are but seven years of the time to come.”

Marvel gave his cousin hearty thanks for his disinterested advice, but observed that actors and managers of playhouses were, of all men, they who were most likely to grow rich in a trice; that they often cleared many hundreds in one night for their benefits; that even, if he should fail to hit the public taste himself, as an actor, he was sure at least, if he married the charming Alicia, that she would be a source of inexhaustible wealth. “Not,” added he, “that I think of her in that light; for my soul is as much superior to mercenary considerations as her own.”

“More, perhaps,” said Wright; but seeing fire flash in his cousin’s eyes at this insinuation, he contented himself for the present with the promise he had obtained, that nothing should be concluded till the end of one week; that no mention should be made to Miss Barton, or her brother, of his arrival in town; and that he should have free liberty to make trial of the lady’s truth and constancy, in any way he should think proper. Back to his friend the milliner’s he posted directly. Miss Barton was gone out upon the race-ground in Captain Mowbray’s curricle: in her absence, Wright was received very graciously by the milliner, who had lodgings to let, and who readily agreed to let them to him for a week, as he offered half a guinea more than she could get from anybody else. She fancied that he was deeply smitten with Miss Barton’s charms, and encouraged his passion, by pretty broad hints that it was reciprocal. Miss Barton drank tea this evening with the milliner: Wright was of the party, and he was made to understand that others had been excluded: “for Miss Barton,” her friend observed, “was very nice as to her company.”

Many dexterous efforts were made to induce Wright to lay open his heart; for the dyer’s lady had been cross-questioned as to his property in Lincolnshire, and she being a lover of the marvellous, had indulged herself in a little exaggeration; so that he was considered as a prize, and Miss Barton’s imagination settled the matter so rapidly, that she had actually agreed to make the milliner a handsome present on the wedding-day. Upon this hint, the milliner became anxious to push forward the affair. Marvel, she observed, hung back about the sale of his estate; and, as to Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s son, he was bound hand and foot by his father, so could do nothing genteel: besides, honourable matrimony was out of the question there.

All these things considered, the milliner’s decision was, on perfectly prudential and virtuous motives, in favour of Wright. Miss Barton’s heart, to use her own misapplied term, spoke warmly in his favour; for he was, without any comparison, the handsomest of her lovers; and his simplicity and apparent ignorance of the world were rather recommendations than objections.

Upon her second interview with him, she had, however, some reason to suspect that his simplicity was not so great as she had imagined. She was surprised to observe, that, notwithstanding all their artful hints, Wright came to nothing like a positive proposal, nor even to any declaration of his passion. The next day she was yet more astonished; for Wright, though he knew she was a full hour in the milliner’s shop, never made the slightest attempt to see her; nay, in the evening, he met her on the public walk, and passed without more notice than a formal bow, and without turning his head back to look after her, though she was flirting with a party of gentlemen, expressly for the purpose of exciting his jealousy.

Another consultation was held with her friend the milliner: “These men are terrible creatures to deal with,” said her confidant. “Do you know, my dear creature, this man, simple as he looks, has been very near taking us in. Would you believe it? he is absolutely courting a Lincolnshire lady for a wife. He wrote a letter to her, my dear Alicia, this morning, and begged me to let my boy run with it to the post-office. I winded and winded, saying he was mighty anxious about the letter, and so on, till, at the last, out comes the truth. Then I touched him about you; but he said, ‘an actress was not fit for a farmer’s wife, and that you had too many admirers already.’ You see, my dear creature, that he has none of the thoughts we built upon. Depend upon it he is a shrewd man, and knows what he is about; so, as we cannot do better than Marvel, my advice—”

“Your advice!” interrupted Miss Barton: “I shall follow no advice but my own.” She walked up and down the small parlour in great agitation.

“Do as you please, my dear; but remember I cannot afford to lay out of my money to all eternity. The account between us has run up to a great sum; the dresses were such as never were made up before in York, and must be paid for accordingly, as you must be sensible, Miss Barton. And when you have an opportunity of establishing yourself so handsomely, and getting all your debts paid; and when your brother, who was here an hour ago, presses the match with Mr. Marvel so much; it is very strange and unaccountable of you to say, ‘you will take nobody’s advice but your own;’ and to fall in love, ma’am, as you are doing, as fast as you can, with a person who has no serious intentions, and is going to be married to another woman. For shame, Miss Barton; is this behaving with proper propriety? Besides, I’ve really great regard for that poor young man that you have been making a fool of; I’m sure he is desperately in love with you.”

“Then let him show it, and sell Clover-hill,” said Miss Barton.

Her mind balanced between avarice and what she called love. She had taken a fancy to Wright, and his present coldness rather increased than diminished her passion: he played his part so well, that she could not tell how to decide. In the mean time, the milliner pressed for her money; and Alicia’s brother bullied loudly in favour of Marvel: he had engaged the milliner, whom he was courting, to support his opinion. Marvel, though with much difficulty, stood his ground, and refused to sell Clover-hill, till he should be perfectly sure that Miss Barton would marry him, and till his relation should arrive in town, and give his consent.

CHAPTER III.

Mr. Barton and the milliner now agreed, that if fair means would not bring the charming Alicia to reason, others must be used; and it was settled that she should be arrested for her debt to the milliner, which was upwards of fifty pounds. “She knows,” said this considerate brother, “that I have neither the power nor the will to pay the money. Sir Plantagenet’s son is as poor as Job; so she must have recourse to Marvel; and, if she gives him proper encouragement, he’ll pay the money in a trice. As to this man, who lodges with you, let her apply to him if she likes it; she will soon see how he will answer her. By your account he is a shrewd fellow, and not like our friend Marvel.”

On Friday morning the charming Alicia was arrested, at the suit of her dear friend and confidant, the milliner. The arrest was made in the milliner’s shop. Alicia would doubtless have screamed and fainted, with every becoming spirit and grace, if any spectators had been present: but there was no one in the shop to admire or pity. She rushed with dishevelled hair, and all the stage show of distraction, into Wright’s apartment; but, alas! he was not to be found. She then composed herself, and wrote the following note to Marvel:

“TO —— MARVEL, ESQ. &C.

“At the Green Man.

“Much as it hurts the delicacy and wounds the pride of Alicia, she is compelled, by the perfidy of a bosom friend of her own sex, to apply for assistance and protection to one who will feel for the indignity that has been shown her. How will his generous nature shudder, when he hears that she is on the point of being dragged to a loathsome dungeon, for want of the paltry sum of fifty pounds! Retrospection may convince the man of her heart, that her soul is superior to mercenary considerations; else, she would not now be reduced so low in the power of her enemies: she scarcely knows what she writes—her heart bleeds—her brain is on fire!

Marvel was settling some accounts with Wright when this note was put into his hands: scarcely had he glanced his eye over it, when he started up, seized a parcel of bank notes, which lay on the table, and was rushing out of the room. Wright caught hold of his arm, and stopped him by force.

“Where now? What now, Marvel?” said he.

“Do not stop me, Wright! I will not be stopped! She has been barbarously used. They are dragging her to prison.—They have driven her almost out of her senses. I must go to her this instant.”

“Well, well, don’t go without your hat, man, for the people in the street will take you for a lunatic. May a friend see this letter that has driven you out of your senses?”

Marvel put it into Wright’s hands, who read it with wonderful composure; and when he came to the end of it, only said—“Hum!”

“Hum,” repeated Marvel, provoked beyond measure; “you have no humanity. You are most strangely prejudiced. You are worse than Goodenough. Why do you follow me?” continued he, observing that Wright was coming after him across the inn-yard into the street.

“I follow you to take care of you,” said Wright, calmly; “and though you do stride on at such a rate, I’ll be bound to keep up with you.”

He suffered Marvel to walk on at his own pace for the length of two streets, without saying another word; but just as they were turning the corner into the square where the milliner lived, he again caught hold of his cousin’s arm, and said to him: “Hark you, Marvel; will you trust me with those bank notes that you have in your pocket? and will you let me step on to the milliner’s, and settle this business for you? I see it will cost you fifty pounds, but that I cannot help. You may think yourself well off.”

“Fifty pounds! What are fifty pounds?” cried Marvel, hurrying forwards. “You see that my Alicia must be superior to mercenary considerations; for, though she knows I have a good fortune, that could not decide her in my favour.”

“No, because she fancies that 1 have a better fortune; and, besides (for there are times when a man must speak plainly), I’ve a notion she would at this minute sooner be my mistress than your wife, if the thing were fairly tried. She’ll take your money as fast as you please; and I may take her as fast as I please.”

Incensed at these words, Marvel could scarcely restrain his passion within bounds: but Wright, without being, moved, continued to speak.

“Nay, then, cousin, if you don’t believe me, put it to the test!—I’ll wait here, at this woollen-draper’s, where I am to dine: do you go on to your milliner’s, and say what you please, only let me have my turn for half an hour this evening; and, if I am mistaken in the lady, I’ll freely own it, and make all due apology.”

In the afternoon, Marvel came to Wright with a face full of joy and triumph. “Go to my Alicia now, cousin Wright,” said he: “I defy you. She is at her lodging.—She has promised to marry me! I am the happiest man in the world!”

Wright said not a word, but departed. Now he had in his pocket an unanswered billet-doux, which had been laid upon his table the preceding night: the billet-doux had no name to it; but, from all he had remarked of the lady’s manners towards him, he could not doubt that it was the charming Alicia’s. He was determined to have positive proof, however, to satisfy Marvel’s mind completely. The note which he had received was as follows:

“What can be the cause of your cruel and sudden change towards one of whom you lately appeared to think so partially? A certain female friend may deceive you, by false representations: do not trust to her, but learn the real sentiments of a fond heart from one who knows not how to feign. Spare the delicacy of your victim, and guess her name.”

To this note, from one “who knew not how to feign,” Wright sent the following reply:

“If Miss Barton knows any thing of a letter that was left at Mrs. Stokes’s, the milliner’s, last night, she may receive an answer to her questions from the bearer; who, being no scholar, hopes she will not take no offence at the shortness of these lines, but satisfy him in the honour of drinking tea with her, who waits below stairs for an answer.”

The charming Alicia allowed him the honour of drinking tea with her, and was delighted with the thought that she had at last caught him in her snares. The moment she had hopes of him, she resolved to break her promise to Marvel; and by making a merit of sacrificing to Wright all his rivals, she had no doubt that she should work so successfully upon his vanity, as to induce him to break off his treaty with the Lincolnshire lady.

Wright quickly let her go on with the notion that she had the game in her own hands; at length he assumed a very serious look, like one upon the point of forming some grand resolution; and turning half away from her, said:

“But now, look ye, Miss Barton, I am not a sort of man who would like to be made a fool of. Here I’m told half the gentlemen of York are dying for you; and, as your friend Mrs. Stokes informed—”

“Mrs. Stokes is not my friend, but the basest and most barbarous of enemies,” cried Alicia.

“Why, now, this is strange! She was your friend yesterday; and how do I know but a woman may change as quick, and as short, about her lovers, as about her friends?”

“I never can change: fear nothing,” said Alicia, tenderly.

“But let me finish what I was saying about Mrs. Stokes; she told me something about one Mr. Marvel, I think they call him; now what is all that?”

“Nothing: he is a foolish young man, who was desperately in love with me, that’s all, and offered to marry me; but, as I told him, I am superior to mercenary considerations.”

“And is the affair broke off, then?” said Wright, looking her full in the face. “That’s in one word what I must be sure of: for I am not a man that would choose to be jilted. Sit you down and pen me a farewell to that same foolish young fellow. I am a plain-spoken man, and now you have my mind.”

Miss Barton was now persuaded that all Wright’s coldness had proceeded from jealousy: blinded by her passions, and alarmed by the idea that this was the moment in which she must either secure or for ever abandon Wright and his fortune, she consented to his proposal, and wrote the following tender adieu to Marvel:

“TO——MARVEL, ESQ. &C. At the Green Man.

“SIR,

“CIRCUMSTANCES have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.

“ALICIA BARTON.”

Wright said he was perfectly satisfied with this note; and all that he now desired was to be himself the bearer of it to Marvel.

“He is a hot-headed young man,” said Alicia; “he will perhaps quarrel with you: let me send the letter by a messenger of my own. You don’t know him; you will not be able to find him out. Besides, why will you deprive me of your company? Cannot another carry this note as well as you?”

“None shall carry it but myself,” said Wright, holding fast his prize. She was apprehensive of losing him for ever, if she opposed what she thought his jealous humour; so she struggled no longer to hold him, but bade him make haste to return to his Alicia.

He returned no more; but the next morning she received from him the following note:

“TO MISS ALICIA BARTON, &C.

“MADAM,

“Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.

“JOHN WRIGHT.

“P.S. My cousin, Marvel, thanks you for your note. Before you receive this, he will have left York wiser than he came into it by fifty guineas and more.”

“Wiser by more than fifty guineas, I hope,” said Marvel, as he rode out of town, early in the morning.

“I have been on the point of being finely taken in! I’m sure this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. I shall never forget your good-nature, and steadiness to me, Wright. Now, if it had not been for you, I might have been married to this jade; and have given her and her brother every thing I’m worth in the world. Well, well, this is a lesson I shall remember. I’ve felt it sharply enough. Now I’ll turn my head to my business again, if I can. How Goodenough would laugh at me if he knew this story. But I’ll make up for all the foolish things I have done yet before I die; and I hope, before I die, I may be able to show you, cousin Wright, how much I am obliged to you: that would be greater joy to me even than getting by my own ingenuity my uncle Pearson’s ten thousand pound legacy. Do, Wright, find out something I can do for you, to make amends for all the trouble I’ve given you, and all the time I have made you waste: do, there’s a good fellow.”

“Well, then,” said Wright, “I don’t want to saddle you with an obligation. You shall pay me in kind directly, since you are so desirous of it. I told you I was in love: you shall come with me and see my mistress, to give me your opinion of her. Every man can be prudent for his neighbour: even you no doubt can,” added Wright, laughing. Wright’s mistress was a Miss Banks, only daughter to a gentleman who had set up an apparatus for manufacturing woad. Mr. Banks’s house was in their way home, and they called there. They knocked several times at the door, before any one answered: at last a boy came to hold their horses, who told them that Mr. Banks was dead, and that nobody could be let into the house. The boy knew nothing of the matter, except that his master died, he believed, of a sort of a fit; and that his young mistress was in great grief: “which I’m mortal sorry for,” added he: “for she be’s kind hearted and civil spoken, and moreover did give me the very shoes I have on my feet.”

“I wish I could see her,” said Wright; “I might be some comfort to her.”

“Might ye so, master? If that the thing be so,” said the boy, looking earnestly in Wright’s face, “I’ll do my best endeavours.”

He ran off at full speed through the back yard, but returned to learn the gentleman’s name, which he had forgotten to ask; and presently afterwards he brought his answer. It was written with a pencil, and with a trembling hand:

“My dear Mr. Wright, I cannot see you now: but you shall hear from me as soon as I am able to give an answer to your last.

“S. BANKS.”

The words, “My dear,” were half rubbed out: but they were visible enough to his eyes. Wright turned his horse’s head homewards, and Marvel and he rode away. His heart was so full that he could not speak, and he did not hear what Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them; and looking back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. As they drew near, Wright’s attention was roused by hearing the name of Banks frequently repeated. “What news, neighbour?” said Marvel.

“The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead; he died of an apoplectic fit, and has left his daughter a power o’ money, they say. Happy the man who gets her! Good morrow to you, gentlemen; we’re in haste home.” After receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress’s note over again, and observed that he was not quite pleased to see the words “My dear” half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, “Have nothing more to do with her; that’s my advice to you; for I would not marry any woman for her fortune; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. If she loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as this.”

“Stay a bit,” said Wright; “we shall be better able to judge by and by.”

A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss Banks; nor did he attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as he could for her promised letter. At last it came. The first word was “Sir.” That was enough for Marvel, who threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to him. “Nay, but read it, at least,” said Wright.

“SIR,

“My poor father’s affairs have been left in great disorder; and instead of the fortune which you might have expected with me, I shall have little or nothing. The creditors have been very kind to me; and I hope in time to pay all just debts. I have been much hurried with business, or should have written sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task to me to write at all, on this occasion. I cannot unsay what I have said to you in former times, for I think the same of you as ever I did: but I know that I am not now a fit match for you as to fortune, and would not hold any man to his word, nor could value any man enough to marry him, who would break it. Therefore it will be no grief for me to break off with you if such should be your desire. And no blame shall be thrown upon you by my friends, for I will take the refusal upon myself. I know the terms of your uncle’s will, and the great reason you have to wish for a good fortune with your wife; so it is very natural—I mean very likely, you may not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. Pray speak your mind freely to, sir,

“Your humble servant,

“S. BANKS.” Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly.

“That is what I have determined to do,” said Wright: “for I don’t think money the first thing in the world; and I would sooner give up my uncle Pearson’s legacy this minute than break my word to any woman, much less to one that I love, as I do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have just heard from the steward, who brought this letter, how handsomely and prudently she has behaved to other people, as well as to myself: by which I can judge most safely. She has paid all the debts that were justly due, and has sold even the gig, which I know she wished to keep; but, seeing that it was not suited to her present circumstances, her good sense has got the better. Now, to my mind, a prudent wife, even as to money matters, may turn out a greater treasure to a man than what they call a great fortune.”

With these sentiments Wright married Miss Banks, who was indeed a very prudent, amiable girl. Goodenough sneered at this match; and observed that he had always foretold Wright would be taken in, sooner or later. Goodenough was now in his thirty-second year, and as he had always determined to marry precisely at this age, he began to look about for a wife. He chose a widow, said to be of a very close saving temper: she was neither young, handsome, nor agreeable; but then she was rich, and it was Goodenough’s notion that the main chance should be first considered, in matrimony as in every thing else. Now this notable dame was precisely of his way of thinking; but she had more shrewdness than her lover, and she overreached him in the bargain: her fortune did not turn out to be above one half of what report had represented it; her temper was worse than even her enemies said it was; and the time that was daily wasted in trifling disputes between this well-matched pair was worth more than all the petty savings made by her avaricious habits.

Goodenough cursed himself ten times a day, during the honey-moon; but as he did not like to let the neighbours know how far he had been outwitted, he held his tongue with the fortitude of a martyr; and his partisans all commended him for making so prudent a match. “Ah, ay,” said they, “there’s Wright, who might have had this very woman, has gone and married a girl without a shilling, with all his prudence; and, as to Marvel, he will surely be bit.” There they were mistaken. Marvel was a person capable of learning from experience, and he never forgot the lesson that he had received from the charming Alicia. It seemed to have sobered him completely.