Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

"Simpson," said the banker, shewing him the cheque, "there is something wrong here! I can fancy a man like Lord Falconshaw being so infatuated with a woman like this Countess, that he would do very silly things indeed; but look at that amount!"

"We hold securities to nearly double that sum of Lord Falconshaw's," returned the clerk, thinking of nothing but the honour of the firm. "It is undoubtedly his signature."

"The amount, though, is written in a female hand," said the banker, "and there must be the error. God bless my soul! £50,000! and without an intimation of it! Simpson! How far is it to Viscount Falconshaw's country-seat in Hertfordshire?"

"About thirty miles I should suppose," replied the aged clerk; "but I will consult the"

"Not a moment must be lost," said the banker. "I will put four post-horses to my carriage, and run down there this very evening. You had better go with me, Simpson."

"It will create much alarm amongst our people," argued the prudent old gentleman, "if we both absent ourselves to-morrow morning. I wish Mr. (the other partner), were home from

Brighton."

"You are right, my good fellow," said the principal. "You always are so I will go out at the private door, and be you careful of all things until my return." Away went the good-looking banker; and as soon as he could effect it by the help of bribes and persuasions, he was whirling away behind four post-horses, the postilions smacking their whips through Islington, Highgate, Barnet, and St. Alban's. No time was lost whilst the horses were changed; golden arguments prevailed all the way. At about seven o'clock the banker arrived at the seat of the unsuspecting Viscount, who had scarcely thought at all of the egregious folly he had the morning before committed, in trusting a woman who gambled, and was unfaithful to her husband, with the means of profiting by his piece of gallantry.

The truth must be told. Viscount Falconshaw had other ties on him besides his bewitching Countess: in his park, in a beautiful cottage built entirely for her use, there resided another lady, who had been to him from the early age of sixteen, as a wife, but without the name, and the mother of a fine family of children: one of them is at this moment a colonel in her Majesty's service. When the banker arrived at the lodge, the Viscount happened to be at this very little elegant retreat, with this same son of his, then four years old, sitting astride on his knees, and Mrs. Elton, as she was called, the pretty, unaffected mother of that child, and three others, close beside him, looking up in his face with the most confiding affection, and as happy as any woman can be, whose offspring bear not the name of their father, nor have any legal claim upon his protection and property.

The banker was in too great a hurry to stand much upon etiquette, so, acquainting himself with the spot where it was most likely he should meet with the Viscount, away he posted on foot, through the grounds towards it, and entered the labyrinth of flowering shrubs, veiling the virandahed cottage, and his lady-love from vulgar curiosity; and without any fear or shame, for he thought ouly of the enormous sum

of £50,000, the banker bolted in upon the family groupe, quite disregarding the dismay of the lady, and the heightening colour on the cheek of the nobleman; but hastily holding up the important cheque with one hand, and pointing to the amount for which it was drawn with the other, the banker coolly demanded, "if he had his lordship's authority to pay that draft?"

"How? what?" demanded Viscount Falconshaw," completely thrown off his guard, when his eye glanced upon the figures in the corner, and saw the same sum in full length in the body of the bill, written in a hand he knew right well. "Can it be possible? Has she dared to fill it up to that amount ?"

"Is it your lordship's signature," enquired the banker, "that you have so injudiciously, I suppose, allowed Lady T to use thus, to her own advantage?"

"Lady T-!" exclaimed the young mother of that groupe of lovely children, turning as pale as marble, "then there is truth in the reports that I have lately heard! I am of all women, then, the most

miserable; and you, Falconshaw, of all men the most perjured!"

“Maria!" said the Viscount, in a soothing voice, "dearest Maria! be pacified! Here is some mistake-this foolish bill means nothing! Maria! do not give way thus."

But the hapless Maria heard him not, she fell into her seducer's arms, livid as a corpse. The poor children set up a fearful cry, which brought their servant to them" Mama will die!" they all screamed out together. "This naughty gentleman has killed poor Mama!"

All this scene was rather unexpected by the worthy banker, who thought it would be the most delicate thing he could do, to withdraw instanter, and walk about the grounds till his lordship could come out to speak to him.

saw Viscount Fal

In rather more than half an hour, Mr. conshaw approaching the garden-chair on which he sat, beneath the cold beams of the moon, and as hungry and discomforted as any one need be. Very much agitated appeared the nobleman; he shook the banker's hand though very cordially, and led him towards his own house, where refreshments were laid before him, and a bed for his accommodation during the night was ordered.

[ocr errors]

That poor

She has

"This is a very ugly affair," at length said his lordship, after striding up and down the room as if he had lost his senses. A very awkward thing every way it cuts, as they say, two ways at once. fond thing, Mr. takes this matter terribly to heart. claims on me. You saw some of them, I think?" said he, striving to smile. "She is but a girl yet, and as constant as a dove! It is very unlucky, this exposure before her."

"But about this bill," said the man of business, not wanting to enter into all the details of the Virandah Cottage, and wishing himself back again in London. "Is it your Lordship's wish that Lady T should have this enormous sum, which it is quite evident you never intended or expected she would demand?"

"I have acted like a fool, Mr. ," answered his Lordship, " and I always do, where women are concerned. I certainly did not expect that the lady who called on you this morning, would have required or asked for such a sum as this."

"Shall I put the draft into the fire, my Lord," inquired the city gentleman, whose name stood as fair in that quarter, as any banker's within the sound of those bells, so celebrated for baptising people with the name of Cockneys.' Fortunately I retained it," continued that gentleman; "She did not ask me for it; the flame from this candle will soon get rid of this claim on you for £50,000 ?”

66

"Not if it were the last shilling I have in the world," said Viscount Falconshaw, determinedly. "No; I gave this lady my signature to use as she pleased. What that pleasure is you have there clearly expressed. Give her the full amount, but never more will I trust man or woman with my name to a blank cheque. Now, Sir, you must excuse me. You are master here as long as it pleases you; but there is an aching heart in that little ornamented retreat yonder, the mother of four little beings who call me father, and who I know are verily my own children. I promised to spend the remainder of the evening with her, and I must keep my word. I thank you for attending so promptly to my interest. I hope it will not inconvenience your house; make what use of my securities you please, but the money must be paid, and that immediately. Now, good night."

What inconsistency is there in us poor human beings! This nobleman, who had basely violated every tie of friendship and honour, by destroying the wedded happiness of his intimate acquaintance and college companion-of him who considered him once as a friend, and implicitly trusted in him—this very nobleman, who had acted so vile a part in one action, yet in another was the very beau-ideal of honour. Of what varied stuff are we composed! Light and shadow, good and evil, make up that puppet, man!,

I left Square a few hours after Lady T- had received the whole amount of her cheque. She paid all her debts of honour, and sent coolly for her man of business, giving him orders to invest the remainder for her exclusive use in Exchequer bills and India stock, as she could not, as a married woman, hold stock in the funds.

Lady Tcalled at my house a few weeks after this, and informed me that she had just received another letter from the friendly Governess, Miss Willoughby, who had written evidently by Lord T

mission, to inform her, that her little son Philip, the heir of the title and estates, was considered in extreme danger; that his Lordship was setting off for Liverpool on some business of importance: therefore if she chose to visit Dublin to see her child before he died, she could do so without any danger of meeting her husband. She had never spoken of this estrangement before.

"This is all his own humanity and nobleness," said the Countess, in an agony of grief and gratitude; "dearly as he loves his son, he has no selfish feelings in his nature he would risk his not being with his child in his last moments, to give me, his faithless, but still much loved wife, the gratification of taking a last leave of the child I have borne him. Generous and noble being! How have I requited thee!"

A storm of passion followed this. It was dreadful to witness her agony and remorse. At length it subsided enough for Lady T- to mention what brought her to my house. She was resolved to go off instantly for Ireland; she had received tacit permission so to do; and

remittances had been also sent through the agency of Miss Willoughby; but then her last infant-she could not take him with her. Conscience forbade that he was only the nominal son of her Lord; yet should her elder boy die, this one would be the future Earl, the legal representative of a long line of ancestry. This boy must be cared for; and she came to request, with tears streaming from her eyes, that I would, during her absence, take the nurse and child into my house to reside with me, that I might overlook his health, and ease her mind on that account.

There are some persons born with persuasion upon their lips, who have good and evil so blended in their disposition that you cannot help loving them, although severely deprecating their faults and immoralities. This is called a weakness, I will freely allow; but are we not all of us a mass of absurdities and inconsistencies-of weaknesses and caprices? sometimes exhibiting the virtues of an angel, sometimes, alas, the qualities of a fallen one! Man is a fallen angel, and he who can feel affection for those who have not lost all the angelic qualities, so far as the art of loving goes, is himself an angel.

I took, therefore, the charge of little Frederic; and his erring mother set off for Dublin, attended only by her maid. She arrived in time to look upon her eldest-born, her darling Philip, whilst his spirit still lingered on earth, like a bird pluming its wings before it meditates an aerial flight into the skies. He died, her arms clasped around him, and so in a state of insensibility she remained some few moments after the celestial Phoenix had departed: a severe fit of illness succeeded, attended with fever and delirium.

her

Whilst she lay in this state, I am informed that Lord T—————, injured but still doating husband, more than once looked in upon her, and held her burning hand in his: but as soon as the physicians saw a hope of her recovery, he tore himself away from her and England for ever, leaving her at full liberty to reside either at his London house, or that in shire, where I first saw her portrait, and with a most liberal allowance. His little girl accompanied him to Italy, under the kind care of the excellent Miss Willoughby.

Lord and Lady T― are now no more; but her last son, Frederic, the child I had under my care, is in possession of the title, estates, and fortune of the deceased nobleman, he being born in wedlock. His real father, the Viscount Falconshaw, has been many years married to the fair inmate of the cottage, Maria, the mother of his children; but he has not an heir, as that lady never presented him with another child after she became his wife.

come before the

There are few

Very often does the name of the present Lord Tpublic, as he has turned out a politician and an orator. persons who are at all aware how little right he has by equity to the splendid inheritance good fortune has accorded to him. He is a great favorite with the ladies, and is not perfectly immaculate himself in his character, with regard to them. He has much of the beauty of his mother, and the seductive graces of the Viscount, his father. He is on excellent terms with him, and his whole host of brothers and sisters on that side; but he has never, I believe, seen the late Lord T's daughter, who is married to a foreign nobleman, and is a beauty of the first water at the court of her lord's sovereign; but I hear she has all 3 G

N. S.-VOL. I.

the delicacy of mind and noble qualities of her injured father. Miss Willoughby expired not many months ago, reverenced and beloved by all who knew her.

How many mysteries are there concealed amongst great families! How many heirs are there who have only a seeming claim to their future possessions! The infidelity of a married woman is the polluted source of every kind of fraud and injustice—rightly is it reprobated!

THE TWO VOICES.

THE VOICE OF YOUTH.

Then is the age of admiration; then

Gods walk the earth, or beings more than men :
Then, from within, a voice exclaims "Aspire !"-ROGERS.

IF Time with iron touch dispels

Each bright and roseate beam,

That made our very thoughts, the cells

Of eastern genii seem.

If, as his hoary steps advance,

We lose life's poetry,

And all our visions of romance;

Then early let me die.

If those first feelings, fresh and warm,
That fire the breast of youth,
Dissolve, like some enchanter's charms,
Before the touch of truth;

Then let me hasten from a world,
Where fancy hath no sway;
Where reason's icy bolt is hurl'd,
To startle hope away.

But no-fair truth her power sublime,
O'er youthful hearts doth hold;

Suspicion comes with rugged time,

Crafty, and false, and cold.

Sages may vaunt the joy serene,

The passionless repose;

The peace where burning thoughts had been;
The calm of evening's close.

Aye,-if to sleep a dreamless sleep,

Were the supreme of bliss;
But I would rather wake and weep,

Than find repose like this.

« ZurückWeiter »