For once Philip found that he had offended without giving general offence. In the confidence of female intercourse2, Mrs. Mugford had already, in her own artless but powerful language, confirmed her husband’s statement regarding Mr. Bickerton, and declared that B. was a beast, and she was only sorry that Mr. F. had not hit him a little harder. So different are the opinions which different individuals entertain of the same event! I happen to know that Bickerton, on his side, went away, averring3 that we were quarrelsome, underbred people; and that a man of any refinement4 had best avoid that kind of society. He does really and seriously believe himself our superior, and will lecture almost any gentleman on the art of being one. This assurance is not at all uncommon5 with your parvenu6. Proud of his newly-acquired knowledge of the art of exhausting the contents of an egg, the well-known little boy of the apologue rushed to impart his knowledge to his grandmother, who had been for many years familiar with the process which the child had just discovered. Which of us has not met with some such instructors7? I know men who would be ready to step forward and teach Taglioni how to dance, Tom Sayers how to box, or the Chevalier Bayard how to be a gentleman. We most of us know such men, and undergo, from time to time, the ineffable8 benefit of their patronage9.
Mugford went away from our little entertainment vowing10, by George, that Philip shouldn’t want for a friend at the proper season; and this proper season very speedily arrived. I laughed one day, on going to the Pall11 Mall Gazette office, to find Philip installed in the sub-editor’s room, with a provision of scissors, wafers, and paste-pots, snipping12 paragraphs from this paper and that, altering, condensing, giving titles, and so forth13; and, in a word, in regular harness. The three-headed calves14, the great prize gooseberries, the old maiden15 ladies of wonderful ages, who at length died in country places — it was wonderful (considering his little experience) how Firmin hunted out these. He entered into all the spirit of his business. He prided himself on the clever titles which he found for his paragraphs. When his paper was completed at the week’s end, he surveyed it fondly — not the leading articles, or those profound and yet brilliant literary essays which appeared in the Gazette — but the births, deaths, marriages, markets, trials, and what not. As a shop-boy, having decorated his master’s window, goes into the street, and pleased surveys his work; so the fair face of the Pall Mall Gazette rejoiced Mr. Firmin, and Mr. Bince, the printer of the paper. They looked with an honest pride upon the result of their joint16 labours. Nor did Firmin relish17 pleasantry on the subject. Did his friends allude18 to it, and ask if he had shot any especially fine canard19 that week? Mr. Philip’s brow would corrugate20 and his cheeks redden. He did not like jokes to be made at his expense. Was not his a singular antipathy21?
In his capacity of sub-editor, the good fellow had the privilege of taking and giving away countless22 theatre orders, and panorama23 and diorama tickets: the Pall Mall Gazette was not above accepting such little bribes24 in those days, and Mrs. Mugford’s familiarity with the names of opera singers, and splendid appearance in an opera-box, was quite remarkable25. Friend Philip would bear away a heap of these cards of admission, delighted to carry off our young folks to one exhibition or another. But once at the diorama, where our young people sat in the darkness, very much frightened as usual, a voice from out the midnight gloom cried out: “Who has come in with orders from the Pall Mall Gazette?” A lady, two scared children, and Mr. Sub-editor Philip, all trembled at this dreadful summons. I think I should not dare to print the story even now, did I not know that Mr. Firmin was travelling abroad. It was a blessing26 the place was dark, so that none could see the poor sub-editor’s blushes. Rather than cause any mortification27 to this lady, I am sure Philip would have submitted to rack and torture. But, indeed, her annoyance28 was very slight, except in seeing her friend annoyed. The humour of the scene surpassed the annoyance in the lady’s mind, and caused her to laugh at the mishap29; but I own our little boy (who is of an aristocratic turn, and rather too sensitive to ridicule30 from his schoolfellows) was not at all anxious to talk upon the subject, or to let the world know that he went to a place of public amusement “with an order.”
As for Philip’s landlady31, the Little sister, she, you know, had been familiar with the press and press-men, and orders for the play for years past. She looked quite young and pretty, with her kind smiling face and neat tight black dress, as she came to the theatre — it was to an Easter piece — on Philip’s arm, one evening. Our children saw her from their cab, as they, too, were driving to the same performance. It was “Look, mamma! There’s Philip and the Little Sister!” And then came such smiles, and nods, and delighted recognitions from the cab to the two friends on foot! Of course I have forgotten what was the piece which we all saw on that Easter evening. But those children will never forget; no, though they live to be a hundred years old, and though their attention was distracted from the piece by constant observation of Philip and his companion in the public boxes opposite.
Mr. Firmin’s work and pay were both light, and he accepted both very cheerfully. He saved money out of his little stipend32. It was surprising how economically he could live with his little landlady’s aid and counsel. He would come to us, recounting his feats33 of parsimony34 with a childish delight. He loved to contemplate35 his sovereigns, as week by week the little pile accumulated. He kept a sharp eye upon sales, and purchased now and again articles of furniture. In this way he broght home a piano to his lodgings36, on which he could no more play than he could on the tight-rope; but he was given to understand that it was a very fine instrument; and my wife played on it one day when we went to visit him, and he sat listening, with his great hands on his knees, in ecstasies37. He was thinking how one day, please heaven, he should see other hands touching38 the keys — and player and instrument disappeared in a mist before his happy eyes. His purchases were not always lucky. For example, he was sadly taken in at an auction39 about a little pearl ornament40. Some artful Hebrews at the sale conspired41 and ran him up, as the phrase is, to a price more than equal to the value of the trinket. “But you know who it was for, ma’am,” one of Philip’s apologists said. “If she would like to wear his ten fingers he would cut ’em off and send ’em to her. But he keeps ’em to write her letters and verses — and most beautiful they are, too.”
“And the dear fellow, who was bred up in splendour and luxury, Mrs. Mugford, as you, ma’am, know too well — he won’t drink no wine now. A little whiskey and a glass of beer is all he takes. And his clothes — he used to be so grand — you see how he is now, ma’am. Always the gentleman, and, indeed, a finer or grander looking gentleman never entered a room; but he is saving — you know for what, ma’am.”
And, indeed, Mrs. Mugford did know; and so did Mrs. Pendennis and Mrs. Brandon. And these three women worked themselves into a perfect fever, interesting themselves for Mr. Firmin. And Mugford, in his rough, funny way, used to say, “Mr. P., a certain Mr. Heff has come and put our noses out of joint. He has, as sure as my name is Hem42. And I am getting quite jealous of our sub-editor, and that is the long and short of it. But it’s good to see him haw-haw Bickerton if ever they meet in the office, that it is! Bickerton won’t bully43 him any more, I promise you!”
The conclaves44 and conspiracies45 of these women were endless in Philip’s behalf. One day I let the Little Sister out of my house, with a handkerchief to her eyes, and in a great state of flurry and excitement, which perhaps communicates itself to the gentleman who passes her at his own door. The gentleman’s wife is on her part not a little moved and excited. “What do you think Mrs. Brandon says? Philip is learning shorthand. He says he does not think he is clever enough to be a writer of any mark; — but he can be a reporter, and with this and his place at Mr. Mugford’s , he thinks he can earn enough to — Oh, he is a fine fellow!” I suppose feminine emotion stopped the completion of this speech. But when Mr. Philip slouched into dinner that day, his hostess did homage46 before him: she loved him: she treated him with a tender respect and sympathy which her like are ever wont47 to bestow48 upon brave and honest men in misfortune.
Why should not Mr. Philip Firmin, barrister-at-law, bethink him that he belonged to a profession which has helped very many men to competence49, and not a few to wealth and honours? A barrister might surely hope for as good earnings50 as could be made by a newspaper reporter. We all knew instances of men who, having commenced their careers as writers for the press, had carried on the legal profession simultaneously51, and attained52 the greatest honours of the bar and the bench. “Can I sit in a Pump-court garret waiting for attorneys?” asked poor Phil; “I shall break my heart before they come. My brains are not worth much: I should addle54 them altogether in poring over law books. I am not at all a clever fellow, you see; and I haven’t the ambition and obstinate55 will to succeed which carry on many a man with no greater capacity than my own. I may have as good brains as Bickerton, for example; but I am not so bumptious56 as he is. By claiming the first place wherever he goes, he gets it very often. My dear friends, don’t you see how modest I am? There never was a man less likely to get on than myself — you must own that; and I tell you that Charlotte and I must look forward to a life of poverty, of cheeseparings, and secondfloor lodgings at Pentonville or Islington. That’s about my mark. I would let her off, only I know she would not take me at my word — the dear little thing. She has set her heart upon a hulking pauper58, that’s the truth. And I tell you what I am going to do. I am going seriously to learn the profession of poverty, and make myself master of it. What’s the price of cowheel and tripe59? You don’t know. I do; and the right place to buy ’em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any man in London. My tap in life is to be small beer henceforth, and I am growing quite to like it, and think it is brisk and pleasant, and wholesome60.” There was not a little truth in Philip’s account of himself, and his capacities and incapacities. Doubtless, he was not born to make a great name for himself in the world. But do we like those only who are famous? As well say we will only give our regard to men who have ten thousand a year, or are more than six feet high.
While, of his three female friends and advisers61, my wife admired Philip’s humility62, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather disappointed at his want of spirit, and to think that he aimed so low. I shall not say which side Firmin’s biographer took in this matter. Was it my business to applaud or rebuke64 him for being humble65-minded, or was I called upon to advise at all? My amiable66 reader, acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own way. We eat the dishes we like, because we like them; not because our neighbour relishes67 them. We rise early, or sit up late; we work, idle, smoke, or what not, because we choose so to do, not because the doctor orders. Philip, then, was like you and me, who will have our own way when we can. Will we not? If you won’t, you do not deserve it. Instead of hungering after a stalled ox, he was accustoming68 himself to be content with a dinner of herbs. Instead of braving the tempest, he chose to take in sail, creep along shore, and wait for calmer weaher.
So, on Tuesday of every week let us say, it was this modest sub-editor’s duty to begin snipping and pasting paragraphs for the ensuing Saturday’s issue. He cut down the parliamentary speeches, giving due favouritism to the orators69 of the Pall Mall Gazette party, and meagre outlines of their opponents’ discourses71. If the leading public men on the side of the Pall Mall Gazette gave entertainments, you may be sure they were duly chronicled in the fashionable intelligence; if one of their party wrote a book it was pretty sure to get praise from the critic. I am speaking of simple old days, you understand. Of course there is no puffing72, or jobbing, or false praise, or unfair censure73 now. Every critic knows what he is writing about, and writes with no aim but to tell truth.
Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was content to wear the shabbiest old coat; Philip, the Philippus of one-and-twenty, who rode showy horses, and rejoiced to display his horse and person in the Park, now humbly74 took his place in an omnibus, and only on occasions indulged in a cab. From the roof of the larger vehicle he would salute75 his friends with perfect affability, and stare down on his aunt as she passed in her barouche. He never could be quite made to acknowledge that she purposely would not see him: or he would attribute her blindness to the quarrel which they had had, not to his poverty and present position. As for his cousin Ringwood, “That fellow would commit any baseness,” Philip acknowledged; “and it is I who have cut him,” our friend averred76.
A real danger was lest our friend should in his poverty become more haughty77 and insolent78 than he had been in his days of better fortune, and that he should make companions of men who were not his equals. Whether was it better for him to be slighted in a fashionable club, or to swagger at the head of the company in a tavern79 parlour? This was the danger we might fear for Firmin. It was impossible not to confess that he was choosing to take a lower place in the world than that to which he had been born.
“Do you mean that Philip is lowered, because he is poor?” asked an angry lady, to whom this remark was made by her husband — man and wife being both very good friends to Mr. Firmin.
“My dear,” replies the worlding of a husband, “suppose Philip were to take a fancy to buy a donkey and sell cabbages? He would be doing no harm; but there is no doubt he would lower himself in the world’s estimation.”
“Lower himself!” says the lady, with a toss of her head. “No man lowers himself by pursuing an honest calling. No man!”
“Very good. There is Grundsell, the greengrocer, out of Tuthill Street, who waits at our dinners. Instead of asking him to wait, we should beg him to sit down at table; or perhaps we should wait, and stand with a napkin behind Grundsell.”
“Nonsense!”
“Grundsell’s calling is strictly80 honest, unless he abuses his opportunities, and smuggles81 away — ”
“ — smuggles away stuff and nonsense!”
“Very good; Grundsell is not a fitting companion, then, for us, or the nine little Grundsells for our children. Then why should Philip give up the friends of his youth, and forsake82 a club for a tavern parlour? You can’t say our little friend, Mrs. Brandon, good as she is, is a fitting companion for him?”
“If he had a good little wife, he would have a companion of his own degree; and he would be twice as happy; and he would be out of all danger and temptation — and the best thing he can do is to marry directly!” cries the lady. “And, my dear, I think I shall write to Charlotte and ask her to come and stay with us.”
There was no withstanding this argument. As long as Charlotte was with us we were sure that Philip would be out of harm’s way, and seek for no other company. There was a snug83 little bedroom close by the quarters inhabited by our own children. My wife pleased herself by adorning84 this chamber85, and uncle Mac happening to come to London on business about this time, the young lady came over to us under his convoy86, and I should like to describe the meeting between her and Mr. Philip in our parlour. No doubt it was very edifying87. But my wife and I were not present, vous concevez. We only heard one shout of surprise and delight from Philip as he went into the room where the young lady was waiting. We had but said, “Go into the parlour, Philip. You will find your old friend, Major Mac, there. He has come to London on business, and has news of — ” There was no need to speak, for here Philip straightway bounced into the room.
And then came the shout. And then out came Major Mac, with such a droll88 twinkle in his eyes! What artifices89 and hypocrisies90 had we not to practise previously91, so as to keep our secret from our children, who assuredly would have discovered it! I must tell you that the paterfamilias had guarded against the innocent prattle92 and inquiries93 of the children regarding the preparation of the little bedroom, by informing them that it was intended for Miss Grigsby, the governess, with whose advent94 they had long been threatened. And one of our girls, when the unconscious Philip arrived, said, “Philip, if you go into the parlour, you will find Miss Grigsby, the governess, there.” And then Philip entered into that parlour, and then arose that shout, and then out came uncle Mac, and then And we called Charlotte Miss Grigsby all dinner-time; and we called her Miss Grigsby next day; and the more we called her Miss Grigsby the more we all laughed. And the baby, who could not speak plain yet, called her Miss Gibby, and laughed loudest of all; and it was such fun. But I think Philip and Charlotte had the best of the fun, my dears, though they may not have laughed quite so loud as we did.
As for Mrs. Brandon, who, you may be sure, speedily came to pay us a visit, Charlotte blushed, and looked quite beautiful when she went up and kissed the Little Sister. “He have told you about me, then!” she said, in her soft little voice, smoothing the young lady’s brown hair. “Should I have known him at all but for you, and did you not save his life for me when he was ill?” asked Miss Baynes. “And mayn’t I love everybody who loves him?” she asked. And we left these women alone for a quarter of an hour, during which they became the most intimate friends in the world. And all our household, great and small, including the nurse (a woman of a most jealous, domineering, and uncomfortable fidelity), thought well of our gentle young guest, and welcomed Miss Grigsby.
Charlotte, you see, is not so exceedingly handsome as to cause other women to perjure95 themselves by protesting that she is no great things after all. At the period with which we are concerned, she certainly had a lovely complexion96, which her black dress set off, perhaps. And when Philip used to come into the room, she had always a fine garland of roses ready to offer him, and growing upon her cheeks, the moment he appeared. Her manners are so entirely97 unaffected and simple that they can’t be otherwise than good: for is she not grateful, truthful98, unconscious of self, easily pleased, and interested in others? Is she very witty99? I never said so — though that she appreciated some men’s wit (whose names need not be mentioned) I cannot doubt. “I say,” cries Philip, on that memorable100 first night of her arrival, and when she and other ladies had gone to bed, “by George! isn’t she glorious, I say! What can I have done to win such a pure little heart as that? Non sum dignus. It is too much happiness — too much, by George!” And his voice breaks behind his pipe, and he squeezes two fists into eyes that are brimful of joy and thanks. Where Fortune bestows101 such a bounty102 as this, I think we need not pity a man for what she withdraws. As Philip walks away at midnight (walks away? is turned out of doors; or surely he would have gone on talking till dawn), with the rain beating in his face, and fifty or a hundred pounds for all his fortune in his pocket, I think there goes one of the happiest of men — the happiest and richest. For is he not possessor of a treasure which he could not buy, or would not sell, for all the wealth of the world?
My wife may say what she will, but she assuredly is answerable for the invitation to Miss Baynes, and for all that ensued in consequence. At a hint that she would be a welcome guest in our house, in London, where all her heart and treasure lay, Charlotte Baynes gave up straightway her dear aunt, at Tours, who had been kind to her; her dear uncle, her dear mamma, and all her dear brothers — following that natural law which ordains103 that a woman, under certain circumstances, shall resign home, parents, brothers, sisters, for the sake of that one individual who is henceforth to be dearer to her than all. Mrs. Baynes, the widow, growled104 a complaint at her daughter’s ingratitude105, but did not refuse her consent. She may have known that little Hely, Charlotte’s volatile107 admirer, had fluttered off to another flower by this time, and that a pursuit of that butterfly was in vain: or she may have heard that he was going to pass the spring — the butterfly season — in London, and hoped that he perchance might again light on her girl. Howbeit, she was glad enough that her daughter should accept an invitation to our house, and owned that as yet the poor child’s share of this life’s pleasures had been but small. Charlotte’s modest little trunks were again packed, then, and the poor child was sent off, I won’t say with how small a provision of pocket-money, by her mother. But the thrifty108 woman had but little, and of it was determined109 to give as little as she could. “Heaven will provide for my child,” she would piously110 say; and hence interfered112 very little with those agents whom heaven sent to befriend her children.
“Her mother told Charlotte that she would send her some money next Tuesday,” the major told us; “but, between ourselves, I doubt whether she will. Between ourselves, my sister-in-law is always going to give money next Tuesday: but somehow Wednesday comes, and the money has not arrived. I could not let the little maid be without a few guineas, and have provided her out of a half-pay purse; but mark me, that pay-day Tuesday will never come.” Shall I deny or confirm the worthy113 major’s statement? Thus far I will say, that Tuesday most certainly came; and a letter from her mamma to Charlotte, which said that one of her brothers and a younger sister were going to stay with aunt Mac; and that as Char57 was so happy with her most hospitable114 and kind friends, a fond widowed mother, who had given up all pleasures for herself, would not interfere111 to prevent a darling child’s happiness.
It has been said that three women, whose names have been given up, were conspiring115 in the behalf of this young person and the young man her sweetheart. Three days after Charlotte’s arrival at our house, my wife persists in thinking that a drive into the country would do the child good, orders a brougham, dresses Charlotte in her best, and trots116 away to see Mrs. Mugford at Hampstead. Mrs. Brandon is at Mrs. Mugford’s , of course quite by chance: and I feel sure that Charlotte’s friend compliments Mrs. Mugford upon her garden, upon her nursery, upon her luncheon117, upon everything that is hers. “Why, dear me,” says Mrs. Mugford (as the ladies discourse70 upon a certain subject), “what does it matter? Me and Mugford married on two pound a week; and on two pound a week my dear eldest118 children were born. It was a hard struggle sometimes, but we were all the happier for it; and I’m sure if a man won’t risk a little he don’t deserve much. I know I would risk, if I were a man, to marry such a pretty young dear. And I should take a young man to be but a mean-spirited fellow who waited and went shilly-shallying when he had but to say the word and be happy. I thought Mr. F. was a brave, courageous119 gentleman, I did, Mrs. Brandon. Do you want me for to have a bad opinion of him? My dear, a little of that cream. It’s very good. We’ad a dinner yesterday, and a cook down from town, on purpose.” This speech, with appropriate imitations of voice and gesture, was repeated to the present biographer by the present biographer’s wife, and he now began to see in what webs and meshes120 of conspiracy121 these artful women had enveloped122 the subject of the present biography.
Like Mrs. Brandon, and the other matron, Charlotte’s friend, Mrs. Mugford, became interested in the gentle young creature, and kissed her kindly123, and made her a present on going away. It was a brooch in the shape of a thistle, if I remember aright, set with amethysts124 and a lovely Scottish stone called, I believe, a carumgorum. “She ain’t no style about her: and I confess, from a general’s daughter, brought up on the Continent, I should have expected better. But we’ll show her a little of the world and the opera, Brandon, and she’ll do very well, of that I make no doubt.” And Mrs. Mugford took Miss Baynes to the opera, and pointed63 out the other people of fashion there assembled. And delighted Charlotte was. I make no doubt there was a young gentleman of our acquaintance at the back of the box who was very happy too. And this year, Philip’s kinsman125’s wife, Lady Ringwood, had a box, in which Philip saw her and her daughters, and little Ringwood Twysden paying assiduous court to her ladyship. They met in the crush-room by chance again, and Lady Ringwood looked hard at Philip and the blushing young lady on his arm. And it happened that Mrs. Mugford’s carriage — the little one-horse trap which opens and shuts so conveniently — and Lady Ringwood’s tall, emblazoned chariot of state, stopped the way together. And from the tall emblazoned chariot the ladies looked not unkindly at the trap which contained the beloved of Philip’s heart: and the carriages departed each on its way: and Ringwood Twysden, seeing his cousin advancing towards him, turned very pale, and dodged126 at a double quick down an arcade127. But he need not have been afraid of Philip. Mr. Firmin’s heart was all softness and benevolence128 at that time. He was thinking of those sweet, sweet eyes that had just glanced to him a tender good-night; of that little hand which a moment since had hung with fond pressure on his arm. Do you suppose in such a frame of mind he had leisure to think of a nauseous little reptile129 crawling behind him? He was so happy that night, that Philip was King Philip again. And he went to the Haunt, and sang his song of Garry-owenna-gloria, and greeted the boys assembled, and spent at least three shillings over his supper and drinks. But the next day being Sunday, Mr. Firmin was at West- minster Abbey, listening to the sweet church chants, by the side of the very same young person whom he had escorted to the opera on the night before. They sate130 together so close that one must have heard exactly as well as the other. I daresay it is edifying to listen to anthems131 à deux. And how complimentary132 to the clergyman to have to wish that the sermon was longer! Through the vast cathedral aisles133 the organ notes peal134 gloriously. Ruby135 and topaz and amethysts blaze from the great church windows. Under the tall arcades136 the young people went together. Hand in hand they passed, and thought no ill.
Do gentle readers begin to tire of this spectacle of billing and cooing? I have tried to describe Mr. Philip’s love affairs with as few words and in as modest phrases as may be — omitting the raptures137, the passionate138 vows139, the reams of correspondence, and the usual commonplaces of his situation. And yet, my dear madam, though you and I may be past the age of billing and cooing, though your ringlets, which I remember a lovely auburn, are now — well — are now a rich purple and green black, and my brow may be as bald as a cannon-ball; — I say, though we are old, we are not too old to forget. We may not care about the pantomime much now, but we like to take the young folks, and see them rejoicing. From the window where I write, I can look down into the garden of a certain square. In that garden I can at this moment’ see a young gentleman and lady of my acquaintance pacing up and down. They are talking some such talk as Milton imagines our first parents engaged in; and yonder garden is a paradise to my young friends. Did they choose to look outside the railings of the square, or at any other objects than each other’s noses, they might see — the tax-gatherer we will say — with his book, knocking at one door; the doctor’s brougham at a second; a hatchment over the windows of a third mansion140; the baker’s boy discoursing141 with the housemaid over the railings of a fourth. But what to them are these phenomena142 of life? Arm in arm my young folks go pacing up and down their Eden, and discoursing about that happy time which I suppose is now drawing near, about that charming little snuggery for which the furniture is ordered, and to which, miss, your old friend and very humble servant will take the liberty of forwarding his best regards and a neat silver teapot. I daresay, with these young people, as with Mr. Philip and Miss Charlotte, all occurrences of life seem to have reference to that event which forms the subject of their perpetual longing143 and contemplation. There is the doctor’s brougham driving away, and Imogene says to Alonzo, “What anguish144 I shall have if you are ill!” Then there is the carpenter putting up the hatchment. “Ah, my love, if you were to die, I think they might put up a hatchment for both of us,” says Alonzo, with a killing145 sigh. Both sympathize with Mary and the baker’s boy whispering over the railings. Go to, gentle baker’s boy, we also know what it is to love!
The whole soul and strength of Charlotte and Philip being bent146 upon marriage, I take leave to put in a document which Philip received at this time; and can imagine that it occasioned no little sensation:—
Astor House, New York.
“And so you are returned to the great city — to the fumum, the strepitum, and I sincerely hope the opes of our Rome!” Your own letters are but brief; but I have an occasional correspondent (there are few, alas147! who remember the exile!) who keeps me au cournat of my Philip’s history, and tells me that you are industrious148, that you are cheerful, that you prosper149. Cheerfulness is the companion of Industry, Prosperity their offspring. That that prosperity may attain53 the fullest growth, is an absent father’s fondest prayer! Perhaps ere long I shall be able to announce to you that I too am prospering150. I am engaged in pursuing a scientific discovery here (it is medical, and connected with my own profession), of which the results ought to lead to Fortune, unless the jade151 has for ever deserted152 George Brand Firmin! So you have embarked153 in the drudgery154 of the press, and have become a member of the fourth estate. It has been despised, and press-man and poverty were for a long time supposed to be synonymous. But the power, the wealth of the press are daily developing, and they will increase yet further. I confess I should have liked to hear that my Philip was pursuing his profession of the bar, at which honour, splendid competence, nay155, aristocratic rank, are the prizes of the bold, the industrious, and the deserving. Why should you not — should I not — still hope that you may gain legal eminence156 and position? A father who has had much to suffer, who is descending157 the vale of years alone and in a distant land, would be soothed158 in his exile if he thought his son would one day be able to repair the shattered fortunes of his race. But it is not yet, I fondly think, too late. You may yet qualify for the bar, and one of its prizes may fall to you. I confess it was not without a pang159 of grief I heard from our kind little friend Mrs. B., you were studying shorthand in order to become a newspaper reporter. And has Fortune, then, been so relentless160 to me, that my son is to be compelled to follow such a calling? I shall try and be resigned. I had hoped higher things for you — for me.
“My dear boy, with regard to your romantic attachment161 for Miss Baynes, which our good little Brandon narrates162 to me, in her peculiar163 orthography164, but with much touching simplicity," — I make it a rule not to say a word of comment, of warning, or remonstrance165. As sure as you are your father’s son, you will take your own line in any matter of attachment to a woman, and all the fathers in the world won’t stop you. In Philip of four-and-twenty I recognize his father thirty years ago. My father scolded, entreated166, quarrelled with me, never forgave me. I will learn to be more generous towards my son. I may grieve, but I bear you no malice167. If ever I achieve wealth again, you shall not be deprived of it. I suffered so myself from a harsh father, that I will never be one to my son!
“As you have put on the livery of the Muses168, and regularly entered yourself of the Fraternity of the Press, what say you to a little addition to your income by letters addressed to my friend, the editor of the new journal, called here the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand. It is the fashionable journal published here; and your qualifications are precisely169 those which would make your services valuable as a contributor. Doctor Geraldine, the editor, is not, I believe, a relative of the Leinster family, but a self-made man, who arrived in this country some years since, poor, and an exile from his native country. He advocates Repeal170 politics in Ireland; but with these of course you need have nothing to do. And he is much too liberal to expect these from his contributors. I have been of service professionally to Mrs. Geraldine and himself. My friend of the Emerald introduced me to the doctor. Terrible enemies in print, in private they are perfectly171 good friends, and the little passages of arms between the two journalists serve rather to amuse than to irritate. ‘The grocer’s boy from Ormond Quay’ (Geraldine once, it appears, engaged in that useful but humble calling), and the ‘miscreant from Cork’ (the editor of the Emerald comes from that city) assail172 each other in public, but drink whiskey-and-water galore in private. If you write for Geraldine, of course you will say nothing disrespectful about grocers’ boys. His dollars are good silver, of that you may be sure. Dr. G. knows a part of your history: he knows that you are now fairly engaged in literary pursuits; that you are a man of education, a gentleman, a man of the world, a man of courage. I have answered for your possessing all these qualities. (The doctor, in his droll, humorous way, said that if you were a chip of the old block you would be just what he called ‘the grit173.’) Political treaties are not so much wanted as personal news regarding the notabilities of London, and these, I assured him, you were the very man to be able to furnish. You, who know everybody; who have lived with the great world — the world of lawyers, the world of artists, the world of the university — have already had an experience which few gentlemen of the press can boast of, and may turn that experience to profit. Suppose you were to trust a little to your imagination in composing these letters? there can be no harm in being poetical174. Suppose an intelligent correspondent writes that he has met the D-ke of W-ll-ngt-n, had a private interview with the Pr-m-r, and so forth, who is to say him nay? And this is the kind of talk our gobemouches of New York delight in. My worthy friend, Doctor Geraldine, for example (between ourselves his name is Finnigan, but his private history is strictly entre nous,) when he first came to New York astonished the people by the copiousness175 of his anecdotes176 regarding the English aristocracy, of whom he knows as much as he does of the Court of Pekin. He was smart, ready, sarcastic177, amusing; he found readers: from one success he advanced to another, and the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand is likely to make this worthy man’s fortune. You really may be serviceable to him, and may justly earn the liberal remuneration which he offers for a weekly letter. Anecdotes of men and women of fashion — the more gay and lively the more welcome — the quicquid agunt homines, in a word, — should be the farrago libelli. Who are the reigning178 beauties of London? (and Beauty, you know, has a rank and fashion of its own.) Has any one lately won or lost on the turf or at play? What are the clubs talking about? Are there any duels179? What is the last scandal? Does the good old duke keep his health? Is that affair over between the Duchess of This and Captain That?
“Such is the information which our badauds here like to have, and for which my friend the doctor will pay at the rate of — dollars per letter. Your name need not appear at all. The remuneration is certain.” C’est à prendre ou à laisser, as our lively neighbours say. Write in the first place in confidence to me; and in whom can you confide1 more safely than in your father?
“You will, of course, pay your respects to your relative the new lord of Ringwood. For a young man whose family is so powerful as yours, there can surely be no derogation in entertaining some feudal180 respect, and who knows whether and how soon Sir John Ringwood may be able to help his cousin? By the way, Sir John is a Whig, and your paper is a Conservative. But you are, above all, homme du monde. In such a subordinate place as you occupy with the Pall Mall Gazette, a man’s private politics do not surely count at all. If Sir John Ringwood, your kinsman, sees any way of helping181 you, so much the better, and of course your politics will be those of your family. I have no knowledge of him. He was a very quiet man at college, where, I regret to say, your father’s friends were not of the quiet sort at all. I trust I have repented182. I have sown my wild oats. And ah! how pleased I shall be to hear that my Philip has bent his proud head a little, and is ready to submit more than he used of old to the customs of the world. Call upon Sir John, then. As a Whig gentleman of large estate, I need not tell you that he will expect respect from you. He is your kinsman; the representative of your grandfather’s gallant183 and noble race. He bears the name your mother bore. To her my Philip was always gentle, and for her sake you will comply with the wishes of your affectionate father,
“G. B. F.”
“I have not said a word of compliment to made-moiselle. I wish her so well that I own I wish she were about to marry a richer suitor than my dear son. Will fortune ever permit me to embrace my daughter-in-law, and take your children on my knee? You will speak kindly to them of their grandfather, will you not? Poor General Baynes, I have heard, used violent and unseemly language regarding me, which I most heartily184 pardon. I am grateful when I think that I never did General B. an injury: grateful and proud to accept benefits from my own son. These I treasure up in my heart; and still hope I shall be able to repay with something more substantial than my fondest prayers. Give my best wishes, then, to Miss Charlotte, and try and teach her to think kindly of her Philip’s father.”
Miss Charlotte Baynes, who kept the name of Miss Grigsby, the governess, amongst all the roguish children of a facetious185 father, was with us one month, and her mamma expressed great cheerfulness at her absence, and at the thought that she had found such good friends. After two months, her uncle Major MacWhirter, returned from visiting his relations in the North, and offered to take his niece back to France again. He made this proposition with the jolliest air in the world, and as if his niece would jump for joy to go back to her mother. But to the major’s astonishment186, Miss Baynes turned quite pale, ran to her hostess, flung herself into that lady’s arms and then there began an osculatory performance which perfectly astonished the good major. Charlotte’s friend, holding Miss Baynes tight in her embrace, looked fiercely at the major over the girl’s shoulder, and defied him to take her away from that sanctuary187.
“Oh, you dear, good dear friend!” Charlotte gurgled out, and sobbed188 I know not what more expressions of fondness and gratitude106.
But the truth is, that two sisters, or mother and daughter, could not love each other more heartily than these two personages. Mother and daughter forsooth! You should have seen Charlotte’s piteous look when sometimes the conviction would come on her that she ought at length to go home to mamma; such a look as I can fancy Iphigenia casting on Agamemnon, when, in obedience189 to a painful sense of duty, he was about to — to use the sacrificial knife. No, we all loved her. The children would howl at the idea of parting with their Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, in return, helped them to very pretty lessons in music and French — served hot, as it were, from her own recent studies at Tours — and a good daily governess operated on the rest of their education to everybody’s satisfaction.
And so months rolled on and our young favourite still remained with us. Mamma fed the little maid’s purse with occasional remittances190; and begged her hostess to supply her with all necessary articles from the milliner. Afterwards, it is true, Mrs. General Baynes — But why enter upon these painful family disputes in a chapter which has been devoted191 to sentiment?
As soon as Mr. Firmin received the letter above faithfully copied (with the exception of the pecuniary192 offer, which I do not consider myself at liberty to divulge), he hurried down from Thornhaugh Street to Westminster. He dashed by Buttons, the page, he took no notice of my wondering wife at the drawing-room door; he rushed to the second floor, bursting open the school-room door, where Charlotte was teaching our dear third daughter to play In my Cottage near a Wood.
“Charlotte! Charlotte!” he cried out.
“La, Philip! don’t you see Miss Grigsby is giving us lessons?” said the children.
But he would not listen to those wags, and still beckoned193 Charlotte to him. That young woman rose up and followed him out of the door, as, indeed, she would have followed him out of the window; and there, on the stairs, they read Dr. Firmin’s letter, with their heads quite close together, you understand.
“Two hundred a year more,” said Philip, his heart throbbing194 so that he could hardly speak; “and your fifty — and two hundred the Gazette — and — ”
“Oh, Philip!” was all Charlotte could say, and then — There was a pretty group for the children to see, and for an artist to draw!
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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averring
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| v.断言( aver的现在分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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canard
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| n.虚报；谣言；v.流传 | |
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corrugate
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| v.起波浪形，起皱纹；n.皱；车辙；畦；沟 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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bribes
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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stipend
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| n.薪贴；奖学金；养老金 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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parsimony
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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lodgings
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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conclaves
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| n.秘密会议，教皇选举会议，红衣主教团( conclave的名词复数 ) | |
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conspiracies
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| n.阴谋，密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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addle
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| v.使腐坏，使昏乱 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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bumptious
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| adj.傲慢的 | |
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char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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tripe
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| n.废话，肚子, 内脏 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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relishes
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| n.滋味( relish的名词复数 )；乐趣；（大量的）享受；快乐v.欣赏( relish的第三人称单数 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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accustoming
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| v.（使）习惯于( accustom的现在分词 ) | |
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orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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80
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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81
smuggles
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| v.偷运( smuggle的第三人称单数 )；私运；走私；不按规章地偷带（人或物） | |
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82
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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83
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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84
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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85
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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86
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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87
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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88
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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89
artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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90
hypocrisies
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| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
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91
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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92
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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93
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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94
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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95
perjure
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| v.作伪证；使发假誓 | |
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96
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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97
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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98
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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99
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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100
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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101
bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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103
ordains
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的第三人称单数 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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104
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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105
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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106
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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107
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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108
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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109
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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110
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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111
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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112
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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113
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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114
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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115
conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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116
trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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117
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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118
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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119
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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120
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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121
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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122
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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124
amethysts
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| n.紫蓝色宝石( amethyst的名词复数 )；紫晶；紫水晶；紫色 | |
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125
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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126
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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127
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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128
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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129
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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130
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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131
anthems
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| n.赞美诗( anthem的名词复数 )；圣歌；赞歌；颂歌 | |
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132
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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133
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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134
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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135
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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136
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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137
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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138
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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139
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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140
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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141
discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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142
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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143
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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144
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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145
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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146
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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147
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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148
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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149
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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150
prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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151
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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152
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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153
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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154
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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155
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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156
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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157
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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158
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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159
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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160
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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161
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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162
narrates
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| v.故事( narrate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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163
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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164
orthography
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| n.拼字法，拼字式 | |
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165
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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166
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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168
muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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169
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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170
repeal
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| n.废止，撤消；v.废止，撤消 | |
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171
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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172
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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173
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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174
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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175
copiousness
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| n.丰裕，旺盛 | |
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176
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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177
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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178
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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179
duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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180
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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181
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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182
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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184
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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185
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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186
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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187
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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188
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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189
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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190
remittances
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| n.汇寄( remittance的名词复数 )；汇款，汇款额 | |
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191
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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192
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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193
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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