the Arch-Brahmin will make a highly appropriate speech, just with a faint scent of incense about it, as such a speech ought to have, and the young person will slip away unperceived, and take off her vails, wreaths, orange flowers, bangles and finery, and will put on a plain dress more suited for the occasion, and the house-door will openand there comes the SUTTEE in company of the

sure, that to whatever purpose Miss Ethel Newcome, for good or for evil, might make her mind up, she had quite spirit enough to hold her own. She chose to be Countess of Kew because she chose to be Countess of Kew; had she set her heart on marrying Mr. Kuhn, she would have had her way, and made the family adopt it, and called him dear Fritz, as by his godfathers and godmothers, in his baptism, Mr. Kuhn was call-body: yonder the pile is waiting on four wheels

ed. Clive was but a fancy, if he had even been so much as that, not a passion, and she fancied a pretty four-pronged coronet still more.

with four horses, the crowd hurrahs, and the deed is done.

This ceremony among us is so stale and comSo that the diatribe wherewith this chapter mon that to be sure there is no need to describe commences, about the selling of virgins, by no its rites, and as women sell themselves for what means applies to Lady Ann Newcome, who sign-you call an establishment every day, to the aped the address to Mrs. Stowe, the other day, along | plause of themselves, their parents, and the world, with thousands more virtuous British matrons; why on earth should a man ape at originality and but should the reader haply say, Is thy fable, pretend to pity them? Never mind about the lies at O Poet, narrated concerning Tancred Pulleyn, the altar, the blasphemy against the godlike name Earl of Dorking, and Sigismunda, his wife?" the of love, the sordid surrender, the smiling dishonor. reluctant moralist is obliged to own that the cap What the deuce does a mariage de convenance does fit those noble personages, of whose lofty mean but all this, and are not such sober Hymeneal society you will however see but little. torches more satisfactory often than the most brilliant love matches that ever flamed and burnt out? Of course, let us not weep when every body else is laughing; let us pity the agonized duchess when her daughter, Lady Atalanta, runs away with the doctor-of course, that's respectable; let us pity Lady Iphigenia's father, when that venerable chief is obliged to offer up his darling child; but it is over her part of the business that a decorous painter would throw the vail now. Her lady ship's sacrifice is performed, and the less said about it the better.

For though I would like to go into an Indian Brahmin's house, and see the punkahs and the purdahs and tattys, and the pretty brown maidens with great eyes, and great nose-rings, and painted foreheads, and slim waists cased in Cashmere shawls, Kincob scarfs, curly slippers, gilt trowsers, precious anklets and bangles; and have the mystery of Eastern existence revealed to me (as who would not who has read the Arabian Nights in his youth?), yet I would not choose the moment when the Brahmin of the house was dead, his women howling, his priests doctoring Such was the case regarding an affair which his child of a widow-now frightening her with appeared in due subsequence in the newspapers sermons, now drugging her with bang, so as to not long afterward, under the fascinating title of push her on his funeral pile at last, and into the "Marriage in High Life," and which was in truth arms of that carcass, stupefied, but obedient and the occasion of the little family Congress of Baden decorous. And though I like to walk, even in which we are now chronicling. We all know, fancy, in an earl's house, splendid, well-ordered, every body at least who has the slightest acquaintwhere there are feasts and fine pictures and fair ance with the army-list, that at the commenceladies and endless books and good company; yet ment of their life my Lord Kew, my Lord Visthere are times when the visit is not pleasant; and count Rooster, the Earl of Dorking's eldest son, when the parents in that fine house are getting and the Honorable Charles Belsize, familiarly ready their daughter for sale, and frightening called Jack Belsize, were subaltern officers in one away her tears with threats, and stupefying her of his Majesty's regiments of cuirassier guards. grief with narcotics, praying her and imploring They heard the chimes at midnight like other her, and dramming her and coaxing her, and young men, they enjoyed their fun and frolics as blessing her, and cursing her perhaps, till they gentlemen of spirit will do; sowing their wild have brought her into such a state as shall fit the oats plentifully, and scattering them with boyish poor young thing for that deadly couch upon profusion. Lord Kew's luck had blessed him which they are about to thrust her. When my with more sacks of oats than fell to the lot of lord and lady are so engaged I prefer not to call his noble young companions. Lord Dorking's at their mansion, number 1000 in Grosvenor house is known to have been long impoverished; Square, but to partake of a dinner of herbs rather an excellent informant, Major Pendennis, has enthan of that stalled ox which their cook is roast-tertained me with many edifying accounts of the ing whole. There are some people who are not so squeamish. The family comes of course; the most reverend the Lord Arch-Brahmin of Benares will attend the ceremony; there will be flowers and lights and white favors; and quite a string of carriages up to the pagoda; and such a breakfast afterward; and music in the street, and little parish boys hurrahing; and no end of speeches within and tears shed (no doubt), and his grace

exploits of Lord Rooster's grandfather "with the wild Prince and Poyns," of his feats in the hunting-field, over the bottle, over the dice-box. He played two nights and two days at a sitting with Charles Fox, when they both lost sums awful to reckon. He played often with Lord Steyne, and came away, as all men did, dreadful sufferers from those midnight encounters. His descendants incurred the penalties of the progenitor's impru

dence, and Chanticlere, though one of the finest | were gone, and the four cooks, and four maids, castles in England, is splendid but for a month six footmen, and temporary butler had driven in the year. The estate is mortgaged unto the back in their private trap to the metropolis, which very castle windows. Dorking can not cut a is not forty miles distant from that splendid castle. stick or kill a buck in his own park. The good How can we tell? The guests departed, the lodge old Major used to tell with tragic accents: "He gates shut; all is mystery-darkness, with one lives by his cabbages, grapes, and pine-apples, pair of wax candles blinking dismally in a solitary and the fees which people give for seeing the chamber; all the rest dreary vistas of brown place and gardens, which are still the show of hollands, rolled Turkey carpets, gaunt ancestors the county, and among the most splendid in the on the walls, scowling out of the twilight blank. island. When Dorking is at Chanticlere, Ballard, The imagination is at liberty to depict his lordwho married his sister, lends him the plate, and ship, with one candle, over his dreadful endless sends three men with it: four cooks inside, and tapes and papers; her ladyship with the other, four maids and six footmen on the roof, with a and an old, old novel, wherein, perhaps, Mrs. butler driving, come down from London in a trap, Radcliffe describes a castle as dreary as her own; and wait the month. And as the last carriage of and poor little Clara sighing and crying in the the company drives away, the servants' coach is midst of these funereal splendors, as lonely and packed, and they all bowl back to town again. It's heart-sick as Oriana in her moated grange: poor pitiable, Sir, pitiable." little Clara!

Lord Kew's drag took the young men to London; his lordship driving, and the servants sitting inside. Jack sat behind with the two grooms, and tooted on a cornet-à-piston in the most melancholy manner. He partook of no refreshment on the road. His silence at his clubs was re

In Lord Kew's youth, the names of himself and his two noble friends appeared on innumerable slips of stamped paper, conveying pecuniary assurances of a promissory nature; all of which promises, my Lord Kew singly and most honorably discharged. Neither of his two companions in arms had the means of meeting these engage-marked: smoking, billiards, military duties, and ments. Ballard, Rooster's uncle, was said to make his lordship some allowance. As for Jack Belsize, how he lived; how he laughed; how he dressed himself so well, and looked so fat and handsome; how he got a shilling to pay for a cab or a cigar; what ravens fed him; was a wonder to all. The young men claimed kinsmanship with one another, which those who are learned in the peerage may unravel.

this and that, roused him a little, and presently Jack was alive again. But then came the season, Lady Clara Pulleyn's first season in London, and Jack was more alive than ever. There was no ball he did not go to; no opera (that is to say, no opera of certain operas) which he did not frequent. It was easy to see by his face, two minutes after entering a room, whether the person he sought was there or absent; not difficult for those who were in the secret, to watch in another pair of eyes the bright kindling signals which an

he looked on his charger on the birthday, all in a blaze of scarlet, and bullion, and steel. O Jack! tear her out of yon carriage, from the side of yonder livid, feathered, painted, bony dowager! place her behind you on the black charger; cut down the policeman, and away with you! The carriage rolls in through St. James's Park; Jack sits alone with his sword dropped to the ground, or only atra cura on the crupper behind him; and Snip, the tailor, in the crowd, thinks it is for fear of him Jack's head droops. Lady Clara Pulleyn is presented by her mother, the Countess of Dorking; and Jack is arrested that night as he is going out of White's to meet her at the Opera.

When Lord Dorking's eldest daughter married the Honorable and Venerable Dennis Gallowglass, Archdeacon of Bullintubber (and at present Vis-swered Jack's fiery glances. Ah! how beautiful count Gallowglass and Killbrogue, and Lord Bishop of Ballyshannon), great festivities took place at Chanticlere, whither the relatives of the high contracting parties were invited. Among them came poor Jack Belsize, and hence the tears which are dropping at Baden at this present period of our history. Clara Pulleyn was then a pretty little maiden of sixteen, and Jack a handsome guardsman of six or seven-and-twenty. As she had been especially warned against Jack as a wicked young rogue, whose antécédents were woefully against him; as she was never allowed to sit near him at dinner, or to walk with him, or to play at billiards with him, or to waltz with him; as she was scolded if he spoke a word to her, or if he picked up her glove, or touched her hand in a round game, or caught her when they were playing at blindman's-buff; as they neither of them had a penny in the world, and were both very goodlooking, of course Clara was always catching Jack at blindman's-buff; constantly lighting upon him in the shrubberies or corridors, &c., &c., &c. She fell in love (she was not the first) with Jack's broad chest and thin waist; she thought his whiskers, as indeed they were, the handsomest pair in all his majesty's Brigade of Cuirassiers.

We know not what tears were shed in the vast and silent halls of Chanticlere, when the company

Jack's little exploits are known in the Insolvent Court, where he made his appearance as Charles Belsize, commonly called the Honorable Charles Belsize, whose dealings were smartly chronicled by the indignant moralists of the press of those days. The "Scourge" flogged him heartily. The " Whip" (of which the accomplished editor was himself in Whitecross Street prison) was especially virtuous regarding him; and the "Penny Voice of Freedom" gave him an awful dressing. I am not here to scourge sinners; I am true to my party; it is the other side this humble pen attacks; let us keep to the virtuous and respectable, for as for poor sinners they

get the whipping-post every day. One person | as well as you who have just perused it, deigned was faithful to poor Jack through all his blunders to entertain matrimonial intentions toward her and follies and extravagance and misfortunes, and ladyship.

that was the pretty young girl of Chanticlere, Not one of the members of these most respectround whose young affections his luxuriant whisk-able families, excepting poor little Clara perhaps, ers had curled. And the world may cry out at poor little fish (as if she had any call but to do her Lord Kew for sending his brougham to the Queen's duty, or to ask à quelle sauce elle serait mangée), Bench prison, and giving a great feast at Grig-protested against this little affair of traffic; Lady non's to Jack on the day of his liberation, but I for one will not quarrel with his lordship. He and many other sinners had a jolly night. They said Kew made a fine speech, in hearing and acknowledging which Jack Belsize wept copiously. Barnes Newcome was in a rage at Jack's manumission, and sincerely hoped Mr. Commissioner would give him a couple of years longer; and cursed and swore with a great liberality on hearing of his liberty.

Dorking had a brood of little chickens to succeed Clara. There was little Hennie, who was sixteen, and Biddy, who was fourteen, and Adelaide, and who knows how many more. How could she refuse a young man, not very agreeable it is true, nor particularly amiable, nor of good birth, at least on his father's side, but otherwise eligible, and heir to so many thousands a year? The Newcomes, on their side, think it a desirable match. Barnes, it must be confessed, is growing rather selfish, and has some bachelor ways which a wife will reform. Lady Kew is strongly for the match. With her own family interest, Lord Steyne and Lord Kew, her nephews, and Barnes's own father-in-law, Lord Dorking, in the Peers; why should not the Newcomes sit there too, and resume the old seat which all the world knows they had in the time of Richard III.? | Barnes and his father had got up quite a belief about a Newcome killed at Bosworth, along with King Richard, and hated Henry VII. as an enemy of their noble race. So all the parties were pretty well agreed. Lady Ann wrote rather a pretty little poem about welcoming the white Fawn to the Newcome bowers, and "Clara" was made to rhyme with "fairer," and "timid does and antlered deer to dot the glades of Chanticlere," quite in a picturesque way. Lady Kew pro

That this poor prodigal should marry Clara Pulleyn, and by way of a dowry lay his schedule at her feet, was out of the question. His noble father, Lord Highgate, was furious against him; his eldest brother would not see him; he had given up all hopes of winning his darling prize long ago, and one day there came to him a great packet bearing the seal of Chanticlere, containing a wretched little letter signed C. P., and a dozen sheets of Jack's own clumsy writing, delivered who knows how, in what crush rooms, quadrilles, bouquets, balls, and in which were scrawled Jack's love and passion and ardor. How many a time had he looked into the dictionary at White's, to see whether eternal was spelt with an e, and adore with one a or two! There they were, the incoherent utterances of his brave longing heart; and those two wretched, wretched lines signed C., begging that C.'s little letters might too be return-nounced that the poem was very pretty indeed. ed or destroyed. To do him justice, he burnt them loyally every one, along with his own waste paper. He kept not one single little token which she had given him, or let him take.

The rose, the glove, the little handkerchief which she had dropped to him, how he cried over them! The ringlet of golden hair-he burnt them all, all in his own fire in the prison, save a little, little bit of the hair, which might be any one's, which was the color of his sister's. Kew saw the deed done; perhaps he hurried away when Jack came to the very last part of the sacrifice, and flung the hair into the fire, where he would have liked to fling his heart and his life too.

The year after Jack Belsize made his foreign tour he returned to London for the season. Lady Clara did not happen to be there; her health was a little delicate, and her kind parents took her abroad; so all things went on very smoothly and comfortably indeed.

Yes, but when things were so quiet and comfortable, when the ladies of the two families had met at the Congress of Baden, and liked each other so much, when Barnes and his papa the baronet, recovered from his illness, were actually on their journey from Aix-la-Chapelle, and Lady Kew in motion from Kissengen to the Congress of Baden, why on earth should Jack BelSo Clara was free, and the year when Jack size, haggard, wild, having been winning great came out of prison and went abroad, she passed sums, it was said, at Hombourg-forsake his luck the season in London dancing about night after there, and run over frantically to Baden? He night, and every body said she was well out of wore a great thick beard, and a great slouched that silly affair with Jack Belsize. It was then hat-he looked like nothing more or less than a that Barnes Newcome, Esq., a partner of the painter or an Italian brigand. Unsuspecting Clive, wealthy banking firm of Hobson Brothers and remembering the jolly dinner which Jack had proNewcomes, son and heir of Sir Brian Newcome, cured for him at the Guards' mess in St. James's, of Newcome, Bart., and M. P., descended in whither Jack himself came from the Horse Guards right line from Bryan Newcomyn, slain at Hast--simple Clive, seeing Jack enter the town, hailings, and barber-surgeon to Edward the Confessed him cordially, and invited him to dinner, and or, &c., &c., cast the eyes of regard on the Lady Clara Pulleyn, who was a little pale and languid certainly, but had blue eyes, a delicate skin, and a pretty person, and knowing her previous history

Jack accepted, and Clive told him all the news he had of the place-how Kew was there, and Lady Ann Newcome, and Ethel; and Barnes was coming. "I am not very fond of him either,"

says Clive, smiling, when Belsize mentioned his | slouched over his face, with a beard reaching to name. So Barnes was coming to marry that his waist, was, no doubt, not recognized at first pretty little Lady Clara Pulleyn. The knowing by the noble Lord of Dorking, for he was greetyouth! I dare say he was rather pleased with ing the other two gentlemen with his usual pohis knowledge of the fashionable world, and the liteness and affability; when, of a sudden, Lady idea that Jack Belsize would think he, too, was Clara looking up, gave a little shriek and fell somebody. down lifeless on the gravel-walk. Then the old earl recognized Mr. Belsize, and Clive heard him say, "You villain, how dare you come here?"

Jack drank an immense quantity of Champagne, and the dinner over, as they could hear the band playing from Clive's open windows in the snug clean little Hotel de France, Jack proposed they should go on the promenade. M. de Florac was of the party; he had been exceedingly jocular when Lord Kew's name was mentioned; and said, "Ce petit Kiou; M. le Duc d'Ivry, mon encle, l'honore d'une amitié toute particulière." These three gentlemen walked out; the promenade was crowded, the band was playing "Home, sweet Home," very sweetly, and the very first persons they met on the walk were the Lords of Kew and Dorking, on the arm of which latter venerable peer his daughter, Lady Clara, was hanging.

Belsize had flung himself down to lift up Clara, calling her frantically by her name, when old Dorking sprang to seize him.

"Hands off, my lord," said the other, shaking the old man from his back. "Confound you, Jack, hold your tongue," roars out Kew. Clive runs for a chair, and a dozen were forthcoming. Florac skips back with a glass of water. Belsize runs toward the awakening girl: and the father, for an instant, losing all patience and self-command, trembling in every limb, lifts his stick, and says again, "Leave her, you ruffian." "Lady Clara has fainted again, Sir," says Captain Belsize. "I am staying at the Hotel de France. If Jack Belsize, in a velvet coat, with a sombrero you touch me, old man" (this in a very low voice),

"by Heaven I shall kill you. I wish you good- | of a personal conflict between them was rather morning;" and taking a last long look at the ridiculous. Some notion of this sort may have lifeless girl, he lifts his hat and walks away. passed through Sir Brian's mind, for the baronet Lord Dorking mechanically takes his hat off, and said with his usual solemnity, "It is the cause, stands stupidly gazing after him. He beckoned Ethel, it is the cause, my dear, which gives Clive to follow him, and a crowd of the frequent- strength; in such a cause as Barnes's, with a ers of the place are by this time closed round the beautiful young creature to protect from a villain, fainting young lady. any man would be strong-any man would be Here was a pretty incident in the Congress of strong." "Since his last attack," Barnes used

ETHEL had all along known that her holiday was to be a short one, and that, her papa and Barnes arrived, there was to be no more laughing and fun and sketching and walking with Clive; so she took the sunshine while it lasted, determ-"making caricatures, hey? You did not menined to bear with a stout heart the bad weather. tion him in your letters, Lady Ann."