Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 427, May, 1851. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ afford the journey except by your help. I have begged without shame for myself; shall I be ashamed, then, to beg for her?"

      "Digby," said L'Estrange with some grave alteration of manner, "talk neither of dying, nor begging. You were nearer death when the balls whistled round you at Waterloo. If soldier meets soldier and says, 'Friend, thy purse,' it is not begging, but brotherhood. Ashamed! By the soul of Belisarius! if I needed money, I would stand at a crossing with my Waterloo medal over my breast, and say to each sleek citizen I had helped to save from the sword of the Frenchman, 'It is your shame if I starve.' Now, lean upon me; I see you should be at home – which way?"

      The poor soldier pointed his hand towards Oxford Street, and reluctantly accepted the proffered arm.

      "And when you return from your relations, you will call on me? What! – hesitate? Come, promise."

      "I will."

      "On your honour."

      "If I live, on my honour."

      "I am staying at present at Knightsbridge, with my father; but you will always hear of my address at No. – Grosvenor Square, Mr Egerton's. So you have a long journey before you?"

      "Very long."

      "Do not fatigue yourself – travel slowly. Ho, you foolish child! – I see you are jealous of me. Your father has another arm to spare you."

      Thus talking, and getting but short answers, Lord L'Estrange continued to exhibit those whimsical peculiarities of character, which had obtained for him the repute of heartlessness in the world. Perhaps the reader may think the world was not in the right. But if ever the world does judge rightly of the character of a man who does not live for the world, nor talk for the world, nor feel with the world, it will be centuries after the soul of Harley L'Estrange has done with this planet.

      CHAPTER V

      Lord L'Estrange parted company with Mr Digby at the entrance of Oxford Street. The father and child there took a cabriolet. Mr Digby directed the driver to go down the Edgeware Road. He refused to tell L'Estrange his address, and this with such evident pain, from the sores of pride, that L'Estrange could not press the point. Reminding the soldier of his promise to call, Harley thrust a pocket-book into his hand, and walked off hastily towards Grosvenor Square.

      He reached Audley Egerton's door just as that gentleman was getting out of his carriage; and the two friends entered the house together.

      "Does the nation take a nap to-night?" asked L'Estrange. "Poor old lady! She hears so much of her affairs, that she may well boast of her constitution: it must be of iron."

      "The House is still sitting," answered Audley seriously, "and with small heed of his friend's witticism. "But it is not a Government motion, and the division will be late, so I came home; and if I had not found you here, I should have gone into the Park to look for you."

      "Yes – one always knows where to find me at this hour, 9 o'clock P.M. – cigar – Hyde Park. There is not a man in England so regular in his habits."

      Here the friends reached a drawing-room in which the Member of Parliament seldom sat, for his private apartments were all on the ground floor.

      "But it is the strangest whim of yours, Harley," said he.

      "What?"

      "To affect detestation of ground-floors."

      "Affect! O sophisticated man, of the earth, earthy! Affect! – nothing less natural to the human soul than a ground-floor. We are quite far enough from heaven, mount as many stairs as we will, without grovelling by preference.

      "According to that symbolical view of the case," said Audley, "you should lodge in an attic."

      "So I would, but that I abhor new slippers. As for hair-brushes, I am indifferent!"

      "What have slippers and hair-brushes to do with attics?"

      "Try! Make your bed in an attic, and the next morning you will have neither slippers nor hair-brushes!"

      "What shall I have done with them?"

      "Shied them at the cats!"

      "What odd things you do say, Harley!"

      "Odd! By Apollo and his nine spinsters! there is no human being who has so little imagination as a distinguished Member of Parliament. Answer me this, thou solemn right honourable, – Hast thou climbed to the heights of august contemplation? Hast thou gazed on the stars with the rapt eye of song? Hast thou dreamed of a love known to the angels, or sought to seize in the Infinite the mystery of life?"

      "Not I indeed, my poor Harley."

      "Then no wonder, poor Audley, that you cannot conjecture why he who makes his bed in an attic, disturbed by base catterwauls, shies his slippers at cats. Bring a chair into the balcony. Nero spoiled my cigar to-night. I am going to smoke now. You never smoke. You can look on the shrubs in the Square."

      Audley slightly shrugged his shoulders, but he followed his friend's counsel and example, and brought his chair into the balcony. Nero came too, but at sight and smell of the cigar prudently retreated, and took refuge under the table.

      "Audley Egerton, I want something from Government."

      "I am delighted to hear it."

      "There was a cornet in my regiment, who would have done better not to have come into it. We were, for the most part of us, puppies and fops."

      "You all fought well, however."

      "Puppies and fops do fight well. Vanity and valour generally go together. Cæsar, who scratched his head with due care of his scanty curls, and, even in dying, thought of the folds in his toga; Walter Raleigh, who could not walk twenty yards, because of the gems in his shoes; Alcibiades, who lounged into the Agora with doves in his bosom, and an apple in his hand; Murat, bedizened in gold-lace and furs; and Demetrius, the City-Taker, who made himself up like a French Marquise, – were all pretty good fellows at fighting. A slovenly hero like Cromwell is a paradox in nature, and a marvel in history. But to return to my cornet. We were rich; he was poor. When the pot of clay swims down the stream with the brass-pots, it is sure of a smash. Men said Digby was stingy; I saw he was extravagant. But every one, I fear, would be rather thought stingy than poor. Bref.– I left the army, and saw him no more till to-night. There was never shabby poor gentleman on the stage more awfully shabby, more pathetically gentleman. But, look ye, this man has fought for England. It was no child's play at Waterloo, let me tell you, Mr Egerton; and, but for such men, you would be at best a sous-prefêt, and your Parliament a Provincial Assembly. You must do something for Digby. What shall it be?"

      "Why, really, my dear Harley, this man was no great friend of yours – eh?"

      "If he were, he would not want the Government to help him – he would not be ashamed of taking money from me."

      "That is all very fine, Harley; but there are so many poor officers, and so little to give. It is the most difficult thing in the world that which you ask me. Indeed, I know nothing can be done: he has his half-pay?"

      "I think not; or, if he has it, no doubt it all goes on his debts. That's nothing to us: the man and his child are starving."

      "But if it is his own fault – if he has been imprudent?"

      "Ah – well, well; СКАЧАТЬ