My Share of the World. An autobiography

Chapter I

It was -when skies grew dim and hearths grew bright We met at a. lone hostel in the forest, And I had never seen his face before, Knew not his name, his kindred, or his story; Yet was my spirit warned of him, as one Whose after path and mine must cross each other, I know not if in friendship or in feud. — Count Ernest's Play. What master of the ceremonies is it that speaks to us from behind the curtains of time on our first meeting with certain strangers, and teUs us that their future has something to do with ours ? We may make their acquaintance in business, in society, perhaps on a journey, by the common chances which have made us acquainted with thousands. Somebody introduces them as Miss this or Mr. that — the name sounds nothing remarkable — the looks have no warning in them ; yet, with the moment, comes the wordless message, never distinct, yet not to be forgotten ; aud we know that they are agents of the stars.

I bebeve this experience, though inexplicable, is not uncommon. It was mine on my first presentation to the ladies of the Hall, as Mrs. Dilworth caUed them ; and, together VOL. II. with the distinguished position they occupied in our circle, made me specially observant of them and their ways. Doubtless, such prophecies help their own ful filment. While I took note of the ladies, the ladies took notice of me, particularly the Hon. Mrs. Finchley. Perhaps I was handy to patro nize ; perhaps the Hall was dull after her Itaban travels ; perhaps nice young men were very scarce in her circle ; and, perhaps, my flattery — for I did my part in that business, in common with all the Dilworth establishment — pleased the wealthy widow just then ; for she advanced from the civdi ties recorded in the preceding chapter, to inviting me, first with Arkwright, then without him, then in general, till it became an understood matter that I was an expected guest on Sunday evenings, whde the delightful Dilworths, as their patroness caUed them, were kept in reserve for days of greater ceremony.

They took no notice of my rapid pro motion, by which I understood the subject was not agreeable. No doubt it was injudicious in me to grow so quickly in the widow's good graces, but life in the Institution was not to my taste. The Dilworths, however delightful to Mrs. Finchley in the distance, were not the society in which I would have chosen to spend my days. It was a pleasant change from the dingy parlour, presided over by the fair and flinty reader of useful books, with the wind singing a continual dirge in its ventdators, and the Doctor making his dry remarks, — from classes, copying, and phrenology, — to find one's self in Mrs. Finchley's drawing-room, brilhantly lighted, fiUed with objects of art, enlivened with aU the new magazines, with music, and Miss Clarkson. I have named the chief attraction last, as the laws of eloquence enjoin.

Had Caversham Hall rejoiced only in the presence of its fair owner, my feet would scarcely have splashed up that match less lane, however wet the Sunday ; but the niece was not less gracious than the aunt, though far less demonstrative, for Miss Clarkson did every thing in an easy, unobtrusive way. She chimed in with Mrs. Finchley's invitations, and always welcomed me with a friendly smile. She sang and played sometimes for my delectation. She talked to me of the poets and new books. She admired, criticized, and even corrected my verses ; lent me her own novels, and gave me a great deal of literary advice ; of which the only remnant I re coUect was, never to attempt the profession of letters, as nature had not qualified me for it. My mind had been set adrift from its early moorings. Rosebank had forsaken me ; and being heroic as weU as virtuous in those days, I would forget Rosebank, and think of George and Lucy as my engaged cousins.

The first clause of that resolution I never accomplished. The flower of the Roses was not to be forgotten ; but all the sense and aU the pride I had came up to part my thoughts from her. Lucy had never loved me, and she had chosen another : should a man break his heart for that ? There were more women in the world ; and I had, at least in my youth, one of those elastic spirits which, if not utterly broken, rise and shake the burden from their wings and fancy themselves free, though evermore the weight returns with the summers and the winters, with twilights and old songs. This drifting time comes to most people, from one cause or another, and is the turning point of many lives. In it some go to the dogs, or another quarter owning the same initial ; some take to the making of their fortunes, some turn serious, and I think numerous weddings come out of it.

Storm-beaten and tired from the first disappointment — bke which bfe has no after shipwreck — the first friendly hand is welcomed as safe anchorage, the first kindly smile becomes a guiding star for the time ; and, if position and opportunity serve, the man will gbde impercep tibly into the track before him, and go on like a stream that has found a new channel. It was in such a mood that I became acquainted with Charlotte Ebzabeth Clarkson. Under any circum stances she was not an every-day lady. Moreover, I was well received ; and though her years and knowledge considerably exceeded mine, there was a good deal of kindred taste, and therefore a pos sibility of companionship between us. Yet the celebrated authoress never superseded Lucy Rose. There is only one whole love in the life of man ; all the rest are but half ones, though their name be legion.

Ashes may be strewn on that high place of the heart, but the old altar stands there stdl ; or, like the topmost story in the tower of Babel, it remains empty and desolate for ever. That is one article of my private confession not yet recanted. I admired Miss Clarkson's talents and respected her character. I would have been proud to have called her Mrs. Favoursham in after time, had for tune been propitious and the lady favourable ; but I never loved her like the queen of my first devo tion : not because she had less personal beauty — many might have disputed that fact, and I hold the matter to be one of magnetic choice ; not be cause the age was on the wrong side — the subtle archer takes no account of such barriers : but, with all her good sense, her learning, and her accom plishments, the charm that binds the soul was wanting, for the lights of sentiment and imagination were not there.

Miss Clarkson could have analyzed a poem, a picture, or a prospect, with a critical eye and a clear judgment ; but the miracles of genius or of nature did not strike her with the same awakening force they exert on minds nearer akin to them. I missed the feeling that lighted up Lucy's face when we read Paul and Virginia together; the fancies that filled her eyes at the sight of the first violet or the latest rose. In her youngest and most romantic day, Miss Clarkson would have been wooed and wedded with dignified propriety ; would have ruled her husband's house, counseled him in his difficulties, and worn weeds at his funeral in the most exemplary manner ; but never would she have treasured the hair of the dead next her heart, or kept a withered wdd flower for the sake of the absent and the changed.

If her youth had squandered any love, it was but a treasure of sdver — the fine gold she never owned. She had high principles and elegant tastes. The com fort and credit of any gentleman would have been safe in her keeping ; but the perception that sees, and the sympathy that enters into, unspoken feel ings, Miss Clarkson had not. Nevertheless, the lady was a perilous acquaintance for any sensible young man determined to preserve his liberty ; and having said so much by way of prologue, explanation, or, if you wdl, apology, I proceed with my Uttle disclosures. The ladies of the Hall were kind ; I was grate ful, and displayed that laudable sentiment in a variety of ways. I sat up at nights, unknown to all but Frank, for the purpose of reading Miss Clarkson's novels. They were very clever, though rather of the silver fork school, and quite introduced me to fashionable life.

The whims of Lady Catherine and the follies of Lord Fitz- Arthur ; Miss Julia's endeavours after a settlement, and Mrs. Highlow's exertions to be genteel, were effectually hit off. There were punishments for vice and rewards for virtue, and the story ended with a wedding or weddings somewhere in Bel gravia, and everybody, who deserved it, made happy for the rest of their lives. Mrs. Dilworth said they were very useful books to teach young people what the world was, though she did not approve of so much satire ; but Miss Clarkson had large organs of wit and comparison. I praised them to the skies, and really thought them enter taining : the fair novelist wrote what she had seen and heard ; it was true as far as it went, and rather new to me. I also wrote verses in the albums of both ladies, brought them aU the news I could collect, and read aloud to them the best things out of Blackwood, Fraser, and the Review's, because Miss Clarkson pleased to admire my reading, and Mrs. Finchley said it was charming.

I have already stated that her civilities were the earliest and the most prominent. Being the aunt, the owner, and the Hon. Mrs., this was a great point gained ; and, being a man, I took care to cultivate my advantage by paying the lady every possible attention. On her shrine were ostensibly laid my visits and verses, my news and my read ings. She was not the woman to waive her seig neurial rights even for an instant. She made me talk and listen, copy everything for her, carry her genteel messages (particularly where they included any saving) ; and as she thought it too expensive to be a regular subscriber, I was employed to wheedle the new books out of Mr. Love, a cheerful, patient, muchtried little man, who stdl rejoices in his sentimental designation, and keeps the lending library in London Street.

At length she took to criticizing my verses, and singing for my admiration, not to be outdone by her niece. They were both dreadful experiments, for the Hon. Mrs. Finchley's voice was as uncultivatible as her mind ; but I got used to them. Miss Clarkson evidently observed aU and was much amused thereat, which did not please me ; but what was to be done. As the winter evenings grew long and dark, the Hall became a greater inducement than ever : if I did not flatter and serve its fair proprietor, there would be no rest for the sole of my foot within it. In short, I found myself playing that very respectable game in which so many a son of fallen Adam has practised, little to his own or other people's comfort, — namely, paying strong attentions to one lady and getting deeply interested in another.

I was first aroused to a sense of my perilous position by Frank Wilton. He had never been admitted to the splendours of the HaU ; Mrs. Finchley did not hke such very young people, and Mrs. Dilworth thought it would take the boy out of his place. Many a Sunday evening had my conscience been troubled for leaving the kindly honest youth, so long my close companion, as lonely as he was sure to be when not at work in the Dilworth mansion ; but there was a lady in the case, Frank made no complaints, and, like men of all ages, I came to think the thing quite right in consequence. He was the only one in the house, however, who acknowledged my advance ment in that fair society; and I took pride in letting him see its occasional signs and tokens. One of these was a small sketch of the little village by the Thames, which Miss Clarkson had given me, and I exhibited in our own room.

Frank admired it greatly; but admiration was not the only thing in his mind, for, looking me straight in the face, he said, " Mr. Favoursham, if I may take the hberty, which of them is it you're after ? " " I don't understand you, Frank," said I, looking as innocent as possible ; but Frank was not to be foiled in that fashion. " I mean the ladies at the Hall, Mr. Favoursham. I never would have found it out myself, for the want of causality, you see ; but I heard the Dilworths talking, and they don't half like your goings on. I'll tell you why, Mr. Favoursham, — because they all think it's Mrs. Finchley, and Mr. Arkwright had a great hold there before you came : it was every evening at the Hall and every morning a letter ; we aU thought he would go to bve there at last : but now she has turned him off entirely, and I heard him say she would do the same with you when somebody came who pleased her better.

He's spiteful, Mr. Favoursham ; but 1 think there's truth in it. The widow would be a good match for you, with her fine house and lands and money in the bank, if she could be worked up to it ; but it's my opinion that woman will never marry anybody, for the pure love of keeping aU to herself. If you take my advice, you'll look after Miss Clarkson : she has far the best temper of the two, and makes a deal of money by her books." I laughed heartily at Frank's honest admoni tions ; but he had thrown light on the Ddworth silence. No wonder they did not half hke my goings on, if Arkwright had stood in such high favour before my advent. I recoUected how care lessly Mrs. Finchley had treated him from almost our first acquaintance ; how bitterly disappointed he looked in consequence ; and to myself, as well as the Dilworths, it became evident that Frederic Favoursham was his victorious rival.

I was a young man at this time and a poor one, not at all above the temptations of house and lands and money in the bank, as Frank set them forth, even though the weU-dowered bride had some twenty years the advantage of me ; but not for all the wealth of the Indies she despised would I have consented to become the bondsman, alias happy husband, of the Honourable Mrs. Finchley. It is my present conviction that, as regarded me, young Wdton's opinion was perfectly correct. Though ever so determined on conquest, I was not the man to win the widow. She would have em ployed me about her books and messages, made me flatter and listen on from one leap-year to another ; but the HaU, the acres, the dividends, woidd have remained her own undivided property. I did not think so then, and took a virtuous terror of committing myself; made solemn resolutions to be on my guard with Mrs. Finchley ; and admired Frank's sense in recommending her niece, though the form of his exhortation was not to my mind.

Blunt-minded and plain-spoken boy, he was never to be troubled with my pride and scruples ; neither did he know the clear under standing and prudent nature of the lady. I had no position to warrant my thinking of Miss Clarkson, except as a superior acquaintance, and never might have. That thought made me feel myself worthless among men ; yet it did not come so keen and spear-like now, as after George Fen ton's talk in the summer-house. I could wait and hope for better days with a perhaps I was doing the best I could ; and my "wings of vanity," as Spenser has it, spread forth to think that the wealthy widow of Caversham Hall was deemed within my asking. Arkwright's part of the play I could not fully understand. At first his silence on my prefer ment had been as deep as a Ddworth could desire.

Frank's disclosures explained that ; but latterly he had turned from the parental poUcy when we happened to be alone, and not only talked on the subject, but congratulated me on having made such friends. "It was quite an advantage to a young man to get into the company of ladies who had traveUed and seen so much good society. Miss Clarkson's conversation would improve any body, and Mrs. Finchley had a good heart, though she was fuU of whims ; but he wondered I was not afraid to come down that horrid lane on dark nights; he would go oftener himself only for it, and it did not suit his health to be exposed to night air." So Mr. Arkwright went on to forget my inferiority, which till now had been always present to his mind. He lent me newspapers, he offered me comforters when I was going out on Sunday evenings, and he discoursed continuady about the HaU and the ladies when there was nobody within hearing.

It was evi dently his policy to concdiate me, and the reason came out in one of our private conferences. " Mr. Favoursham," said he, after repeated felicitations on my good fortune in having found a footing in the Hall, " couldn't you mention me to them some day ? Mrs. Finchley was very kind at one time ; but perhaps they did not find me lively enough. I'm so occupied with my studies, you know, and she never invites me now. But you have such influence with her, aud jtou are so good-natured, couldn't you just hint that the state of my health required relaxation ? I would take it as a great kindness, Mr. Favoursham, and so would my father and mother, I'm sure." I felt both proud and generous. My scorner had come down to ask my intercession with the Hon. Mrs. Finchley on his behalf; and as I did not fear a rival in her affections, I not only pro mised, but really endeavoured to do it.

Promises and endeavours do not always avail with ladies. AVhen I mentioned the subject in a sort of confidence to Miss Clarkson, by way of securing her powerful assistance, she smiled, shook her head, and advised me to be cautious, for Mr. Dilworth and her aunt were old acquaintances : and when I ventured to insinuate Mr. Arkwright's wishes into the widow's ear, she gave me rather a fierce look and her own head a toss, observing that "Dr. Dilworth and his wife were very nice people, but some young men were apt to forget their position, and she never encouraged the like." After those warning words I did not repeat my experiment, and Arkwright, perhaps from his knowledge of the lady, was judicious enough to understand from a civil hint that I had not been successful. However, he took his revenge on the wilful widow.

From that day I heard no more of her good heart, but Mr. Arkwright's animad versions were as severe as could be expected from a deposed favourite. He enlarged on her ignor ance and vanity, her stinginess, her violent temper, and, worse than ad, pronounced the Hon. Mrs. Finchley decidedly plain. My mind echoed his new sentiments ; but I had eaten the widow's salt : moreover, she was Miss Clarkson's aunt, and chivalry forbade such criticisms of a lady. I therefore championed her cause with such good effect, that the enemy retired into partial silence, though there was no keeping Mr. Arkwright en tirely from the dispraise of his former patroness. To it he returned whenever an opportunity offered, as though it had been his well in the wilderness ; but let me remind my readers that the young man's mind was thus unburthened only in our solitary communings : he rivaUed his parents in reverence to the rich widow when she visited the Institution, and spoke of her with deep respect to everybody but myself.

While these things passed, time wore on, widen ing the distance which absence always makes be tween me and my early friends. Robert Rose remained on the Continent, his uncle having taken a fancy to the German watering places. Lucy's letters became few, though they were stdl kind ; her grandfather wrote oftener, but when the good man happened to mention the Fentons, something like dissatisfaction occasionally crept out, and I guessed the cause. George sent me most cousinly letters once a quarter or so. Mrs. WiUiam sometimes took up her pen to say how anxious they were aU about me ; and from their late epistles I learned that they heard Harry was in London doing weU; that the Rollinsons had made a division of the property, arbitrated by old Fenton and his son, Edward, as the eldest, getting the mansion and estate, Dick getting the miUs, and their mother her widow's share out of the funded thousands which were to have portioned the three sisters of my former pupil.

Another letter informed me that Edward had asked Mary Ann, and Richard, Ebza, from their papa; and next week somebody sent me a Manchester Guardian, in which, among the marriages by the Rev. Radford Riddle, I found "David Lawson, Esq., of Mid- Lothian, North Britain, to Janette, relict of the late Edward RoUinson, Esq., of Oak Park, Lanca shire." There was great indignation in the Fenton firm, and also on the part of my distinguished cousins, at that wedding, which, it seems, came off rather unexpectedly at the house of one of Davy's friends in Salford. All the servants who knew of it were turned off, and the officiating clergyman got considerable scandal ; but Davy contrived to remain steward of the estate, chiefly because Ned could not manage it without him, and budt him self a house on one of the best farms, called it Lawson Lodge, retired thither with his lady and her jointure, and was henceforth reckoned among the bghts of the Rev. Riddle's chapel.

When the Dilworths shut up the house and went on their winter excursion, I did not go to Rosebank or Manchester, but to Caversham Hall. As I expect to be read in families, it may be as well to appease propriety, by explaining that Mrs. Finchley had a brother very poor, very deaf, and near seventy. He was a widower with one daughter, and had failed twenty years before in the very business which his nephew, Miss Clark son's brother, had made so successful ; since that time he had lived on a smaU annuity saved out of the wreck, in the learned city of Oxford, where his daughter, stid unmarried, helped the famdy funds by going out as a daily governess. It was chro nicled in the neighbourhood that their wealthy relative had never taken the slightest notice of father or daughter since her arrival from India, but now they were asked to spend the holidays at Caversham Hall, and I was invited ostensibly to meet Mrs. Finchley's brother.

Except an occa sional shout about the time he was in the iron trade — for it never left his memory, and he spoke tremendously loud, as if in hopes of hearing him self, poor gentleman — Mr. Clarkson had little con versation for any body ; and, as he had left his trumpet in Oxford, answering him was no joke. His daughter Annie was about the age of her cousin Charlotte. She looked shabby, and, if single ladies will excuse the term, old maidish, for want of either the skill or the means to dress herself; her education was limited almost to a few accomplishments ; and she had but two sub jects of discourse — the imprudence of the Oxford ladies and the woes of a daily governess. They were the only guests besides myself. Mrs. Finchley said she preferred calm inteUectual conversation to a crowd of frivolous company ; but I was told that the only party she ever attempted at the HaU had been a decided failure, and she never forgave herself that unnecessary expense.

I did my duty in the serving and flattering line ; and was not sorry when the hohdays came to an end, though Miss Clarkson was there, and not jealous, as I could not help seeing. Was it dignity or was it carelessness ? Was she friendly with me only as her aunt's admirer, and a convenient young man ? My vanity answered these questions one way, and my sense another. In the meantime the work was hard, but industry prospers. I was seen so often in good company that Mrs. Finchley's familiars began to question her about me. The vdlagers did me reverence ; and Reading being but a country town, notwithstanding the Ddworth Institu tion, all its tea tables had news concerning me. In short, people began to reckon Frederic Favour sham a fortunate youth, and it is probable he took on airs accordingly ; but, like many a man caUed fortunate, from Nebuchadnezzar downwards, his fall was approaching even in the wake of his gran deur, as shaU be related in the next chapter. VOL.

Chapter II

They who have climbed so high have learned or found That courts and cabinets are slippery ground ; And they that on the multitude have built, Can say how lightly is that favour spilt ; Yet ne'er was man in more uncertain case Than he who standeth in a lady's grace. — Sir Jasper's Phymes. The hope of the Ddworth Une was one of those gentlemen who must and wid succeed in their little enterprises, because the many stumbling blocks on which other people's schemes faU and come to nought — spirit, feeling, or the like, — are never permitted to check their progress. The pride can be pocketed, the inclination postponed, and the grudge laid aside for a season. The respect of their neighbours, the interests of their friends, and, what generally lies nearest their hearts, their own comfort and safety, can be sacri ficed for the sake of the object in view.

Such players are sure to win, and for the benefit of all readers like-minded, I here record a notable in stance of Mr. Arkwright's policy. The Institution had been re-opened, and was going on in its accustomed track, — visited ever}7 day by Mrs. Finchley, and much ornamented by my own presence and the gossip thereon. The spring was coming, but the nights were still dark and dirty, when my lady patroness — what evil spirit put it in her mind ? — invented to make the Ddworths a present which would please them and cost her very little. Among the chattels she had brought from Italy was a smad but beautiful model in plaster, said to be by the hand of Canova, of a group he was to execute in marble for his great patron, then the Emperor of France and master of Europe. Before the block was ready it seems the Empire went to pieces, Canova became the "Pope's packer," and the plaster model was bought and sold by many hands till it reached those of the Hon. Mrs. Finchley, who never forgot that she gave a hundred francs for it.

The sub ject was Minerva appearing to Ulysses. The goddess stood armed, but had taken off her helmet that the favoured mortal might behold her divinity, and the wisest of the Greeks had let fall his shield and bent before her in astonishment and awe. The attitudes were fine and the faces full of expression. The spirit of the classic times and their mystic mythology seemed to have descended on the moulder's mind ; but the fair disburser of the hundred francs set store by it, first, because aU her friends said she had got a cheap bargain ; and secondly, because a phrenologist of Paris had told her that the head of Minerva exactly resembled her own. If the un lucky Frenchman, in a moment of more than common complimenting, did give utterance to such a tale, I trust the recording angel has not it down against him, for a greater story was never told ; but Mrs. Finchley believed it with all her heart, expected everybody to believe it, and part of her reason for wishing to bestow a copy of it on the Dilworths was, that they might have such a scientific portrait to set up in the Institution.

There hved at that time in Minster Street, Reading, a certain Italian called Plino, who kept a toy-shop and made images. I believe he had marched under the tricolour, and been taken prisoner in some of the Peninsula battles ; but he found his fortune at Reading, for a widow who owned the toy-shop married him, and, whether before or after the ceremony I never found out, but he learned the use of gin with all its relations, was very poor in consequence, but had extraordinary skdl in modeUing, and could copy any thing in plaster. Plino worked very cheap. Mrs. Finchley had therefore selected him to copy her Minerva and Ulysses. There was no difficulty in trusting him with it, for Plino was honest and careful to a proverb, in spite of the gin ; but how to transfer the precious deposit to his shop was a grand consideration.