The Steward: a romance of real life. With portrait of the author, and twenty-two ... illustrations on steel, &c. by Onwhyn

Front matter

THE STEWAKD: A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. BY HENRY COCKTON. Author of "Sylvester Sound," ''The Somnambulist," 'The Love Match," "Valentine Vox, etc." With Portrait of the Author, aad Twentytwo Illustrations os SJsjl, by Onwhyn. LONDON: W. M. CLARK, 16 & 17, WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW MDCCCL. P. P. Thoms, Printer, Warwick Square. Part I Part II Part III Part IV. Part V Part VI ILLUSTRATIONS. •Corney discovering George at his Devotions. The Widow overpowered by Sir John's Declaration. D'Almaine introducing George into Congenial Society The Widow objects to part with Juliana. -The unexpected Visitor. The Confession. Corney discovers that he has been Robbed. The Day is named. ■Corney's Portrait Framed and Glazed. Freeman's Attack on George. The Letter. The Forced Rejection. -The Deed. The Conscience-Stricken.

The Intelligence. The Suppliant. Corney Confesses he's a Courtin'. George's Emotion at witnessing the Death of Lejeune, Aunt Ann objects to Corney's going to Foreign Parts. D'Almaine struck with Admiration. -The Proof of Affection. The Attack. Portrait of the Author, CONTENTS. Chap. I. — The Introduction ......... J Chap. II. — Lejeune's First Visit to the Hall Chap. III.— The Failure 23 Chap. IV.— The Fatigue 27 Chap. V. — The Manifestation of Love ; 3-8 Chap. VI.— The Declaration 45 Chap. VII. — George's Week in London ....... 60 Chap. VIII.— The Day'.is Named 107 Chap. IX. — The Reconciliation 116" 4. Chap. X. — The Momentous Question ....... 13.'> Chap. XL— The Forced Rejection U2 Chap. XII.— The Advice 148 Chap. XIII.— The Test 155 Chap. XIV.— The Ring IC.y Chap. XV.— The Widow's Decision 1 7ft Chap. XVI.— The Deed . . . ■ 197 Chap. XVII.— The Intelligence . . 206 Chap. XVIII. — Jane's Firmness Developed 223 Chap. XIX.— The Mourners at the Hall 230 Chap. XX.— The Funeral 2-l(» Chap. XXI.— The Will 24(i Chap. XXII.— The Last of Poor Richard Lejeune 26£> Chap. XXIII.— The Departure for Italy 281 Chap. XXIV.— D'Almaine at the Hall 299 Chap. XXV. — Corney's Wedding 324 Chap. XXVI. — George's Security 361 Chap. XXVII. — Juliana and Charles are United' Chap. XXVIII.— The Conclusion » . A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

Introduction

. The true character cf an Old English Gentleman was never sustained better than by Sir John Fitzgerald Croly, Knight, of Croly Hall, Suf folk. He lived on his estate, which was worth between four and five thousand a-year; and, while his judgment, local position, and general influence, commanded the respect of the wealthy, his mercy as a magis trate, combined with his exuberant generosity as a man, very naturally endeared him to the poor. Sir John had two sons, — the brothers, whose history we are now about to trace, — the name of the elder being George, and that of the younger Charles. Charles was all life and animation, full of health and manly vigour, as amiable and as generous in disposition as Sir John himself; but George was a hypocrite — a heartless hypocrite, wrapped in the cloak of religion.

He was originally intended for the church, and had constantly expressed the most earnest desire to return to the University with the view of being ordained ; but Sir John, who had discovered his real character, and who had compelled him to leave the University because he could trust him in Cambridge no longer, discoun tennnced that which he most sincerely felt would be an awful desecration. " I know you," said he, on the last occasion on which this subject was reverted to; "I know you, George, better than you know y ourself -r but you have sufficient knowledge of yourself to know that religion with you is but a mask." " Why should I wear it?" demanded George. " To deceive! — to deceive, sir!" replied Sir John. " But you need not even hope to deceive me." "I have no wish to deceive you," said George; "and if my conduct has not been at all times strictly irreproachable — " " If your conduct has not been at all times strictly irreproachable, sir!

What do you mean? You, whose^jxaudulently contracted debts No. 1. jS0%& IS : I have paid a dozen times — you, whom I have twice saved from transportation — you, whose vices and crimes, whose frauds and forgeries caused the premature death of your too fond mother, who was so in fatuated that her love for you increased in proportion as your title to her affection diminished — you presume to say, as if it were a mere hy pothesis, ' if your conduct has not been at all times strictly irreproachable!' Can you imagine for one moment that I have forgotten these things? I promised her, whose death you so heartlessly accellerated, that I would not reveal them, nor will I ; but I cannot forget them, I cannot forget." " Nor forgive," rejoined George, " nor forgive, like a christian: nor will you admit that a man may repent."

" God forbid that I should not admit that," said Sir John. " Could I believe that you had repented, not a syllable, having refe/ence to the past, should ever again escape my lips ; but repentance is a virtue of which you have no practical knowledge; under that very mask, which you artfully ask me why you should wear, your conduct — your general conduct now is just as irreproachable as ever! You may imagine that, because my fatherly pride has prompted me to invest you nominally with the Stewardship of my estate, I confide in your judgment and in tegrity! I have not the slightest confidence in either. I have watched you with the eye of a lynx, and you have succeeded in inspiring the conviction that I have a dishonorable, heartless son : a son who prays with fervour only, when he prays for his father's death !

" " You wrong me," said George, with an affected sigh ; " but I must bear all meekly . My feelings must be wounded still: still must I in silence endure persecution, though it rend my very heartstrings. Yet will I once more appeal to you. Will you consent to my attaining the only dearly cherished object I have on earth?" " Your ordination! " cried Sir John. " God forbid ! I do not pretend, George, to know your real motive ; but I feel convinced that you have some deep design, therefore, never revert to the subject again." Neither of this, nor of any other conversation of a similar character, had Charles the slightest knowledge. He yvas studying for the Bar, and resided principally in Town ; and although, when at home, he could not but observe a marked coolness existing between Sir John and George ; he ascribed it, on the one hand, to the fact of their always living to gether, and, on the other, to George's characteristic taciturnity.

There was, however, one who was not acquainted with the nature and substance of these conversations, and that was Cornelius Craske, commonly called Corney Craske, the son of one of Sir John's oldest tenants. Corney, whose father held but a small occupation, not more than forty acres, with scarcely sufficient capital to work that, had been sent to school by Sir John, and subsequently taken into his service. He was the most especial favourite of' George, for he would never appear either to see or to know of any of George's delinquencies. It is true he watched him narrowly ; but George had no conception of that : — it is also true that, by virtue of listening, he had acquired a knowledge of all those transactions yvhich Sir John and George were equally anxious OP REAL LIFE. to conceal ; but, as he never breathed a syllable on the subject to any one but his father, they could have no suspicion that those transactions were not to him unknown.

To his father he communicated all that transpired. Secrets he was able to keep from all the yvorld but him : he hoarded them in his breast as misers hoard their gold, in the full conviction of security ; and, as he overheard the whole of the conver sation just recorded, he went to him with the view of making another deposit. " Well Dad," said he, as he entered, " and how goes it now?" "Oh! middlin', Corney, middlin'," replied the old man. " How are yow, and how do they find 'emselves up at the Hall?" "All right but two on 'em: they don't feel right. There's been suc!_ a mortal kick up again this morning." " What about, Corney, eh, what about?" "The old game again! One wants to be a parson, and the other won't have it." " Oh, Sir John and Mr. George! Ah, I see. Well, I on'y know one thing and that ain't two, if I was Sir John, and I found his mind right on 'termined, I wouldn't stand out a mite longer."

" Well, he'd make a regular beauty of a parson no doubt ; — here, a man who's been twice saved from transportation!" " On'y once, Corney ; come, come, on'y once. Don't make him a single mite worse than he is." " I tell you twice he's been saved! Sir John said so to-day." " But not afore yow, Corney? — not afore yow?" " No; but he told him, and I heard it all. I thought there was going to be suffen up fresh so I planted myself at my old post again." " Ah, the keyhole, Corney ; I'm mortal afeared o' that old post o' yourn. I doubt, Corney bor, yow'l be catched one o' these times, and if yow be, down goes yar castle. But is this a fresh case o' forgery then?" " No, it seems to be an old un; but Sir John told him flat he'd saved him twice." " Well. Coney bor, all I can say is, know nothin'. Let what yoyv know go along o' what yow don know ; that's the way to get on, bor : — know nothin'.

I know'd a man as made heaps o' money by knoyvin' nothin'. They chose him on the old corporation, and when they went to tell him they'd chose him, says he, ' I can't sarve.' ' Why not?' says they. ' 'Cause,' says he, 'I know nothin'!' 'Then,' says they, 'yar the very man we want!' So they had him in, and by knowin' nothin' he puity well feathered his nest." " And who knows," said Corney, " I shan't feather mine. If it should by-and-by be known that I know all, they may make it answer my purpose then to know nothing.'' " It answers your purpose to know nothin' now," returned Craske. '' It's yar bread. Whatever Mr. George does, ain't rrothin' to do along o' yow. All yow have to do is to pick up yuf crumbs and know nothin'. If yow lose yar bread, bor, through knowin' what you know, yow'll never get it again by tellin' others.

Take my advice, bor, an' do yar duty, an' when yow've done that yow've done all ; an' whatever yow know, bor, about Mr. George, be sure that yow never know nothin'. This was certainly very good advice, but it did not go fa:- enough for Corney: he had an impression that the knowledge he had acquired might, eventually, be made available, and with this impression he re turned.

Chapter II

•EJETJKE'S FIRST VISIT TO THE HALL. That there exists a strong prejudice against members of the legal profession generally, is a fact which may be held to be indisputable: that the great majority of them are supposed by the community at large to be actuated by no other principle than that of self-interest, is also an incontrovertible truth: but how strong soever this prejudice may be — however deeply rooted the conviction that chicanery and dishonour form their general characteristics — it may here be recorded that even slander never breathed upon the bright reputation of Mr. Lejeune, under whose immediate guidance Charles studied ibr the bar. Taught in early youth to depend upon his own exertions, he had Taised himself by diligence and probity to eminence; but being not only intellectual and eloquent, but high-minded, amiable, and just, he sought' not, and therefore omitted to gain, those honours which are, usually conferred upon men whose motives are not quite so stubbornly pure.

Contemning the heartless cunning, the subtle jugglery, practised by the majority of those with whom he came in contact, he early resolved on the pursuit of one course, and from that he never swerved. He would never consent to advocate the cause of an oppressor, but was. ever ready to vindicate that of the oppressed. There were many by whom he was surrounded, who cared not whom they ruined if they could but ensure the success of their clients, however tyrannous or -vicious those clients might be: there were many who held it to be their duty to pursue any prescribed course, no matter what misery they might thereby entail upon the innocent; but he could never be tempted to conduct any cause which he did not believe to be perfectly just; nor did he ever fail, when wealthy villains sought the destruction of the comparatively helpless, to thunder the naked truth into their unwilling ears.

But although, while performing his public duty, he would make the court ring with his indignant eloquence — in private he was mild and unassuming in the extreme. He had been called upon to endure much mental affliction. He married early to a lady of great personal beauty and rare accomplishments, whom he tenderly loved, and who was attached to him devotedly. Four daughters were the fruit of this marriage; but while giving birth to the fourth, it pleased God to take her to himself. This, to Lejeune, was a heavy blow indeed, and for some time his reason appeared to have deserted him ; but he eventually rallied. He had his children still ; and as they grew up in semblance of her who gave them birth, his fortitude and resignation strengthened as they grew, until he became comparatively happy. At the age of eighteen, however, one of them died: a few weeks elapsed, and another followed — and in less than three months from that period, a third was called away; thus leaving him but one upon earth to claim his affection — and that one so delicate that he scarcely expected that even she would be spared.

Gradually, however, by virtue of care and skill, the symptoms which immediately preceded the death of her sisters disappeared, and at the age of twenty-one, Juliana, although delicate still, enjoyed sufficient health to cause him to banish his fears. Now, at this particular period. Sir John pressingly invited Lejeune and Juliana to spend a month at the Hall; and as this was well timed — it being just at the commencement of the long vacation — Le jeune, ever anxious for Juliana to have a change of scene, accepted trie invitation, and when the preliminaries for their departure had been arranged, they posted to the Hall accompanied by Charles. On their arrival Sir John received them with all the warmth of pure friendship, and when he had sufficiently expressed the pleasure he really felt, he introduced Juliana to the Widow Wardle, his house keeper, of whom she had heard much, and whom the reader will be better acquainted with anon.

" Now, dear," said the Widow, with an affectionate expression, which at once won the heart of Juliana, "come with me: I'll endeavour to make you so happy!" " Stop," said Charles playfully : " Miss Lejeune, you must not believe anything Mrs. Wardle may say about me." " Indeed," said Juliana, with a gentle smile, " I feel already that I must! — you expect me to hear that, like other young people, although you con duct yourself admirably abroad, you are very, very naughty at home!" " He's a sad dog, a sad dog," interposed Sir John, as Juliana took the widow's arm and retired: "but come," he added, "come, let us have a glass of wine. Mr. Lejeune," he continued, as he again grasped his hand, " I am happy to see you, and the only request I have to make is, that while you are here you will consider yourself at home.

Now, Charles my boy, pass that bottle." Having had a glass of wine, they took a stroll round the garden, the extent and beauty of which quite astonished Lejeune ; while Juliana, delighted with the elegant manners and affectionate solicitude of the Widow, went with her from room to room, admiring every thing she saw; and certainly the taste displayed justified her highest admiration. At six precisely dinner was announced, and the party, consisting of Sir John, Mr. Lejeune, Charles, George, Juliana, and the Widow, sat down to a most unique banquet. During dinner George scarcely uttered a word. He was dressed in a peculiarly formal style, while his manners and neckcloth were equally stiff. Charles, on the contrary, chatted yvith all : he moreover delighted all but George ; and as Sir John was in excellent spirits, while Lejeune and Juliana were highly pleased with their reception, everything passed off gaily.

" Well," said Sir John, when the cloth had been removed, " I sup-, pose, Charles, you have made up your mind to be the Lord High Chancellor of England?" " Of course," replied Charles, " what can be more natural? The odds against me can't be very great, seeing that the number of candi dates for the office is so small ! But perhaps you would be satisfied if I were only Lord Chief Justice of the Coftrt of Queen's Bench, or the mere Chief Baron of the Exchequer? Any berth of that sort would satisfy me ; I 'm not at all ambitious." " Oh! either yvould do," rejoined Sir John. " Well, suppose then we say the Chief Baron at once. Perhaps I'd better get measured for my wig, to begin with? I may receive the appointment when I little expect it!" "I never yet heard of such a case," said Lejeune. "Very little experience will show that you'll expect much more than you'll get.

I would, nevertheless, hold up the honours of a profession to every member and every student: they tend to inspire emulation, without which eminence can never be attained. I don't believe that there ever was a man who unexpectedly received any legal appointment," " I don't suppose there ever was," said Sir John ; " but how do you get on with your elocution, Charles ? are you able to make a tidy speech yet?" "A tidy speech?" replied Charles ; " you should hear me! But then you've no idea of the practice I've had. I'm at it every morning. Immediately on leaping out of bed, I convert my chamber into the court. I stick that old portrait of yours before the glass, and there's my lord staring me full in the face. On my right I establish a row of boots — these are the gentlemen of the jury: on my left is the cup board, or witness-box ; yvhile on the cane-bottomed chairs before me are seated a lot of my learned friends.

Well, I conceive the case opened. It 's an action for anything — say, for breach of promise — and then I begin. If I 'm for the plaintiff, of course I pile up the pathetic : if for the defendant, I reduce the thing at once to a mere bagatelle. For the plaintiff, I describe in tones and strains which bring tears into the eyes of the row of boots — I mean the intelligent gentlemen of the jury— how firmly, how fondly, hoyv passionately she loved the recreant, base, and black-hearted defendant. If for him, I transfer her affection to his pocket, and undertake to show that she never loved him at all. And I'm as likely to be right in the one case as in the other ; for how can I tell whether she loved him or not? In a case of this kind, how ever, give me the plaintiff. I see a tear starting in every eye : I hear the ladies sighing and sobbing around me — and while the intelligent gentlemen of the jury are blowing their noses with unexampled violence, lest it should be thought that they could shed a tear, I behold the judge working his facial muscles and screwing up his mouth into all sorts of shapes, as if from the depths of his emotion he would say ' I '11 tell you what it is : I can't stand this much longer.' This will strike into your rural mind an idea of the deep sensation I create, and yet you ask if I am able to make a tidy speech!

Were Demosthenes himself to rise again, he would never, in my bedroom, beat me." The style in which this was delivered, was of a character so facetious, that it convulsed them all with laughter ; but that which seriously pleased Sir John most, was the fact of Charles having preserved " that old portrait." " He '11 do !" he exclaimed; " Mrs. Wardle! he'll do!" " Do?" echoed Charles ; " I don't know that I ought to be satisfied with the office of Chief Baron." " What a powerful effect eloquence has!" observed the Widow. " It is the very soul of the profession," said Lejeune. " Why!" cried Sir John, "Mrs. Wardle! why even you will want to take a few lessons on elocution after this !" " I shall be most happy to do so," returned the Widow with a smile. " I fear the majority of us do not sufficiently cultivate the art of speaking well, although it is an art which we are daily and hourly called upon to exercise.

The influence of a graceful delivery is con spicuous in every sphere: it commands attention — it creates admiration — and while its power is pleasing to those yvho feel themselves bound to attend, it invests those by whom the accomplishment has been acquired with an unaffected air of superiority. We see its effect in every position in which we may be placed, and in every occupation in which we may be engaged : we see its effect upon children, who are charmed by a graceful delivery, while the impression made upon them is lasting : we see its effect in portraying present pleasure and prospec tive happiness, and in defending ourselves and others from the calum nies of the envious : in short, we almost hourly see its effects in our common intercourse with society, both upon strangers and upon friends ; and yet, despite the advantages with which it manifestly teems, the art of speaking well has been generally so neglected, that comparatively few are able to enforce their views even in private circles, when they feel that all around are attending to what they say, without feeling so ner vous and confused as to be unable to say what they wish to say, or to control what they really do say, if indeed they know what they are saying at the time.

In a professional point of view, it is more impor tant still. In the pulpit, for example, how great are its effects? and how highly its value should be appreciated? But as the power of per suasion consists chiefly in delivery, and as neither the sensation created at the time, nor the impression that may be subsequently felt, depends upon what is said so much as upon the manner of saying it, its influ ence is equally felt in promulgating sacred truths from the pulpit, and in proving guilt or innocence at the bar. I feel," she added, " that I ought not to have spoken on this subject in the presence of Mr. Lejeune, but I hope that I have proved that I appreciate its importance, and that therefore / shall be extremely happy to receive a few lessons from Mr. Charles." "That's rich," said Charles; "conspicuously rich.

I shall want a few lessons from you." " You have had one already," observed Juliana. " Very well ! Then we '11 call this the first of the series." " I perfectly agree with you, madam," said Lejeune ; " the art of speaking well is not sufficiently cultivated." "Well," interposed Sir John, slyly, " if we grant that it might with advantage be cultivated more extensively among men, there surely can exist no necessity for teaching that art to the ladies!" "These gentlemen," said the Widow, addressing Juliana, "are going to be very severe upon us now. I therefore think, dear, we had better withdraw from the contest." "I think," said Juliana, with a smile, " that we shall leave one advo cate at least." " Yes, dear," said the Widow, " we shall leave an advocate; but we don't know which side he will take."

" Very true," returned Juliana, " but he mu6t in our absence con sider himself refined for the defendants." They then retired, and Lejeune immediately afterwards, turning to Sir John, said, " that's a clever woman — a very clever woman." " Mrs. Wardle, you mean. Yes, she has the reputation of being one of the most intellectual women in the county." " If she do not deserve that reputation," said Lejeune, " the county must possess some rare specimens of intelligence. Is she at all related to you?" " Oh! not at all. She is the daughter of a clergyman, the widow of a clergyman, and the mother of a clergyman, her son having just been ordained." " Has she lived with you long?" " Between three and four years . She came soon after the death of poor Wardle — an amiable, honourable, upright man, if ever there were one on earth.

He was our incumbent: he also acted as my steward; for, having no private property, he found an additional two hun dred a-year come in well. But of course I never regarded him but as a friend, and as a friend he was most sincere. Poor Wardle! I shall never forget the fervour, the intense thrilling fervour with which he seized my hand just before he expired, on hearing me say that I would take care of her. He could not speak: he tried, and failed — but his gaze was sufficiently eloquent for me. But, come," he added, unable to conceal his emotion, " Charles, pass the bottle: we'll drink to his memory." George at this moment applied his handkerchief to his eyes, and Teally appeared to weep. " Well," said Sir John, having recovered himself, " have you youno gentlemen nothing to say?" " Yes, said Charles, " 1 have.

I have to propose to you the health of one whose character corresponds with that of him whose memory we have just drank in silence. I know him to be amiable : I know him to be honourable. I could — but in his presence I will not say more, know ing that to a man of his acute sensibility, it is sometimes painful to be praised. I'll therefore simply give you health and prosperity to one of my best friends, Mr. Lejeune." " Sir John, and gentlemen," said Mr. Lejeune, when the toast had been duly honoured, "I thank you sincerely for the compliment you have paid me. My friend Charles has ever commanded my esteem, and in proposing health and happiness to you, Sir John, I beg to assure you that your friendship is an honour which I hope throughout life to enjoy." " Mr. Lejeune," replied Sir John, " I am proud to hear that my boy has succeeded in winning the esteem of one so well able to appreciate those gentlemanly feelings which are the germs of true nobility of cha racter.

It is an honour to him, and I have not the slightest doubt But we can say more on that subject when we are alone. I dare say," he added with a smile, " I dare say there's plenty of room for im provement. We '11 nevertheless drink his health. Charles, my boy, I was going to say something — but never mind that." " Well," said Charles, " that is one of the most unique specimens of a compliment on record. We have long had Coke upon Littleton: we must now have ' Croly upon his son.' ' I was going to say something — but never mind that.' But, father," he added with earnestness, " I do mind it, because I know your heart so well — I was going to say something — but never mind that. I have however something more to say, I have to say that I feel much pleasure in proposing health and happiness to old brother George.

The only fault I have to find with him is that he won't talk. Good health to you, old fellow," he added, taking George's hand. " We don't waste much time together : but I think of you though I don't see you. Good health to you, old boy!" " Gentlemen," said George, in the most solemn style, " there is nothing perhaps in this lower world more touching than the moral beauty of brotherly love. Be assured that I reciprocate those sacred feelings of fraternal affection, the warm manifestation of which you have just witnessed. I thank you for drinking the health of so humble an individual as myself, and beg to be permitted to propose to you the health of the ladies." The toast was drank, but George's style created a sensation which was not very pleasing. "Well," said Charles, " now that we have drunk the health of the ladies in the aggregate, I have to propose one in particular.