Our Square Circle. A novel. By the late J. H. F. ... completed by his Daughter (L. H. Friswell)

Chapter I. The Professor Gives Us His Opinion Of Little Polly Pilkerton

AND TELLS US HOW HE WON HIS WIFE. "Bravo!" said the Professor, as Dr. Wilkins ceased speaking. " I call little Polly Pilker ton a sensible girl, to choose the poetical Ben in preference to the practical Keach Stoker." "Yes," answered Miss Trissy ; "I am so glad that horrid man lost her." " It was a mean thing on his part to tell Polly that Ben Mansell had been betting, even if he thought he had," said Miss Mango. " All fair in love and war," replied her brother. " Don't you think so, Deane ? " VOL. II. B •"-p « I — I really don't know," I stammered, taken by surprise, and not knowing what to answer, especially as I felt both Miss Wilkins and Miss Mango were awaiting my reply, and had turned their eyes on my face. " Don't know, dear boy ? God bless me ! " gasped the Professor, waving his white hands.

" Why ! long before I was your age, I was married ; wooed and won Mrs. Flitter — her maiden name was Finch — told her no end of stories." "In fact, you were a regular Claude Mel notte — eh, Professor ? " said the Doctor. " Exactly ; precisely. Said — anything that came into my head that — I thought would please her. What was the consequence ? Won her ! carried her off ! married her, while three other fellows were thinking about it." " Did you elope, then ? " asked Miss Mango, with that eagerness which ladies always evince when love or marriage is talked about. " Did you really elope, Pro fessor ? " " God bless my soul ! Yes, of course we HOW THE PROFESSOR WON HIS WIFE. 3 did ; had a post-chaise waiting — outside wheel came off before we had gone far — had to take her back — to her infuriated father.

Such a scene ! " said the Professor, listing up his hands, palms outward, and shaking them, then letting them fall gently on to his knees. The faces of the two ladies were a study7. Trissy fixed her large eyes on him gravely, and almost reproachfully ; she evidently dis approved of elopements and post-chaises. Miss Myra looked quite excited ; she was so interested, and she asked, almost in a whisper, " Was he very angry ? " "Angry, my dear lady !" gasped the Professor. " Angry's not the word ; he was furious. Foamed — at the mouth with rage ; vowed he'd shoot me — fortunate there were not any fire-arms in the house ; said — he'd lock his daughter up for a week, and feed her on bread and water till she married the man he wanted her to. I defied him. Poor Mary was in tears. Such a scene ! " " Well, and then what did you do ?

" asked Trissy, as the Professor paused. Her father smiled at her and said, "Go on, Professor; the ladies won't sleep if you leave off at such a crisis." " My dear child, there is no more to be told. Of course I conquered the father, and married the lady7 of my love. I shouldn't have been half a man if I had not done so. Ah ! we were young and fiery then ; were we not, Doctor? Now — well ! we leave all these things, and are worn-out old actors, who have left the stage and retired, to look back on our triumphs and grumble at the world in general ; but if / were a young man, now. Miss Trissy " "Nonsense, Professor ! " interrupted Trissy. " I am sure you never grumble. And Papa only does a . little when he is very ill ; and enough to make him. But, Professor, did you really tell Mrs. Flitter all sorts of stories ?

" " Of course I did. Said my rivals were scoundrels — abused them well. Not at all true ; they were very good sort of men : all married now, with ten children apiece. No, I've 'HOW THE PROFESSOR WON HIS WIFE. 5 made a mistake — one is a jolly old bachelor, very rich ; his brother died about three years •ago, and left him two grown-up, ready-made daughters, with not a penny to bless them selves. Charming young ladies — both married now ; their uncle told me all about it. Capital story; tell you some day, Miss Trissy. Good bye, Doctor. No, no ! don't trouble ; I can find my way out." And Professor Flitter shook hands in his most cordial and affec tionate manner, and hurried out of the door, waving his eyeglass as a parting salute. His departure broke up our pleasant meet ing. Miss Mango rose to put on her bonnet ; their carriage had been waiting some time.

The Doctor knocked the ashes out of his pipe and leant back wearily in his chair. Mr. Mango gave two or three last whiffs at his cigar, and said — " Well, Doctor, I have been thinking over your story, and I am glad the good man was rewarded, and Moses, Macbeth, and Co. had to pay their creditors in full ; it is a satisfaction to know that roguery doesn't always triumph." " It seldom does," said the Doctor, eagerly. " I wish I could make you believe that God does help and uphold those who believe in Him ; I wish I could give you a little faith. But you always were a doubting people." " Well, well ! we must not go in for theology to-night," said the Jew, seeing that the Doctor was exciting himself. " There's Deane looking daggers at me, thinking I am going to spoil your night's rest. I am sure you must have tired yourself with telling us about little Polly Pilkerton.

By-the-by, was it reallya true story ? " "Yes," replied the Doctor. " Little Polly has been married now five years ; has four children, and lives in a pretty house at Dullford. I believe she drives a pair of ponies, most handsomely7 harnessed, to the station every7 evening to meet Ben, who, by the way, has made great use of his elocutionary7 powers, and is to be heard almost every Saturday at our Temperance Entertainments." MR. MANGO AND THE DOCTOR. 7 " Is he a teetotaler, then ? " asked Mr. Manofo. " No. These meetings have been or ganized by the Rev. Donaldson Bland, and several ladies and gentlemen, for the purpose of instructing and amusing the working-man — our great Moloch, as you call him ; they are supposed to keep him out of the public house, and elevate his mind." " And does Ben entertain him with the ' Patrician's Daughter ' ?

" " No ; he gives him choice selections from Dickens, recitations from Macaulay, etc." " Like Penny Readings," said I. " The same sort of thing ; only we begin with prayers, and end with a temperance address." " All for the small sum of one penny ? said Mr. Mango. " Our meetings are free," returned the Doctor. " Ah ! Austin has started the same sort of thing in the slums, where he is curate, and I tell him it is a mistake to make no charge. Why not make them pay a penny ? They spend more at a public-house. Why should you entertain them for nothing ? " " Probably they would not come." " My theory is that people prize most what they pay for. Now, I dare say your working man thinks he is conferring a favour on you by coming." " That does not matter, provided he comes," said I. " Quite right, Deane," replied the Doctor ; " when you try to do good, you must not expect gratitude, or even to be understood.

Have we not all been told as much in our childhood ? If our Moloch comes with the idea he is pleasing us, it certainly shows an amiable disposition on his part ; and if we are doing our best to interest him, these meetings must do us all good." " That is ingenious, Doctor. You mean to say we are sacrificing ourselves to please each other : the entertainers would rather be at home by their own firesides, and the entertained would prefer the tavern. I agree with MR. MANGO AND THE DOCTOR. 9 you about the audience, but there are some people who are so fond of hearing them selves speak, that if they could, they would always be up on a platform ; to them these meetings must be a boon indeed, for they can flatter their own vanity, and imagine they are doing their fellow-creatures a service." " Oh, Mango," said the Doctor, shaking his head, " I am afraid that if there is a wrong side to anything you always turn it upper most, and you pretend to delight in picking out your fellow-creatures' little weaknesses."

"Well, Doctor, I like to hear you defend them, at any rate ; so, now, what have you to say to my last attack ? " " I can see what you are 'driving at.' You think the entertainers will think more of shining as brilliant readers or speakers than of the entertainment of the working-man. You are generally wrong, I believe ; yet there is something to be said on that head, for I heard some stupid persons, who hadn't grasped the purpose of these meetings, con gratulating the vicar on their becoming more select ; i.e. the roughs, the people we wanted, were not there, but the shop boys and girls and small tradespeople were." " And were, of course, a more appreciative audience. There it is, Doctor ; those people thought most of themselves, and liked best the respectable audience." " It is natural," said the Doctor ; "and they evidently did not understand what the meetings were for."

" And yet they would tell you they7 were doing good work all for Christ's sake, when they7 don't understand the nature of their work. Why, the ordinary church goer doesn't knowthe Articles of his own religion — doesn't know so much about it as I do — and yet he would be horribly insulted if I were to say he was not a Christian." " Ouite true," said the Doctor, sio*hin<r ; " very few, even in this Protestant land, un derstand the beauty of the faith they7 profess to believe." " It is very7 often a matter of fashion," replied Mr. Mango. "And how many people MR. MANGO AND THE DOCTOR. 11 run from church to church, and go in for what I call religious dissipation, which is as bad as any other dissipation ! " " Worse," said the Doctor.

Chapter II

I ENTERTAIN THE COMPANY AT LADY MALA- GROWTHER'S "AT HOME." Our " at homes " were sometimes dull affairs, though we all tried to " make believe " we enjoyed ourselves. Lady Malagrowther, when she entertained us, was fond of getting a literary lion or two — small ones. " The small ones always have the biggest opinion of themselves," said the Professor. " Her ladyship hires them, as a friend of mine does her young men, when she gives a dance ; she orders them in with the jellies and creams. Was — at a dance the other night where all the young men had been sent in by the confectioner." " Fred dear, how can you ! " remonstrated Mrs. Flitter. " AT HOME. 13 " Fact ! my dear, I assure you," gasped the Professor. "Just the same with the literary men at her ladyship's ; don't know where she gets them from, but — they lend themselves out to be admired.

Don't blame them — do it myself if I could. Now, there's Smithson- Jones— very pleasant fellow — but who ever heard of Smithson-Jones ? " "He talks a great deal of what he has done," said I. " I thought him a big man in the literary world." " So did I," said Mrs. Flitter. " Lady Malagrowther corrected me for calling him Mr. Jones." " It is an insult to call him anything but Smithson- J ones ; he is a genius," said the Professor, shrugging his shoulders. I had the bad taste not to admire geniuses, if those I saw at Lady7 Malagrowther's were specimens. They seemed to be totally want ing in manners, and thought nothing of standing with their backs to the fire before a room full of ladies, or talking across the room about their own works to each other, and they paid little or no attention to the ladies.

Amongst such an assembly the Professor's rather exaggerated politeness, ancl Dr. Wil kins's calm and gentle manners, were de lightful to witness. I once expressed my astonishment to the Doctor, who said I " ex pected too much," and I must " consider their brilliant conversation, and forgive a little roughness in manner. Geniuses were allowed to be eccentric ; " and for his part he " preferred their Bohemianism to the stiff, dull, polite conversation of ordinary party-goers :" and he reminded me that they were mostly young aspirants to fame, not well-known men, that we met at Lady Malagrowther's. " I don't object to their conceit ; the young would never do anything if they had not a large amount of self-confidence, which ignorant people miscall conceit, and I admire their enthusiasm," said the Doctor.

" I should like to know some of the ereat literary men," said I. " A great mistake," returned the Doctor. " I object to lion-hunting. The lions don't like it ; " AT HOME." 15 and in nine cases out of ten the public is disappointed, and serve it right. I consider it an insult to both actor, artist, and author to treat them as a show, which is often how they are treated." " Some of them like it," I ventured to remark. " Very few ; and when they do give them selves up " " Lend themselves out to be admired, the Professor says," I interrupted. " Ah, you must not believe all the Professor says ; nor does he mean you to do so. I was going to say, when they do give themselves up to that sort of thing, they become the spoilt idols of fashion." Certainly Lady Malagrowther took care not to spoil her lions, for she sometimes cate chized them somewhat after this fashion : — " Well, Smithson-Jones "■ — her ladyship thought it quite the thing to call men by their surnames, leavingout the " Mr." — " I don't agree at all with what you said about Snobkinson's picture.

The colour was bad, the drawing shameful." " But the picture was beautiful," said Mr. Smithson-Jones, running his white hand through his long hair. "Isn't he picturesque?" whispered the Misses Spinette to Mr. Growler. " I admire him much more than Mr. Burns." " The drawing was shames tl',' said her lady7ship, tapping her fan impatiently. " But the execution wonderful," said Mr. Smithson-Jones. " Stuff ! And pray what did you mean by ' the echo of blown birds' ?" " Ah, that is a technical expression well known to artists," said the Professor, gallantly coming to the young man's rescue; "ordinary people cannot be expected to understand it." " I should think not," said Lady Mala growther, grimly. " ' The echo of blown birds,' indeed — what can it mean ? " " Printer's error," gasped the Professor.

" ' Flown birds,' of course. Understand it perfectly well. Allow me to explain." Whilst the Professor talked, Mr. Smithson- " AT HOME." 17 Jones made his escape, which was just what the Professor intended him to do. " You dreadful man ! you know you are telling fibs ; and you don't know what it means any more than I do," said her ladyship, lauo-hino-. o _> " You must know best," replied the Pro fessor, gallantly7. " But, God bless me ! " he gasped, jumping out of his seat and coming up to where I was standing. Linking his long arm through mine, he took me up to Lady* Malagrowther and said, " I quite forgot ; here's Deane been dying to read a poem to the assembled company." " Nonsense, Professor ! " I stammered, turning red and feeling furious. " It's capital — very dramatic," gasped the Professor.

" Written by yourself, Deane ? " said Lady Malagrowther, calmly. " No, by a friend ; but I really did not intend to read it in public." " It has been read in public many times ; VOL. II. c heard Bellew read it myself," said the Pro fessor. "Oh, do let us hear it, Mr. Deane — do, please, let us hear it," said little Mrs. Dodge. " I love poetry ; and one hears so little nowadays — every one is so matter-of-fact and prosaic ; and it is so delightfully ro mantic." " This is not a poem ; merely some verses illustrating an ordinary act of heroism such as you often read of in the newspapers. I don't think it will interest you," I said ner vously, feeling very much inclined to punch the Professor's head for getting me into this " fix." " Don't make a fuss, Deane," said her ladyship, taking, I believe, a malicious delight in my nervousness ; " read it to us, and let us judge for ourselves."

" Is it by the same hand as the verses you read to me the other day ? " asked Dr. Wilkins. " Yes ; but quite a different style. I really* don't think I can read it," said I. " AT HOME. 19 " Never mind ; make an attempt. We are all as dull as the proverbial ditch-water. Perhaps your friend's verses will cheer us," remarked Lady Malagrowther, sarcastically. " Come, begin," she continued ; " we are all attention. What is it called ? " "'A Railway Incident,'" I murmured, taking the MSS. out of my pocket-book. " Sit on that ottoman," commanded our hostess. I did as I was told, and looked round as our square circle formed themselves around me ; Mr. Smithson-Jones, and one or two others like him, leaning elegantly against the mantelpiece, the piano, or any other con venient piece of furniture. " Go in and win, dear boy," said the Pro fessor, tapping me on the shoulder, and making; me think of the fights I used to have at school, when my backer used the same phrase.

I looked at Trissy, who smiled an encouraging smile, and then, with a pre liminary cough, I began. "A RAILWAY INCIDENT. "No poetry in railroads, none in steam ; Modern inventions useful, full of noise. Behold yon hoary bridge that spans the stream, A ruin whence the bittern's shrilly voice Is heard ofttimes ; that crumbling Roman wall, Which shook back clanging rumours of the war, And echoed hoarsely to the Briton's call, What time the vengeful queen, clothed in her shame, A garment black with horror as a pall, Sped like a fury, like a liquid flame, Through the fair land, till all like one arose, And purged the stain with blood of Roman foe. " If you write poetry, pray write of these, And leave to prose the dull, tame works of peace. Ah, no ! to me these later works of man Are noble as the noblest ; these his deeds Are hallowed by their service, since they span God's flood and mountain, while they serve man's needs.

" The Great North line, a serpent with two heads, Each in a noisy city wrapt in smoke, The sweet green landscape pleasantly it threads, And binds the earth down with an iron yoke. Past cottages and farms it makes its way ; Past churches, round which sleep the quiet dead Through cloud and sunshine in the garish day, And through the darkness ere its task be sped. " The eager boy, to win his way to fame, It bears to London ; or it carries home The broken gambler who has lost the game ; The bride, the felon ; all who love to roam. Here, link by link, the long train hurries past ; Trembles the earth beneath its heavy weight ; So, hour by hour, ever, slow or fast, Rush on the trains appointed as by fate. A RAILWAY INCIDENT. 21 " Hard by a town a station rears its head, The slender iron girders stretch on high ; Or the strong arch re-echoes to your tread, And hides the sunshine and the azure sky.

" There, gay with laughter, stands a busy crowd, Jocund from holiday or city sight; Waits for the train with murmurs low or loud, And faces eager, beautiful and bright. " ' Stand back ! don't go too near.' The careful guard, Scanning the line, sweeps back the trailing dress ; And anxiously performing watch and ward, Waits for the passing of the day-express. " In the far distance, mark those two bright eyes : The train, with thunder roll, sweeps o'er the stream ; The bridge is crossed — like lightning now she flies ; The bell rings warning — Heavens ! what a scream ! " A little child — a wee pet, toddling thing — Seeing its father on the other side, Crosses the line. Shrieks after shrieks outring ; The heavy train will lap its blood's red tide. " And not one moment is there for a pause ; The linesman — many a danger has he braved — Dashes across in mercy's holy cause, And as by miracle — the child is saved !

" But he, whirled, dashed to earth, lies dumb and chill ; The platform redd'ning with his life-blood's flow ; Broken and ghastly, but yet living still, A wreck, where stood a noble man but now. " ' Back ! back ! give air !' the doctor cries ; ' he'd speak.' The mother terror-stricken, in her fear, Gazes with straining eye and blanching cheek, Clasps to her heart her babe — while he lies there. IT " The rough, strong men, all silent in their grief, So softly move, so gently try to tend, That one may hear the rustle of a leaf, Whilst that brave heart is throbbing to its end. " ' 'Tis safe,' he murmurs ; ' let me see it smile. God keep my two at home ! ' Then still he lies, Closes his eyes, breathes heavily awhile, Whispers "Tis safe,' gives one strong throe, and dies.' There was a profound silence as I ceased reading.

Little Mrs. Dodge surreptitiously wiped her eyes ; Lady Malagrowther coughed and spoke. " Not at all badly7 read, Deane," she re marked, approvingly. " It is really very affecting," said the Misses Spinette. " Poor man ! how dreadful that he should die !" " What a noble deed ! I call the man a hero," said Trissy, her eyes sparkling. " Any one would have done the same in his place," retorted Burns, A. R.A. " I think it quite romantic," said little Mrs. Dodge. "So, after all, you're wrong, Mr. Growler. Romance still exists, noble deeds are still performed, and all you horrid people LADY MALAGROWTHER' S "AT HOME, 23 who declare it has died out are wrone. I am so glad." Mr. Growler whispered something polite into the little woman's ear. She smiled and waved her fan. Lady Malagrowther looked at her disdainfully, and turning to the Pro fessor, who was talking to Trissy, tapped him on the arm with her fan, and said, in her gruffest tones — " Now, Professor, suppose you entertain the company.

Haven't you a story in your pocket ? Let us hear something." " God bless my soul ! — never did such a thing in my life," cried the Professor. " Begin now, then," said her ladyship. " Tell us a story ; you are an adept at the art, I know." " Madam, y*ou honour me," said the Pro fessor, bowing in his grandest and most sarcastic manner ; " but pray ask our young friend Smithson-Jones ; he will be delighted." " Stuff! " said her ladyship, smiling ; " you know he can't form a sentence properly, how can he tell a story ? He would talk about ' the echo of blown birds,' or some such non sense." Lady Malagrowther had not lowered her voice, not caring whether poor Smithson- Jones heard or not. " Strike up, Professor, and amuse the com pany," said Growler, jocosely. " Really can't," gasped the Professor, tapping his forehead ; " haven't an idea left."

" You must do something," said Lady Malagrowther, determinedly. " You were the cause of Deane's reading ; you shall tell us a story as a punishment." "'Pon my word," gasped the Professor, " that is a compliment to Deane ! You ought to have given me a vote of thanks for making1 him read." " We do, but he doesn't. I am going to punish you to please him," said Lady Mala growther. " This is the revenge you would like, Deane ? " she added. " Very much," said I. " Now, Professor, take my place." The Professor, shrugging his shoulders LADY MALAGROWTHER'S " AT HOME." 25 and twirling his eyeglass, did as he was told. " Little lady," he said to Trissy, " help your old knight, I pray you. What am I to tell these people ? " " The story you promised me the other day, about an old gentleman who had two grown-up daughters left him," said Trissy.

" Nortiboy's nieces, and how he married them," said the Professor. "It is a most remarkable story." " No doubt," said her ladyship, gruffly. " A warning to all young ladies," said the Professor, with his eyes fixed on the Misses Spinette. He then leant back on the otto man. " We will call the story," he said, with a wave of his eyeglass, " ' Rejected Addresses ; ' an old title, but a good one."

Chapter III. Professor Flitter Entertains Us With

" REJECTED ADDRESSES. " Nortiboy was dead ! So much was certain. It was, moreover, the foolish Nortiboy who had died ; and since the incoming of William the Conqueror, there had been two sorts of Nortiboys, the wise and the foolish. " The foolish one — ' a generous, impulsive. noble fellow,' said his friends ; ' a selfish, head strong, imprudent creature,' said his enemies — had lived in a braggart way ; spent his money while he had it, lived poorly for a time, married well, having a tongue which stood him in good stead ; spent his wife's money. Had two daughters and one son. Was for ever spoiling his son, until the boy spoilt himself by breaking his neck. Then Nortiboy " REJECTED ADDRESSES." 27 spoilt his daughters ; generously spent their mother's money on them and himself ; became poor ; took to pitying himself, and died.

" As he had always indulged his daughters, after his son's death, at which time they were very young, they regarded him as a saint, while they regretted him as a father. Every thing he said was cited as an oracle ; everything he did was for the best ; only the world had been against him, and he had been unlucky. " He had generously bestowed his daughters on the wise Nortiboy, a bachelor uncle, who kept single for the convenience of the family, who had aided the family times out of number with his money, his help, and his advice, and who was consequently regarded as a rich and selfish miser. ' Take care of my daughters, Paul,' wrote the dying- Eustace ; ' they are all I have to leave you, but what blessings they will be to you ! ' It was intimated that Paul had a perfect duty to perform in maintaining these girls ; nay, that he was honoured in doing so. ' I really do not want to keep these young ladies,' groaned honest Paul, ' but 'Think,' suggested a neighbour, 'how happy you should be to be enabled to do so.

What a lucky thing for you that you have a nice house and everything ready for their reception ! ' " Paul shuffled and groaned inwardly, but being one of the wise Nortiboys, he said nothing. He determined to do his best. Nature had given him a squat, determined Hogarthian figure ; a round head, a pleasant, but not very handsome face, and luck had bestowed upon him the name of Paul. " That was all that luck did ; for, as he grew up, Eustace, a bold, impulsive creature, who believed he was generous, pushed Paul aside, and absorbed everything he could absorb. He ran into debt, and borrowed Paul's money, just as Paul was about to pro pose and to settle in life. Paul hesitated and was lost. Eustace became involved in financial speculations, and nearly beggared Paul to clear himself, pleading the fact that he was married and Paul was not ; finally, just as the wise Nortiboy thought of retiring to Italy and study, Eustace died and ' flopped ' two charming grown-up young women, his daughters, upon him.

" ' Endowed with all the virtues of poor Eustace,' sighed Paul, as he read his brother's last letter. ' I know what they are. Extra vagance, which men call generosity ; pride, which they believe to be independence ; lazi ness, which they name good breeding ; and a deep love for luxury7, which they term elegant leisure, ladylike ease. Oh dear! oh dear! when will it be ladylike for women to be useful ! ' " The two daughters came. They were clad in the deepest mourning, and wrapped up in each other. They had two pretty names, and were two pretty girls. One was ' Trissy,' or Beatrice ; the other ' Totty,' or Antoinette. How 'Totty' was arrived at as a diminutive it is hard to say, but it was so. Totty, the youngest, was always thinking of ' dear Trissy ' ; and ' dear Trissy ' for ever referred to her ' sainted Papa.' Totty was the posi tive, Trissy the comparative, and Papa — removed to a state of impeccability — the superlative ideas of goodness in them.