Pequinillo: a tale

Chapter I

I am going to follow the advice given by the witty Count Antoine Hamilton, al though it will lay me under the necessity of doing a thing that I abominate: namely, of quoting from the French. "Mon ami Belier," he says, " toujours commencez par le commencement." Now, one cannot very well get nearer to the beginning of a man's life, than introducing him as a baby — al though authorities have differed even upon this subject. VOL. I B PEQUINILLO. In a nice, clean-looking cottage, con taining four good rooms, to say nothing of a kitchen and sundry appendages, which were built out behind — or of a carpenter's shop at the side, from which issued an exceedingly eternal (I beg pardon) sound of a saw playing in the jaws of a piece of wood, which might have pinioned a dozen Milos — sat an old woman. The old woman had society of a certain sort, however ; for, beside the cat, which sat on the window-sill, enjoying some bright, warm rays of early sunshine, and the dog, which stood in the open door-way, with his legs as stiff as pokers, the good lady had another companion, stretched out at length upon her knee, dressed in ex ceedingly long long-clothes, and with a smart cap upon his head, edged with at least three rows of very passable Valen ciennes lace.

I will not pause here to describe, mi nutely, the beauties of my hero's face, or the graces of his form. Or, if it be neces- PEQUINILLO. 3 sary to satisfy a very exacting reader, I may easily sketch him out, by saying that his eyes were round, and his mouth was round, and his nose was round, and his head was round; and, do what they could, to make it look long and slippery, his body, as far as it could be seen under the clothes, was as round as all the rest. Now, the old woman declared that the child was the very model of his father ; and his father was a young man of nearly six feet high. It must be admitted that the old lady's eyes were none of the clearest; and, at the very moment when she sits before us, with the baby on her lap, she has got on her nose a pair of spectacles, which are none of the clearest either.

However, she is engaged in acting up to her catechism, and "doing her duty in that state of life unto which it has pleased God to call her." The way she did this was as follows. She stared in the child's face, through the b2 PEQUINILLO. great, round spectacles ; and, as long as it stared back again, goggling at her with its large, young eyes, as if it wondered what the deuce she could be, she continued to jog it up and down with one foot, in a way that would have driven any Christian mad. The baby had not yet been baptised. When it left off staring, made its face square instead of round, and began to shout — which occasionally it did most lustily — she threw its head over her shoulder, with the face leaning backwards, and thumped it vehemently on the back while it sucked the collar of her gown.

This process seemed to have an instanta neous effect in quieting it. It was better even than the ticking of the clock, which, with a brass face engraved to represent the sun — I mean the sun of clock-makers, with eyes, nose, and mouth, and the pivot of the hands in the middle of the nose — stood beind the door, in a tall japanned case. That whichseemed to interest the infant most,how- PEQUINILLO. 5 ever, was the noise of the saw, although it might be said to be, like Hamlet, " to the manner born ;" and, especially when the teethed instrument came suddenly upon any hard knot in the wood, and screamed, like a lawyer in purgatory, the child seemed infinitely delighted, raised up its large eyes in the direction of the sound — its head it could not yet raise — and, to use the old lady's term, " took a world of notice."

All this proved that the babe must have passed some weeks in this mortal world ; but yet, it was under the month ; for, like all first children, it was exceedingly preco cious ; and, if we believe either the mother or the nurse, would have puzzled Sir Isaac Newton himself — as well it might ; but not in their sense. " Well, I do declare she is very long !" said the old woman to herself, after having joggled, and stared, and patted, successively and in vain, over and over again. " She mought ha' dressed herself a dozen PEQUINILLO. times before now, to come down for the first time, with such a fine boy as this, and he a' starving." The child certainly did not look as if it were starving at all, although it thought fit to cry for the gratification of that pro pensity which babies and leeches have in common.

The fact is, the old lady was impatient, with just the same sort of im patience as the child's ; for she was ac customed to allow herself each day, about haU-past eleven o'clock, some fluid out of a long-necked bottle, as a sort of whet to the dinner, which came at twelve ; and it now only wanted a quarter to noon. At length, however, she was relieved. With a slow, and somewhat faltering step, came down from the first floor, a pale btlt very pretty creature, of hardly two-and twenty years. Her oldest friends could with difficulty have recognised in her, the gay, plump, blithsome girl of a twelve month before ; and yet she looked as happy as a queen — a great deal happier, indeed PEQUINILLO. — although there be one in the world, who we hope is as happy in all her feelings as she is in all her acts.

The door in which the dog stood, was open, as we have said, and as soon as he heard his mistress's step, he turned round, brought his great black nose close up to her hand, wagged his tail, and then trotted out into the street. Every one knows the effect of the first fresh air upon a person just recovering from severe sickness, and long confined to one room. The wind from the door, soft and gentle as it was, seemed to make a sensation of faintness come over the young mother, and she sank quietly into a seat The old woman gave her the child upon her lap, however; and then she felt quite happy and strong again. " Yon had better have some of the drops, my dear," said the old woman. " The doctor said you were to take them three times a day, after the fever left you." And away she went up-stairs, to fetch drops of PEQUINILLO. some kind; but which was the bottle she lookedforfirst,! will not take upon me to say.

She had hardly closed the door, and the young mother had not been down two minutes, when the noise of the sawing suddenly ceased, and a tall, good-looking man of about thirty, with a bare head and curly hair, came quickly in, put his arm round the pretty creature's neck, and gave her a kiss, saying, " Ah, Emma, my dear, I am glad to see you down again, with all my heart." He was evidently her husband ; but whether it was by an intuitive and sym pathetic knowledge that he had discovered his wife's coming down, and had left off his work a quarter of an hour before the time, to go and greet her, or whether the dog had run round and told him, I reaUy cannot say. Certain it is, that he and the dog came in together. " Don't sit with the door open, ray dear," he continued, closing it carefully ; " this day fortnight, when you were so bad PEQUINILLO. 9 with the fever, I never thought to see you sitting there again; and I don't want to have you laid up, after having gone through all so bravely."

"This is reward enough for all, Hal," replied his wife, looking down at the baby, who was very pleasantly employed by this time, and as still as a mouse. " But you look grave and tired, Hal ; aud, I think, have been working too much since I have not been able to tease you to leave off. I have heard the plane and the saw going all day, and part of the night, too, some times." " If I had known that, my love, you should not have heard it," replied Hal, even more gravely than before ; " but you know, Emma, there are always some vexa tions in life ; and Kit Markus has left me, hang him ! He's as good a hand as any I know, and the cleverest, strongest, most active fellow within a hundred miles ; but the wandering spirit has come upon him again ; and Joe Martin, though a steady, hard- B PEQUINILLO. working, good fellow, cannot get through all that we have to do, without my work ing very hard to help him."

" Oh, but you'll soon get another jour neyman, Hal," said his wife, " when work is not so plenty. — My poppet ! How well he looks, Hal ! The old woman tells me you fed him yourself when I was so ill." " Yes, because I was afraid she would give him gin," said the husband, almost bitterly. But, as husbands of first wives, and fathers of first children, always quarrel with the nurses, it is not worth while here to enquire what grounds there were for his suspicions. Suffice it, that the old woman descended again, bringing a glass of medicine in her hand, and an alcoholic smell about her mouth, which caused both the husband and wife to make wTry faces. Very soon after, a tidy servant girl, with bare arms, very red at the back, came in, and laid a small table, with clean linen, and knives and forks.

A pepper-castor, and a PEQUINILLO. saltcellar, and a mustard-pot, andavinegar cruet, with a cork iu it, were set down upon the table ; and when a dish of meat and some vegetables had been brought in, husband and wife and monthly-nurse sat down to dinner, the latter holding the baby on her knee, and eating her food principally with the aid of one hand. The conversation was all about the christening. Of what else, indeed, could it be 1 But the important point, which so desperately puzzled the learned and ingenious Mr. Shandy, puzzled the un learned and not very argumenta tive Henry Ludlow and his wife Emma quite as much ; so that the whole meal had passed before they had fixed upon the Christian name to be bestowed upon their first-born. The wife stood out stoutly for "Hal ;" but the husband seemed ambitious in Christian names ; and — with that sort of perverse spirit which makes some people hate anything that is tied to them for life ■ — he abominated his own name, resisting PEQUINILLO.

Hal, or Henry, or anything approaching to it, as resolutely as might be, without un kindness. " I'll tell you what, my dear," he said, as he rose, at leugth, to resume his work, " you know the Squire has promised to be god-father, and it will be but civil to ask what is his fancy about a name. So at six o'clock I'll clean myself, and go up and speak with him about it, and we'll hear what he says." " Well, I love the name of Hal," said his young wife, in a tone which implied both tenderness and stoutness. Her husband kissed her cheek, answer ing with a smile, "/don't love it half so well as Emma; and we can't call him that, you know, my dear." She told him to go along, for a foolish fellow, but laughed, notwithstanding ; and, at the hour named, her husband dressed himself in his best clothes, and went away over the fields, upon his important journey.

PEQUINILLO. 13 As the distance he had to travel was rather more than two miles, it was eight o'clock when he returned ; but his wife had not yet gone to bed, and the consultation recommenced. It was short, how ever, and far more satisfactory than before. The squire had proposed Julian, the hus band said ; but left it entirely to them selves. Mrs. Ludlow thought that Julian was a very pretty name. It tickled her ear and her fancy; and, a3 she had never heard of Julian the Apostate, or Count Julian, or any of the naughty men who have carried that name about with them in history, Mr. Shandy's prejudices, if she had shared them, would not have affected her in this instance. Still, though she was a sweet, gentle little creature, a spice of woman's fondness for her own way hung about her ; and even in giving her consent to the name of Julian, she added, with a sigh, that she loved the name of Henry, nevertheless.

PEQUINILLO, A compromise, however, was easily effected. There is no reason, as every Portuguese knows, why a child, or a man either, should not have a hundred Christian names if he pleases ; and it was decided in the end that the little boy should be called Julian Henry, and that the christening should be that day week, the squire having promised to be present in person. What has all this to do with the history 1 An immense deal, dearly beloved, if you will but w-ait a little. PEQUINILLO.

Chapter II

Tn a beautiful part of that beautiful county called Buckingham (" which may be freely translated from its pure Anglo Saxon — the dwelling-place of the beech trees") there was a park of considerable extent, and much picturesque loveliness. It had all those accessories which render the park of an English gentleman one of the most charming places for residence in the world. It had wood, it had water, it had hill, it had dale, it had gentle grassy lawns, it had fern-covered uplands, it had deep and shady groves, it had clumps of ma jestic trees, it had solitary hawthorns, PEQUINILLO. scenting the vernal air. The fair stream of the Thames, neither in its splendid width, nor in its gentle littleness, but a good broad river, as yet unpolluted by the filth of cities, gave the pleasant aspect of run ning water ; a small lake, in another spot, reflected the heavens above, and the trees around, and the whole scene had cultivation as well as wildness.

About the middle of the park, and about the middle of the rise from the bank of the river to the summit ofthe hills behind, was placed the mansion — a comfortable English dwelling, built some time in the eighteenth century, without the slightest pretension to architectural perfection, but with a steady regard to the convenience of the inhabitants. There was nothing in the least degree interesting about it — nothing either beautiful, picturesque, or romantic ; and yet, whichever way you gazed at it from the country around, it presented an imposing look, and had a pleasant aspect. This was especially the case in a glimpse PEQUINILLO. 17 which one had of it from the road to Ox ford, where it was beheld standing forth upon its little space of open green — the flower garden in which could not be seen — and flanked on either side with a deep grove of tall trees, through which, extending from the back of the building, might be per ceived a long avenue leading up the hill.

The interior of the house was as com fortable as it could be. There was no splendour, no ostentation. Not a gaudy colour appeared anywhere, except in the Turkey carpets. No gilding was seen, ex cept here and there, on a very light mould ing, or on the massive picture-frames, where it was hardly noticed — at least, by the eye of taste. There was a large, marble-paved entrance hall : a large marble-paved vestibule : a large, marble flight of stairs, with old oak balustrades, and a broad oak rail. On the right of the vestibule were the dining-room, the breakfast-room, and the kitchen offices. On the left, a music-room, a spacious PEQUINILLO. drawing-room, a smaller drawing-room, a magistrate's-room, and the library. Of these, the only two of very great extent, were the drawing-room and the library.

All the rest were of moderate size, though not small ; but very comfortable. The library itself, in point of proportion, was the finest room in the house. Two sides, and the piers of the two others, from the floor to the ceiling, were covered with book-cases, loaded with books. The inde fatigable labors of many a year, and many a mind, had furnished that room well. It would have been impossible, even for the giant described, I believe by Pliny, who was eleven Roman feet in height, to have reached the volumes on the top shelves; and the founder of the library, disdaining the pitiful contrivance of a moveable ladder, had run a light gallery, of hammered iron work, round the whole of the upper part of the room. This was reached by a sort of columnar staircase ofthe same materials, in which, by the way — for I recollect it PEQUINILLO. 19 weU — one felt very much like a bird in a cage.

There were plenty of tables, plenty of recesses for drawings and map% plenty of arm-chairs, and ink-stands, foot-stools, and paper-weights — plenty, in short, of those convenigflces which could make a studious occupy perfectly at his ease. But all this plenty had been accumulated by the preceding possessor ; for the present ownerxff the property, though by no means averse tb*his ease, when he found it, was not one to study it so profoundly. He sits there in the arm-chair, with a book before him, and a black velvet cap, of no shape at all, covering his high, bald head, and a considerable portion of his fine, broad forehead. I do not think tbat the tailor makes the man — as is so generally supposed. A gentleman can exist in an ill-cut coat. I have even seen a very bad piece of broad-cloth on a man who occasionally dignified the ermine, and a bad hat on brows familiar with the coronet.

But, occasionally, there TEQUINILLO. is a sort of harmony between the man and his dress, which is worthy of remark when we meet with it. Such was the case in the present instance ; and the Squire, as he was called in the neighbourhood, was dressed as befitted him at that hour of the day. Let it be remembered, however, in the first place, that his garments belonged to the time in which he lived — somewhat anterior to the period in which I am now writing. He wore a black coat, black knee-breeches. and black silk stockings, with a white waistcoat, and a white cravat. Powder, too, he wore ; though powder had, generaUy, gone out of fashion, and he had dropped a good number of the appendages of his early days. But the powder had not flown off with the pig-tail. His age might be somewhere between fifty and sixty; certainly less than the latter number of years, and probably more than the former.

Whatever it was, his complexion was so good, his skin so soft and delicate, his teeth so fine, and his face PEQUINILLO. so unwrinkled, that he would have appeared much less than his age, had it not been for a certain staid, elderly cut about his clothes, his powdered hair, his bald or velvet-covered head, and — for there is al ways an " and " in everything, even unto the end of the world, and then, I trust, also — and a certain knitting of the brow, from a habit of thought and consideration, which gave a somewhat aged, and likewise a somewhat stern, look to a countenance otherwise youthful and benevolent. The features were finely cut, regular, and handsome ; the eyes brown, and the nose and mouth delicate ; though the chin was strongly marked. The figure, too, was fine and commanding, with some grace, but more of severe simplicity, in all its attitudes.

Such was tbe Squire (as his neighbours of the village called him) in his evening costume Jn the morning, the top boots, and leather breeches, and blue coat of the day, superseded his present attire. His character will develop itself morehere- PEQUINILLO, after ; and I will only add, that he was gene rally reputed a kind and benevolent master andlandlord, a generous and steadfast friend, a rather strict, but very just, magistrate, a good and amiable, though not over-indulgent, parent, a very temperate man, by those who loved the bottle, and a very learned man, by the parson of the parish. On none of these things did he pride himself, however ; for they were either natural to him, or acquired by fol lowing pertinaciously one even, well-con sidered course. Let us leave him there, and go into another room of the house, where, walking up and down, was another gentleman greatly resembling him in person, but the very opposite in demeanor — at least at that moment.

The drawing-room seemed too small for his hasty and agitated strides ; and his eye, seeing nothing, was fixed with a haggard look upon some creature of his fancy. His well-formed person — handsomer than that of the Squire, more robust, more PEQUINILLO. 23 graceful — seemed, one might say, disjointed with the strife of emotions within; and his exceedingly fine face was clouded with a look of anguish painful to behold. Yet this is Julian Westwood ; the son of a kind and judicious father, possessed of all that, to human eyes, would seem necessary for happiness; health, wealth, high educa tion, a fine mind, a handsome person, and the love of all who knew him. He was still in this state of agitation, when a servant, in very handsome livery, entered the room, and said : — " Here is Mr. Ludlow, sir, the carpenter, wishes to speak with you or your father."

All trace of emotion was banished from young Westwood's face in a moment. " Ah, poor Hal !" he said. " I will see him ; but do not let any one else in to me to-night. How is his wife going on? I hope nothing is the matter with the child." " I did not ask, sir," said the servant — servants never do ask — and retired to usher in the carpenter. PEQUINILLO. Hal Ludlow did not remain above three minutes with Julian Westwood, though, as they were foster brothers, it is probable that the young squire, as he was called, treated him with all kindness, notwithstanding the painful pre-occupation of his own mind. At the end of the time I have mentioned, the drawing-room door again opened, to give the good carpenter egress ; and the voice of Julian was heard, saying, "Go to my father, Hal. Go to my father.

He will tell you what name." Ludlow accordingly sought out the ser vant, and in two minutes more was in the presence of the Squire. Mr. Westwood laid down his book, looking up mildly and pleasantly at his visitor. " Good evening, Hal," he said. " I am glad to see you. I hope your wife is going on quite well, now. Poor thing ! It was very sad to have her attacked with that fever ; but it is not uncommon, I believe, in her circumstances. She is a sweet, PEQUINILLO. 25 pretty creature, and it would never do to lose the flower of the parish." "She is a good creature, sir," replied Ludlow, warmly ; " but I am happy to say she is doing quite well now. She was down to-day for the first time, and we were talking about the christening, sir." " Sit down, Hal ; sit down," said Mr. Westwood, pointing to a chair.

" Well, what about the christening 1" " Why, you were kind enough to say, Squire, that you would be god-father," returned Ludlow, witha slight degree of hesitation, and seeming to pick his words with some care. " And so I will," rejoined Mr. Westwood, nodding his head. " 1 will come down my self, whenever you like. We will have no substitutes. Godfathers and godmothers shall be there in presence. We will do it all in the good, hearty, old English fashion, Hal. When shall it be % This day week, if you like. Mrs. Ludlow will be well enough by that time, I trust." VOL. i. c PEQUINILLO. " Oh, dear, yes, sir," answered the carpenter. " She is doing quite well now ; but the matter is, sir, that we were talking about what name to give the baby ; and I thought it best to come and ask you. Emma wants to have it christened Henry ; but I don't like Henry, because it is my own name ; and I thought, perhaps, you would allow us to give it yours."

Mr. Westwood put his finger under his velvet cap, and rubbed his temple, consi derately. " Never cross a mother about her child's name, Ludlow ; unless she choose a very outrageous one," he said at length. " Henry should be one name, at all events, and you may give him my name, if you like ; but I hate the name of Robert — for the same not very logical reason that you assign, I suppose — because it is my own. Why not give him Julian's 1 It is a family name with us, as well as Robert. Call him Julian, Hal ; call bim Julian. As you are foster-brothers, it will be natural enough, and proper too, I think. Let me know PEQUINILLO. the day, and the hour ; and I and Julian will come down together. Mary will be sorry that she is away travelling, when her friend Emma's baby is to be christened." Thus it was, that the baby we have seen upon the nurse's knee, carried about with him through the world the names of Julian Henry Ludlow ; and the fact is not as unim portant as it may appear. c PEQUINILLO.

CHATTER III. We will give the name of Waldon to the little village which is the scene of the present part of our story ; and merely remark, that, although it lay at no great distance from the bank of the river, it probably took its name from the hill behind it, on which the Squire's house stood, and which, by a sort of pleonasm, was called Waldon Hill, although Waldon. rendered into its ancient Saxon, would merely signify, Wood Hill, or Woody Hill. In the five years which followed the birth of Julian Ludlow, the little village of Waldon improved considerably. Under the kindly patriotism of the Squire, the PEQUINILLO. 29 ten preceding years had not been passed without an advance ; but they had been occupied rather by the sowing of the grain, and watching ofthe crop, than by the gathering any harvest.

Now, however, the ear was coming to maturity, and the fruits were beginning to ripen. One pros perous man had made another prosperous man. A number of very good-looking houses had sprung up : the cottages ran actuaUy down to the water's edge : a little quay and landing-place had been formed, where barges and boats were frequently unloaded ; and two or three shops of some pretension had been opened, smothering the small original chandler's shop of the place, but suffering it to grow up again, like a mushroom from a heap of manure, in the form of a somewhat smart grocery. One of the neatest houses, one of the best fitted-up establishments, in the whole town, was that of Henry Ludlow, now carpenter, joiner, and cabinet-maker. He TEQUINILL0. had no less than six journeymen working under him, and had generally as much work as he could grapple with.

He was still the same plain, good sort of person we have first represented him — kindly, unas suming, industrious, working hard himself, and expecting his workmen to do so like wise; but never asking them to do more than they could effect with ease, and having every consideration for sickness, or grief, or any other obstacle to labour. It was generally remarked that he was a rather grave mau, and that he would often sigh, as if there were something that he still desired, and did not obtain ; and yet he never complained to any one. The old ladies of the place declared that he regretted not having any more children; and perhaps it was so ; for his love for the little Julian was very great, and perhaps there might be a superfluity in his breast for others, if they had come. But no more made their appearance ; and Ludlow PEQUINILLO. might, perhaps, regret, I repeat, that he had not many another sporting round his knee.

Pretty Mistress Ludlow — for she was still as pretty a creature as the eye could rest upon— did not appear to share in her husband's feelings in this respect. Her whole soul seemed wrapped up in her darling boy; and a dozen certainly would not have made her happier. Well might she be proud of him : weU might she re joice in him ; for a finer boy was never seen; and his handsome face and large hazel eyes, his curly hair and stalwart frame, won him many an admirer, who did not go far enough to learn the better qualities within. Though a little hot and passionate, he was full of affection, and ever docile to kindness. Gentle, too, though bold, he was; and, at an age when falsehood is the commonest of sins, he was truth itself. He was a frequent visitor at Waldon Hall — the pet of Julian Westwood, who would often spend hours in playing PEQUINILLO. with him; and, moreover, he was much and kindly noticed by his god-father, the Squire, who, comparatively but little at tracted by his beauty, seemed to discover and appreciate tbe high qualities of the boy's mind and heart, soonerthan those who admired him most.