Harry Egerton; or, the Younger Son of the Day

Chapter I

•- There are several persons who have many pleasures and entertainments in theh posses sion which they do not enjoy. It is, there fore, a kind and good office to acquaint them with theh own happiness, and turn their attention to such instances of theh good for tune as they are apt to overlook," is tbe introduction to a most charming family picture, which Steele has drawn for us in the Tatter, — a picture which Jones, who has cultivated to perfection the artificial feelings of his age, would probably vote extremely tame, uninteresting, and dull. Jones is above the joys of domestic life. He needs some stronger food for bis interest. These little home delights hardly come VOL. II. B within his sphere of thought. In fact, Jones would consider it rather womanish to confess himself ahve to any interest in bis own family.

And therefore Jones requires to have it pointed out to him that, instead of its being beneath tbe dignity of a man's nature to take much delight in tbe simple pleasures of bis home, he is, if be only knew it, throwing away opportunities of enjoyment far more attractive than the unnatural and artificial excitements which at present engage his leisure. Jones would probably throw down " the Caxtons " with a contemptuous sneer, saying that he could find all that sort of stuff any day in his own house. So he might, and enjoy it too. But be does not enjoy it, because he does not find it. He is above looking for it. He is Jones, who has no idea that " the love of a wife is as much above the idle passion commonly called by that name, as the loud laughter of buffoons is inferior to tbe elegant mirth of gentlemen."

Pleasant family pictures were probably more common in tbe stay-at-home days of the Vicar of TVakefield, when people were compelled to seek in their own homes the interest and amusement which now, thanks to railways, they look for in any other place in preference. Locomotives have played the deuce with family affection, and many people would tell you that such a family as the Vil lars' was out of date now in theh particular station in life. In these gad-about times it is as rare as it is pleasant to see a family where there is so much loA*e and union and mutual dependence as there was in this bouse of Mottistone. You might have supposed that tbe father and mother were but lately married, such an attachment still existed between them — such a kindness, gentleness, and considerate attention did Mr. Yillars show towards his wife.

He would come into tbe drawing-room after dinner some times, and stand over her chah, with an affectionate interest that it would haA*e charmed you to see, as if the mere fact of being near her was a pleasure to him. Or he would sit down beside her on tbe sofa, and take her band, perhaps, in his OAvn, with an exquisite natural tenderness that would have perfectly scandalised your man or woman of tbe world. And yet be was a man of tbe world, too, and well known as one of tbe most polished, courteous gentle men in society. But this, strangely enough, instead of causing his natural feelings to be hidden, only set them off the more. He was as polite to bis wife as most other men are tbe contrary. His children had never beard him make a rude speech to theh mother, or seen him behave towards ber otherwise than as every gentleman ought to behave towards a woman, no matter bow closely be may be connected by ties of relationship.

Theh respect, therefore, was neA~er diminished ; while theh loA*e was the natural return for the affection which he showed to them, — a love of spontaneous growth, which needed none of that attentive nourishment and foster ing care Avithout Avhich some mothers find that the children's attachment to theh father is liable to be merged in fear. Then be would consult bis wife on almost every point, and she would enter into all bis interests Avith such a sense and cheerfulness, and give her opinion with such a gentle submissive flattery, that he was sure to ask for it again. There was such a charm of expression, too, about her face, and such a dignity withal, that it was no wonder her husband admired her as much now as ever he bad done in the freshness of her youth and beauty. He would tell her so sometimes — praise her taste in dress, and pay her pleasant httle compliments, which, taken as they were meant, called forth some fond or playful response, and added another little link to the chain of remembered love which held them in its gentle coils.

By this loving and sensible mother Blanche Villars had been trained from her cradle, in all those virtues and charms of woman which she saw so daily exemplified for ber imita tion. And it was pleasant indeed to see the devotion which so much solicitude and care on the parents' side had engendered in theh children, — the promptness with which Blanche would hurry to perform the slightest wish of either, — the thoughtfulness with which she anticipated every want, — the innumerable httle trifles with which she busied herself to contribute to theh comfort. Her mother's stool was not in its usual position, — she would carefully place it for her; would arrange the cushions to her greater comfort ; would see that ber father's books and papers were exactly at his elbow, and would sit down beside him on a stool, perhaps, looking up into bis face with a con fiding affection that was beautiful to watch ; and Lady Maiy would look at him with such a happy smile, as he drew her towards him with words full of tenderness and love, and would thank God inwardly for having blessed ber with such a husband and such a daughter.

Or Blanche would sing, perhaps, and father and mother would lay down theh books, and Mr. Yillars would lay back in his chair, and think that all the music of the spheres was not equal to his daughter's voice. And then the piano would be de serted for tbe tea-table, and she would take them each theh cup of tea, with a sweet attention which only merited the bright look with which it was rewarded. Ah ! it is rare, indeed, to find such grace of mind combined with all that grace of form. God makes the form, — the parents make the mind. For seATeral months one face had been wanting to complete the picture of this happy home ; and the vacant place has now been filled. Father and mother have rejoiced over the return of theh ill-used son, and Blanche is again happy in tbe society of her brother. The circle is complete.

And for all but one within it there is perfect happiness. Charlie had not failed to notice the heightened colour on his sister's cheek when he mentioned that Egerton had met him in London. Formerly, she would pro bably have praised his constancy, and taken some interest in his movements ; now, she had scarcely said anything, and there bad been rather an embarrassing silence for a moment or two, until Lady Mary changed the subject — Blanche continuing to fidget nervously with her handkerchief. Charlie had looked at her with a rather puzzled expression for a second, and, when alone with his mother in her dressing-room afterwards, asked what it meant. " But, mother, why didn't you tell me?" be said, when her misgiAungs bad been confided to him. " My darling boy, I have been hoping all along that it would come to nothing ; and, therefore, I haA*e never spoken on the sub ject to anyone except your father.

Poor dear Blanche has neA*er uttered a word to me about it. But I know her feelings, poor child, as well as if she had told me all." This, then, was the reason why Harry bad hesitated so about coming down to them. "Does he care for Blanche?" asked Charlie. "I'm afraid it's as much on bis side as on hers. It's a sad pity," answered bis mother. But Charlie didn't seem to think it a pity at all. He thought it was the happiest arrangement possible that Egerton should marry his sister. There was not another man on earth to whom he would sooner see her engaged, and he said so. " But I'm told that be has nothing in the world but the allowance bis father gives him," said the prudent mother. " "What does that matter ? " rejoined tbe son, (He was not yet a mother.) "Matter! why, you wouldn't have her niarry without any settlements ?

" He didn't see that they were of much consequence ; and, as to where they were to live, why, let them live at Mottistone, — lots of places for them to live at. His mother smiled, as she hstened to bis vague eagerness, and said, " I hear, too, that he has quarrelled with his father ; and that he has less prospect now than ever of being able to marry." " He told me about that. Has be ever said anything about it to Blanche ? " "Not that I knoAv of. She would have been sure to tell me, if anything of the kind had passed between them. I almost wish sometimes that something definite would take place : she looks so pale and worn to what she used." Charlie had noticed a difference, he said. " But, if Harry is so fond of her, why has he never proposed ? " " Why, my darling, how could he?" returned his mother, " Avith nothing to many upon.

But I must say, he has behaved very well. I'm only so sorry for them both, for I like him extremely as your friend, my boy," laying ber hand tenderly upon his shoulder, " but not as a future husband for Blanche." After a little further conversation, Charlie went off to chess, not at aU convinced that it was not good for them to be brought together, and determined that Harry should be at Mottistone before very long ; they must be happier together than apart. And, having made up his mind to this prudent decision, he went doAvn to dinner, and was so gentle and affectionate to his sister during the evening that her old sphits returned again for a time, in the happiness of haA*ing him back again. Egerton, meanwhile, was spending a dull enough evening in London. A few men whom he knew — in business or Government offices, whose duties have called them back to London — enter the club, and they fall to execrating the gloomy weather, and the dulness and emptiness of the town.

They stroll on to Pratt' s ; and Egerton takes up the sporting papers again, with a view to getting up the next week's racing ; lays down the paper every now and then, to think what a prospectively Elysian week be might have had at Mottistone. " Better not though," — and the paper is resumed with a sigh. But the same thought recurs again at intervals, and is discarded each time with greater reluctance. And yet he knew it was very weak not to be able to keep more control over his thoughts. How often had he told himself what a fool he was to be in love — a miserable younger son, a pauper ! He knew very weU that it would be ridi culous for him to ask any ghl to marry him ; and he had too much regard for one, at least, to condemn her to a long period of engagement, which might have no end. Ac cordingly, having decided that it was not to be, he continued to think about it, and wish that it could be.

Weak young man ! wasn't he ? and yet, strong young man ! in that he had hitherto restrained himself from asking anyone to make herself miserable with him upon a small income, which would go but a short way to provide the comforts and luxu ries which were necessary to theh joint existence — or, at all eA'ents, enjoyment of life. Perhaps his self-denial was due to an unselfish consideration of the discomfort which rashness on his part might entail upon the object of bis affections, rather than to any particular innate excellence of character ; for, I suppose, he thought, like every one else in his position, that a crust and a cottage with Blanche Yillars would be happiness for gods. Of course, if the crust became a loaf, tbe cottage a A~illa, or the loaf became a cake, and the villa a house, and so on, in an equal degree this happi ness would increase.

But these considera tions hardly entered his mind : it was the hardship which a refined and high-bred ghl would feel, in having to descend to the miserable economy of a small establishment, where she would have no gratification but his society (which might pall at times), — no carriage, no servants, no dresses, — fancy that figure, he thought, in a cotton dress, stiff with starch and ugliness — bah ! don't talk of it. It was the contemplation of this in evitable consequence which strengthened the self-denial and reticence which is now affording us all so agreeable and profitable a study. And therefore, having again made up bis mind that anything like marriage was out of the question, be again proceeded to review the position, and speculate whether out of sight out of mind would apply in the present case ; whether, if he avoided re minding her of his existence, she would, as he didn't hope, forget him.

On the whole, he decided that she would not ; that there were depths in ber nature capable of a most enduring loA*e, and that no amount of absence would make ber untrue to him. He had a boundless confidence and trust in ber con stancy ; and this, too, as he had determined that her loA*e should die out for want of seeing him occasionally, was a gratifying point for contemplation. Will any intelligent male or female reader perchance laugh at the determined self-denial which this excellent young man is prac tising? Will some one, perhaps, say that, as they are so exceedingly fond of each other, it is a pity they didn't marry at once, in spite of the luxurious tastes which they would carry with them into theh limited establishment ? Surely there will be found some one strangely-intelligent person who Avill advocate the love-in-a-cottage theory, — who does not belieA*e that loA*e flies out of the window when poverty comes in at the door, — who Avill deny that to people whose tastes are averse to smaU economies, the domestic necessities of a limited income are as great a hardship and annoyance as poverty to those of a lower degree.

Most interesting person ! let me look at you ; for you wear the honoured mantle of the late Mr. Thackeray Avhen you advocate these wise and prudent counsels. The penetration of that A'igorous •writer saw clearly the advantages which a marriage made for love has over one made for the mutual accommodation of the parties interested ; and, therefore, he has been at some pains to contrast the two, in favour of the former. But when he implies that Lady Clara Pulleyn ought to have married that penniless younger son, Jack Belsize, because Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis, having married for love, were so happy, he associates two sepa rate cases, which have no common ground of comparison. If extravagant Jack Bel size, alias Harry Egerton, with his expensive tastes, had married the ghl he was in love with, how could he possibly expect the domestic bliss of Mr. Pendennis, who had a ■fortune equal to his wants, and a wife of kindred tastes ?

Mr. Thackeray would have us beheve that all love marriages are made in heaven, and cannot, in the nature of things, ever end in hell. And yet they do (even when commenced under most for tunate auspices), just as often as the made up marriages which he deprecates, by repre senting for our edification tbe miseries of singularly ill-assorted couples. To wander for a moment from oui' immediate point — it is quite as unjust to found an argument against de convenance marriages upon the examples which he adduces, as it is to uphold the theory of love and marriage from under the comfortable roof-tree of Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis. / Could any woman haATe made a happy wife to Sh Pitt Crawley, even if she had not previously given up a Peter Butt ? Could any woman have ever lived in com fort with such a mean, poor-sphited fiend as Barnes Newcome, even if there had not been a Jack Belsize to set him off in a yet more repulsive light ?

Love is a very de sirable accompaniment to marriage, but there are many other things which women consider equally deshable, and which con tribute much more to their future happiness than a transient burst of sentiment, which lasts out the month perhaps. Prudent mothers know that carriages, and diamonds, and coronets, contain more ele ments of happiness and contentment than a handful of love, and therefore they very wisely endeavour to supply theh daughters with these commodities. If they can fall in love with the possessors of them, so much the better. Love and a coronet, I suppose, are the acme of a girl's hopes. But if she can't fall in love at once with the eligible party who is anxious to marry her, there is no reason why she should not grow to like him afterwards, if she has not already fixed her affections upon somebody else.

And even if she does not, she always has her diamonds to fall back upon, which she would not have had when thed of the love of that younger son, with his two hundred a year. You may be sure that there are many less marriages made for love than are supposed to be, and many more made up than the occasional ones which are so virtuously decried. A girl persuades herself that she is in love Avith a man, because she wants to be married; or accepts him from a natural deshe to get settled in life, and trusts to growing to like him afterwards. And very probably she becomes really attached to him in time, and theh domestic bliss becomes the envy of her sister, — who has made a real love marriage, with everything else besides, VOL. II. c and who has to acknowledge now that there is quite as much chance of happiness in the one as in the other.

It is the greatest mistake to confound all made-up marriages Avith those where the ghl is forced to marry a man she doesn't like, to gratify the A*anity or ambition of a scheming mother. It will be strange if such unholy matrimony is not productive of all the misery Avliich tbe mother would deseiwe. It may, perhaps, be hard that those who are really only endeaA*ouring to proAide for theh daughters what they know from ex perience to be the chief medium of theh happiness, — it may be hard that they should suffer from the impression with which tbe vulgarity and ill-breeding of some women have saddled London matrons generally. But they may always have the satisfaction of knoAving that the unmannerly, two fingered contempt which some women (who think that their rank atones for theh vulgarity) show to a younger son, recoils naturally upon theh own heads.

They may, of course, pretend to be only seeking to do theh best for darling Alice or dearest Mary; but their motive for the cultivation of rank and wealth, when seen by tbe sordid light of theh parvenu manners, never fails to have the right construction put upon it. Rank only sets off to greater advantage the coarseness of manner by which the vulgarity of theh minds is exhibited. Lady Mary Yillars had such confidence in the good judgment of her daughter that she would have been perfectly content for her to marry according to her choice, if prudence had promised happiness as a result. Lady Emily L'Estrange, if Harry Egerton had proposed to marry Florence, and had shown that they would have enough to live upon, would have laughed in his face ; and would have confided to him, with all that graceful frankness which no artificial polish ever concealed, that she didn't know how he could have the impudence to entertain such a thought even for a moment.

She intended that her daughters, when they did marry, should not marry paupers ; and she should be obliged to him if he would avoid any further mention of the subject. There are, as everyone probably knows, chaperones and chaperones.

Chapter II

" Hallo, Philip ! How are you ? I heard that you were in town," — replied to a wooden hand and a chilly " How d'ye do ?" — was " the greeting fah that passed there," on the pavement of Piccadilly, be tween Harry and Philip Egerton. It was the Saturday before Newmarket, and the former was on his way to Tattersall's. " My servant told me that you had been to Eaton Place," remarked Philip, with his own sweet smile. "My father is not in town, and will not be for tbe rest of the winter." " I suppose not," rejoined Harry, irritated by Philip's expression ; " he never is at this time of year. Are you going down into Leicestershire ?" "I shall take my leave next month," replied Philip. He then excused himself from further conversation by pleading an engagement, and walked on with bis usual creeping gait, looked back upon sometimes by occasional passers-by, Avho continued their way re joicing that they had no connection with such a sinister-looking being.

Philip thought that Harry might want him to lend him money. "Don't he Avish he may get it," he soliloquised with a great satisfaction. What his arrangements for the winter might be, he little cared to know, and as for compassionating him upon losing bis hunting, that would have been A*ery un like Philip Egerton. Harry did not, and, for that matter, had not time to mention that he was going to Tattersall's to hear something about the way the betting was going on the Cambridge shire, and get up a httle intelligence about the ensuing week. He would also have carefully avoided saying that he was going down to NeAATnarket the next day ; but Philip Egerton heard of his being there before he left London, and you may be sure that he took care to let his father know it. The intelligence, too, was spiced Avith occasional observations upon unprincipled reck lessness, gambling propensities incurable, continued course of extewagance, &c, &c. ; and Mr. Egerton, who bad been secretly reproaching himself Arery frequently of late for his impulsiA*e harshness, gained addi tional strength for the support of his con sistency in the contemplation of the accuracy of his discernment, and the self-satisfaction which he deriAred from tbe thought that he knew all along that he was only doing what be was perfectly justified in doing.

"Talk of economy and reform indeed ! So likely ; and here he is going down and betting and gambling at NeAvmarket, just as I suppose he has been doing for the last three or four years. / don't call going to Newmarket economising. No. no ; I knew that no good could ever come of him." And then the contrast between the warm hearted second son, and the cold, serpentlike eldest, would force itself upon his mind, and be would be angry Avith himself for thinking that it was possible to regret the line which he had taken, and would go into the drawing-room and talk irritably to bis sister to relieve the perplexity of his thoughts. It never, of course, occurred to Mr. Egerton that his son might have been driven back again into gambling by being left without a home to go to, or the in fluences of home to keep him away from such pursuits ; or by the absolute want of money, which tempted him to risk losing what he could not afford to pay, on the chance of winning what might relieve him from his more pressing difficulties.

Mrs. GreAiUe might have suggested this as a reason, had bis name not been forbidden between them, and though she did mention it to Phibp, we may feel pretty confident that it did not reach Mr. Egerton through that medium. Harry, meanwhile, had gone down to New market by the Sunday express, talked affably at the Cambridge station Avith one or two tradesmen of the place to whom he owed money (who should be paid, he said, if he had a good week), and had put up with Castleton and two or three more at the inn. Tbe possibility of losing did arise now and then to disturb the happy unconcern which the society he was frequenting bad a tendency to produce. For his week's expenses of trains, feeding with men like Castleton, AA*ho d d the expense on all occasions ; hhing a pony, and other small items, would be by no means beneath his consideration in the present limited condition of his finances, — with only the prospect of fifty pounds to be paid in shortly, to last for three months.

He commenced operations, accordingly, in A*ery small stakes, and resolutely declined to play chicken-hazard in the evening. He had vivid recollections of previous losses in that room, which deterred him from trying his luck again. And therefore, as he had plenty of moral courage when he chose (o exercise it, he continued to look on — a dangerous trial to that moral courage, after dinner, in a room full of excitement, in the company of men who are throwing down theh notes at random. For the first day or two he lost on the course ; and his pony began to acknowledge an additional weight — care was mounting behind the horseman. And towards the middle of tbe third day, he began to think that, as it would be simply impossible for him to pay his losses, he had better stop before he went a regular " howler."

At this juncture, however, a "real good thing," which Castleton had got private in formation about, came off. His sphits rose again, the pony moved more freely, his luck changed, and he began to pull back bis losses ; and by the end of tbe meeting he found himself with a very comfortable over plus after paying all expenses. This he considered was " something like form ;" and he even felt, as he returned from settling at Tattersall's on the following Mon day, that the Fates were beginning to smile upon him again. He had had a A*ery plea sant week, seen many old Cambridge friends, paid all his expenses, and had a pocket full of crumpled notes to go on Avith. Not enough to make it worth while to pay any bills, but quite enough to stave off that season of rigid economy which had been staring him in tbe face before ; that is. always provided that some insufferably im portunate creditor did not insist on having bis repeated applications attended to.

So our friend dined sumptuously at bis OAvn expense that evening, and after dinner took up Btiss Life and began to look over the Derby betting, turning over iu bis mind whether it nhs-ht not be a good tiling to back one or two horses for next year. His luck seemed to be changing ; and before he went out he had made up his mind to begin a book on the following Thursdav.

Chapter III

Just about this time there was an advertisement appearing every day in the Times, to the effect that if any person of the name of Egerton would call at the office of a certain Mr. Flint, attorney, in some small street far away in the slums of the City, he might hear of somethhjg to his adA'antage. This bait bad caught the eye of Philip Egerton on tbe afternoon when be met Harry in Piccadilly ; and the very engage ment which he made an excuse for walking on, was an intended A*isit to tbe quarter in dicated. Philip neA*er lost a chance of doing himself a good turn ; and it was impossible to say what might not arise to bis profit from following up tbe suggestion which the advertisement offered. Accordingly, after walking for some distance doAvn the Strand, to lessen the cab fare, he took from his pocket the slip of paper on which he had taken down the address, and presenting it to a cabman, asked if he knew the street.

Tbe driver did not at that moment call to mind the particular street in question, but undertook to find it, having Shoreditch given ; and eventually, after threading in numerable narrow and dirty lanes and passages, he deposited Mr. Philip Egerton at the door of a dingy house, which bore the name he sought upon a small, dis coloured brass plate. A rusty, lean old man opened tbe door, and looked at him suspiciously, as he inquired if Mr. Flint was at home. " Yes," he answered, curtly, without making way for him to enter. Philip deshed to see him. " Name ?" asked the other, with tbe same brevity as before. " Never mind tbe name," Philip said. And after another good look at him, the man allowed him to pass into the house, and ushered him into a kind of office off the passage. It was a small, mean room, with a wire blind and painted wainscoting; a few tin boxes, which gave a kind of business-like ah to the dirt and gloom which impregnated the atmosphere; a desk, a stool, and a few pigeon holes.