Fanny the little milliner:

Front matter

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Chapter I

THE RICH man's TABLE — AFTER-DINNER TALK — ARISTOCRATIC NOTIONS OF MARRIAGE — AN EMBARRASSMENT— THE BEGGING LETTER — A FEW WORDS ON CHARITY— A REVELATION.

In a princely mansion in one of the most aristocratic parts of London, about twenty years ago, two nobleman negligently reclined in easy chairs.

It was at that horn: when a man is apt to be in good humom* with all the world, and to wonder that any one can be dissatisfied with the lot of man's estate in this sublunary sphere. In short, it was after dinner ; and the two distinguished individuals were pleasantly engaged in discussing their wine.

It has been observed by a great writer, that the characteristic distinctions of the two parties which divide the political world are those, on the one side, w^ho have everything to gain, and those, on the other, who have everything to lose. Of the truth of this political axiom, the daily process of dining forms a homely but forcible illustration : a hungry man is a radical before dinner ; after dinner, a conservative.

AVhether any of these curious ruminations were mentally indulged in by the aristocratic parties in question, it is impossible to say ; but it is certain that the elder of the two felt himself, on this occasion, exceedingly comfortable. Outside, the weather was cold and wretched ; and none but the most miserable objects — those who, without a home, were speculating on the means of finding shelter for the night — were visible in the deserted streets. The wintry wind blew keen and cutting; and the rushing of' mingled sleet and snow, pattering against the windows, made itself heard even through the thick folds of the rich damask curtains, which, hanging down in graceful di-apery at the further end of the room, satisfied the sense of sight, as well as the sense of feoling, that the inmates were efiectually shielded from the slightest draught of the cold aii\

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2 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEU I

Inside, the aspect of tlie dining-room was particularly clieerful. A lively fire blazed in the ample grate ; wax candles, in splendid candelabras, shed a soft and luxurious light ; priceless pictures, in massive gilt frames, covered the gorgeous walls ; and the choicest wines — helped, not spoiled, by a magnihcent dessert — sparkled in glittering crystal on the highly polished table.

The mastei* of the mansion felt himself particularly comfortable ; and his placid feelings of after-dinner satisfaction were enhanced by the pleasurable comparison between the miserable state of things outside and the comfortable state within.

The portly nobleman who was then enjoying himself felt that the world was a very good world ; his digestion was good ; the wine M'as good ; and his spirits were good. His good humour was still further increased by the presence of his only son, the Viscount Sarum, who had recently returned from Vienna, after a lengthened residence abroad, and on whom the hopes and pride of the peer were centred, as the means of continuing his race and titles to succeeding generations.

" Augustus," said his Lordship, filling his glass, and pushing the bottle to his son, inviting him by a kindly gesture to imitate his example, " we will drink to youi' success."

His son replaced his uplifted glass, and hesitated.

"I am aware," continued the peer, " that five-and-twenty is an age too young for a man of rank to fix himself — his future destiny, in a great measure — by a matrimonial alliance ; but your case is an exception."

The young nobleman looked uneasy.

"And this is a match, my dear Augustus," added the father, with a look of great kindness towards his son, " that I have set my heart on — yes, I have set my heart on it ; it is in every way so desirable. Lady Eleanor is only nineteen ; she is a beautiful girl — that every one acknowledges ; and she has a distinguished air suitable to her position."

■' She was a very beautiful girl, certainly, when I last saw her," said his son.

" Yes, decidedly, a very beautiful girl," said his father, very much pleased ; " but the lovely little girl is now grown into a more beautiful woman."

" She promised to be a very fine woman," observed Augustus negligently.

"Promised! my dear boy!" said his father, a little annoyed at the coldness of his son's manner, but with an expression of pleased self-satisfaction at the Ion mot which was rising for utterance to his lips ; *' and she has kept her promise — ^ha ! ha ! — as you will keep mine, I don't doubt ; for, to tell you the truth, I have committed myself a little, I am afraid, and you too ; but I don't fear the result. We shall have a pleasant party in the north with Lord St. Austin and the family, and that, perhaps, will be the best time for you to settle it with Lady Eleanor."

The young nobleman was labouring under visible embarrassment, which could not escape the observation of his parent ; the more so, as his son had, in the most extraordinary manner, neglected to laugh at the excellent bon mot which his noble father had been pleased to make — a neglect unusual and horrid, and which filled the worthy peer with an indefinable feeling of disappointment -and apprehension.

OB, THE EICH AND THE POOR. [3

" I hope," said his son, after a pause, speaking slowly and reluctantly, " that you have not said anything to commit me to this un-un-un-expected proposal — that is, proposition of marriage ? I "

*' Unexpected !" interrupted his father, with some appearance of surprise and displeasure ; but quickly checking it, and resuming his quiet manner of bland composure, — " unexpected ! Augustus, you can hardly say that. Were not you and Eleanor play-fellows together, and did you not always call her your little wife ? And is she not an only daughter, as you are an only son ? — and the principal part of her family estates is unentailed— ever}i;hing desirable. Her father, too, is one of my oldest friends, and we have agreed on the matter ourselves, only waiting for you publicly to declare yourself in th^ proper form. Everything smooth and straight. Why, it is a sort of natural alliance between the two families, which it becomes a duty to carry into effect. Besides, the marriage joins the two estates ! Come, Augustus, say the word, and the thing is done. Marriage, after all, is not so bad. I've kno\\Ti many — no, not many — but I may say some — that is, more than one man-iage, in which the parties have passed their lives together very happily. It's all use and habit ; a man become used to anything. And when he is once married, why, he becomes resigned, and submits to it as a duty incidental to his position and rank in society. I was married young myself." (Here the worthy peer sighed, and assumed a sentimental look.)

Plis son could not help smiling.

" Just so ; that's the way to take it — ^cheerfully and with a good grace. And, besides, there's something respectable in being a married man. It is surprising with what authority it invests a man on certain occasions. There's old Lord Multiple ; it's wonderful what an eifect he produces on the House when he appeals to them as the father of a family. And he looks so virtuous, and assumes such an air of merit, that it quite imposes on people : nothing more effectual at a public meeting. It shows that though he is a lord — one of the order which the people are crying out so much against — that he has done something. Come, my boy, let us say that it is settled, and I will see Lady Eleanor's father to-morrow, if you don't like to speak first. Upon my word, she is a fine creatm-e — a very fine creature ! Only nineteen ! Good temper — (that's a great point) — family property must aU come to her — and the estates join ! "

" Really," replied his son, in a tone unaccountably cold and hesitating, to this glowing enumeration of the lady's qualifications, "I am surprised that Lady Eleanor, with her beauty and accomplishments, and especially with her money, has not got married already. She must have many admirers."

" Plenty, my dear boy, plenty — shoals ! AU the men are mad for her —or her money, w^hich is the same thing. But she has waited for you, my boy — waited for you. Such an instance of devoted constancy was never before known in woman. I remember when the story came over of your saving that poor woman's life at Naples ; how you jumped into the sea, and brought her out safe. It was thought very spirited — very. We all felt quite proud of you in London ; only we thought that you might catch cold. It was just what I should have done myself, if I could swim. Why,- you would have been made quite a lion of if you had been in town that season! And the poor little girl praised you more tlian you can B 2 imagine. It is nearly throe years ago now, and she was but a yoim^ little thing ; but she has not forgotten it, I can tell you. What became of the poor woman afterwards ? Was she old or young ?"

His son made no other reply to this seemingly insignificant question, than by a hasty movement, as if something had touched him to the quick. Filling his glass with a motion which caused the wine to overflow upon the table, he swallowed the bumper at a draught.

*' Excuse me," observed the dignified nobleman, in a polite tone of gentle expostulation ; " but if you drink your wine that way, Augustus, it is impossible for you to taste it. I must say I don't admire that continental fashion, if it is one. This very wine which you are drinking, was laid down before you were born, by your excellent grandfather, tft whom we are all so much indebted for his improvements and additions to the family estate. I assure you I never drink it without a certain respect in honour of your grandfather's memory, and of the property in the north, which he secured to us. I thought you would like a glass of real good English port, as a change after your foreign wines. I assure you it is only on particular occasions that Martin allows me a bottle of it ; for it is getting very low in the bin, he tells me."

" I beg the old butler a great many pardons," said his son, refilling his glass to the brim, and proceeding to dispose of it with more epicurean deliberation ; " and I drink this to the memory of my excellent grandfather, and vdth especial deference to his taste in all matters culinary and gustatory. And to evince my sympathy wdth his predilections, I will fill my glass again, and drink to the health of — of "

" Of Lady Eleanor ! " said his father.

His son set down his glass with an abruptness' which scattered the fragrant contents over the adjacent dishes of dessert.

"The deuce take the wine !" he said, stammering and in confusion; " I wish there was some brandy."

His noble parent stood aghast ! That his elegant and exclusive son — he, who had been the pride and the envy of the fashionable world — should so far forget himself, as, in the same breath, to scatter abroad his venerable grandfather's most cherished wine ; manifest an indifference, so unaccountable, for Lady Eleanor, and express a wish, so vulgar, and at such a moment, for brandy ! was utterly beyond his lordship's comprehension. Notwithstanding his pleasure at seeing him, after his long absence from England, he was about to express to his son, in the politest possible manner, his surprise and displeasure at such an unseemly forgetfulness of polite habits in general, and of the respect due to himself in particular, when the entrance of a servant with a letter turned the expression of his aristocratic \^'Tath in another direction.

The servant, in a splendid livery, noiselessly approached. Seeing at a glance, that his noble master's mind was troubled, his looks assumed an increased expression of humility and deference, as he stood with the letter so opportune for the diversion of the son's embarrassment, on a silver salver.

" A letter, my lord."

" I see. How did it come ?— not by the post ; there is no post at this hour. What's o'clock ? "

" Half-past ten, my lord." , . ■>

OE, THE EICH AND THE POOR. 5

" Who does it come from ? "

The servant was silent, and looked at the letter, thinking, perhaps, that the shortest way of ascertaining that fact was to open it.

" It came by hand, my lord."

The earl examined it — at a safe distance — cm-iously, through his glasses.

The epistle certainly had a most unaristocratic air. It was evident, from a brief glance at its siurface, that it w^as written on common paper, not of the most cleanly hue : its shape was by no means of the prescribed elegant proportions ; and it was crumpled np, as if it had been grasped unceremoniously by an inattentive hand. The superscription, too, was blotted and illegible. AltogeJ/her, it was a very suspicious letter.

" Who does this come from r" said the earl, tartly, casting a glance at the man which caused him to shift back his leg one step, still holding the. salver, with outstretched arm, in the same position. ,

" I believe, my lord, a poor woman brought it."

" A poor woman !" The earl tilted the letter over with the end of his glasses (carefully wiping them immediately after,) and turned the unsightly paper on its back.

A huge red wafer — its presence glaringly disclosed by the imperfect envelopment of the narrow edge of a rumpled fold, and manifestly wet, as if recently submitted to the moisture of the mouth — met his indignant gaze ! His eye fell full and angrily on the abashed menial —

" Why !" said his lordship, pointing with his glasses to the contraband article, " this must be a petition !"

The calves of the servant's legs were visibly agitated, and his trembling hand caused the condemned epistle to perform sundry saltations on the polished salver.

" This," repeated his lordship, raising his voice into a still more angry tone, — " this must be a petition ! How is it that, after the positive orders which I have given not to admit such things, that I am troubled with this intrusion ? and at such a time, too ! This disrespect is monstrous !"

The servant looked at the letter fiercely, and at his master deprecatingly, but said nothing.

By a motion of his hand, the peer intimated to the attendant that he might leave the room.

Placing the salver, on which was deposited the unfortunate letter, delicately, on a small round table at his m^aster's elbow, the man with a submissive air, retired.

His lordship, shrinkingly handling the suspicious epistle, thi'ough the medium of a napkin, subjected it to the light of the lustre on the chimneypiece, with its outer side towards his son. Reading aloud the words at the commencement — " I earnestly entreat," — he threw it down pettishly.

" It is most extraordinaiy," he exclaimed, glad to find an object on which his anger could find a legitimate vent, — " it is most extraordinary how we are beset with these eternal begging letters ! Keally, the common people seem to think we are literally made of money, and that we have nothing to do but to put oui* hands in our pockets and shower it doAvn on whoever asks for it. These begging letters have grown quite into a system ; and the tax on one's time, and one's feelings, and one's money, is become a grievance that is intolerable ! Something must be done in

6' FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER I

Parliament to remedy this horrible nuisance, or we shall' not be able to live in our o^Yn houses, or even sit at dinner in quiet."

"It is, indeed, very annoying," replied his son, with ready assent, and glad to turn his father's thoughts into a different channel from the awkward subject which had recently embarrassed him; "but what are the poor people to do ? — it is natural, in their distress, that they should look for relief to those who have the power to assist them."

" Augustus !" said his lordship, with much gravity, and imconsciously assuming the tone and attitude with which he was wont to enlighten the House of Lords on appropriate occasions, — " this is a subject to which I have paid particular attention ; I may say, very particular attention. It is a subject which I have investigated thoroughly ; and I may be permitted to hope that the few observations in which I shall take the opportunity to indulge may not be unworthy of your lordships' — I mean, Augustus, may be useful to you ; for, of course, it cannot be expected, at yoiu: time of life, that you have had the leisure to jiay it the necessary attention."

Augustus was delighted to see his father mount his hobby-horse in this style, and he threw into his look all the respectful deference which the occasion demanded, and remained in an attitude of fixed attention.

"I am aware, sir," he said, "that you have devoted much time and labour to the consideration of the condition of the poor, and that there is no member of either House who could pretend to compete with you in your information on that important subject'."

" That is too much to say, Augustus," returned the peer, not displeased, however, to receive this tribute to his social and senatorial wisdom — " that is too much to say ; though I may be permitted to hazard the opinion, that no one in the House is listened to with more attention than myself on these subjects ; and, indeed, I may take it on myself to aver that my arguments have made so deep an impression, and have so entirely convinced — or at least silenced my oi3ponents — that their lordships usually pay me the compliment to intimate that it is unnecessary for me to reiterate my statements, inasmuch as they have heard sufficient from me already, to spare me the trouble of addressing them at any length for the future ; a feeling on the part of the House which cannot fail, Augustus, to be particularly gratifying to your father's feelings."

Augustus did not know exactly what reply to make to this complacent self-satisfaction of his worthy parent ; and his countenance assumed a dubious expression.

" I fear," said the peer, "that you don't quite go with me on this point; but you are young, and have not yet got rid of your romance, and generosity, and all that ; but it is nothing but yom* inexperience that misleads you. I view this question as a gi'eat statistical question. It is a question of figures and calculation, not a question of feeling; it is precisely one in which your feelings would lead you wrong. Now, I divest myself of all feeling, and regard the subject as one of statistical calculation, and of certain mathematical deductions."

" If I might be permitted to express my own opinion," said his son, slightly moved, " I should view it as a question of humanity. One cannot subject the passions and the feelings — and more — the weakness and the errors of mankind, to arithmetical calculations. You cannot deal with breathing, living, xnoving men, as you can with figures. The human

OE, THE KICH AlfD THE POOR. ^ heart does not act from mathematical demonstrations, but from impulse."

"My dear Augustus!" rejoined the peer, turning round his chair so as better to face his son, and clearing a space on the table so as to have more room for the exercise of his oratory, " you are wrong, quite vtrong. Impulse! That impulse, as you call it, always leads to mischief. The impulse of the poor is to have my estates and my property, and to be on tlie same footing with us who are their superiors ; this is the very thing that we must keep down. The lot of the great bulk of mankind," continued his lordship, with much pomposity, " is to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow ; and anything that tends to put the conviction of that ' necessity out of their heads, is mi/ichievous. There are two great distinc- ! tions in society — the Rich and the Poor ; nature has so ordained it ; it ' has always been so, and must always be so. It is the part, therefore, of a wise statesman, to repress with a firm hand all attempts on the part of the labouring classes to be other than what they are ; to keep them in their place, and not to encourage in them false notions about their ' rights,' as they term them, and the 'natural equality of man,' and all that nonsense. Don't talk to me about impulse ! Teach the poor to act on system ; make them industrious ; make them acquire provident habits ; and let them receive religious instruction to render them obedient to the laws, respectful to their superiors, and content with their condition."

" I quite agree," said his son, " that we ought to provide for the poor the means of education, so as to elevate them above the condition of the brutes of the field, which merely eat and sleep."

" Education ! Education !" exclaimed the peer, contemptuously ; " yes, if it is the right education — the education which makes them content with their condition, and submissive to their superiors in station ; but not the education which teaches them to read the newspapers, and get crammed with all the abominable notions with which the lower classes are stirred up • — the ' KiGHTS OF THE POOR,' and the ' RIGHTS OF LABOUR,' and all that stuff! The rights of the poor! What do they mean by the rights of the poor? If I employ you, very well ; what right have you to compel me to employ you, or to make me support you if I don't ? The thing is absurd !"

" That argument," observed the young nobleman, " may seem philosophic, but it seems to me that the heart and the feelings reject it. When labom' fails to support the labouring man, charity must step in to his aid." ^ ;

"Pooh! All these sentimental words about the human heart and the feelings, and all that, only mislead and distract the attention from the essential point — the great statistical question of the management of the poor. There is nothing more pernicious to the poor themselves than the relief of their wants by public and private charitable institutions, and indeed, by all private charity in general. It only makes them improvident, and habituates them to depend more on casual bounties than on their own exertions. For this reason, the poor laws have proved the most destructive evil for the poor themselves. See wliat they have brought the country to ; the poor are actually eating us out of our estates !"

" Surely," observed his son, desirous of provoking his father to continue the discussion, so as to prevent a recurrence to the embarrassing

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subject of his proposed marriage — and not unwilling to give expression to his own sentiments — " surely there is some contradiction in admitting the distresses of the poor, and denying the propriety of relieving them. What is a poor man to do, if he is starving, and with a family of children, perhaps all absolutely wanting food ?"

" Family of children ! my dear Augustus — positively you almost make me angry. You speak of a family of children as a thing of course ; as a sort of natural accompaniment to the condition of a labourer. What business has he with a family of children ? That's his own fault."

" But still," persisted the son, " suppose the case of afsxmily of children — what is to be done, if they are starving ?"

" That is just the cry which deceives people," said the peer, impatiently. "What is a poor man to do, if he is starving? To be sure: what is he to do ? But why is he starving ? From his own fault — his own improvidence. You must force him to be provident, so as not to be in danger of starving ; and that he Avill never be, so long as he knows that he has a legal right to demand relief out of your property and mine. The great point is, to give the poor self-reliance and self-dependence ; not to let them trust as a resource against their own improvidence, to public or private charity ; that is, to your savings and mine."

"But," observed his son, "you would not condemn entirely all public and private charity ? There is high authority "

" Yes, yes, I know what you are going to say ; but you must interpret and apply the Scriptures according to the circumstances of the case. Charity is charity only when properly directed. The Scriptures do not touch the present evil, of the absorbing confiscation of all property to the clamorous exigences of the poor. Of course it is the duty of the upper classes of society to attend to the condition of the poor; but the best mode of benefiting them, is to crush the habit of relying on charity for support, instead of on their own independent exertions ; and this you will never do, while you maintain the present system of the poor laws. The workhouse must be made more distasteful than it is, and the laws more stringent. The poor must be coerced into better habits; and, especially, there must be a rigid abstaining from the reckless private charity in which some, I am sorry to say, are prone to indulge. It is a maxim with me, never to allow myself to fall into the culpable weakness of fostering distress, by giving it the artificial assistance of what is called charity — that is my rule. Relief with me is the exception."

"And I confess," said his son, "that with me, relief is the rule, and denial the exception. Even supposing the distress to be feigned, which I dare say it often is, I cannot help thinking that it is better to take your chance of doing the good you intend, than, by a too scrupidous exactness, to allow real distress to be unrelieved. That very letter, now, which is lying on the table, may contain a case of sufiering which a little attention, and some slight assistance, might effectually relieve."

" The petition — ah ! I had forgotten it. Not that it matters ; for I can guess its contents without reading it. They all contain the same tale. Widow, sick-bed, and an astonishing quantity of children, all of a tender age, but nowhere to be found, except on paper ; unless they are hired, which they generally are, for the occasion."

So saying, he again took up the obnoxious letter, and testily looked at it.

OK, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 9

"It is addressed, inside, to you, Augustus — "To Lord Sarum." Glancing hastily and unwillingly over the contents, the much-loathed word, DISTRESS, met his eye. With an impatient gesture he cast it from him. The open paper encountering the draught towards the chimney, was drawn to the fire, and kindling imder the grate, became rapidly consumed.

So perish, and so vainly are penned by trembling and feeble hands, many of the bitter and heart-rending supplications for relief of the really wretched ! And well would it have been for the peace of the noble family of Avhich that peer was the head and chief, if on that occasion he had relaxed from his usual rigidity of system, and bestowed on the application more than a brief glance. But thfe ways of Heaven are inscrutable ; and dearly was that neglect punished in after years by bitter and unavailing sorrow.

"By-the-by," said his lordship, in a tone of strong displeasiu*e, "I intended to speak about that letter." Binging the bell, which was promptly answered by the footman in waiting — " Tell the porter to come here."

"Yes, my lord."

Now, it must bo observed, that the important and responsible individual who filled the office of porter at the town mansion of the Earl of Grandborough, had assumed his official duties only a fortnight before, his predecessor having died from excessive fat, and a morbid affection of the nerves caused by reading fashionable novels. He was well aware, that in addition to his ordinary duties of returning gracious replies to his master's friends, according to their respective ranks and fortunes, he had been rigidly enjoined to act as the Cerberus of the rich man's mansion, on all occasions of the presentation of doubtful characters — such as presimiptive sailors or soldiers, with suppositious wooden legs; middle-aged women in widows' caps and with cotton umbrellas worn stumpy at the end ; all persons with yellow and sickly-looking foces (unless coming in carriages) ; and, generally, to guard against the insidious attempts of all classes and denominations of the shabby-genteel to gain furtive admittance within the doorway of the rich man's mansion. This task the vigilant Dennis had sedulously executed, although not always without mistakes. On one occasion he had the mishap to deny his master to the Lord Chancellor himself ; and, on another, he flatly refused admittance to a certain high functionary in the House of Lords, so decidedly seedy was the appearance of those personages. But, on the present occasion, his vigilance had been taken by surprise, and his usual presence of mind had, for once, deserted him. The unusual hour of the night ; the bitter bleakness of thoAveather; and the interesting appearance of the "poor woman," had thrown him off his guard; and he had committed the unpardonable indiscretion of admitting, without reference to a superior functionary, that his master was " at home." But the evil was done.