he held a snuffbox adorned with the figure of a heathen goddess. To those who know the meaning of fashion it was evident that he was in the front rank, belonging to the few who follow or command, the variations of the passing hour. These descend to the smallest details. I am told that the secrets of the inner circle, the select few, who lead the fashion, are displayed for their own gratification in the length of the cravat, the colour of the sash, the angle of the sword, the breadth of the ruffles, the width of the skirts, the tye of the wig. They are also shown in the mincing voice, and the affected tone, and the use of the latest adjectives and oaths. Yet, when one looked more closely, it was seen that this gallant exterior arrayed an ancient gentleman whose years were proclaimed by the sharpening of his features, the wrinkles of his feet, the crows'-feet round his eyes, and his bending shoulders which he continually endeavoured to set square and upright. Hat in one hand, and snuffbox in the other, he ambled towards his lordship on tiptoe, which happened just then to be the fashionable gait.
"Thy servant, Sir Harry"—my lord offered him his hand with condescension. "It warms my heart to see thee. Therefore I sent a letter. Briefly, Sir Harry, wouldst do me a service?"
"I am always at your lordship's commands. This, I hope, I have proved."
"Then, Sir Harry, this is the case. It is probable that for certain private reasons, I may have to pay a visit to a country town—a town of tarpaulins and traders, not a town of fashion"—Sir Harry shuddered—"patience, my friend. I know not how long I shall endure the barbaric company. But I must go—there are reasons—let me whisper—reasons of state—important secrets which call me there"—Sir Harry smiled and looked incredulous—"I want, on the spot, a friend"—Sir Harry smiled again, as one who began to understand—"a friend who would appear to be a stranger. Would you, therefore, play the part of such a friend?"
"I will do whatever your lordship commands. Yet to leave town at this season"—it was then the month of April—"the assembly, the park, the card table—the society of the ladies——"
"The loss will be theirs, Sir Harry. To lose their old favourite—oh! there will be lamentations, at the rout—— Perhaps, however, we may find consolations."
"Impossible. There are none out of town, except at Bath or Tunbridge——"
"The ladies of Norfolk are famous for their beauty."
"Hoydens—I know them,
"'I who erst beneath a tree
Sung, Bumpkinet, and Bowzybee,
And Blouzelind and Marian bright
In aprons blue or aprons white,'
"as Gay hath it. Hoydens, my lord, I know them. They play whist and dance jigs."
"The Norfolk gentlemen drink hard and the wine is good."
"Nay, my lord, this is cruel. For I can drink no longer."
"I shall find other diversions for you. It is possible—I say—possible—that the Lady Anastasia may go there as well. She will, as usual, keep the bank if she does go."
The old beau's face cleared, whether in anticipation of Lady Anastasia's society or her card table I know not.
"My character, Sir Harry, will be in your hands. I leave it there confidently. For reasons—reasons of state—it should be a character of. … "
"I understand. Your lordship is a model of all the virtues——"
"So—we understand. My secretary will converse with thee further on the point of expenditure."
Sir Harry retired, bowing and twisting his body something like an ape.
Then a gentleman in scarlet presented himself.
"Your lordship's most obedient," he said, with scant courtesy. "I come in obedience to your letter—for command."
"Colonel, you will hold yourself in readiness to go into the country. There will be play—you may lose as much as you please—to Sir Harry Malyus or to any one else whom my secretary will point out to you. Perhaps you may have to receive a remonstrance from me. We are strangers, remember, and I am no gambler, though I sometimes take a card."
"I await your lordship's further commands." So he, too, retired. A proper well-set-up figure he was, with the insolence of the trooper in his face, and the signs of strong drink on his nose. Any one who knew the town would set him down for a half-pay captain, a sharper, a bully, a roysterer, one who lived by his wits, one who was skilled in billiards and commonly lucky at any game of cards. Perhaps such a judgment of the gallant colonel would not be far wrong.
There remained one suitor. He was a clergyman dressed in a fine silk cassock with bands of the whitest and a noble wig of the order Ecclesiastic. I doubt if the archbishop himself had a finer. He was in all respects a divine of the superior kind: a dean, perhaps; an archdeacon, perhaps; a canon, rector, vicar, chaplain, with a dozen benefices, no doubt. His thin, slight figure carried a head too big for his body. His face was sallow and thin, the features regular; he bore the stamp of a scholar and had the manner of a scoffer. He spoke as if he was in the pulpit, with a voice loud, clear and resonant, as though the mere power of hearing that voice diffused around him the blessings of virtue and piety and a clear conscience.
"Good, my lord," he said, "I am, as usual, a suppliant. The rectory of St. Leonard le Size, Jewry, in the city, is now vacant. With my small benefices in the country, it would suit me hugely. A word from your lordship to the lord mayor—the rectory is in the gift of the corporation—would, I am sure, suffice."
"If, my old tutor, the thing can be done by me, you may consider it as settled. There are, however, I would have you to consider, one or two scandals still outstanding, the memory of which may have reached the ears of the city. These city people, for all their ignorance of fashion, do sometimes hear of things. The little affair at Bath, for instance——"
"The lady hath since returned to her own home. It is now quite forgotten and blown over. My innocency is always well known to your lordship."
"Assuredly. Has that other little business at Oxford blown over? Are certain verses still attributed to the Reverend Benjamin Purdon?"
His reverence lightly blew upon his fingers. "That report is now forgotten. But 'tis a censorious world. One man is hanged for looking over a gate while another steals a pig and is applauded. As for the author of those verses, he still remains undiscovered, while the verses themselves—a deplorable fact—are handed about for the joy of the undergraduates."
"Next time, then, steal the pig. Frankly, friend Purdon, thy name is none of the sweetest, and I doubt if the bishop would consent. Meantime, you are living, as usual, I suppose, at great expense——"
"At small expense, considering my abilities; but still at greater expense than my slender income will allow. Am I not your lordship's domestic chaplain? Must I not keep up the dignity due to the position?"
"Your dignity is costly. I must get a bishopric or a deanery for you. Meantime I have a small service to ask of you."
"Small? My lord, let it be great: it cannot be too great."
"It is that you go into the country for me."
"Not to Bath—or to Oxford?" His reverence betrayed an anxiety
