In the autumn of the year after the events outlined
in the previous chapter, I received a visit at my residence
on the Susquehannah, from a friend I had never
before seen a mile from St. James's street—a May-fair
man of fashion who took me in his way back from
Santa Fe. He stayed a few days to brush the cobwebs
from a fishing-rod and gun which he found in
inglorious retirement in the lumber-room of my cottage,
and, over our dinners, embellished with his trout
and woodcock, the relations of his adventures (compared,
as everything was, with London experience exclusively)
were as delightful to me as the tales of
Scheherezade to the calif.

“I have saved to the last,” he said, pushing me the
bottle, the evening before his departure, “a bit of romance
which I stumbled over in the prairie, and I
dare swear it will surprise you as much as it did me,
for I think you will remember having seen the heroine
at Almack's.”

“At Almack's?”

“You may well stare. I have been afraid to tell
you the story, lest you should think I drew too long
a bow. I certainly should never be believed in London.”

“Well—the story?”

“I told you of my leaving St. Louis with a trading
party for Santa Fe. Our leader was a rough chap,
big-boned, and ill put together, but honestly fond of
fight, and never content with a stranger till he had

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

settled the question of which was the better man. He
refused at first to take me into his party, assuring me
that his exclusive servuces and those of his company
had been engaged at a high price, by another gentleman.
By dint of drinking `juleps' with him, however,
and giving him a thorough `mill' (for though
strong as a rhinoceros, he knew nothing of `the science'),
he at last elected me to the honor of his friendship,
and took me into the party as one of his own
men.

“I bought a strong horse, and on a bright May
morning the party set forward, bag and baggage, the
leader having stolen a march upon us, however, and
gone ahead with the person who hired his guidance.
It was fine fun at first, as I have told you, to gallop
away over the prairie without fence or ditch, but I
soon tired of the slow pace and the monotony of the
scenery, and began to wonder why the deuce our
leader kept himself so carefully out of sight—for in
three days' travel I had seen him but once, and then
at our bivouac fire on the second evening. The men
knew or would tell nothing, except that he had one
man and a packhorse with him, and that the `gentleman'
and he encamped farther on. I was under promise
to perform only the part of one of the hired carriers
of the party, or I should soon have made a push to
penetrate `the gentleman's' mystery.

“I think it was on the tenth day of our travels that
the men began to talk of falling in with a tribe of Indians,
whose hunting-grounds we were close upon,
and at whose village, upon the bank of a river, they
usually got fish and buffalo-hump, and other luxuries
not picked up on the wing. We encamped about
sunset that night as usual, and after picketing my
horse, I strolled off to a round mound not far from the
fire, and sat down upon the top to see the moon rise.
The east was brightening, and the evening was delicious.

“Up came the moon, looking like one of the duke
of Devonshire's gold plates (excuse the poetry of the
comparison), and still the rosy color hung on in the
west, and turning my eyes from one to the other, I at
last perceived, over the southwestern horizon, a mist
slowly coming up, which indicated the course of a
river. It was just in our track, and the whim struck
me to saddle my horse and ride on in search of the
Indian village, which, by their description, must be on
its banks.

“The men were singing songs over their supper,
and with a flask of braudy in my pocket, I got off unobserved,
and was soon in a flourishing gallop over the
wild prairie, without guide or compass. It was a silly
freak, and might have ended in an unpleasant adventure.
Pass the bottle and have no apprehensions,
however.

“For an hour or so, I was very much elated with
my independence, and my horse too seemed delighted
to get out of the slow pace of the caravan. It was as
light as day with the wonderful clearness of the atmosphere,
and the full moon and the coolness of the
evening air made exercise very exhilarating. I rode
on, looking up occasionally to the mist, which retreated
long after I thought I should have reached the
river, till I began to feel uneasy at last, and wondered
whether I had not embarked in a very mad adventure.
As I had lost sight of our own fires, and might miss
my way in trying to retrace my steps, I determined to
push on.

“My horse was in a walk, and I was beginning to
feel very grave, when suddenly the beast pricked up
his ears and gave a hard neigh. I rose in my stirrups,
and looked round in vain for the secret of his improved
spirits, till with a second glance forward, I discovered
what seemed the faint light reflected upon the smoke
of a concealed fire. The horse took his own counsel,
and set up a sharp gallop for the spot, and a few min
utes brought me in sight of a fire half concealed by a
clump of shrubs, and a white object near it, which to
my surprise developed to a tent. Two horses picketed
near, and a man sitting by the fire with his hands
crossed before his shins, and his chin on his knees,
completed the very agreeable picture.

“`Who goes there?' shouted this chap, springing
to his rifle as he heard my horse's feet sliding through
the grass.

“I gave the name of the leader, comprehending at
once that this was the advanced guard of our party;
but though the fellow lowered his rifle, he gave me a
very scant welcome, and motioned me away from the
tent-side of the fire. There was no turning a man out
of doors in the midst of a prairie; so, without ceremony,
I tethered my horse to his stake, and getting
out my dried beef and brandy, made a second supper
with quite as good an appetite as had done honor to
the first.

“My brandy-flask opened the lips of my sulky friend
after a while, though he kept his carcass very obstinately
between me and the tent, and I learned that the
leader (his name was Rolfe, by-the-by), had gone on
to the Indian village, and that `the gentleman' had
dropped the curtain of his tent at my approach, and
was probably asleep. My word of honor to Rolfe that
I would `cut no capers' (his own phrase in administering
the obligation), kept down my excited curiosity,
and prevented me, of course, from even pumping the
man beside me, though I might have done so with a
little more of the contents of my flask.

“The moon was pretty well overhead when Rolfe
returned, and found me fast asleep by the fire. I awoke
with the trampling and neighing of horses, and, springing
to my feet, I saw an Indian dismounting, and Rolfe
and the fire-tender conversing together while picketing
their horses. The Indian had a tall feather in his cap,
and trinkets on his breast, which glittered in the moonlight;
but he was dressed otherwise like a white man,
with a hunting-frock and very loose large trowsers.
By the way, he had moccasins, too, and a wampum
belt; but he was a clean-limbed, lithe, agile-looking
devil, with an eye like a coal of fire.

“`You've broke your contract, mister!' said Rolfe,
coming up to me; `but stand by and say nothing.'

“He then went to the tent, gave an `ehem!' by
way of a knock, and entered

“`It's a fine night!' said the Indian, coming up to
the fire and touching a brand with the toe of his moccasin.

“I was so surprised at the honest English in which
he delivered himself, that I stared at him without answer.

“`Do you speak English?' he said.

“`Tolerably well,' said I, `but I beg your pardon
for being so surprised at your own accent that I forgot
to reply to you. And now I look at you more closely,
I see that you are rather Spanish than Indian.'

“`My mother's blood,' he answered rather coldly,
`but my father was an Indian, and I am a chief.'

“`Well, Rolfe,' he continued, turning the next instant
to the trader, who came toward us, `who is this
that would see Shahatan?'

“The trader pointed to the tent. The curtain was
put aside, and a smart-looking youth, in a blue cap
and cloak, stepped out and took his way off into the
prairie, motioning to the chief to follow.

“`Go along! he won't eat ye!' said Rolfe, as the
Indian hesitated, from pride or distrust, and laid his
hand on his tomahawk.

“I wish I could tell you what was said at that interview,
for my curiosity was never so strongly excited.
Rolfe seemed bent on preventing both interference and
observation, however, and in his loud and coarse voice
commenced singing and making preparations for his
supper; and, persuading me into the drinking part of

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

it, I listened to his stories and toasted my shins till I
was too sleepy to feel either romance or curiosity;
and leaving the moon to waste its silver on the wilderness,
and the mysterious colloquists to ramble and
finish their conference as they liked, I rolled over on
my buffalo-skin and dropped off to sleep.

“The next morning I rubbed my eyes to discover
whether all I have been telling you was not a dream,
for tent and demoiselle had evaporated, and I lay with
my feet to the smouldering fire, and all the trading
party preparing for breakfast around me. Alarmed at
my absence, they had made a start before sunrise to
overtake Rolfe, and had come up while I slept. The
leader after a while gave me a slip of paper from the
chief, saying that he should be happy to give me a
specimen of Indian hospitality at the Shawanee village,
on my return from Santa Fe—a neat hint that I
was not to intrude upon him at present.”

“Which you took?”

“Rolfe seemed to have had a hint which was probably
in some more decided shape, since he took it for
us all. The men grumbled at passing the village without
stopping for fish, but the leader was inexorable,
and we left it to the right and `made tracks,' as the
hunters say, for our destination. Two days from there
we saw a buffalo—”

“Which you demolished. You told me that story
last night. Come, get back to the Shawanees! You
called on the village at your return?”

“Yes, and an odd place it was. We came upon it
from the west, Rolfe having made a bend to the westward,
on his return back. We had been travelling all
day over a long plain, wooded in clumps, looking very
much like an immense park, and I began to think that
the trader intended to cheat me out of my visit—for
he said we should sup with the Shawanees that night,
and I did not in the least recognise the outline of the
country. We struck the bed of a small and very beautiful
river, presently, however, and after following it
through a wood for a mile, came to a sharp brow
where the river suddenly descended to a plain at least
two hundred feet lower than the table-land on which
we had been travelling. The country below looked
as if it might have been the bed of an immense lake,
and we stood on the shore of it.

“I sat on my horse geologizing in fancy about this
singular formation of land, till, hearing a shout, I
found the party had gone on, and Rolfe was hallooing
to me to follow. As I was trying to get a glimpse of
him through the trees, up rode my old acquaintance
Shahatan, with his rifle across his thigh, and gave me
a very cordial welcome. He then rode on to show me
the way. We left the river, which was foaming among
some fine rapids, and by a zig-zag side-path through
the woods, descended about half way to the plain,
where we rounded a huge rock, and stood suddenly in
the village of the Shawanees. You can not fancy any
thing so picturesque. On the left, for a quarter of a
mile, extended a natural steppe, or terrace, a hundred
yards wide, and rounding in a crescent to the south.
The river came in toward it on the right in a superb
cascade, visible from the whole of the platform, and
against the rocky wall at the back, and around on the
edge overlooking the plain, were built the wigwams
and log-huts of the tribe, in front of which lounged
men, women, and children, enjoying the cool of the
summer evening. Not far from the base of the hill
the river reappeared from the woods, and I distinguished
some fields planted with corn along its banks,
and horses and cattle grazing. What, with the pleasant
sound of the falls, and the beauty of the scene altogether,
it was to me more like the primitive Arcadia
we dream about, than anything I ever saw.

“Well, Rolfe and his party reached the village presently,
for the chief had brought me by a shorter cut,
and in a moment the whole tribe was about us, and
the trader found himself apparently among old acquaintances.
The chief sent a lad with my horse
down into the plain to be picketed where the grass was
better, and took me into a small hut, where I treated
myself to a little more of a toilet than I had been accustomed
to of late, in compliment to the unusual
prospect of supping with a lady. The hut was lined
with bark, and seemed used by the chief for the same
purpose, as there were sundry articles of dress and
other civilized refinements hanging to the bracingpoles,
and covering a rude table in the corner.

“Fancy my surprise, on coming out, to meet the
chief strolling up and down his prairie shelf with, not
one lady, but half a dozen—a respectable looking gentleman
in black (I speak of his coat), and a bevy of
nice-looking girls, with our Almack's acquaintance in
the centre—the whole party, except the chief, dressed
in a way that would pass muster in any village in England.
Shahatan wore the Indian's blanket, modified
with a large mantle of fine blue cloth, and crossed over
his handsome bare chest something after the style of
a Hieland tartan. I really never saw a better made or
more magnificent looking fellow, though I am not sure
that his easy and picturesque dress would not have improved
a plainer man.

“I remembered directly that Rolfe had said something
to me about missionaries living among the Shawanees,
and I was not surprised to hear that the gentleman
in a black coat was a reverend, and the ladies the
sisterhood of the mission. Miss Trevanion seemed
rather in haste to inform me of the presence of `the
cloth,' and in the next breath claimed my congratulations
on her marriage! She had been a chieftainess
for two months.

“We strolled up and down the grassy terrace, dividing
our attention between the effects of the sunset on
the prairie below and the preparations for our supper,
which was going on by the light of pine-knots stuck
in the clefts of the rock in the rear. A dozen Indian
girls were crossing and recrossing before the fires,
and with the bright glare upon the precipice, and the
moving figures, wigwams, &c., it was like a picture of
Salvator Rosa's. The fair chieftainess, as she glided
across occasionally to look after the people, with a step
as light as her stately figure would allow, was not the
least beautiful feature of the scene. We lost a fine
creature when we let her slip through our fingers, my
dear fellow!”

“Thereby hangs a tale, I have little doubt, and I
can give you some data for a good guess at it—but as
the `nigger song' has it—

“We had everything the wilderness could produce—
appetites included. Lying in the track of the trading-parties,
Shahatan, of course, made what additions
he liked to the Indian mode of living, and except that
our table was a huge buffalo-skin stretched upon stakes,
the supper might have been a traveller's meal among
Turks or Arabs, for all that was peculiar about it. I
should except, perhaps, that no Turk or Arab ever saw
so pretty a creature as the chief's sister, who was my
neighbor at the feast.”

“So—another romance!”

“No, indeed! For though her eyes were eloquent
enough to persuade one to forswear the world and turn
Shawanee, she had no tongue for a stranger. What
little English she had learned of the missionaries she
was too sly to use, and our flirtation was a very unsatisfactory
pantomime. I parted from her at night in
the big wigwam, without having been out of ear-shot
of the chief for a single moment; and as Rolfe was inexorable
about getting off with the daybreak the next
morning, it was the last I saw of the little fawn. But
to tell you the truth, I had forty minds between that

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

and St. Louis to turn about and have another look
at her.

“The big wigwam, I should tell you, was as large
as a common breakfast-room in London. It was built
of bark very ingeniously sewed together, and lined
throughout with the most costly furs, even the floor
covered with highly-dressed bear-skins. After finishing
our supper in the open air, the large curtain at the
door, which was made of the most superb gold-colored
otters, was thrown up to let in the blaze of the pine
torches stuck in the rock opposite, and, as the evening
was getting cool, we followed the chieftainess to her
savage drawing-room, and took coffee and chatted till
a late hour, lounging on the rude, fur-covered couches.
I had not much chance to talk with our old
friend, but I gathered from what little she said that
she had been disgusted with the heartlessness of London,
and preferred the wilderness with one of nature's
nobility to all the splendors of matrimony in high-life.
She said, however, that she should try to induce Shahatan
to travel abroad for a year or two, and after that,
she thought their time would be agreeably spent in
such a mixture of savage and civilized life as her fortune
and his control over the tribe would enable them
to manage.”

When my friend had concluded his story, I threw
what little light I possessed upon the undeveloped
springs of Miss Trevanion's extraordinary movements,
and we ended our philosophizings on the subject by
promising ourselves a trip to the Shawanees some day
together. Now that we are together in London, however,
and have had the benefit of Mrs. Melicent's additional
chapter, with the still later news that Shahatan
and his wife were travelling by the last accounts in the
east, we have limited our programme to meeting them
in England, and have no little curiosity to see whether
the young savage will decide like his wife in the question
of “Wigwam versus Almack's.”

One night, toward the close of the London season—
the last week in August, or thereabouts—the Deptford
omnibus set down a gentleman at one of the small
brick-block cottages on the Kent road. He was a
very quietly disposed person, with a face rather inscrutable
to a common eye, and might, or might not,
pass for what he was—a man of mark. His age was
perhaps thirty, and his manners and movements had
that cool security which can come only from conversance
with a class of society that is beyond being
laughed at. He was handsome—but when the style
of a man is well pronounced, that is an unobserved
trifle.

Perhaps the reader will step in to No. 10, Verandah
Row, without further ceremony.

The room—scarce more than a squirrel-box from
back to front—was divided by folding doors, and the
furniture was fanciful and neatly kept. The canary-bird,
in a very small cage, in the corner, seemed rather
an intruder on such small quarters. You could scarce
give a guess what style of lady was the tenant of such
miniature gentility.

The omnibus passenger sat down in one of the little
cane-bottomed and straight backed chairs, and presently
the door opened and a stout elderly woman, whose
skirts really filled up the remaining void of the little
parior, entered with a cordial exclamation, and an
affectionate embrace was exchanged between them.

“Well, my dear mother!” said the visiter, “I am
off to-morrow to Warwickshire to pass the shooting
season, and I came to wind up your household clockwork,
to go for a month—(ticking, I am sorry to say!)
What do you want? How is the tea-caddy?”

“Out of green, James, but the black will do till you
come back. La! don't talk of such matters when you
are just going to leave me. I'll step up stairs and
make you out a list of my wants presently. Tell me—
where are you going in Warwickshire? I went to
school in Warwickshire. Dear me! the lovers I had
there! Well, well! Where did you say you were
going?”

“To the marquis of Headfort—Headfort court, I
think his place is called—a post and a half from Stratford.
Were you ever there, mother?”

“I there, indeed! no, my son! But I had a lover
near Stratford—young Sir Humphrey Fencher, he
was then—old Sir Humphrey now! I'm sure he re
members me, long as it is since I saw him—and, James,
I'll give you a letter to him. Yes—I should like to
know how he looks, and what he will say to my grown-up
boy. I'll go and write it now, and I'll look over
the groceries at the same time. If you move your
chair, James, don't crush the canary-bird!”

The mention of the letter of introduction lingered
in the ear of the gentleman left in the parlor, and
smiling to himself with a look of covert humor, he
drew from his pocket a letter of which it reminded
him—the letter of introduction, on the strength of
which he was going to Warwickshire. As this and
the one which was being written up stairs, were the
two pieces of ordance destined to propel the incidents
of our story, the reader will excuse us for presenting
them as a “make ready.”

“Crockford's, Monday.

“Dear Fred: Nothing going on in town, except
a little affair of my own, which I can't leave to go
down to you. Dull even at Crocky's—nobody plays
this hot weather. And now, as to your commissions.
You will receive Dupree, the cook, by to-night's mail.
Grisi won't come to you without her man—`'twasn't
thus when we were boys!'—so I send you a figurante,
and you must do tableaux. I was luckier in finding
you a wit. S— will be with you to-morrow, though,
by the way, it is only on condition of meeting Lady
Midge Bellasys, for whom, if she is not with you, you
must exert your inveiglements. This, by way only
of shuttlecock and battledore, however, for they play
at wit together—nothing more, on her part at least.
Look out for this devilish fellow, my lord Fred!—
and live thin till you see the last of him—for he'll
laugh you into your second apoplexy with the dangerous
ease of a hair-trigger. I could amuse you with
a turn or two in my late adventures, but black and
white are bad confidants, though very well as a business
firm. And, mentioning them, I have drawn on
you for a temporary £500, which please lump with
my other loan, and oblige

And here follows the letter of Mrs. S— to her
ancient lover, the baronet of Warwickshire:—

“No. 10, Verandah Row, Kent Road.

“Dear Sir Humphrey: Perhaps you will scarce
remember Jane Jones, to whom you presented the

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

brush of your first fox. This was thirty years ago.
I was then at school in the little village near Tally-ho
hall. Dear me! how well I remember it! On hearing
of your marriage, I accepted an offer from my late
husband, Mr. S—, and our union was blessed
with one boy, who, I must say, is an angel of goodness.
Out of his small income, my dear James furnished
and rented this very genteel house, and he
tells me I shall have it for life, and provides me one
servant, and everything I could possibly want. Thrice
a week he comes out to spend the day and dine with
me, and, in short, he is the pattern of good sons. As
this dear boy is going down to Warwickshire, I can not
resist the desire I have that you should know him,
and that he should bring me back an account of my
lover in days gone by. Any attention to him, dear
Sir Humphrey, will very much oblige one whom you
once was happy to oblige, and still

It was a morning astray from paradise when S—
awoke at Stratford. Ringing for his breakfast, he requested
that the famous hostess of the red horse
would grace him so far as to join him over a muffin
and a cup of coffee, and between the pauses of his
toilet, he indited a note, enclosing his mother's letter
of introduction to Sir Humphrey.

Enter dame hostess, prim and respectful, and as
breakfast proceeded, S— easily informed himself
of the geography of Tally-ho hall, and the existing
branch and foliage of the family tree. Sir Humphrey's
domestic circle consisted of a daughter and a neice
(his only son having gone with his regiment to the
Canada wars), and the hall lay half way to Headfort
court—the Fenchers his lordship's nearest neighbors,
Mrs. Boniface was inclined to think.

S— divided his morning very delightfully between
the banks of the Avon, and the be-scribbled
localities of Shakspere's birth and residence, and by
two o'clock the messenger had returned with this note
from Sir Humphrey:—

“Dear Sir: I remember Miss Jones very well,
God bless me, I thought she had been dead many
years. I am sure I shall be very happy to see her
son. Will you come out and dine with us?—dinner
at seven.

As the crack wit and diner-out of his time, S—
was as well known to the brilliant society of London
as the face of the “gold stick in waiting” at St.
James's, and, with his very common name, he was a
little likely to be recognised out of his peculiar sphere
as the noble lord, when walking in Cheapside, to be
recognised as the “stick,” so often mentioned in the
Court Journal. He had delayed his visit to Headfort
court for a day, and undertaken to deliver his mother's
letter, and look up her lang-syne lover, very much as
he would stop in the Strand to purchase her a parcel
of snuff—purely from the filial habit of always doing
her bidding, even in whims. He had very little curiosity
to see a Warwickshire Nimrod, and, till his postchaise
stopped at the lodge-gate of Tally-ho hall, it
had never entered his head to speculate upon the
ground of his introduction to Sir Humphrey, nor to
anticipate the nature of his reception. His name had
been so long to him an “open sesame,” that he had
no doubt of its potency, and least of all when he pronounced
it at an inferior gate in the barriers of society.

The dressing-bell had rang, and S— was shown
into the vacant drawing-room, where he buried himself
in the deepest chair he could find, and sat looking
at the wall with the composure of a barber's customer
waiting to be shaved. There presently entered two
young ladies, very showily dressed, who called him
Mr. “Jones,” in replying to his salutation, and im
mediately fell to promenading between the two old
mirrors at the extremities of the room, discoursing
upon topics evidently chosen to exclude the newcomer
from the conversation. With rather a feeling
that it was their loss, not his, S— recomposed
himself in the leathern chair and resumed the perusal
of the oaken ceiling. The neglect sat upon him a
little uncomfortable withal.

“How d'ye do, young man! What! you are Miss
Jones's son, eh?” was the salutation of a burly old
gentleman, who now entered and shook hands with
the great incognito. “Here, 'Bel! Fan! Mr. Jones,
My daughter and my niece, Mr. Jones!”

S— was too indignant for a moment to explain
that Miss Jones had changed her name before his
birth, and on second thought, finding that this real
character was not suspected, and that he represented
to Sir Humphrey simply the obscure son of an obscure
girl, pretty, thirty years ago, he fell quietly into the
role expected of him, and walked patiently in to dinner
with Miss Fencher, who accepted his arm for that
purpose, but forgot to take it!

It was hard to be witty as a Mr. Jones, but the habit
was strong and the opportunities were good, and
S—, warming with his first glass of sherry, struck
out some sparks that would have passed for gems of
the first water, with choicer listeners; but wit is slowly
recognised when not expected, and though now and
then the young ladies stared, and now and then the
old baronet chuckled and said “egad! very well!'
there was evidently no material rise in the value of
Mr. Jones, and he at last confined his social talents
exclusively to his wine-glass and nut-picker, feeling.
spite of himself, as stupid as he seemed.

Relieved of the burden of replying to their guess,
the young ladies now took up a subject which evidently
lay nearest their hearts—a series of dejeuners, the
first of which was to come off the following morning
at Headfort court. As if by way of caveat, in case
Mr. Jones should fancy that he could be invited to
accompany Sir Humphrey, Miss Fencher took the
trouble to explain that these were, by no means, common
country entertainments, but exclusive and select
parties, under the patronage of the beautiful and witty
Lady Imogen Bellasys, now a guest at Headfort.
Her ladyship had not only stipulated for societé choisie,
but had invited down a celebrated London wit, a great
friend of her own, to do the mottoes and keep up the
spirit of the masques and tableaux. Indeed, Miss
Fencher considered herself as more particularly the
guest and ally of Lady Imogen, never having been
permitted during her mother's life to visit Headfort
(though she did not see what the marquis's private
character had to do with his visiting list), and she expected
to be called upon to serve as a sort of maid of
honor, or in some way to assist Lady Imogen, who
had invited her very affectionately, after church, on
Sunday. She thought, perhaps, she had better wake
up Sir Humphrey while she thought of it (and while
papa was good natured, as he always was after dinner),
and exact of him a promise that the great London
Mr., what d'ye call 'im, should be invited to pass a
week at Tally-ho hall—for, of course, as mutual
allies of Lady Imogen, Miss Fencher and he would
become rather well acquainted.

To this enlightenment, of which we have given only
a brief resumér, Mr. Jones listened attentively, as he
was expected to do, and was very graciously answered,
when by way of feeling one of the remote pulses of
his celebrity, he ventured to ask for some further particulars
about the London wit aforementioned. He
learned, somewhat to his disgust, that his name was
either Brown or Simpson, some very common name,
however, but that he had a wonderful talent for writing
impromptuepigrams on people and singing them afterward
to impromptu music on the piano, and that he

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

was supposed to be a natural son of Talleyrand or
Lord Byron, Miss Fencher had forgotten which. He
had written something, but Miss Fencher had forgotten
what. He was very handsome—no, very plain—
indeed, Miss Fencher had forgotten which—but it
was one or the other.

At this crisis of the conversation Sir Humphrey
roused from his post-prandial snooze, and begged Mr.
Jones to pass the port and open the door for the
ladies. By the time the gloves were rescued from
under the table, the worthy baronet had drained a
bumper, and, with his descending glass, dropped his
eyes to the level of his daughter's face, where they
rested with paternal admiration. Miss Fencher was
far from ill-looking, and she well knew that her father
waxed affectionate over his wine.

“Papa!” said she, coming behind him, and looking
down his throat, as he strained his head backward,
leaving his reluctant double chin resting on his cravat.
“I have a favor to ask, my dear papa!”

“He shall go, my dear! he shall go! I have been
thinking of it—I'll arrange it, Bel, I'll arrange it! Go
your ways, chick, and send me my slippers!” gurgled
the baronet, with his usual rapid brevity, when slightly
elevated.

Miss Fencher turned quite pale.

“Pa—pa!” she exclaimed, with horror in her voice,
coming round front, “pa—pa!—good gracious! Do
you know it is the most exclusive—however, papa!
let us talk that over in the other room. What I wish
to ask is quite another matter. You know that
Mr.— Mr.—”

“The gentleman you mean is probably James
S—,” interrupted Mr. Jones.

“Thank you, sir, so it is!” continued Miss Fencher,
putting her hand upon the Baronet's mouth, who was
about to speak—“It is Mr. James S—; and
what I wish, papa, is, to have Mr. James S— invited
to pass a week with us. You know, papa, we
shall be very intimate—James S— and I—both
of us assisting Lady Imogen, you know, papa! and—
and—stay till I get some note-paper—will you,
dear papa?”

“You will have your way, chick, you will have
your way,” sighed Sir Humphrey, getting his spectacles
out of a very tight pocket on his hip. “But,
bless me, I can't write in the evening. Mr. Jones—
perhaps Mr. Jones will write the note for me—just
present my compliments to Mr. S—, and request
the honor, and all that—can you do it, Mr. Jones?”

S— rapidly indited a polite note to himself,
which he handed to Miss Fencher for her approbation,
and meantime entered the butler with the coffee.

“Stuggins!” cried Sir Humphrey—“I wish Mr.
Jones—”

“Good Heavens! papa!” exclaimed Miss Fencher,
ending the remainder of her objurgation in a whisper
in her father's ear. But the baronet was not in a
mood to be controlled.

“My love!—Bel, I say!—he shall go. You d-d-d-diddedent
see Miss Jones's letter. He's a p-p-p-pattern
of filial duty!—he gives his mother a house, and all
she wants!—he's a good son, I tell you! St-Stuggins,
come here! Pass the port, Jones, my good fellow!”

Stuggins stepped forward a pace, and presented his
white waistcoat, and Miss Fencher flounced out of the
room in a passion.

“Stuggins!” said the old man, a little more tranquilly,
since he had no fear now of being interrupted,
“I wish my friend, Mr. Jones, here, to see this cock-a-hoop
business to-morrow. It'll be a fine sight, they
tell me. I want him to see it, Stuggins! You understand
me. His mother, Miss Jones, was a pretty girl,
Stuggins! And she'll be very glad to hear that her
boy has seen such a fine show—eh, Jones? eh, Stuggins?
Well, you know what I want. The Headfort
tenants will have a place provided for them, of course—
some shrubbery, eh?—some gallery—some place
behind the musicians, where they are out of the way,
but can see—isn't it so? eh? eh?”

“Yes, Sir Humphrey—no doubt, Sir Humphrey!”
acceded Stuggins, with his ears still open to know how
the details were to be managed.

“Well—very well—and you'll take Jones with you
in the dickey—eh?—Thomas will go on the box—eh?
Will that do?—and Mr. Jones will stay with us
to-night, and perhaps you'll show him his room, now,
and talk it over, eh, Stuggins?—good night, Mr.
Jones!—good night, Jones, my good fellow!”

And Sir Humphrey, having done this act of grateful
reminiscence for his old sweetheart, managed to
find his way into the next room unaided.

S— had begun, by this time, to see “straw for
his bricks,” in the course matters were taking; and
instead of throwing a decanter after Sir Humphrey,
and knocking down the butler for calling him Mr.
Jones, he accepted Stuggins's convoy to the housekeeper's
room, and with his droll stories and funny
ways, kept the maids and footmen in convulsions of
laughter till break of day. Such a merry time had
not come off in servants' hall for many a day, and of
many a precious morsel of the high life below stairs
of Tally-ho hall did he pick the brains of the delighted
Abigails.

The ladies, busied with their toilets, had their
breakfasts in their own rooms, and Mr. Jones did not
make his appearance till after the baronet had achieved
his red herring and seltzer. The carriage came round
at twelve, and the ladies stepped in, dressed for triumph,
tumbled after by burly Sir Humphrey, who required
one side of the vehicle to himself—Mr. Jones outside,
on the dickey with Stuggins, as previously arranged.

Half way up the long avenue of Headfort court,
Stuggins relinquished the dickey to its rightful occupant,
Thomas, and, with Mr. Jones, turned off by
a side path that led to the dairy and offices—the latter
barely saving his legs, however, for the manœuvre
was performed servant fashion, while the carriage kept
its way.

Lord Headfort was a widower, and his niece, Lady
Imogen Bellasys, the wittiest and loveliest girl in
England, stood upon the lawn for the mistress of the
festivities. She had occasion for a petticoat aid-decamp,
and she knew that Lord Headfort wished to
propitiate his Warwickshire neighbors; and as Miss
Fencher was a fine grenadier looking girl, she promoted
her to that office immediately on her arrival,
decking her for the nonce with a broad blue riband of
authority. Miss Fencher made the best use of her
powers of self congratulation, and thanked God privately
besides, that Sir Humphrey had provided an eclipse
for Mr. Jones; for with the drawback of presenting
such a superfluous acquaintance of their own to the
fastidious eyes of Lady Imogen, she felt assured that
her new honors would never have arrived to her.
She had had a hint, moreover, from her dressing-maid,
of Mr. Jones' comicalities below stairs; and
the fact that he was a person who could be funny in
a kitchen, was quite enough to confirm the aristocratic
instinct by which she had at once pronounced upon
his condition. If her papa had been gay in his youth,
there was no reason why every Miss Jones should
send her child to him to be made a gentleman of!
“Filial pattern,” indeed!

The gayeties began. The French figurante, despatched
by Lord Vaurien from the opera, made up
her tableaux from the beauties, and those who had
ugly faces, but good figures, tried their attitudes on
the archery-lawn, and those whose complexions would
stand the aggravation, tripped to the dancing tents,
and the falcon was flown, and the greyhounds were
coursed, and a few couple of Warwickshire lads tried

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

their backs at a wrestling fall, and the time wore on.
But to Lady Imogen's shrewd apprehension, it wore
on very heavily. There was no wit afloat. Nobody
seemed gayer than he meant to be. The bubble was
wanting to their champagne of enjoyment. Miss
Fencher's blue riband went to and fro like a pendulum,
perpetually crossing the lawn between Lady Imogen
and the footman in waiting, to inquire if a post-chaise
had arrived from London.

“I will never forgive that James S—, never!”
pettishly vowed her ladyship, as Miss Fencher came
back for the fiftieth time with no news of his arrival.

“Better feed your menagerie at once!” whispered
Lord Headfort to his niece, as he caught a glance at
her vexed face in passing.

The decision with which the order was given to
serve breakfast, seemed to hurry the very heat of the
kitchen fires, for in an incredibly short time, the hot
soups and delicate entremets of Monsieur Dupres
were on the tables, and breakfast was announced. The
band played a march, the games were abandoned, Miss
Fencher followed close upon the heels of her chef, to
secure a seat in her neighborhood, and in ten minutes
a hundred questions of precedence were settled, and
Sir Humphrey, somewhat to his surprise, and as much
to his delight, was called to the left hand of the marquis.
Tally-ho hall was in the ascendant.

During the first assault upon the soups, the band
played a delicious set of waltzes, terminating with the
clatter of changing plates. But at the same moment,
above all the ring of impinging china, arose a shout
of laughter from a party somewhere without the
pavilion, and so sustained and hearty was the peal,
that the servants stood petrified with their dishes,
and the guests sat in wondering silence. The steward
was instantly despatched to enforce order, and Lord
Headfort explained, that the tenants were feasted on
beef and ale, in the thicket beyond, though he could
scarce imagine what should amuse them so uncommonly.

“They have promised to maintain order, my lord!”
said the steward, returning, and stooping to his master's
ear, “but there is a droll gentleman among them, my
lord!”

“Then I dare swear it's better fun than this!”
mumbled his lordship for the steward's hearing, as
he looked round upon the unamused faces in his
neighborhood.

“Headfort,” cried Lady Imogen, presently, from
the other end of the table, “did you send to Stratford
for S—, or did you not? Let us know whether
there is a chance of his coming!”

“Upon my honor, Lady Imogen, my own chariot
has been at the Stratford inn, waiting for him since
morning,” was the marquis's answer. “Vaurien wrote
that he had booked him by the mail of the night before!
I'd give a thousand pounds if he were here!”

Bursts of laughter, breaking through all efforts to
suppress them, again rose from the offending quarter.

“It's a Mr. Jones, my lord,” said the steward,
speaking between the marquis and Sir Humphrey;
“he's a friend of Sir Humphrey's butler—and—if you
will excuse me, my lord—Stuggins says he is the son
of a Miss Jones, formerly an acquaintance of Sir
Humphrey's!”

Red as a turkey-cock grew the old baronet in a
moment. “I beg ten thousand pardons for having
intruded him here, my lord!” said Sir Humphrey;
“it's a poor lad that brought me a letter from his
mother, and I told Stuggins—”

But here Stuggins approached with a couple of
notes for his master, and, begging permission of the
marquis, Sir Humphrey put on his spectacles to read.
The guests at the table, meantime, were passing the
wine very slowly, and conversation more slowly still,
and, with the tranquillity that reigned in the pavilion,
the continued though half-smothered merriment of
the other party was provokingly audible.

“Can't we borrow a little fun from those merry
people?” cried Lady Imogen, throwing up her eyes
despairingly as the marquis exchanged looks with her.

“If we could persuade Sir Humphrey to introduce
his friend, Jones, to us—”

“I introduce him!” exclaimed the fuming baronet,
tearing off his spectacles in a rage, “read that before
you condescend to talk of noticing such a varlet!
Faith! I think he's the clown from a theatre, or the
waiter from a pot-house!”

The marquis read:—

“Dear Nuncle: It's hard on to six o'clock, and
I'm engaged at seven to a junketing at the `Hen and
chickens,' with Stuggins and the maids. If you intend
to make me acquainted with your great lord, now
is the time. If you don't, I shall walk in presently,
and introduce myself; for I know how to make my
own way, nuncle—ask Miss Bel's maid, and the other
girls you introduced me to at Tally-ho hall! Be in
a hurry, I'm just outside.

The excitement of Sir Humphrey, and the amused
face of the marquis as he read, had drawn Lady Imogen
from her seat, and as he read aloud, at her request, the
urgent epistle of Mr. Jones, she clapped her hands
with delight, and insisted on having him in. Sir
Humphrey declared he should take it as an affront if
the thing was insisted on, and Miss Fencher, who had
followed to her father's chair, and heard the reading
of the note, looked the picture of surprised indignation.
“Insolent! vulgar! abominable!” was all the compliment
she ventured upon, however.

“Will you let me look at Mr. Jones's note?” said
Lady Imogen.

“Good Heavens!” she exclaimed, after glancing at
it an instant, “I was sure it must be he!”

And out ran the beautiful queen of the festivities,
and the next moment, to Sir Humphrey's amazement,
and Miss Fencher's utter dismay, she returned, dragging
in, with her own scarf around his body, and her
own wreath of roses around his head, the friend of
Stuggins—the abominable Jones! Up jumped the
marquis, and called him by name (not Jones), and
seized him by both hands, and up jumped with delighted
acclamation half a dozen other of the more
distinguished guests at table, and the merriment was
now on the other side of the thicket.

It was five or ten minutes before they were again
seated at table, S— on Lady Imogen's right hand,
but there were two vacant chairs, for Sir Humphrey
and his daughter had taken advantage of the confusion
to disappear, and the field was open, therefore, for a
full account of Mr. Jones's adventures above and below
stairs at Tally-ho hall. A better subject never fell
into the hand of that inimitable humorist, and gloriously
he made use of it.

As he concluded, amid convulsions of laughter, the
butler brought in a note addressed to James S—,
Esq., which had been given him by Stuggins early
in the day—his own autograph invitation to the hospitalities
of Tally-ho hall!