CHAPTER VII.
_Containing an Unexpected Visit to London, and Its Consequences._
THE day after the conversation in the library to which Glastonburyhad been an unwilling listener, he informed his friends that it wasnecessary for him to visit the metropolis; and as young Ferdinand hadnever yet seen London, he proposed that he should accompany him. SirRatcliffe and Lady Armine cheerfully assented to this proposition; andas for Ferdinand, it is difficult to describe the delight which theanticipation of his visit occasioned him. The three days that wereto elapse before his departure did not seem sufficient to ensurethe complete packing of his portmanteau: and his excited manner, therapidity of his conversation, and the restlessness of his movements werevery diverting.
'Mamma! is London twenty times bigger than Nottingham? How big is it,then? Shall we travel all night? What o'clock is it now? I wonder ifThursday will ever come? I think I shall go to bed early, to finish theday sooner. Do you think my cap is good enough to travel in? I shallbuy a hat in London. I shall get up early the very first morning, andbuy a hat. Do you think my uncle is in London? I wish Augustus were notat Eton, perhaps he would be there. I wonder if Mr. Glastonbury willtake me to see St. Paul's! I wonder if he will take me to the play. I'dgive anything to go to the play. I should like to go to the play and St.Paul's! What fun it will be dining on the road!'
It did indeed seem that Thursday would never come; yet it came at last.The travellers were obliged to rise before the sun, and drive over toNottingham to meet their coach; so they bid their adieus the previouseve. As for Ferdinand, so fearful was he of losing the coach, that hescarcely slept, and was never convinced that he was really in time,until he found himself planted in breathless agitation outside of theDart light-post-coach. It was the first time in his life that hehad ever travelled outside of a coach. He felt all the excitement ofexpanding experience and advancing manhood. They whirled along: atthe end of every stage Ferdinand followed the example of hisfellow-travellers and dismounted, and then with sparkling eyes hurriedto Glastonbury, who was inside, to inquire how he sped. 'Capitaltravelling, isn't it, sir? Did the ten miles within the hour. You haveno idea what a fellow our coachman is; and the guard, such a fellow ourguard! Don't wait here a moment. Can I get anything for you? We dine atMill-field. What fun!'
Away whirled the dashing Dart over the rich plains of our merry midland;a quick and dazzling vision of golden corn-fields and lawny pastureland; farmhouses embowered in orchards and hamlets shaded by thestraggling members of some vast and ancient forest. Then rose inthe distance the dim blue towers, or the graceful spire, of some oldcathedral, and soon the spreading causeways announced their approach tosome provincial capital. The coachman flanks his leaders, who break intoa gallop; the guard sounds his triumphant bugle; the coach boundsover the noble bridge that spans a stream covered with craft; publicbuildings, guildhalls, and county gaols rise on each side. Rattlingthrough many an inferior way they at length emerge into the High Street,the observed of all observers, and mine host of the Red Lion, or theWhite Hart, followed by all his waiters, advances from his portal with asmile to receive the 'gentlemen passengers.'
'The coach stops here half an hour, gentlemen: dinner quite ready!'
'Tis a delightful sound. And what a dinner! What a profusion ofsubstantial delicacies! What mighty and iris-tinted rounds of beef! Whatvast and marble-veined ribs! What gelatinous veal pies! What colossalhams! Those are evidently prize cheeses! And how invigorating isthe perfume of those various and variegated pickles! Then the bustleemulating the plenty; the ringing of bells, the clash of thoroughfare,the summoning of ubiquitous waiters, and the all-pervading feelingof omnipotence, from the guests, who order what they please, to thelandlord, who can produce and execute everything they can desire. 'Tisa wondrous sight. Why should a man go and see the pyramids and cross thedesert, when he has not beheld York Minster or travelled on the Road!Our little Ferdinand amid all this novelty heartily enjoyed himself,and did ample justice to mine host's good cheer. They were soon againwhirling along the road; but at sunset, Ferdinand, at the instance ofGlastonbury, availed himself of his inside place, and, wearied by theair and the excitement of the day, he soon fell soundly asleep.
Several hours had elapsed, when, awaking from a confused dream in whichArmine and all he had lately seen were blended together, he found hisfellow-travellers slumbering, and the mail dashing along through theilluminated streets of a great city. The streets were thickly thronged.Ferdinand stared at the magnificence of the shops blazing with lights,and the multitude of men and vehicles moving in all directions. Theguard sounded his bugle with treble energy, and the coach suddenlyturned through an arched entrance into the court-yard of anold-fashioned inn. His fellow-passengers started and rubbed their eyes.
'So! we have arrived, I suppose,' grumbled one of these gentlemen,taking off his night-cap.
'Yes, gentlemen, I am happy to say our journey is finished,' said a morepolite voice; 'and a very pleasant one I have found it. Porter, have thegoodness to call me a coach.'
'And one for me,' added the gruff voice.
'Mr. Glastonbury,' whispered the awe-struck Ferdinand, 'is this London?'
'This is London: but we have yet two or three miles to go before wereach our quarters. I think we had better alight and look after ourluggage. Gentlemen, good evening!'
Mr. Glastonbury hailed a coach, into which, having safely depositedtheir portmanteaus, he and Ferdinand entered; but our young friend wasso entirely overcome by his feelings and the genius of the place, thathe was quite unable to make an observation. Each minute the streetsseemed to grow more spacious and more brilliant, and the multitudemore dense and more excited. Beautiful buildings, too, rose beforehim; palaces, and churches, and streets, and squares of imposingarchitecture; to his inexperienced eye and unsophisticated spirit theirroute appeared a never-ending triumph. To the hackney-coachman, however,who had no imagination, and who was quite satiated with metropolitanexperience, it only appeared that he had had an exceeding good fare, andthat he was jogging up from Bishopsgate Street to Charing Cross.
When Jarvis, therefore, had safely deposited his charge at Morley'sHotel, in Cockspur Street, and extorted from them an extra shilling, inconsideration of their evident rustication, he bent his course towardsthe Opera House; for clouds were gathering, and, with the favour ofProvidence, there seemed a chance about midnight of picking up somehelpless beau, or desperate cabless dandy, the choicest victim, in amidnight shower, of these public conveyancers.
The coffee-room at Morley's was a new scene of amusement to Ferdinand,and he watched with great diversion the two evening papers portionedout among twelve eager quidnuncs, and the evident anxiety which theyendured, and the nice diplomacies to which they resorted, to obtainthe envied journals. The entrance of our two travellers so alarminglyincreasing the demand over the supply, at first seemed to attractconsiderable and not very friendly notice; but when a malignant half-payofficer, in order to revenge himself for the restless watchfulness ofhis neighbour, a political doctor of divinity, offered the journal,which he had long finished, to Glastonbury, and it was declined, thegeneral alarm visibly diminished. Poor Mr. Glastonbury had never lookedinto a newspaper in his life, save the County Chronicle, to which heoccasionally contributed a communication, giving an account of thedigging up of some old coins, signed Antiquarius; or of the exhumationof some fossil remains, to which he more boldly appended his initials.
In spite of the strange clatter in the streets, Ferdinand sleptwell, and the next morning, after an early breakfast, himself and hisfellow-traveller set out on their peregrinations. Young and sanguine,full of health and enjoyment, innocent and happy, it was with difficultythat Ferdinand could restrain his spirits as he mingled in the bustleof the streets. It was a bright sunny morning, and although the end ofJune, the town was yet quite full.
'Is this Charing Cross, sir? I wonder if we shall ever be able to getover. Is this the fullest part of the town, sir? What a fine day,
sir!How lucky we are in the weather! We are lucky in everything! Whose houseis that? Northumberland House! Is it the Duke of Northumberland's? Doeshe live there? How I should like to see it! Is it very fine? Who isthat? What is this? The Admiralty; oh! let me see the Admiralty! TheHorse Guards! Oh! where, where? Let us set our watches by the HorseGuards. The guard of our coach always sets his watch by the HorseGuards. Mr. Glastonbury, which is the best clock, the Horse Guards, orSt. Paul's? Is that the Treasury? Can we go in? That is Downing Street,is it? I never heard of Downing Street. What do they do in DowningStreet? Is this Charing Cross still, or is it Parliament Street? Wheredoes Charing Cross end, and where does Parliament Street begin? By Jove,I see Westminster Abbey!'
After visiting Westminster Abbey and the two Houses of Parliament, Mr.Glastonbury, looking at his watch, said it was now time to call upona friend of his who lived in St. James's Square. This was the noblemanwith whom early in life Glastonbury had been connected, and withwhom and whose family he had become so great a favourite, that,notwithstanding his retired life, they had never permitted the connexionentirely to subside. During the very few visits which he had made tothe metropolis, he always called in St. James's Square and his receptionalways assured him that his remembrance imparted pleasure.
When Glastonbury sent up his name he was instantly admitted, and usheredup stairs. The room was full, but it consisted only of a family party.The mother of the Duke, who was an interesting personage, with finegrey hair, a clear blue eye, and a soft voice, was surrounded by hergreat-grandchildren, who were at home for the Midsummer holidays, andwho had gathered together at her rooms this morning to consult uponamusements. Among them was the heir presumptive of the house, a youthof the age of Ferdinand, and of a prepossessing appearance. It wasdifficult to meet a more amiable and agreeable family, and nothing couldexceed the kindness with which they all welcomed Glastonbury. The Dukehimself soon appeared. 'My dear, dear Glastonbury,' he said, 'I heardyou were here, and I would come. This shall be a holiday for us all.Why, man, you bury yourself alive!'
'Mr. Armine,' said the Duchess, pointing to Ferdinand.
'Mr. Armine, how do you do? Your grandfather and I were well acquainted.I am glad to know his grandson. I hope your father, Sir Ratcliffe, andLady Armine are well. My dear Glastonbury, I hope you have come tostay a long time. You must dine with us every day. You know we are veryold-fashioned people; we do not go much into the world; so you willalways find us at home, and we will do what we can to amuse your youngfriend. Why, I should think he was about the same age as Digby? Is he atEton? His grandfather was. I shall never forget the time he cut off oldBarnard's pig-tail. He was a wonderful man, poor Sir Ferdinand! he wasindeed.'
While his Grace and Glastonbury maintained their conversation, Ferdinandconducted himself with so much spirit and propriety towards the rest ofthe party, and gave them such a lively and graceful narrative of all histravels up to town, and the wonders he had already witnessed, that theywere quite delighted with him; and, in short, from this moment, duringhis visit to London he was scarcely ever out of their society, and everyday became a greater favourite with them. His letters to his mother, forhe wrote to her almost every day, recounted all their successful effortsfor his amusement, and it seemed that he passed his mornings in a roundof sight-seeing, and that he went to the play every night of his life.Perhaps there never existed a human being who at this moment morethoroughly enjoyed life than Ferdinand Armine.
In the meantime, while he thought only of amusement, Mr. Glastonbury wasnot inattentive to his more important interests; for the truth is thatthis excellent man had introduced him to the family only with the hopeof interesting the feelings of the Duke in his behalf. His Grace wasa man of a generous disposition. He sympathised with the recital ofGlastonbury as he detailed to him the unfortunate situation of thisyouth, sprung from so illustrious a lineage, and yet cut off by acombination of unhappy circumstances from almost all those naturalsources whence he might have expected support and countenance. And whenGlastonbury, seeing that the Duke's heart was moved, added that all herequired for him, Ferdinand, was a commission in the army, for which hisparents were prepared to advance the money, his Grace instantly declaredthat he would exert all his influence to obtain their purpose.
Mr. Glastonbury was, therefore, more gratified than surprised when,a few days after the conversation which we have mentioned, his noblefriend informed him, with a smile, that he believed all might bearranged, provided his young charge could make it convenient to quitEngland at once. A vacancy had unexpectedly occurred in a regiment justordered to Malta, and an ensigncy had been promised to Ferdinand Armine.Mr. Glastonbury gratefully closed with the offer. He sacrificed a fourthpart of his moderate independence in the purchase of the commission andthe outfit of his young friend, and had the supreme satisfaction, erethe third week of their visit was completed, of forwarding a Gazette toArmine, containing the appointment of Ferdinand Armine as Ensign in theRoyal Fusiliers.