Volume 1. I. Lionel Carvel, of Carvel Hall II. Some Memories of Childhood III. Caught by the Tide IV. Grafton would heal an Old Breach V. "If Ladies be but Young and Fair" VI. I first suffer for the Cause VII. Grafton has his Chance
Volume 2. VIII. Over the Wall IX. Under False Colours X. The Red in the Carvel Blood XI. A Festival and a Parting XII. News from a Far Country
Volume 3. XIII. Mr. Allen shows his Hand XIV. The Volte Coupe XV. Of which the Rector has the Worst XVI. In which Some Things are made Clear XVII. South River XVIII. The Black Moll
Volume 4. XIX. A Man of Destiny XX. A Sad Home-coming XXI. The Gardener's Cottage XXII. On the Road XXIII. London Town XXIV. Castle Yard XXV. The Rescue
Volume 5. XXVI. The Part Horatio played XXVII. In which I am sore tempted XXVIII. Arlington Street XXIX. I meet a very Great Young Man XXX. A Conspiracy XXXI. "Upstairs into the World" XXXII. Lady Tankerville's Drum-major XXXIII. Drury Lane
Volume 6. XXXIV. His Grace makes Advances XXXV. In which my Lord Baltimore appears XXXVI. A Glimpse of Mr. Garrick XXXVII. The Serpentine XXXVIII. In which I am roundly brought to task XXXIX. Holland House XL. Vauxhall XLI. The Wilderness
Volume 7. XLII. My Friends are proven XLIII. Annapolis once more XLIV. Noblesse Oblige XLV. The House of Memories XLVI. Gordon's Pride XLVII. Visitors XLVIII. Multum in Parvo XLIX. Liberty loses a Friend
Volume 8. L. Farewell to Gordon's LI. How an Idle Prophecy came to pass LII. How the Gardener's Son fought the Serapis LIII. In which I make Some Discoveries LIV. More Discoveries. LV. The Love of a Maid for a Man LVI. How Good came out of Evil LVII. I come to my Own again
FOREWORD
My sons and daughters have tried to persuade me to remodel these memoirsof my grandfather into a latter-day romance. But I have thought it wiserto leave them as he wrote them. Albeit they contain some details not ofinterest to the general public, to my notion it is such imperfectionsas these which lend to them the reality they bear. Certain it is, whenreading them, I live his life over again.
Needless to say, Mr. Richard Carvel never intended them for publication.His first apology would be for his Scotch, and his only defence is thathe was not a Scotchman.
The lively capital which once reflected the wit and fashion of Europehas fallen into decay. The silent streets no more echo with the rumbleof coaches and gay chariots, and grass grows where busy merchants trod.Stately ball-rooms, where beauty once reigned, are cold and empty andmildewed, and halls, where laughter rang, are silent. Time was whenevery wide-throated chimney poured forth its cloud of smoke, when everyandiron held a generous log,--andirons which are now gone to decorateMr. Centennial's home in New York or lie with a tag in the window ofsome curio shop. The mantel, carved in delicate wreaths, is boarded up,and an unsightly stove mocks the gilded ceiling. Children romp in thatroom with the silver door-knobs, where my master and his lady were wontto sit at cards in silk and brocade, while liveried blacks enteredon tiptoe. No marble Cupids or tall Dianas fill the niches in thestaircase, and the mahogany board, round which has been gathered many afamous toast and wit, is gone from the dining room.
But Mr. Carvel's town house in Annapolis stands to-day, with itsneighbours, a mournful relic of a glory that is past.