80h. 9-6-34 4993 27301 1895 DEDICATION PREFIXED TO THE FIRST COLLECTED EDITION OF THE MY DEAR MOTHER, IN inscribing with your beloved and honoured name this Collection of my Works, I could wish that the fruits of my manhood were worthier of the tender and anxious pains bestowed upon my education in youth. Left yet young, and with no ordinary accomplishments and gifts, the sole guardian of your sons, to them you devoted the best years of your useful and spotless life; and any success it be their fate to attain in the paths they have severally chosen, would have its principal sweetness in the thought that such success was the reward of one whose hand aided every struggle, and whose heart sympathized in every care. From your graceful and accomplished taste, I early learned that affection for literature which has exercised so large an influence over the pursuits of my life; and you, who were my first guide, were my earliest critic. Do you remember the summer days, which seemed to me so short, when you repeated to me those old ballads with which Percy revived the decaying spirit of our national muse, or the smooth couplets of Pope, or those gentle and polished verses with the composition of which you had beguiled your own earlier leisure? It was those easy lessons, far more than the harsher rudiments learned subsequently in schools, that taught me to admire and to imitate; and in them I recognise the germ of the flowers, however perishable they be, that I now bind up and lay upon a shrine hallowed by a thousand memories of unspeakable affection. Happy, while I borrowed from your taste could I have found it not more difficult to imitate your virtues-your spirit of active and extended benevolence, your cheerful piety, your considerate justice, your kindly charity-and all the qualities that brighten a nature more free from the thought of self, than any it has been my lot to meet with. Never more than at this moment did I wish that my writings were possessed of a merit which might outlive my time, so that at least these lines might remain a record of the excellence of the Mother, and the gratitude of the Son. E. L. B. LONDON: January 4, 1840. PELHAM; OR, ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. CHAPTER I 'Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille ?'-French Song. I AM an only child. My father was the younger son of one of our eldest earls, my mother the dowerless daughter of a Scotch peer. Mr. Pelham was a moderate Whig, and gave sumptuous dinners ;-Lady Francis was a woman of taste, and particularly fond of diamonds and old china. Vulgar people know nothing of the necessaries required in good society, and the credit they give is as short as their pedigree. Six years after my birth there was an execution in our house. My mother was just setting off on a visit to the Duchess of D-; she declared it was impossible to go without her diamonds. The chief of the bailiffs declared it was impossible to trust them out of his sight. The matter was compromised-the bailiff went with my mother to C, and was introduced as my tutor. 'A man of singular merit,' whispered my mother, but so shy!' Fortunately, the bailiff was abashed, and by losing his impudence he kept the secret. At the end of the week the diamonds went to the jeweller's, and Lady Francis wore paste. I think it was about a month afterwards that a sixteenth cousin left my mother twenty thousand pounds. 'It will just pay off our most importunate creditors, and equip me for Melton,' said Mr. Pelham. Where can one be better than in the bosom of one's family? 'It will just redeem my diamonds, and refurnish the house,' said Lady Frances. Both The latter alternative was chosen. My father went down to run his last horse at Newmarket, and my mother received nine hundred people in a Turkish tent. were equally fortunate, the Greek and the Turk; my father's horse lost, in consequence of which he pocketed five thousand pounds; and my mother looked so charming as a sultana, that Seymour Conway fell desperately in love with her. Mr. Conway had just caused two divorces; and of course all the women in London were dying for him-judge then of the pride which Lady Frances felt at his addresses. The end of the season was unusually dull, and my mother, after having looked over her list of engagements, and ascertained that she had none remaining worth staying for, agreed to elope with her new lover. The carriage was at the end of the square. My mother, for the first time in her life, got up at six o'clock. Her foot was on the step, and her hand next to Mr. Conway's heart, when she remembered that her favourite china monster, and her French dog, were left behind. She insisted on returning-re-entered the house, and was coming downstairs with one under each arm, when she was met by my father and two servants. My father's valet had discovered the flight (I forget how), and awakened his master. When my father was convinced of his loss, he called for his dressing-gown-searched the garret and the kitchenlooked in the maid's drawers and the cellaret-and finally declared he was distracted. I have heard that the servants were quite melted by his grief, and I do not doubt it in the least, for he was always celebrated for his skill in private theatricals. He was just retiring to vent his grief in his dressing-room, when he met my mother. It must altogether have been an awkward encounter, and, indeed, for my father, a remarkably unfortunate occurrence; since Seymour Conway was immensely rich, and the damages would, no doubt, have been proportionably high. Had they met each other alone, the affair might easily have been settled, and Lady Frances gone off in tranquillity ;-those confounded servants are always in the way! I have observed that the distinguished trait of people |