MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN EN- himself, and silently revolved the new thoughts

"Well," said Richard, "I am not the sort of "You were yesterday, but you mayn't be toman you expected, eh? Take time to recover morrow," answered Richard, good-humoredly, yourself." And with these words Richard drew and patting him on the shoulder. "You see, forth a book from his pocket, threw himself back, my lad, that it is the middle class which ought and began to read. Leonard stole many a glance to govern the country. What the book says at the acute, hardy, handsome face of his com- about the ignorance of country magistrates is panion, and gradually recognized a family like- very good; but the man writes pretty considerness to poor John, in whom, despite age and in-able trash when he wants to regulate the number firmity, the traces of no common share of physical of hours a free-born boy should work at a factory beauty were still evident. And with that quick only ten hours a day-pooh! and so lose two to the nation! Labor is wealth: and if we could

get men to work twenty-four hours a day, we should be just twice as rich. If the march of civilization is to proceed," continued Richard, loftily, "men, and boys, too, must not lie a-bed doing nothing all night, sir." Then with a complacent tone-"We shall get to the twentyfour hours at last; and, by gad, we must, or we sha'n't flog the Europeans as we do now."

On arriving at the inn at which Richard had first made acquaintance with Mr. Dale, the coach by which he had intended to perform the rest of the journey was found to be full. Richard continued to perform the journey in post-chaises, not without some grumbling at the expense, and incessant orders to the post-boys to make the best of the way. "Slow country this, in spite of all its brag," said he—“ very slow. Time is money they know that in the States; for why, they are all men of business there. Always slow in a country where a parcel of lazy, idle lords, and dukes, and baronets, seem to think 'time is pleasure.'

a drying-ground of my lilacs, you should go out, neck and crop-"

"Oh, please, sir—”

"You leave my lodge next Saturday: drive on, boy. The ingratitude and insolence of those common people are disgraceful to human nature," muttered Richard, with an accent of the bitterest misanthropy.

The chaise wheeled along the smoothest and freshest of gravel roads, and through fields of the finest land, in the highest state of cultivation. Rapid as was Leonard's survey, his rural eye detected the signs of a master in the art agranomial. Hitherto he had considered the Squire's model farm as the nearest approach to good husbandry he had seen: for Jackeymo's finer skill was developed rather on the minute scale of market-gardening than what can fairly be called husbandry. But the Squire's farm was degraded by many old-fashioned notions, and concessions to the whim of the eye, which would not be found in model farms nowadayslarge tangled hedgerows, which, though they constitute one of the beauties most picturesque in old England, make sad deductions from produce; great trees, overshadowing the corn, and harboring the birds; little patches of rough sward left to waste; and angles of woodland running into fields, exposing them to rabbits, and blocking out the sun. These and suchlike

Toward evening the chaise approached the confines of a very large town, and Richard began to grow fidgety. His easy cavalier air was abandoned. He withdrew his legs from the window, out of which they had been luxuriously dangling; pulled down his waistcoat; buckled more tightly his stock: it was clear that he was resuming the decorous dignity that belongs to state. He was like a monarch who, after trav-blots on a gentleman farmer's agriculture, comeling happy and incognito, returns to his capital, Leonard divined at once that they were nearing their journey's end.

Humble foot-passengers now looked at the chaise, and touched their hats. Richard returned the salutation with a nod—a nod less gracious than condescending. The chaise turned rapidly to the left, and stopped before a smart lodge, very new, very white, adorned with two Doric columns in stucco, and flanked by a large pair of gates. "Hollo!" cried the post-boy, and

cracked his whip.

mon-sense and Giacomo had made clear to the acute comprehension of Leonard. No such faults were perceptible in Richard Avenel's domain. The fields lay in broad divisions, the hedges were clipped and narrowed into their proper destination of mere boundaries. Not a blade of wheat withered under the cold shade of a tree: not a yard of land lay waste; not a weed was to be seen, not a thistle to waft its baleful seed through the air: some young plantations were placed, not where the artist would put them, but just where the farmer wanted a fence from the Two children were playing before the lodge, wind. Was there no beauty in this? Yes, there and some clothes were hanging out to dry on the was beauty of its kind-beauty at once recogshrubs and pales round the neat little building. nizable to the initiated-beauty of use and profit Hang those brats! they are actually play--beauty that could bear a monstrous high rent. ing," growled Dick. "As I live, the jade has been washing again! Stop, boy." During this soliloquy, a good-looking young woman had rushed from the door-slapped the children as, catching sight of the chaise, they ran toward the house-opened the gates, and, dropping a courtesy to the ground, seemed to wish that she could drop into it altogether, so frightened and so trembling seemed she to shrink from the wrathful face which the master now put out of the window.

And Leonard uttered a cry of admiration which
thrilled through the heart of Richard Avenel,
"This is farming!" said the villager.
"Well, I guess it is," answered Richard, all
his ill-humor vanishing.
66 You should have
seen the land when I bought it. But we new
men, as they call ns- -(damn their impertinence)
are the new blood of this country."

Richard Avenel never said any thing more true. Long may the new blood circulate through the veins of the mighty giantess; but let the grand heart be the same as it has beat for proud ages.

The chaise now passed through a pretty shrubbery, and the house came into gradual view-a house with a portico-all the offices carefully thrust out of sight.

The past-boy dismounted and rang the bell.

"I almost think they are going to keep me | wash your hands, and then come down to dinwaiting," said Mr. Richard, well-nigh in the very words of Louis XIV.

But that fear was not realized-the door opened; a well-fed servant out of livery presented himself. There was no hearty welcoming smile on his face, but he opened the chaise-door with demure and taciturn respect.

"Where's George? why does not he come to the door?" asked Richard, descending from the chaise slowly, and leaning on the servant's outstretched arm with as much precaution as if he had had the gout.

Fortunately, George here came into sight, settling himself hastily into his livery coat.

"See to the things, both of you," said Richard, as he paid the post-boy.

Leonard stood on the gravel sweep, gazing at the square white house.

"Handsome elevation-classical, I take iteh?" said Richard, joining him. "But you should see the offices."

ner; you will hear the gong in ten minutes. There's the bell; ring for what you want."

With that, he turned on his heel; and descending the stairs, gave a look into the dining-room, and admired the plated salver on the sideboard, and the king's pattern spoons and forks on the table. Then he walked to the looking-glass over the mantle-piece; and wishing to survey the whole effect of his form, mounted a chair. He was just getting into an attitude which he thought imposing, when the butler entered, and being London bred, had the discretion to try to escape unseen; but Richard caught sight of him in the looking-glass, and colored up to the temples.

"Jarvis," said he mildly, "Jarvis, put me in mind to have these inexpressibles altered."

CHAPTER III.

APROPOS of the inexpressibles, Mr. Richard He then, with familiar kindness, took Leonard did not forget to provide his nephew with a much by the arm, and drew him within. He showed larger wardrobe than could have been thrust him the hall, with a carved mahogany stand for into Dr. Riccabocca's knapsack. There was a hats; he showed him the drawing-room, and very good tailor in the town, and the clothes were pointed out its beauties-though it was summer very well made. And, but for an air more inthe drawing-room looked cold, as will look rooms genuous, and a check that, despite study and newly furnished, with walls newly papered, in night vigils, retained much of the sunburnt bloom houses newly built. The furniture was hand- of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have some, and suited to the rank of a rich trader. almost passed, without disparaging comment, There was no pretense about it, and therefore by the bow-window at White's. Richard burst no vulgarity, which is more than can be said for into an immoderate fit of laughter when he first the houses of many an honorable Mrs. Somebody saw the watch which the poor Italian had bein Mayfair, with rooms twelve feet square, choke- stowed upon Leonard; but, to atone for the ful of buhl, that would have had its proper place laughter, he made him a present of a very pretty in the Tuileries. Then Richard showed him the substitute, and bade him "lock up his turnip." library, with mahogany book-cases and plate Leonard was more hurt by the jeer at his old glass, and the fashionable authors handsomely patron's gift than pleased by his uncle's. But bound. Your new men are much better friends Richard Avenel had no conception of sentiment. to living authors than your old families who live It was not for many days that Leonard could in the country, and at most subscribe to a book-reconcile himself to his uncle's manner. club. Then Richard took him up-stairs, and led him through the bedrooms-all very clean and comfortable, and with every modern convenience; and, pausing in a very pretty single gentleman's chamber, said, "This is your den. And now, can you guess who I am ?"

"No one but my Uncle Richard could be so kind," answered Leonard.

But the compliment did not flatter Richard. He was extremely disconcerted and disappoint

ed.

He had hoped that he should be taken for a lord at least, forgetful of all that he had said in disparagement of lords.

Pish!" said he at last, biting his lip-"so you don't think that I look like a gentleman! Come, now, speak honestly."

Leonard wonderingly saw he had given pain, and with the good breeding which comes instinctively from good-nature, replied "I judged you by your heart, sir, and your likeness to my grandfather-otherwise I should never have presumed to fancy we could be relations."

"Hum!" answered Richard. "You can just

Not

that the peasant could pretend to judge of its mere conventional defects; but there is an ill breeding to which, whatever our rank and nurture, we are almost equally sensitive-the ill breeding that comes from want of consideration for others. Now, the Squire was as homely in his way as Richard Avenel, but the Squire's bluntness rarely hurt the feelings: and when it did so, the Squire perceived and hastened to repair his blunder. But Mr. Richard, whether kind or cross, was always wounding you in some little delicate fibre-not from malice, but from the absence of any little delicate fibres of his own. He was really, in many respects, a most excellent man and certainly a very valuable citizen. But his merits wanted the fine tints and fluent curves that constitute beauty of character. He was honest, but sharp in his practice, and with a keen eye to his interests. He was just, but as a matter of business. He made no allowances, and did not leave to his justice the large margin of tenderness and mercy. He was generous, but rather from an idea of what was

due to himself than with much thought of the he abused. The society of Screwstown was, pleasure he gave to others; and he even regard-like most provincial capitals, composed of two ed generosity as capital put out to interest. He classes-the commercial and the exclusive. expected a great deal of gratitude in return, and, These last dwelt chiefly apart, around the ruins when he obliged a man, considered that he had of an old abbey; they affected its antiquity in bought a slave. Every needy voter knew where their pedigrees, and had much of its ruin in their to come, if he wanted relief or a loan; but woe finances. Widows of rural thanes in the neighto him if he had ventured to express hesitation borhood-genteel spinsters-officers retired on when Mr. Avenel told him how he must vote. half-pay-younger sons of rich squires, who had now become old bachelors-in short, a very respectable, proud, aristocratic set—who thought more of themselves than do all the Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and Seymours, put to

In this town Richard had settled after his return from America, in which country he had enriched himself-first, by spirit and industrylastly, by bold speculation and good luck. He invested his fortune in business-became a part-gether. It had early been the ambition of Richner in a large brewery-soc -soon bought out his ard Avenel to be admitted into this sublime coassociates-and then took a principal share in a terie, and, strange to say, he had partially sucflourishing corn-mill. He prospered rapidly-ceeded. He was never more happy than when bought a property of some two or three hundred acres, built a house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make a figure. He had now become the leading man of the town, and the boast to Audley Egerton that he could return one of the members, perhaps both, was by no means an axaggerated estimate of his power. Nor was his proposition, according to his own views, so unprincipled as it appeared to the statesman. He had taken a great dislike to both the sitting members a dislike natural to a sensible man of modern politics, who had something to lose. For Mr. Slappe, the active member-who was headover-ears in debt-was one of the furious democrats rare before the Reform Bill-and whose opinions were held dangerous even by the mass of a Liberal constituency; while Mr. Sleekie, the gentleman member, who laid by £5000 every year from his dividends in the Funds, was one of those men whom Richard justly pronounced to be "humbugs"-men who curry favor with the extreme party by voting for measures sure not to be carried; while, if there were the least probability of coming to a decision that would lower the money-market, Mr. Sleekie was seized with a well-timed influenza. Those politicians are common enough now. Propose to march to the Millennium, and they are your men. Ask them to march a quarter of a mile, and they fall to feeling their pockets, and trembling for fear of the foot-pads. They are never so joyful as when there is no chance of a victory. Did they beat the Minister, they would be carried out of the house in a fit.

Richard Avenel-despising both these gentlemen, and not taking kindly to the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were Lords-looked with a friendly eye to the Government as it then existed, and especially to Audley Egerton, the enlightened representative of commerce. But in giving Audley and his colleagues the benefit of his influence, through conscience, he thought it all fair and right to have a quid pro quo, and, as he had so frankly confessed, it was his whim to rise up "Sir Richard." For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on the same principle as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thornhill-he had a sneaking affection for what

he was asked to their card-parties, and never more unhappy than when he was actually there. Various circumstances combined to raise Mr. Avenel into this elevated society. First, he was unmarried, still very handsome, and in that society there was a large proportion of unwedded females. Secondly, he was the only rich trader in Screwstown who kept a good cook, and professed to give dinners, and the half-pay captains and colonels swallowed the host for the sake of the venison. Thirdly, and principally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting members, and "idem nolle idem velle de repub lica, ea firma amicitia est;" that is, congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crockery together better than the best diamond cement. The sturdy Richard Avenel-who valued himself on American independence-held these ladies and gentlemen in an awe that was truly Brahminical. Whether it was that in England, all notions, even of liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally, socially, with that fine and subtle element of aristocracy which, like the press, is the air we breathe; or whether Richard imagined that he really became magnetically imbued with the virtues of these silver pennies and gold sevenshilling pieces, distinct from the vulgar coinage in popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must be told-Richard Avenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great longing to marry out of this society; but he had not yet seen any one sufficiently high-born and high-bred to satisfy his aspirations. In the mean while, he had convinced himself that his way would be smooth could he offer to make his ultimate choice "My Lady;" and he felt that it would be a proud hour in his life when he could walk before stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound of "Sir Richard.” Still, however disappointed at the ill-success of his bluff diplomacy with Mr. Egerton, and however yet cherishing the most vindictive resentment against that individual-he did not, as many would have done, throw up his political convictions out of personal spite. He resolved still to favor the ungrateful and undeserving Administration; and as Audley Egerton had acted on the representations of the mayor and deputies, and shaped his bill to meet their views,

so Avenel and the Government rose together in the popular estimation of the citizens of Screws

town.

But duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in just counterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he had effected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood;" | he had done as much for the town as he had for his fields. His energy, his quick comprehension of public utility, backed by his wealth, and bold, bullying, imperious character, had sped the work of civilization as if with the celerity and force of a steam-engine.

this gentleman had blazed foremost among the princes of fashion, and though he had all the qualities of nature and circumstance which either retain fashion to the last, or exchange its false celebrity for a graver repute, he stood as a stranger in that throng of his countrymen. Beauties whirled by to the toilet-statesmen passed on to the senate-dandies took flight to the clubs; and neither nods, nor becks, nor wreathed smiles, said to the solitary spectator, "Follow us-thou art one of our set." Now and then, some middle-aged beau, nearing the post of the loiterer, turned round to look again; but the second glance seemed to dissipate the recognition of the first, and the beau silently continued his way.

If the town were so well paved and so well lighted-if half-a-dozen squalid lanes had been transformed into a stately street-if half the town no longer depended on tanks for their wa- "By the tombs of my fathers!" said the soliter-if the poor-rates were reduced one-third-tary to himself, "I know now what a dead man praise to the brisk new blood which Richard might feel if he came to life again, and took a Avenel had infused into vestry and corporation. peep at the living." And his example itself was so contagious! "There was not a plate-glass window in the town when I came into it," said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High-street!" He took the credit to himself, and justly; for, though his own business did not require windows of plateglass, he had awakened the spirit of enterprise which adorns a whole city.

Time passed on the evening shades descended fast. Our stranger in London had well-nigh the Park to himself. He seemed to breathe more freely as he saw that the space was so clear.

"There's oxygen in the atmosphere now," said he, half aloud; “and I can walk without breathing in the gaseous fumes of the multitude. Mr. Avenel did not present Leonard to his O those chemists-what dolts they are! They friends for more than a fortnight. He allowed tell us crowds taint the air, but they never guess him to wear off his rust. He then gave a grand | why! Pah! it is not the lungs that poison the dinner, at which his nephew was formally intro-element-it is the reek of bad hearts. When a duced, and, to his great wrath and disappoint-periwig-pated fellow breathes on me, I swallow ment, never opened his lips. How could he, a mouthful of care. Allons! my friend Nero; poor youth, when Miss Clarina Mowbray only now for a stroll." He touched with 's cane a talked upon high life, till proud Colonel Pomp- large Newfoundland dog, who lay stretched ley went in state through the history of the siege near his feet; a dog and man went slow through of Seringapatam. the growing twilight, and over the brown dry turf. At length our solitary paused, and threw himself on a bench under a tree. 66 Half-past eight!" said he, looking at his watch-"one may smoke one's cigar without shocking the world."

CHAPTER IV

WHILE Leonard accustoms himself gradually to the splendors that surround him, and often turns with a sigh to the remembrance of his mother's cottage and the sparkling fount in the Italian's flowery garden, we will make with thee, O reader, a rapid flight to the metropolis, and drop ourselves amidst the gay groups that loiter along the dusty ground, or loll over the roadside palings of Hyde Park. The season is still at its height; but the short day of fashionable London life, which commences two hours after noon, is in its decline. The crowd in Rotten-row begins to thin. Near the statue of Achilles, and apart from all other loungers, a gentleman, with one hand thrust into his waistcoat, and the other resting on his cane, gazed listlessly on the horsemen and carriages in the brilliant ring. He was still in the prime of life, at the age when man is usually the most social when the acquaintances of youth have ripened into friendship, and a personage of some rank and fortune has become a well-known feature in the mobile face of society. But though, when his contemporaries were boys scarce at college,

He took out his cigar-case, struck a light, and in another moment, reclined at length on the bench, seemed absorbed in regarding the smoke, that scarce colored ere it vanished into air.

"It is the most barefaced lie in the world, my Nero," said he, addressing his dog-"this boasted liberty of man! Now, here am I, a freeborn Englishman, a citizen of the world, caring-I often say to myself—caring not a jot for Kaisar or Mob; and yet I no more dare smoke this cigar in the Park at half-past six, when all the world is abroad, than I dare pick my Lord Chancellor's pocket, or hit the Archbishop of Canterbury a thump on the nose. Yet no law in England forbids me my cigar, Nero! What is law at half-past eight, was not crime at six and a half! Britannia says, "Man, thou art free," and she lies like a commonplace woman. O Nero, Nero! you enviable dog!—you serve but from liking. No thought of the world costs you one wag of the tail. Your big heart and true instinct suffice you for reason and law.