AN UNEXPECTED EVENT. 59 I await your commands, and shall ever remain, with all love to my aunt, Your affectionate son, LEONARD Devigne. IV. THE REV. JAMES BAINBRIDGE TO P. DEVIGNE, ESQ. MY DEAR SIR, I beg to thank you with every acknowledgment for the kind expressions of esteem with which you honour me. It has been my endeavour to deserve thus much. Doubtless my pupil has alluded to a painful necessity which compels me to surrender my charge. Imperious family matters have supervened, and compel my speedy return to England. If my unbounded esteem for your son enforce regret at the separation, that very esteem mitigates my solicitude for his guardianship. Of course it were presumptuous in me to speak prospectively, but his conduct (and you do not withhold your praise) hitherto has been highly satisfactory. Perhaps his strong reluctance to entertain the thought that my place will be filled by a substitute is somewhat against him. But I have known cases in which this very suspicion has been acted upon to the immediate production of the very effect deprecated. A generous confidence fosters honourable sentiment: suspicion begets self-contempt, or that ano 60 INUENDOES RETORTED. malous spirit of revenge which prompts self-injury as the only satisfaction to resentment. But, for obvious reasons, I am loath to express an opinion on the subject; I have ample reason to believe that your determination will be characterised by that wisdom which does not compromise a probability by a too great eagerness to ensure a certainty. I am, my dear sir, JAMES BAINBRIDGE. V. MR. DEVIGNE TO MRS. MALCOLM. Calm your fears, my dear sister. Leonard is in no danger. I am certain he is safe. The boy is very candid to me; and you may be sure that I should have discovered from his letters whether anything was wrong. He could not deceive me, I trust. But what can you find in the silly letter of silly Selina Balfour to throw you into such hysterics? What does it say, but the silly things that silly women pick up in their silly gossipings? She is pleased, besides, to make some dark insinuations and inuendoes, which do her vast credit certainly. What if I chose to transfix that buzzing gnat of a scandal-monger-can't I crush her? But I forbear. She's a silly woman. She has my sovereign contempt. But I am too severe by half. I ought rather to SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF. 61 thank the woman for her compliments to my son. I wish him to see the world. What would you have me do with him ?—make him one of your fanatics? I have no intention of the sort. I wish him to study mankind; to gain sagacity by roughing through life, as I have done, and get rid of absurdities by seeing how oddly they stick on a gentleman. I trust he will return to us in every respect improved —a fine fellow-such as we shall be proud of. I have planned everything for him. He will return to hear news that will gladden his young heart and rejoice his old head, as I hope it will become by experience. He will be gladdened as I was myself when I became sure of possessing his beautiful mother. I enclose you a letter from my old friend Benbow Benbow, of Calcutta, which will explain my meaning. Meanwhile trust to the dis cretion of Your affectionate brother, VI. MR. BENBOW BENBOW TO P. DEVIGNE, ESQ. DEAR PETER, Don't be taken aback by this infernal scrawl. Put on your spectacles, draw near the fire in your smoky climate, take a pinch of snuff, and you'll decipher my execrable pot-hooks and hangers. Well, my dear fellow, I'm a man of few words when I have a vast deal to say; as you know, I'd rather knock a 62 A GOOD GIRL-A VERY GOOD GIRL. man down with one blow than convince him with a hundred words any day. So to the point at once. I have been running all the world over to no purpose-that's a fact. I haven't made a penny-of course. I'm as poor as a mouse-that's as you like. I'm all in tatters-don't you think so? Well, have you fumbled through my gouty scratches so far? Very good. And do you believe I've just been scribbling gospel? Well, to the point. I hate digressions when a man has business to attend to. How could old Benbow have got through the world with digressions? You have a son, haven't you, Peter? Well, as I married my sainted Lucy the very same day you married your son's mother, I know he can't be much more than twenty-at least I take it for granted, my dear fellow-no offence-I hate digressions. Well, I have a daughter to match the fellow. I send her portrait with this, and if you don't think her as beautiful as mortal eyes can wish -but I won't swear, for fear of dear Mrs. Mal., our bridesmaid on the joyful occasion which gave hope of my prosperous issue. Jane (her name is a compliment to your good mother, my dear friend) is a good girl-a very good girl. She has refused hundreds of offers, because I have always told her that her husband which is to be is in England, quite ready almost, and will jump at her: the son of my best friend, Peter Devigne, of Ringwood Hall, the Protestant. Isn't she dutiful? Tell me a single young lady of your acquaintance half so dutiful, and * The soubriquet of the family whilst in France. MATRIMONIAL MADNESS. 63 I'll admit she's half as good as my Jane. But no; they are stark mad after husbands. First come first served-we may never have another chance-grab what you can; storm, stamp, tear all to pieces; pa and ma must consent at last, and I'll be a Mrs. What-you-may-call-me! That's just it, Peter: I know the fillies. But to the point. My diamond shall be set, never doubt it. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling shall parchment her wedding garment. All I ask in return is a hammock under the roof of my daughter and son, just to have the gratification of seeing the patriarchs of twelve tribes rising out of them, without any digressions. If you have no better scheme in view, it's a bargain. I'm tired of this roasting climate: I want cooling a bit. You may expect me by the next arrival, which I hope to be that of "The Ringwood Hall Indiaman," one corner of Jane's diamond. And now, my very dear Peter, let me end with the hope that you will make out this model of penmanship before I drive up your avenue; and, trusting that you are the same as ever, a sad dog, I feel sure that you will be glad to see, Yours to command, |