FLORE AT ETO NA.

BY AN OLD ETONIAN.

FRAGMENT II.

(Continued from page 117.)

"Youth what man's age is like to be doth show :
We may our end by our beginning know."

DENHAM.

"Algernon, my dear, you must go to Eton. Colonel Canteen, who was at my soirée last night, told me it was imperatively necessary for all young men of the present day to go there moreover, his cousins, the young Smyths, are there; and your old playfellows, Lady Tremayne's nephews, proceed thither in September; so you will have many friends and companions."

These words were uttered by a lady, now considerably passée, who, even in her best days, could have had but few pretensions to beauty; nevertheless, the many defects of nature were compensated by a grand artillery of art, which was called in to her aid. Her robes emanated from the far-famed Madame Devy, her head-dress from Monsieur Perruquier, while the rest of her gorgeous apparel came from that renowned emporium, Howell and James's. The room in which she was seated was fitted up with all that luxury could invent or wealth command. The walls were hung with the talents of Rubens, Claude Loraine, Reynolds, Canaletti, with a host whose adamantine memorials will be handed down from generation to generation. Large mirrors descended from the cornices to the base. Ormolu bijous, cups of onyx, marble statues, and China vases were strewed about the room. The soft Persian carpet, into which you sank ankle-deep; the curtains and draperies to match; antiquely-carved chairs of solid oak, which had first seen light in the reign of Louis Quatorze; together with the highly-polished rosewood tables-formed some of the embellishments of this mammoth of wealth. By her side sat a pale-faced, sickly-looking boy, who had weathered some eleven summers; his hair,

"Pomaded and sleek,

Hung, straight as John Wesley's, adown either cheek ;" while his round jacket and striped trousers were in accordance with the last puerile rules of Stultz.

"But, ma', how can I leave poor Fidlo?" said the boy, a crystal tear pursuing its course down his cheek, caressing at the same time a King Charles's spaniel. "And what becomes of Allworthy? and

A A

pray who will drive out in the park, or go shopping with you? Pa' wont, I'm sure. Oh! pray don't mention that horrible Eton again." "Oh, Algernon," answered the lady, "don't talk so! Your father is determined that you go, and has canvassed the matter over with Mr. Allworthy; he is to drive over there next week, to call on a Mr. Johnstone, a tutor there, to see when it is likely he will have a vacancy. Besides, a living of three hundred a year (and in your father's gift) has fallen vacant, through the death of the incumbent. It is in the West Riding of Yorkshire or Lancashire, I forget which; and, as Mr. Allworthy saved your father's life when at college, as a mark of his gratitude, he intends presenting him with the rectory. To be sure, there is a population of three thousand souls; but then your tutor professes to take a sweet delight in doing good; and, if he only practises what he professes, I am sure the place will suit him." But to elucidate-for, as Byron sings,

"I hate all mystery, and that air

Of clap-trap which your recent poets prize."

The lady whom we have been describing we must reintroduce to our readers as Lady Ditchwassen, known in our last chapter by the title of Lady Sarah Treacle; and the youthful boy by her side, her only child, the Honourable Algernon Soofoolysh.

At the end of the preceding fragment we left our party, the Treacles, just leaving the British shores, to spend their honeymoon among the classic monuments of Rome and Florence: here they remained until the following spring, when they returned to England. During their sojourn in Italy, however, Mr. Treacle disposed of his share of the business at Liverpool to his late father's confidential clerk, and invested part of the sum in a mansion and grounds in Kent. It was a beautiful domain-the house built, after the most approved London style, by one of the first architects of his day--the grounds were laid out most luxuriously-pineries, graperies, and hothouses in profusion --and while the torrid zones of India sent forth their beauties to decorate the conservatory, the freezing climes of America poured out her presents to adorn the lawn.

To aid Mr. Treacle in his parliamentary duties, a house in town was purchased-a superb mansion in Portland-place-one of the rooms of which we endeavoured to portray at the commencement of the chapter. About this time, now nearly eighteen months since the Treacles' marriage, the young gentleman whom we described as caressing a spaniel made his first appearance on this world's stage. The birth of an heir is at all times attended with great joy and pomp, more especially should he be destined to inherit a large fortune. At our hero's christening this anxiom was fully carried out. The tenants and rustics strewed flowers for his nurses to tread on; others threw bouquets over his person; and after the ceremony was performed, Mr. Treacle gave to all the assemblage a rural dinner under his widespreading trees, in the good old English style of roast-beef and plum-pudding, which terminated with cricket and bandy* in his

*Bandy.-A species of cricket played at by women, but instead of bats they have battledores, and in place of stumps a post-we believe peculiar to Kent.

green and nemoral park. Up to this period, two years having elapsed since the election, Mr. Treacle had remained a staunch Whig. Not that we mean to insinuate that any senatorian orations had issued from his mouth-far, very far from it; but the Duke of Donkeythorne found him more difficult to manage than he had at first been led to suppose, as his son-in-law was guided by the opinion of this constituent or that, by the advice of this leader of the opposition, or even Lawyer Hookem. The Tory rule had begun to totter, the nonconceding monarch had been called to his ancestors, fresh auxiliaries were required for the Tory cause, and, through a hint from the Duke of Donkeythorne, the dormant title of Ditchwassen (Soofoolysh) was offered to Treacle; the price-the change of his political opinions. Oh, frail Nature! Need we add, it was accepted at its price?

Let us now turn to another person, whom we have cursorily mentioned as the saviour of Treacle when at Oxford-Allworthy. He was the son of an officer, who had lost his life in India, and left him, a mere child, and his widowed mother, almost penniless. But that humanity and liberality which have always been the leading features of the British soldier again appeared with tenfold vigour in Major Allworthy's regiment: a subscription was set on foot, and a sum more than competent to enable Mrs. Allworthy and the child to reach England was soon raised - a Mr. Grampus, her late husband's solicitor, having a considerable sum entrusted to his charge for her future maintenance; but, unfortunately, "one fine day," as storybooks say, this miserable Mr. Grampus forgot his own name, and wrote down that of another gentleman, by which means he got some two or three thousand pounds. It was a mistake, of course, on Grampus's part (?): what man living can be answerable for the treachery of his own memory? Nature has formed some bad: what reason has her minion, man, to interfere with her deeds? But, unfortunately, the ermined judge or unsophisticated jury did not quite coincide in this opinion, and peremptorily ordered, nolens volens, the miserable attorney to take a trip to foreign parts at his Majesty's expense. All Mrs. Allworthy's chance of subsistence was at an end: no one knew what had become of the money. Poverty stared her in the face. A low fever took hold of her, and in a week she was carried out of the hotel a corpse. Allworthy, according to his mother's dying injunctions, was sent to his uncle-an old, testy bachelor; who, however, received him kindly, and at eleven years of age sent him to one of those seminaries where they board and educate young gentlemen for thirty pounds per annum, adding that well-known nota bena, "No extras, NO HOLIDAYS"-the latter very requisite, as it precludes all possibility of impeachment by the juvenile victims. Allworthy showed, even at this school, such surprising genius, that his uncle determined to send him as a servitor to Christ Church, Oxford. Here, as we have before related, he saved Treacle's life, and left alma mater clothed with academical honours. Poor Allworthy! just as he hoped to glide smoothly down this world's stream, to find no rocks or shoals to founder, but contented and happy to live, "passing rich on forty pounds a year," his uncle died intestate, and the property passed into another branch of the family. He was now friendless, homeless, and

knew no one to whom to apply, except Mr. Treacle; and, after a hard tussle with his delicacy, he wrote a letter, praying Mr. Treacle to use his interest in endeavouring to procure him some preferment, be it ever so poor; and, to our hero's credit be it said, he did exert himself, and Allworthy soon after got the curacy of Upton.

The rector received the whole of the tithes, and, under the subterfuge of ill health, spent his time in the gay courts of Paris and Florence; while Allworthy, with the paltry emolument of fifty pounds a year, was performing the whole of the parochial duties. But at one of those gay fête champêtres, at which the rector was present, he caught a severe influenza, and the living of Upton was vacant. Ꭺ new incumbent was appointed-a smart, prim young gentleman, with long black hair, a very stiff-starched white neck-cloth, lavendercoloured kid-gloves, and pumps-in short, fully particularized by the term "pet parson:" he had curious ideas, but they were rather conglomerated and confused. The church, he said, wanted reformation; but where the reform was to begin, or where to end, he had a very vague notion. One of his doctrines was, that he considered he ought to do the duty himself; and Allworthy once more was launched out in the troubled world. Poverty often drives away modesty; he was forced again to solicit the aid of Treacle (now Lord Ditchwassen), who, in answer to his application, offered him the situation of tutor to his son.

To be a tutor to endeavour to knock Latin, Greek, and common sense into a spoiled child! and for this to receive a salary somewhat equivalent to the valet's, without the perquisites. O, defend us! The very servants felt a superiority over the tutor, while the IIon. Mr. Soofoolysh's plebean blood on his father's side shone forth more conspicuous than the aristocratic fluid of his mother, which caused him to let his tutor know full well his inferiority. Much happier would Allworthy have been a pauper, and broke flints for the beggarly pay of a shilling a day on the high road: the very chank of the hammer would have responded to his feelings, and in the ruptured stone he might have traced a pitying face; in summer the hedgewarblers would hop from twig to twig, enlivening him with their merry song; or, in the more boisterous days of winter, the wind would utter a sweet and solemn dirge, pitying his forlorn lot; but, in cold and dreary London, no pity was shown, and the only sounds that came to his ears were the hurried rumble of vehicles, the loud execrations of the enraged cabmen, and the discordant yell of the itinerant merchants. How different from the peaceful shades he had left behind in Lancashire! And, to crown all, he was friendless-alas! we could add homeless. How harsh and grating that sentence must sound to most-nay, we hope to all-our readers! for who among them cannot conjure up a thousand remembrances of beloved parents or the halo of home? Who cannot remember the walks they took in infancy, or the trees they climbed in boyhood? To all these sweets Allworthy was a stranger. Oh! had he but a widowed mother for whom he might have toiled-had he but a beloved sister who looked to him for protection, and, in return, listened to his sorrows and woes had he, we say, but these ties, he would have been indeed happy.

The die was cast: Mr. Soofoolysh was to go to Eton: Lady Ditchwassen had inquired most assiduously among her circle of friends and acquaintances for the most fashionable tutor-one who could rejoice in the greatest number of titled scions-and a Mr. Johnstone was recommended; so, on a certain day in July, Allworthy was despatched to make the necessary arrangements. Upon Allworthy ringing at Mr. Johnstone's door at Eton, two gorgeously-liveried footmen ushered him into a well-furnished room, designated "The Study, around the sides of which were arranged many splendidly-bound volumes, where, reclining in an easy-chair, was a tall, handsomelooking young man, with a profusion of brown curly hair, through which he ran his fingers, bedecked with rings.

"Mr. Allworthy, I presume? Pray be seated, sir. John, prepare the luncheon," said Mr. Johnstone.

Allworthy bowed.

"I have just received Lord Ditchwassen's communication," continued Mr. Johnstone; "and I am happy to say I shall have a vacancy after the summer holidays in my house, and it will afford me much pleasure in filling it up with Mr. Soofoolysh—your pupil, I presume?"

Now, Allworthy had, during his drive, built in his own mind a little epitome of his pupil's life. He had expected to find a sympathising spirit in Mr. Johnstone, and, if that had been the case, to unbend his mind by acquainting that gentleman with the youth's virtues, or palliate his follies by assuring Mr. Johnstone they were chiefly owing to the delicate position in which he (Allworthy) had been placed; for the parents, perchance unintentionally, had instilled from their unguarded conversation contumely and disrespect into the mind of his pupil towards him. But the flippant, off-hand manner of Mr. Johnstone soon dispelled these aërial castles from the mind of the worthy tutor, and he could only say he was "sure Lord Ditchwassen would be much gratified by Mr. Johnstone being able to take his son."

"I suppose, sir," continued Allworthy, "his religious principles are made a momentous question; my most strenuous exertions have been directed to that subject.'

"Exactly, sir," lisped Mr. Johnstone; "I understand. You can acquaint Lord Ditchwassen he will attend, on an average-let me see -he will attend chapel six times a week; he will also translate portions of the Greek Testament twice hebdomadary-once, sir, to ME, and once in school."

"Oh," said Allworthy, not knowing exactly what to say; "does he read Cicero ?"

"In private to me," answered Johnstone, "but not in school as yet, as he will only, I should think, be placed in the fourth form."

"In my opinion," said Allworthy, "the great Roman orator has some-I may say many-defects: his ostentatious orations cannot be wholly palliated; for, in my humble opinion, he leaves upon the minds of his readers that he is a good man, but withal a vain man. Again, I may say of the Paduan Livy-"

"Oh, ah!" said the Etonian, feeling a leetle out of his element, as