Tales of the Trains. Lever Charles James
won’t make you a Treasury Lord, there ‘s no saying but they may appoint you a Tide-waiter. I fell upon evil days, – excepting a Consul for Timbuctoo, and a Lord Lieutenant for Ireland, there was nothing wanting, – the latter actually, as the ‘Times’ said, was going a-begging. In the corner of the paper, however, almost hidden from view, I discovered that a collector of customs – I forget where exactly – had been eaten by a crocodile, and his post was in the gift of the Colonial Office. ‘Come, here’s the very thing for me,’ thought I. ‘” In office or out” – now for it;’ and with that I hurried to my lodgings to dress for my interview with his Grace of Devonshire.
“There is a strange flutter of expectancy, doubt, and pleasure in the preparation one makes to visit a person whose exalted sphere and higher rank have made him a patron to you. It is like the sensation felt on entering a large shop with your book of patterns, anxious and fearful whether you may leave without an order. Such in great part were my feelings as I drove along towards Devonshire House; and although pretty certain of the cordial reception that awaited me, I did not exactly like the notion of descending to ask a favor.
“Every stroke of the great knocker was answered by a throb at my own side, if not as loud, at least as moving, for my summons was left unanswered for full ten minutes. Then, when I was meditating on the propriety of a second appeal, the door was opened and a very sleepy-looking footman asked me, rather gruffly, what I wanted.
“‘To see his Grace; he is at home, is n’t he?’
“‘Yes, he is at home, but you cannot see him at this hour; he’s at breakfast.’
“‘No matter,’ said I, with the easy confidence our former friendship inspired; ‘just step up and say Mr. Baggs, of the Northern Circuit, – Baggs, do you mind?’
“‘I should like to see myself give such a message,’ replied the fellow, with an insolent drawl; ‘leave your name here, and come back for your answer.’
“‘Take this, scullion,’ said I, haughtily, drawing forth my card, which I did n’t fancy producing at first, because it set forth as how I was commercial traveller in the long hose and flannel way, for a house in Glasgow. ‘Say he is the gentleman his Grace dined with at Chesterfield in March last.’
“The mention of a dinner struck the fellow with such amazement that without venturing another word, or even a glance at my card, he mounted the stairs to apprise the Duke of my presence.
“‘This way, sir; his Grace will see you,’ said he, in a very modified tone, as he returned in a few minutes after.
“I threw on him a look of scowling contempt at the alter-ation his manner had undergone, and followed him upstairs. After passing through several splendid apartments, he opened one side of a folding-door, and calling out ‘Mr. Baggs,’ shut it behind me, leaving me in the presence of a very distinguished-looking personage, seated at breakfast beside the fire.
“‘I believe you are the person that has the Blenheim spaniels,’ said his Grace, scarce turning his head towards me as he spoke.
“‘No, my Lord, no, – never had a dog in my life; but are you – are you the Duke of Devonshire?’ cried I, in a very faltering voice.
“‘I believe so, sir,’ said he, standing up and gazing at me with a look of bewildered astonishment I can never forget.
“‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘how your Grace is altered! You were as large again last April, when we travelled down to Nottingham. Them light French wines, they are ruining your constitution; I knew they would.’
“The Duke made no answer, but rang the bell violently for some seconds.
“‘Bless my heart,’ said I, ‘it surely can’t be that I ‘m mistaken. It’s not possible it wasn’t your Grace.’
“‘Who is this man?’ said the Duke, as the servant appeared in answer to the bell. ‘Who let him upstairs?’
“‘Mr. Baggs, your Grace,’ he said. ‘He dined with your Grace at – ’
“‘Take him away, give him in charge to the police; the fellow must be punished for his insolence.’
“My head was whirling, and my faculties were all astray. I neither knew what I said, nor what happened after, save that I felt myself half led, half pushed, down the stairs I had mounted so confidently five minutes before, while the liveried rascal kept dinning into my ears some threats about two months’ imprisonment and hard labor. Just as we were passing through the hall, however, the door of a front-parlor opened, and a gentleman in a very elegant dressing-gown stepped out. I had neither time nor inclination to mark his features, – my own case absorbed me too completely. ‘I am an unlucky wretch,’ said I, aloud. ‘Nothing ever prospers with me.’
“‘Cheer up, old boy,’ said he of the dressing-gown: ‘fortune will take another turn yet; but I do confess you hold miserable cards.’
“The voice as he spoke aroused me. I turned about, and there stood my companion at Chesterfield.
“‘His Grace wants you, Mr. Cavendish,’ said the footman, as he opened the door for me.
“‘Let him go, Thomas,’ said Mr. Cavendish. ‘There’s no harm in old Raggs.’
“‘Isn’t he the Duke?’ gasped I, as he tripped upstairs without noticing me further.
“‘The Duke, – no, bless your heart, he’s his gentleman!’
“Here was an end of all my cherished hopes and dreams of patronage. The aristocratic leader of fashion, the great owner of palaces, the Whig autocrat, tumbled down into a creature that aired newspapers and scented pocket-handkerchiefs. Never tell me of the manners of the titled classes again. Here was a specimen that will satisfy my craving for a life long; and if the reflection be so strong, what must be the body which causes it!”
THE WHITE LACE BONNET
It is about two years since I was one of that strange and busy mob of some five hundred people who were assembled on the platform in the Euston-Square station a few minutes previous to the starting of the morning mail-train for Birmingham. To the unoccupied observer the scene might have been an amusing one; the little domestic incidents of leave-taking and embracing, the careful looking after luggage and parcels, the watchful anxieties for a lost cloak or a stray carpet-bag, blending with the affectionate farewells of parting, are all curious, while the studious preparation for comfort of the old gentleman in the coupé oddly contrast with similar arrangements on a more limited scale by the poor soldier’s wife in the third-class carriage.
Small as the segment of humanity is, it is a type of the great world to which it belongs.
I sauntered carelessly along the boarded terrace, investigating, by the light of the guard’s lantern, the inmates of the different carriages, and, calling to my assistance my tact as a physiognomist as to what party I should select for my fellow-passengers, – “Not in there, assuredly,” said I to myself, as I saw the aquiline noses and dark eyes of two Hamburgh Jews; “nor here, either, – I cannot stand a day in a nursery; nor will this party suit me, that old gentleman is snoring already;” and so I walked on until at last I bethought me of an empty carriage, as at least possessing negative benefits, since positive ones were denied me. Scarcely had the churlish determination seized me, when the glare of the light fell upon the side of a bonnet of white lace, through whose transparent texture a singularly lovely profile could be seen. Features purely Greek in their character, tinged with a most delicate color, were defined by a dark mass of hair, worn in a deep band along the cheek almost to the chin. There was a sweetness, a look of guileless innocence, in the character of the face which, even by the flitting light of the lantern, struck me strongly. I made the guard halt, and peeped into the carriage as if seeking for a friend. By the uncertain flickering, I could detect the figure of a man, apparently a young one, by the lady’s side; the carriage had no other traveller. “This will do,” thought I, as I opened the door, and took my place on the opposite side.
Every traveller knows that locomotion must precede conversation; the veriest commonplace cannot be hazarded