Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 327, January, 1843

"Have you discovered the way, sir?" she enquired, hurriedly.

"Haven't I? I certainly have the knack of picking up information. I told the young man I had travelled with you from London; that you had some secret business at the barracks; that I didn't know what it was; and the moment I asked him all these questions"—

"Questions, sir?" said the lady, spitefully; "it strikes me you were telling every thing, and asking nothing"—

"The moment he found out, I say, that there was a lady in the case, and that you wanted to know the way to the barracks, he insisted on coming to show you the way himself—a civil young man."

"Oh, why did you speak to him?" exclaimed the lady, still hurrying on; "to him of all men? you have ruined me!"

"Me ruined you! That's going it a little too strong. I never ruined any body in my life. How did I know you knew the man? There's some awful mystery in this young woman," muttered Mr Clam, puffing like a broken-winded coach horse, "and if I live I'll find it out. There's nothing improves the mind, as Mrs M. says, so much as curiosity."

"Is it far to the barracks, sir?"

"This ain't the way, ma'am; you're making it further every minute; and, besides, you're running away from the young officer."

"I

mustn't

 meet him, sir—do you hear me?—I

must

 not be recognized."

"Well, ma'am," said Mr Clam, "there's no great harm done yet; I did every thing for the best—following the dictates of an unbiassed judgment, as Mrs M. says; and if I've brought you into a scrape, I'll get you out of it. Take my arm, ma'am, turn boldly round, and I'll soon set him about his business."

The lady did as she was told, and they retraced their steps. The young officer now approached, and touching his hat with an air of unspeakable elegance, and then swinging his cane, said, "You asked me, sir, to show the way to the barracks."

"Quite a mistake, sir," replied Mr Clam, drily; "we know the way perfectly well ourselves."

"It isn't far," pursued the officer; "and I shall be delighted to accompany you. Any thing that you, sir, or your beautiful companion, may require, I shall be happy to procure for you. Is there any one you wish to see at the barracks?"

This question was addressed to the lady, who drew back, and made no reply.

"If there's any body we want to see," said Mr Clam, "we'll ask for him; but we're in a hurry, sir. This lady travelled all the way from London expressly on purpose to"—

But here a pinch in the arm prevented any further revelation, and made Mr Clam wince as if he had been stung by an adder.

"You needn't grip, so hard," he said to his companion; "for its my solemn opinion you've taken the bit out. Let us go, sir," he continued, addressing the officer once more. "We don't need your assistance."

The young man looked surprised.

"Well, sir," he said, "it was entirely to do you a favour that I came."

"You'll do us a far greater if you'll go," replied Mr Clam, becoming boisterous and dignified, after the manner of a turkey-cock.

"Sir, I don't understand such language," said the officer.

"Then your education has been neglected, sir. It's English—plain, downright English. We have no desire for your society, sir.—Right about wheel—march."

"

You

 are below my notice," said the young man, flushing up; "and your insolent vulgarity is, therefore, safe. At the same time, if the lady needs my assistance"—

"She doesn't need your assistance—far from it—she told me she wished never to"—

Another pinch, more powerful apparently than the former, from the writhing of the sufferer, interrupted once more the stream of his eloquence; and he was worked up into a tremendous passion, partly, perhaps, by the cool contempt of the young officer, and principally by the pain he suffered in his arm.

"You're an impudent fellow, sir," he said. "I don't care twopence for all the puppies that ever wore red coats, sir. My name is Nicholas Clam, Esq., No. 4, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London; and I can shoot at a popinjay as well as another."

"You shall hear from me, sir," said the officer, biting his lips. "My name is Chatterton—Lieutenant Chatterton. Good day, sir."

He touched his hat proudly, and walked away.

"A good riddance, ma'am," said Mr Clam. "Them young chaps think to have it all their own way. I wish I had seen a policeman or a serjeant of soldiers; I would have charged him, as sure as a gun!"

"Oh, come quick, quick!" exclaimed the lady, pressing more hurriedly on his arm. "Take me to the barracks! I must see him instantly!"

"Who?" enquired Mr Clam. "I'm all on the teeters to understand what all this is about. Who is it you must see? Now, for my own part, I don't want to see any one; only I wish you would tell me what"—

"Oh, spare me the recital at present. I'm so agitated by recent events, that, that—indeed you must excuse me. Oh come—quickly, quickly, come!"

There was no answer possible to such a request, more especially as by suiting the action to the word, and drawing her companion forward at a tremendous rate, she had entirely taken away the quantity of breath required to carry on a conversation. Mr Clam's cogitations, however, were deep; and, among them, the most prominent was a doubt as to the great advantages to be derived from travel, and a firm persuasion that it is a very foolish thing to become the champion of any lady whatever, more particularly if she conceals her name, and refuses to satisfy one's curiosity in the smallest point.

CHAPTER II

The young man who has been introduced to us as Lieutenant Chatterton, pursued his way up the main street in no very equable temper. A little, grey-eyed, snub-nosed civilian, to have insulted an officer and a gentleman! the disgrace was past all bearing, especially as it had been inflicted on him in the presence of a lady. Burning with the indignation befitting his age and profession, and determined to call out the insulter, his present object was to meet with a friend whom he might send with the message. Luckily for his purpose, he was met by Major McToddy.

"Ha! major—never was so happy to see any one in my life," exclaimed Chatterton, seizing the hand of his friend—a tall, raw-boned, red-faced man, with a good-natured expression of face, not unmixed with a considerable share of good sense.

"I really," replied the major, in an accent that was a great deal more redolent of Renfrew than Middlesex—"I really jist at this moment dinna happen to have a single guinea aboot me, so ye needna go on wi' your compliments; but at hame in the kist,—the

arca

, as a body may say"—

"Poh! I don't want to borrow just now—except, indeed, your assistance in a matter of the highest importance. You have always been so kind, so obliging, that I am sure you wont refuse."

"Weel, say awa', speak on;

perge, puer

, as a body may say," interrupted the major, who seemed resolved to show what command of language he had, for he uniformly began his speeches in his vernacular, and translated them, though with an effort, into English, or any other tongue he chanced to recollect.

"Did you see a lady near the Waterloo? tall, graceful, timid; by heavens, a shape to dream of, not to see?"

"Then, what for did ye look at it?—answer that if you please—

responde, s'il vous plait

."

"A creature so sweet, so beautiful; ah, McToddy!"

"What's a' this aboot. What's the meaning of all this? Is't in some wild play aboot a woman—

une femme,

—a

fæmina

, as a body may say, you want my help? Gae wa' wi' ye—be off with you,—

apage, Sathanas

, as a body may say—I'm owre auld in the horn for sic nonsense—

non mihi tantas

."

"I tell you, major, she is the loveliest creature in Europe. Such a foot —such shoulders—such a walk—by heavens! I'll shoot him as dead as Julius Cæsar."

"Who are you going to shoot?—is't a woman in man's claes?" enquired the major, astonished.

"I'll shoot him—the cursed, fat, pudgy, beastly rascal, her husband. I've never seen her face, but"—

"Lord seff us!—heaven preserve us, as a body may say. Is that a respectable reason for shooting a man that you have never seen his wife's face? Come, come, be cool, John Chatterton—be cool;

animum rege

, as a body may"—

"Cool? a pretty thing for a steady old stager like you, to tell me to be cool. I tell you, I've been insulted, threatened, quizzed, laughed at."

"Wha laughed at ye?" enquired the major.

"The woman. I'm certain, she must have laughed. How could she avoid it? I know she laughed at me; for though I couldn't see her face for the horrid veil she kept over it, I saw from the anxiety she was in to hide it, from the shaking, of her whole figure, that she was in the convulsions of a suppressed titter. I'll shoot him as I would a partridge."

"But ye've nae license, sir, nor nae qualification either that I can see—for what did the honest man do?" said the major, amazed at the wrath of his companion.

"Do! He didn't actually call me a puppy, but he meant it. I know he did—I saw it in the twinkle of his light, prying, silly-looking eyes—the pucking up of his long, red, sneering lip."

"But ye canna fecht a man—you can't challenge a person, as a body may say, for having light eyes and long lips—what mair?

quid ultra?

 as a body"—

"He asked me the way to the barracks."

"Weel, there's no great harm in that—

non nocet

, as a"—

"I told him the way, and offered to escort them there; I offered to be of any use to them in my power, for I knew every officer in garrison, you know, except our own regiment, that only came in to-day; and just when I was going to offer my arm to the lovely creature at his side, he said that they didn't need my guidance, that they did not desire my society—that he could shoot at a popinjay; now, what the devil

is

 a popinjay?"

"I'm thinking jay is the English for some sort of a pyet—a tale-bearer, as a body may say—a blab."

"A blab!—by heavens, Major M'Toddy, I don't know what to say—if I thought the fellow really meant to insinuate any thing of that kind, I would horsewhip him though I met him in a church."

"Oho! so your conscience is pricked at last?—

mens sibi non conscia

, as a body may say," answered the major. "Noo, I want to speak to you on a point of great importance to yourself, my young friend, before you get acquainted with the regiment. Hoo long have you been in the depot here, John Chatterton?"

"Eighteen months."

"Weel, man, that's a-year-and-a-half, and you must be almost a man noo."

The youth looked somewhat inclined to be angry at this mode of hinting that he was still rather juvenile—but the major went on.

"And you were engaged, six months ago, to the beauty you used to tell me so much about, Miss Hope of Oakside."

"Yes—yes—well?" replied the youth.

"And what for have ye broke off in such a sudden manner?—

unde rixa?

 as a body may say."

"I broke off, Major M'Toddy? I tell you

she

 broke off with me."

"Did she tell you so?" enquired the senior.

"No—do you think I would condescend to ask her? No; but doesn't every body know that she is married?"

"Have you seen the announcement in the papers?"

"I never look at the papers—but I tell you I know from the best authority, that she is either married, or is going to marry an old worn-out fellow of the name of Smith. A friend of Smith's told me so, the last time I came down by the coach."

"A man on the top of the coach told you that she was going to be married—that is,

in vulgum pargere voces

, as a body may say—capital authority! And what did you do then?"

"Sent her back her letters—with a tickler to herself on her conduct."

"And was that a'?—did you not write to any of her family?"

"No. Her eldest sister is a very delightful, sensible girl, and I am certain must have been as angry at Marion's behaviour as I was."

"And now her brother's come home to-day—you're sure to meet him—it'll be an awkward meeting."

"I can meet him or any man in England," replied the youth. "If there's any awkwardness about it, it sha'n't be on my side."

"Noo, John Chatterton, my young friend, I'm going to say some words to you that ye'll no like. Ye're very vain o' yoursel'—but maybe at your time o' life it's not a very great fault to have a decent bump o' self-conceit; you're the best-hearted, most honourable-minded, pleasantest lad I know any where, and very like some nephews of my own in the Company's service: ye'll be a baronet when your father dies, and as rich as a Jew. But oh, John Chatterton, ye're an ass—a reg'lar donkey, as a body may say, to get into tiffs of passion, and send back a beautiful girl's letters, because some land-louping vagabond on the top of a coach told you some report or other about a Mr Smith"—

"

Captain

 Smith," said Chatterton, biting his lips; "he's a well known man; he was an ensign in this very regiment, succeeded to a large fortune, and retired: he's a very old man."

"He's very fine fellow, and as gallant a soldier as ever lived," answered the major; "and if you think that a man of six or seven-and-thirty is ow'r auld to marry, by my troth, Mister Chatterton, I tak' the liberty to tell you that you labour under a very considerable mistake."

Chatterton looked at the irate face of his companion, in which the crow-feet of forty years were distinctly visible, and perceived that he had gone on a wrong tack.

"Well, but then, major, what the deuce right had she to marry without giving me notice of her intentions?"

"Set ye up, and push ye forrit!—marry come up! as a body may say—who made you the young lassie's guardian? If you were really engaged to her, why didn't you go to Oakside at once and find out the truth, and then go instantaneously and kick the fellow you met on the top of the coach, round and round the barrack yard, till there was not enough of him left to plant your boot on?"

The young man looked down as if a little ashamed of himself.

"Never mind, major," said he, "it can't be helped now; so do, like a good fellow, go and find out the little rascal who insulted me so horribly just now. It would be an immense satisfaction to pull his nose with a regulation glove on."

"But you must describe him, and tell me his name, for it would be a sad occurrence if I were to give your message to the wrong man."

"You can't mistake him; the most impudent-looking vulgarian in England. His name is Nicholas Clam, living in some unheard-of district near the Regent's Park."

"And the lady is his wife, is she?"

"Of course. Who the devil would walk with such a fellow that wasn't obliged to do it by law?"

"Well, my young friend, I'll see what's to be done in this matter, and will bring you, most likely, a solemn declaration that he never shot at a popinjay in his life. And you're really going to end the conversation without asking me for a loan? You're not going to be like Virtus,

post nummos

 after the siller, as a body may say?"

"No, not to-day, thank you. The governor keeps me rather short just now, and won't come down handsome till I'm married; but"—

"So you've lost that and the girl too—the lass and the tocher, as a body may say—all by the lies of a blackguard on the top of a coach? Ye're a wild lad, John Chatterton, and so

vale, et memor esto mei—au revoir

, as a body may say."

The major turned away on warlike thoughts intent, that is to say, with the intention of finding out Mr Clam, and enquiring into the circumstances of the insult to his friend. Mr Chatterton was also on the point of hurrying off, when a gentleman, who had overheard the last sentence of the sonorous-voiced major's parting speech, stopped suddenly, as if struck by what was said, and politely addressed the youth.

"I believe, sir, I heard the name of Chatterton mentioned by the gentleman who has just left you?"

"Yes, he was speaking of him."

"Of your regiment, sir?"

"Yes, we have a man of that name," replied Mr Chatterton. "What the deuce can this fellow want?"

"I am extremely anxious to meet him," continued the stranger, "as I have some business with him of the highest importance."

"Oh, a dun, by Jupiter!" thought the young soldier. He looked at the stranger, a very well dressed gentlemanly man—too manlike for a tailor —too polished for a horse-dealer; his Wellingtons were brightly polished—he was perhaps his boot-maker. "Oh, you wish to see Mr Chatterton?" he said aloud.

"Very much," replied the stranger. "I have some business with him that admits of no delay."

"An arrest at least," thought the youth. "I wish to heaven M'Toddy had not left me! Is it fair to ask," he continued, aloud, "of what nature your business is with Mr Chatterton? I am his most intimate acquaintance; whatever you say to me is sure to reach him."

"I must speak to him myself, sir," replied the stranger, coldly. "Where am I likely to find him?"

"Oh, most likely at the bankers," said the young man, by way of putting his questioner on the wrong scent. "He has just stept into an immense fortune from a maiden aunt, and is making arrangements to pay off all his debts."

"There are some he will find it difficult to settle," replied the stranger with a sneer, "in spite of his new-found wealth."

"Indeed, sir! What an exorbitant Jew this fellow is; and yet I never signed any bond!"

"Yes, sir," continued the other, with a bitterer sneer than before, "and at the same time such as he can't deny. I have vouchers for every charge."

"Well, he will not dispute your charges. I daresay they are much the same as those of other people in the same situation with yourself."

"Are there others in that condition?" enquired the stranger; "what an unprincipled scoundrel!"

"Who, sir? How dare you apply such language to a gentleman?"

"I did not, sir, apply it to a gentleman; I applied it to Mr Chatterton."

"To

me

, sir! It was to me!

I'm

 Mr Chatterton, sir; and now, out with your writ—whose suit? What's the amount? Is it Stulz or Dean?"

The stranger steps back on this announcement, and politely but coldly lifted his hat.

"Oh, curse your politeness!" exclaimed the young man, in the extremity of anger. "Where's the bill?"

"I don't know your meaning, sir," answered the stranger, "in talking about writs and b