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the fugitive. But they could not discover a trace of him, or his wounded companion.
THE RENCOUNTER. CATESBY himself could scarcely tell how he accomplished his hairbreadth escape. Reckless almost of the result, he slid down the rock, catching at occasional irregularities as he descended. The river was of great depth at this point, and broke the force of his fall. On rising, he struck out a few yards, and suffered himself to be carried down the stream. He had never for one moment relinquished his hold of Garnet, and being an admirable swimmer, found no difficulty in sustaining him with one arm, while with the other he guided his course in the water. In this way, he reached the shore in safety, about a hundred yards below the bridge, by which means be avoided his pursuers, who, as has just been stated, searched for him above it.
After debating with himself for a short time as to what course he should pursue, he decided upon conveying Garnet to the hall, where he could procure restoratives and assistance ; and though he was fully sensible of the danger of this plan, not doubting the mansion would be visited and searched by his pursuers before morning, yet the necessity of warning Guy Fawkes outweighed every other consideration. Accordingly, again shouldering the priest, who, though he had regained his sensibility, was utterly unable to move, he commenced his toilsome march ; and being frequently obliged to pause and rest himself, it was more than an hour before he reached his destination.
It was just growing light as he crossed the drawbridge, and seeing a horse tied to a tree, and the gate open, he began to fear the enemy had preceded him. Full of misgiving, he laid Garnet upon a heap of straw in an outbuilding, and entered the house. He found no one below, though he glanced into each room. He then noiselessly ascended the stairs, with the intention of proceeding to Guy Fawkes's chamber.
As he traversed the gallery, he heard voices in one of the chambers, the door of which was ajar, and pausing to listen, distinguished the tones of Viviana. Filled with astonishment, he was about to enter the room to inquire by what means she had reached the hall, when he was arrested by the voice of her companion. It was that of Humphrey Chetham. Maddened by jealousy, Catesby's first impulse was to rush into the room and stab his rival in the presence of his mistress. But he restrained his passion by a powerful effort.
After listening for a few minutes intently to their conversation, he found that Chetham was taking leave, and creeping softly down stairs, stationed himself in the hall, through which he knew his rival must necessarily pass. Chetham presently appeared. His manner was dejected; his looks downcast; and he would have passed Catesby without observing him, if the laiter had not laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“Mr. Catesby!” exclaimed the young merchant, starting as he beheld the stern glance fixed upon him. “I thought--"
“ You thought I was a prisoner, no doubt," interrupted Catesby, bitterly. “But you are mistaken. I am here to confound you and your juggling and treacherous associate.”
“ I do not understand you,” replied Chetham.
“I will soon make myself intelligible,' retorted Catesby. “ Follow me to the garden.”
“I perceive your purpose, Mr. Catesby,” replied Chetham, calmly ; " but it is no part of my principles to expose my life to ruffianly violence. If you choose to lay aside this insolent demeanour, which is more befitting an Alsatian bully than a gentleman, I will readily give you such explanation of my conduct as will fully content you, and satisfy you that any suspicions you may entertain of me are unfounded.”
“ Coward ! "exclaimed Catesby, striking him. “I want no explanation. Defend yourself, or I will treat you with still greater indignity.”
“ Lead on, then,” cried Chetham, “I would have avoided the quarrel if I could. But this outrage shall not pass unpunished.”
As they quitted the hall, Viviana entered it; and, though she was greatly surprised by the appearance of Catesby, his furious gestures left her in no doubt as to his purpose. She called to him to stop. But no attention was paid by either party to her cries.
On gaining a retired spot beneath the trees, Catesby, without giving his antagonist time to divest himself of the heavy horseman's cloak with which he was incumbered, and scarcely to draw his sword, assaulted him. The combat was furious on both sides, but it was evident that the young merchant was no match for his adversary. He maintained his ground, however, for some time with great resolution ; but, being hotly pressed, in retreating to avoid a thrust, his foot caught in the long grass, and he fell. Catesby would have passed his sword through his body if it had not been turned aside by another weapon. It was that of Guy Fawkes, who, followed by Martin Heydocke, had staggered towards the scene of strife, reaching it just in time to save the life of Humphrey Chetham.
“ Heaven be praised! I am not too late!” he exclaimed. 6 Put up your blade, Catesby; or, turn it against me.”
CERTAINLY “the nation of shopkeepers” has offered to our French neighbours as many admirable subjects for satire, and its coarser substitute, ridicule, as must have almost palled the appetite of a people so peculiarly alive to the ridiculous. It has been well said of the Scotch that they send their wise sons abroad, and keep their fools at home. The English appear to have reversed the proposition, and send, with some few of their wise, a prodigious portion of their fools across the channel.
I have been led into these reflections by a long residence on the Continent, where (making myself, perhaps, one of the number I have last mentioned) I have witnessed an amazing influx and reflux of my countrymen, not without some surprise, as well as pain. That a people celebrated over the civilised world for the comforts of their own domestic habits, and, generally speaking, no less remarkable for their sterling sense,-should voluntarily present themselves as so many monsters of absurdity for exhibition in the very heart of the French dominions, is an instance of fatuity which nothing but an utter unconsciousness of their own peculiarities which somewhat detracts from their reputation for wisdom-can possibly account for.
There is not, perhaps, in the world a nation so keenly susceptible of the ridiculous as the French ; and, above all, the inhabitants of the metropolis are alive to this mirth-provoking tendency. This, therefore, beyond all others, as if by some power of fascination, our English emigrants, who have more money than wit, consider as their main object of locomotive attraction.
Thither flock thousands with no other view than to spend money, and kill time. Thither resort other thousands (strange to say) to save money, and gain time to adjust their own embarrassed affairs at home. Thither repair many, from no unpraiseworthy curiosity; and thither a few from a pure desire to become acquainted with the institutions, customs, and manners of a nation celebrated for so many ages for their pre-eminence in political jurisprudence, in sci. ences, and those polite arts which give a zest to life and a polish to society. From the first two classes I have named are to be selected the subjects of my remark at starting. Some few instances, indeed, might be fairly selected from the third ; and I well remember when all Paris was in ecstasy on the visit of a worthy knight, long distinguished at home as a lawyer of profound learning, and raised by his talents alone to a new and high dignity in his profession, who had the surprising absence of reflection to print his name on his visitingticket as
« Sir J- L
Vice-Chancellor of ENGLAND." Hundreds of well-informed persons, who were better acquainted with our legal institutions than one-half our own population, instantly detected the anomaly of this curious autology, and all Paris was in a few hours, if not in a roar of laughter, at least in that state of tittering risibility which is generally produced by the circulation of many a neat epigram, and well-turned jeu de mots.
Another and similar effect was produced by the visit of a gentleman in a different grade of society ; a man of solid understanding and active benevolence, who had long been distinguished in the political world, but still more by having twice successively filled the civic chair, and even more notorious for the part he had taken in the deplorable and disgraceful occurrences relating to Queen Caroline, during which he received from his friend, Henry Brougham, in the House of Commons, the honour of being described as a councillor to her Majesty “not altogether of absolute wisdom."
This gentleman, on visiting Paris after his second mayoralty, actually circulated a card announcing himself as
"Mr. M- W
Feu Lord Mayor de Londres !” I wish I had collected the squibs which were sent sparkling through Paris on these occasions: but as I believe neither of the parties luckily understood the language, so far as they were concern. ed no wound was inflicted ; or, perhaps unluckily, they lost the opportunity of enjoying a good-humoured laugh at their own expense.
Living, as I chose to do, in something like habits of retirement, I was not altogether delighted when a letter, which proved to be one of introduction to a new importation of English visiters, was presented to me. I had, I must confess with national shame, but with a natural propensity to comfort, been induced to avoid, as much as possible, all intercourse with the natives of my own country. No illfeeling was at the bottom of this seclusion, I solemnly declare. I wished to live in a foreign land for purposes of my own, and felt excessively annoyed when I found that a valued friend, who knew my situation and my motives also, required my personal attentions to a set of people, for aught I knew to the contrary, wholly out of my own class in life; and whose intrusion, if truth must be told, waz entirely repugnant to those notions of privacy and study which had so long induced me to become a resident on the Continent. My feelings on this subject, however painful, yielded of course to a necessity which I could not slight without serious offence to a muchvalued friend ; and I called on Sir John and Lady Sonkin with feelings much like those of a man who undertakes a forlorn-hope at a siege, and, while determined to do his duty, heartily hopes to hear a recall sounded from the encamıpment behind him.
My visit, however, was paid ; and soon returned.
My new acquaintance, Sir John Sonkin, or Soakin, as I had at first read the name, I learned had achieved the honour of knighthood on carrying up some civic address to Majesty ; and as a title, -of whatever nature it may be is always something, independent
ly of my friend's introduction I felt really anxious (or more properly speaking, nervous,) as to the precise manner in which I should conduct myself. However, when I saw at my first interview a certain number of the family, I must confess that, in despite of my prejudices, I began to encourage some hope that my, at first reluctant, civilities would meet with something like a commensurate reward.
Sir John was, indeed, what a Frenchman would call a perfect specimen of our national character. He was tall, to be sure; but he was proportionably bulky. He stood very nearly six feet high in his shoes; and unquestionably measured nearly two yards in circumference in his clothes! He was not less proud of his stature than his bulk, nor exulted less in his bulk than in his stature. He was proud of a very handsome, though not well-educated wife; and not less proud of a beautiful progeny. Legitimate and honest sources of such feelings, let the world say what it may ; but, unluckily, he had another, which was even paramount to these, which was a pride of wealth !
He began with consulting me as to the best and most becoming mode of establishing himself and family for a few months in Paris ; giving me to understand that money was no object ; that he had no ambition to vie with persons of superior distinction ; but was merely desirous to support his own rank in a proper manner. I pointed out a spacious hotel, which had just been vacated by Lord Land his family.
"Oh! Lord L- !” he observed. " I know-out at elbows ! living in Paris for the last two years to retrench! We will have something better than that, at all events.”
I presently discovered the sort of person I had to deal with, and settled him in a few days to his heart's content in a residence fit for an English Duke.
The family consisted of the knight and his lady ; three really charming and unaffected girls, who answered to the plain English names of Mary, Susan, and Kate ; and two fine lads, who were recognized by the equally simple sponsorial appellations of John and James ; a governess, introduced to me as Miss Turner ; a lady's own maid, whom I heard called Jinny ; Mr. Taylor, the tutor of the boys; Robert, the coachman; and Joseph, the footman. The only remaining members of the family, that were not introduced to the salon or the salle, were four stately coach-horses, and a Danish dog, their inseparable companion. This was the live-stock of the family. Innumerable trunks, boxes, chests, portmanteaux, and carpet-bags, with divers hampers of port wine, bottled porter, and a prodigious Cheshire cheese, I had the superlative pleasure of seeing safely deposited in the residence of the new comers.
As my first repugnance to have my privacy invaded gradually subsided, I went through the really distressing office of Cicerone with some degree of amusement as I listened to the remarks of the party by whom I was attended; and, as a purposed residence for some months of my new acquaintances had thrown me almost into an agony of despair, it was not without some surprise and great pleasure that I found in the conversation of the worthy knight a fund of information relating to the commerce of my own country, which was altogether as amusing as it was instructive: but, even this sweetener of the cup of which I was compelled to sip was not without its