Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 59, No. 364, February 1846

"Certainly not," answered Frank, "but I've seen quite enough to form a pretty accurate judgment that the bulk will tally with the sample – a conclusion I can arrive at without the aid of my nasal organ. A fact may be ascertained without one's poking their nose to the bottom of it – a very unsatisfactory, as well as uncertain, mode of proceeding, take my word for it. Why, I wouldn't undertake to ascertain even the height or depth of a molehill by so uncertain a process."

"And will you never forget that unlucky blunder of mine?" asked Mr Vernon Wycherley.

"Never, I promise you," replied Frank.

"Well, then, if you can't forget it, I suppose you can cease talking about it; and, by way of a more pleasing subject, suppose you tell me something about the people here – the old gentleman, the only member of the family I've yet seen, appears to possess a very host of good-nature."

"And a very good-natured host he has proved," interrupted Frank.

"That's right," said Vernon; – "very well for you; so book it, to tell again, and make the most of it."

"I shall do no such thing," rejoined Frank, "as no words I can employ would do justice to our honest entertainer, who is without exception the happiest and merriest little fellow I ever met with, possessing a countenance full of mirth and good-humour, and a heart overflowing with benevolence – a downright hearty good fellow, a thorough trump – a regular brick, and no mistake at all about the matter, as our little friend, Major Rodd, would say. And I say, Vernon, you've no idea what a delightful evening I spent after I'd tuck'd you in for the night. I never in my life met so entertaining a man before – a mere glimpse of his good-natured face is sufficient to drive away a very legion of blue-devils, although, by the by, those are fiends that never haunt me; and then we had a famous spread by way of supper – jugged hare – a woodcock – the first I've yet seen for the season – and lots of snipes."

"All of which, I dare say, you did ample justice to," interposed Mr Vernon Wycherley.

"More than justice, friend Vernon – more than justice; for I ate the best portion of the woodcock, in addition to a fair allowance of the jugged hare I'd taken before – and then finished off with the snipes – the whole being accompanied with some excellent home-brewed ale."

"Well, enough about the supper; but tell me, was there nobody but yourself and the squire to partake of it?"

"Oh yes! the doctor staid to supper, but was obliged to start and visit a patient who had sent for him, which compelled him to commence a five miles' ride ere he had well time to finish his meal."

"You saw no ladies, then?"

"Yes, but I did though – that is, I saw the lady of the house; and much as I liked master, I don't know but I liked mistress more – such a dear, kind-hearted creature – and so good-looking, Vernon – one of the sort that would never look old, or grow ugly, even if she lived to the age of Methusalem. And her fondness for her old man is quite delightful – none of your my-dearing or my-loving nonsense, or anxiety about every thing he likes to eat and drink disagreeing with him; but good, downright, honest, hearty affection, which was beautifully displayed in the happy smile with which she regarded the old fellow, and witnessed how truly he seemed to be enjoying himself. That's what I'd recommend all wives to do who wish to preserve their good looks. A woman's beauty depends so much upon expression, that if that's spoilt, farewell to all her charms, and which nothing tends more to bring about than a countenance soured with imaginary cares, instead of lighted up with thankfulness for innumerable blessings – that's what makes half the women wither away into wrinkles so early in life; whilst nothing renders their beauty so lasting as that placid look of pure benevolence, which emanates from a heart full of thankfulness to God – affection for those nearest and dearest to them, and good-will towards all mankind."

"Thank ye, Frank – thank ye for these pretty little sentiments – very good remarks, certainly, and true; but I think you'd better keep them to bestow upon the future Mrs Trevelyan; I dare say you may find them useful then. And now, have you any further news to tell me this morning?"

"Yes, I believe I have. I was just going to tell you about the fair ladies we met on the downs yesterday; but I've a great mind not to do so."

"Eh? what? where?" interrupted Vernon. "Oh! do tell me – have you seen them?"

"No," answered Frank demurely, "I haven't seen even the shadow of their petticoats."

"Is this Squire Potts', then? eh!"

"Not impossible," rejoined Frank with most provoking coolness; "at least," he continued, "I know nothing to the contrary, for never having heard our worthy squire's cognomen, I see no reason why he may not be called Potts as well as any thing else."

"Pshaw," said Vernon impatiently, "and is that all you have to tell me? I really fancied you had heard or seen something."

"And so I have," rejoined Frank.

"Whom, then? eh! Do tell me!" demanded Vernon, eagerly.

"Timothy," replied Frank.

"Timothy!" reiterated the poet.

"Ay, Timothy, to be sure; what d'ye think of that, Mr Vernon Wycherley?"

"Why, it leads me to hope," replied that gentleman, "that we may meet the ladies themselves ere long, or" —

No or in the matter," interrupted Frank; "I've made up my mind to meet them both at breakfast this very morning; and no mistake, as our gallant little friend the major says – for I'm pretty certain those lovely birds of paradise roosted last night somewhere or other about the premises."

"But as you say you've seen Timothy, haven't you been able to get any thing out of him?"

"No," replied Frank; "for as all his business seems to be confined to out-of-doors work, he only came once or twice into the room where we were upon some trifling excuse or other; but, in reality, I've no doubt to have a peep at your humble servant, whom the rogue instantly recognised; and when no one was looking, he tipped me a sly wink of the eye, at the same time pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and directing his eyes towards the ceiling, thereby indicating, as I thought, that those I wished the most to see had already betaken themselves to bed."

"Then I trust they were not packed off on purpose that you might not see them?" observed the young poet.

"Quite the reverse, Vernon, I assure you, for I'm quite confident they were so packed off in order that they mightn't see me."

"You surprise me indeed – can it be possible that one so affable and open-hearted as our squire here appears to be, should hesitate to let his daughters see so harmless a specimen of the human race as my particular friend Mr Francis Trevelyan? But ah! I see how it is," Vernon continued, and his countenance fell as he said so. "I see how it is – he doubts our being gentlemen; a circumstance quite sufficient to account for the absence of the young ladies."

"Don't let that notion trouble you," interposed our little hero; "your particular friend, Mr Francis Trevelyan, as you have been pleased to style him, has removed every unfavourable impression a first glance of your two yards of humanity might have produced – you know the old saying, 'Show me your associates and I'll tell you what you are.'"

"Then," interposed Vernon, "the impression here must be, that I'm one of the most impudent dogs living."

"Nothing of the kind," resumed Frank; "that is, if they judge of you by your humble servant, whom they consider an exceedingly modest young man, which was the sole reason the two girls were kept out of the way, and sent off so early to bed; though by the by I'm almost ashamed to say" —

"Don't talk of your shame, Frank," interrupted Vernon, "a very different kind of thing, though too often confounded with modesty. It's the latter – It's your modesty – I wish to hear about."

"Why, the plain state of the case," rejoined Frank, "was, that our good-natured friend the squire, from an imperfect knowledge of the natural boldness of my disposition, (call it impudence, if you will,) supposed me incapable of facing the battery of laughter my extraordinary appearance would have exposed me to, had I come within view of his fair daughters."

"Your appearance is queer enough at all times I must confess," observed Vernon, "and still more so in your travelling costume; but still hardly enough so, I should have thought, to have produced quite so powerful an effect as you have just mentioned."

"You wouldn't say so, or have thought so, either, had you seen the strange figure of fun I made. Just now for a moment fancy my limited proportions enveloped in the squire's ample toggery – (who more than makes up in breadth all he wants in height,) – only fancy me so attired and where could you look for a more complete personification of a living scarecrow?"

"I can fancy it all," said Vernon Wycherley, laughing exceedingly at the idea of his companion so arrayed; "but do tell me," he continued, "what could have induced you to put on so ridiculous a masquerade."

"What else could I do?" rejoined Frank, "unless I turned in supperless to bed, or had it brought up to me there, neither of which suited my inclination – for, you see, what the rain we encountered had left undone in the drenching way, the brook I blundered over head and ears into had completely effected; and though my subsequent souse just afterwards into the fishpond could make me no wetter, that deficiency was amply made up for in mud; and as I had thrown off my knapsack, I had no precise notion where, in order that I might run all the lighter without it, which has only just now been picked up and returned to me, and so not a dry rag of my own to help myself to, I was right glad to rig myself out in the squire's clothes, which, fitting me like what our friend the admiral would say, 'purser's shirt upon a handspike,' made me look for all the world like an unstuffed effigy of a Guy Fawkes – a figure so superlatively ridiculous, that two light-hearted young girls, who were unable to help wellnigh laughing themselves from off their horses' backs at the sight of a youthful poet employing his nose as a pick-axe, could scarcely be expected to look unmoved on so ludicrous an object as I was."

"Spare me, Frank – spare me!" exclaimed Vernon. "How shall I be able to remove the ridiculous association which must be connected with that unlucky tumble?"

"The more important one you made so shortly afterwards, I'll undertake to say, will produce the desired effect," said Frank.

"Oh! don't talk about that now, pray," interposed Vernon with a shudder, and turning pale at the sudden recollection of his recent peril; which Frank perceiving, and aware of the indiscretion he had so thoughtlessly committed by alluding to, and to avert his friend's mind from dwelling any longer upon it, he rattled on as fast as he could about various other matters, describing in glowing terms all he had seen, heard, or conjectured, about the place they were then in. "What a contrast," he said, "the mere separation of a narrow valley has made between the desolate wastes we have traversed for the last two days, and the fertile spot where we now are, which, though deficient in timber, is beyond measure fertile in corn, and contains, I am told, some excellent shooting – that is partridge shooting; for a pheasant is here a kind of rara avis in terris, and as little likely to be met with as the very black swan itself; but then it's a fine country for woodcocks, whilst the bottoms almost swarm with snipes; all of which the squire has promised to show me in the course of the day, and for days to come, if I feel so inclined; for he won't hear a word of our leaving for at least ten days, or a week at the very shortest."

"But how, my dear fellow, can we accept an invitation of this kind from an utter stranger, whom" —

"No stranger at all," interrupted Frank. "He tells me your governor is one of his oldest and most esteemed friends; and as for myself – but stay – hush! – hark! I hear the old gentleman's voice, and he's coming this way too, or I'm very much mistaken."