Ancient geographers have decided, we are not aware on what grounds, that there is a place between “H—ll and Connaught.” Modern discovery, with more certitude, has shown one between the Guards and the Line, a species of military purgatory, where, after a due expiation of offences, the sinner may return to the paradise of the Household Brigade without ever transgressing the Inferno of a marching regiment. This half-way stage is the “Rifles.” So long as a young fashionable falls no lower, he is safe. There is no impugnment of his character, no injury that cannot be repaired. Now, George Onslow had reached so far; he was compelled to exchange into the —th, then quartered in Ireland. It is true he did not join his regiment; his father had interest enough somewhere to obtain a leave of absence for his son, and First Lieutenant Onslow, vice Ridgway promoted, was suffered to amuse himself howsoever and wheresoever he pleased.
The “exchange,” and the reasons for which it was effected, were both unpleasant subjects of reflection to George; and as he had few others, these continued to haunt him, till at last he fancied that every one was full of the circumstance, each muttering as he passed, “That 's Onslow, that was in the Coldstreams.” Lady Hester, indeed, did not always leave the matter purely imaginary, but threw out occasional hints about soldiers who never served, except at St. James's or Windsor, and who were kept for the wonderment and admiration of foreign sovereigns when visiting England, just as Suffolk breeders exhibit a “punch,” or a Berkshire farmer will show a hog, for the delectation of swine fanciers. Where children show toys, kings show soldiers, and ours are considered very creditable productions of the kind; but Lady Hester averred, with more of truth than she believed, that a man of spirit would prefer a somewhat different career. These currents, coming as they did in season and out of season, did not add to the inducements for keeping the house, and so George usually left home each day, and rarely returned to it before nightfall.
It is true he might have associated with Haggerstone, who, on being introduced, made the most courteous advances to his intimacy; but George Onslow was bred in a school whose first lesson is a sensitive shrinking from acquaintance, and whose chief characteristic is distrust. Now he either had heard, or fancied he had heard, something about Haggerstone. “The Colonel was n't all right,” somehow or other. There was a story about him, or somebody of his set, and, in fact, it was as well to be cautious; and so the young Guardsman, who would have ventured his neck in a steeplechase, or his fortune on a “Derby,” exhibited all the deliberative wisdom of a judge as to the formation of a passing acquaintance.
If we have been somewhat prolix in explaining the reasons of the young gentleman's solitude, our excuse is, that he had thereby conveyed, not alone all that we know, but all that is necessary to be known, of his character. He was one of a class so large in the world that few people could not count some half-dozen, at least, similar amongst their acquaintance; and all of whom would be currently set down as incapables, if it were not that now and then, every ten years or so, one of these well-looking, well-bred, indolent dandies, as if tired of his own weariness, turns out to be either a dashing soldier, with a heart to dare, and a head to devise the boldest achievements, or a politic leader, with resources of knowledge, and a skill in debate, to confront the most polished and practised veteran in “the Commons.”
Our own experiences of our own day show that these are no paradoxical speculations. But we must not pursue the theme further; and have only to add, that the reader is not to believe that George Onslow formed one of these brilliant exceptions. Whether the fault lies more in himself or in us, we must not inquire.
If his lonely walks did not suggest any pleasant reveries, the post did not bring any more agreeable tidings. Dry statements from Mr. Orson, his lawyer, every young man about town has his lawyer nowadays, about the difficulty of arranging his affairs, being the chief intelligence he received, with, from time to time, a short and pithy epistle from a certain noble creditor, Lord Norwood, who, although having won very large sums from Onslow, never seemed in such pressing difficulty as since his good fortune.
The viscount's style epistolary was neither so marked by originality, nor so worthy of imitation, that it would be worth communicating; but as one of his letters bears slightly upon the interests of our story, we are induced to give it; and being, like all his correspondence, very brief, we will communicate it in extenso.
“Oh, Norwood again!” said Onslow, as he looked at the seal, and read the not very legible autograph in the corner. “My noble friend does not give a very long respite;” and biting his lips in some impatience, he opened the paper, and read:
DEAR ONSLOW, Orson has paid me the two thousand, as you
ordered, but positively refuses the seventeen hundred and
eighty, the Ascot affair, because I cannot give up the
original two bills for twelve hundred passed to me for that
debt. I told him that they were thrown into the fire being
devilishly tempted to illustrate the process with himself
six months ago, when you gave the renewals; but all won't
do, the old prig persists in his demand, to comply with
which is clearly impossible, for I have not even preserved
the precious ashes of the incremation. I don't doubt but
that, legally speaking, and in pettifogging parlance, he is
all correct but between men of honor such strictness is
downright absurdity and, as Dillhurst says, “something
more.” Now, my dear boy, you must write to him and at once,
too for I 'm in a bad book about “Chanticleer” who is to
win, it seems, after all and say that he is acting in direct
opposition to your wishes, as of course he is; that the
money must be paid without more chaffing. The delay has
already put me to great inconvenience, and I know how you
will be provoked at his obstinacy. You 've heard, I suppose,
that Brentwood is going to marry Lydia Vaughan. She has
thirty thousand pounds, which is exactly what Jack lost last
winter. Crosbie says he ought to “run away from her after
the start as he carries no weight:” which is somewhat of
my own opinion. What any man has to do with a wife nowadays,
with the funds at eighty-two, and a dark horse first
favorite for the Oaks, is more than I know. Doncaster has
levanted, and the Red-House folk will smart for it. He would
back Hayes's lot, and there 's nothing can ever set him
right again. By the way, Orson hints that if I give him a
release, or something of that sort, with respect to the
bills, he 'd pay the cash; but this is only a dodge to make
a case for lawyers' parchments, stamps, and so forth; so I
won't stand it. Your writing to him will do the whole thing
at once. What a jolly world it would be, old fellow, if the
whole race of Orsons were carried off by the cholera, or
anything akin! They are the greatest enemies to human peace
in existence.
Believe me, yours most faithfully,
NORWOOD.
P. S. I half fancy Baden is empty by this; but if you chance
upon a little fellow Heaven knows to whom he belongs, or
whence he comes, called Albert Jekyl, will you tell him that
I 'll forward the twenty pounds whenever I win the Oaks, or
marry Miss Home Greville, or any other similar piece of good
fortune. When he lent me the cash, I don't believe he was
the owner of as much more in the world; but it suited him to
have a viscount in his debt a devilish bad investment, if he
knew but all. The chances, therefore, are that he has
foundered long ago, and you will be spared the trouble of
the explanation; but if he survive, say something
apologetic, for letter-writing and foreign postage are only
making bad worse.
Although, unquestionably, the postscript of this elegant epistle was the part which reflected most severely upon the writer's good feeling and sense of honor, George Onslow was more struck by what related to his own affairs, nor was it till after the lapse of some days that he took the trouble of considering the paragraph, or learning the name of the individual referred to. Even then all that he could remember was, that he had seen or heard the name “somewhere,” and thus, very possibly, the whole matter would have glided from his memory, if accident had not brought up the recollection.