“''Tis a strange compact, still I see no better,
So by your leave we'll sit and write this letter.”
Ye Merrie Bacheloure.
“The ancient saying is no heresy,
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.”
Merchant of Venice.
THE heart of the wandering Swiss bounds within him at the sound of the “Ranz des Vaches,”—dear to the German exile are the soul-stirring melodies of his fatherland; but never did the ear of German or of Swiss drink in with greater delight the music that his spirit loved than did mine the transport of grunting by which Mr. Frampton welcomed his niece, the daughter of his childhood's friend, his fondly remembered sister.
“Umph! eh! so you've let that rascal Cumberland slip through your fingers, Master Frank? Umph! stupid boy, stupid. I wanted to have him hanged.”
“I am afraid, sir, the law would scarcely have sanctioned such a proceeding.”
“Umph! why not, why not? He richly deserved it, the scoundrel—daring to run off with my niece. Dear child! she's as like her poor-umph—umph! the Elliots were always reckoned a handsome race. What are you laughing at, you conceited puppy? It's my belief that when I was your age I was a great deal better looking fellow than you are. Some people admire a snub nose; there was the Begum of Cuddleakee, splendid woman—Well, what do you want, sir, eh?”
The last words were addressed to Captain Spicer, to whom (as since our late truce he had become all amiability) I had entrusted the commission of ascertaining Wilford's state, and who now appeared at the door, and beckoned me out of the room.
“I shall be with you again immediately,” said I, rising; and, replying to Clara's anxious glance by a smile and a pressure of the hand, I hastened to obey the summons.
“Wilford is in a sad state, Mr. Fairlegh,” he began, as I closed the door behind me; “dreadful, 'pon my life, sir; but here's the surgeon, you'd better speak to him yourself.”
In a little ante-room adjoining the chamber to which Wilford had been conveyed, I found the surgeon, who seemed an intelligent and gentlemanly person. He informed me that his patient had not many hours to live; the wound in the head was not mortal, but the spine had received severe injuries, and his lower extremities were already paralysed; he inquired whether I was acquainted with any of his relations; adding, that they ought to be sent for without a minute's delay.
“Really I am not,” replied I; “I never was at all intimate with him; but I have heard, that even with those whom he admitted to his friendship, he was strangely reserved on such subjects.”