KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



141 



empty, and business slack, his employer has 

 given him leave, and in which he is to be 

 accompanied by his friend Monsieur Victor 

 — Victor — I can't make out his other name 

 — an eminent perfumer, who lives next door. 

 To think of bringing a Frenchman here, 

 remembering how my father hates the whole 

 nation. Oh dear, dear ! And yet 1 know 

 William. I know why he went, and I do 

 believe, in spite of a little finery and foolish- 

 ness, and of all the britschkas, and drosch- 

 kies, and Victors, into the bargain that 

 he'll be glad to get home again. No place 

 like home ! Even in these silly notes, that 

 feeling is always at the bottom. Did not I 

 hear a carriage before me? Yes — no — I 

 can't tell. One takes everything for the 

 sound of wheels when one is expecting a 

 dear friend. And if we can but get him to 

 look, as he used to look, and to be what he 

 used to be, he won't leave us again for all the 

 fine shops in Regent Street, nor all the 

 britschkas and droschkies in Christendom, 

 My father is getting old now, and William 

 ought to stay at home," thought the affec- 

 tionate sister; "and I firmly believe that 

 what he ought to do, he will do. Besides 

 which — surely there is a carriage now." 



Just as Susan arrived at this point of her 

 cogitations, that sound which had haunted 

 her imagination all the afternoon, the sound 

 of wheels rapidly advancing, became more 

 and more audible, and was suddenly suc- 

 ceeded by a tremendous crash, mixed with 

 men's voices — one of them her brother's 

 — venting in two languages (for Monsieur 

 Victor, whatever might be his proficiency 

 in English, had recourse in this emergency 

 to his native tongue), the different ejacula- 

 tions of anger and astonishment which are 

 pretty sure to accompany an overset; and 

 on turning a corner of the lane, Susan caught 

 her first sight of the britschka or droschky, 

 whichever it might be, that had so much 

 puzzled her simple comprehension, in the 

 shape of a heavy-looking open carriage, 

 garnished with head and apron, lying pro- 

 strate against a gate-post, of which the 

 wheels had fallen foul. Her brother was 

 fully occupied in disengaging the horses 

 from the traces, in reprimanding his com- 

 panion for his bad driving, which he de- 

 clared had occasioned the accident, and in 

 directing him to go for assistance to a cot- 

 tage half a mile back on the road to Want- 

 age, whilst he himself intimated his inten- 

 tion of proceeding for more help to the farm; 

 and the obedient Frenchman, who, notwith- 

 standing the derangement which his coiffure 

 might naturally be expected to have ex- 

 perienced from his tumble, looked, Susan 

 thought, as if his hair were put in paper 

 every night, and pomatumed every morning, 

 and as if his whole dapper person were 



saturated with his own finest essences — a 

 sort of travelling perfumer's shop, a peripa- 

 tetic pouncet-box — walked off in the direc- 

 tion indicated, with an air of habitual submis- 

 sion, which showed pretty plainly that, 

 whether as proprietor of the unlucky britsch- 

 ka, or from his own force of character, 

 William was considered as the principal 

 director of the present expedition. 



Having sent his comrade off, William 

 Howe, leaving his steeds quietly browsing 

 by the way-side, bent his steps towards 

 home. Susan advanced rapidly to meet him; 

 and, in a few seconds, the brother and sister 

 were in each other's arms ; and, after most 

 affectionate greetings, they sat down, by 

 mutual consent, upon a piece of felled tim- 

 ber which lay upon the bank — the lane on 

 one side being bounded by an old coppice — 

 and began to ask each other the thousand 

 questions so interesting to the children of 

 one house, who have been long parted. 



Seldom, surely, has the rough and rugged 

 bark of an unhewn elm had the honor of 

 supporting so perfect an exquisite. Jem 

 Hathaway, the exciseman, had in nothing 

 exaggerated the magnificence of our young 

 Londoner. From shoes which looked as if 

 they had come from Paris in the ambassador's 

 bag, to the curled head, and the whiskered 

 and mustachioed countenance (for the hat, 

 which should have been the crown of the 

 finery, was wanting — probably, in conse- 

 quence of the recent overturn), from top to 

 toe he looked fit for a ball at Almack's, 

 or a fete at Bridgew T ater House : and, oh ! 

 how unsuited to the old-fashioned home- 

 stead at Rutherford W r est ! His lower ap- 

 pointments, hose and trousers, were of the 

 finest woven silk ; his coat was claret color, 

 of the latest cut ; his waistcoat — talk of the 

 great peacock, he would have seemed dingy 

 and dusky beside such a splendor of color ! 

 — his waistcoat literally dazzled poor Susan's 

 eyes ; and his rings, and chains, and studs, 

 and brooches, seemed, to the wondering 

 girl, almost sufficient to stock a jeweller's 

 shop. 



In spite of all this nonsense, it was clear 

 to her, from every look and word, that she 

 was not mistaken in believing William un- 

 changed in mind and disposition, and that 

 there was a warm and a kind heart beating 

 under the finery. Moreover, she felt that 

 if the unseemly magnificence could once 

 be thrown aside, the whiskers and mustachios 

 cleared away, and his fine manly person 

 re-instated in the rustic costume in which 

 she had been accustomed to see him, her 

 brother would then appear greatly improved 

 in face and figure, taller, more vigorous, and 

 with an expression of intelligence and frank- 

 ness delightful to behold. But how to get 

 quit of the finery, and the Frenchman, and 



