A Hansom cab was waiting at the door, so I jumped in. “Beg your pardon, sir, I am engaged,” said cabby; “but if you’re not going far, I think I shall have plenty of time to take you.”
“Do so, my man; I live close by, in Bloomsbury-street, Bedford-square. Here’s a shilling for you—go ahead, cabby.”
Pst! pst! and off we were. In a few minutes, thanks to the evaporation of the thick fog and its having left only a feeble skeleton of its former substance, I found myself at my street door, and was trying for some time to open it with the wrong key, all the while thinking to myself what an extraordinary and uncomfortable evening I had passed to return so late. Perceiving my mistake, I changed the key; opening and shutting the door violently, I rushed up stairs with the intention of booking that evening in my daily tablet as one of the most tedious and uncomfortable I had spent throughout the series of cheerful years granted to me by a Supreme Power. The fire was out, the supper divided between my two friends the Angola cats, the servants in bed, the gas turned off, and the lucifers, I believe, gone to their Mephistophelian domain.
CHAPTER I.
BY RAIL AND COACH TO VIRGINIA WATER.
An early visit—Virginia Water—An eccentric friend—Rail v. coach—Humour of the road—The old coachman—The widow—Sally’s trouble—Another surprise—The “Wheatsheaf”—Beautiful scenery—Letter from the Duchess of Sutherland.
A MOST curious dream haunted my mind throughout the night, one of those indescribable phantasmagorian illusions which set all the vibrations of the heart at work without moving the frame, or in imagination only, quite depriving our senses for the time of the true sense of existence. Scarcely had the first gleam of Aurora peeped through my curtains, than a double knock was heard at the street door, apprising me that the time for rising had come, and forthwith brought back my wandering senses to the realities of human life: a minute after, a friend popped into my dressing-room, exclaiming, “Hallo! so you are going to the seat of the war, I hear.”
“The seat of the war! who told you so?”
“Why, the Times, to be sure; I have just read your letter, which, at all events, is very likely to carry you as far as Constantinople.”
“You don’t say so! What! is my letter in the Times to-day?”
“Of course it is,” he replied.
“I sent it so late last night, I did not suppose it could appear till to-morrow, if at all.”
“They would not have inserted it, arriving so late, I assure you, had they not thought it of great importance, and that you were likely to improve the hospital diets. No doubt you will soon set them to rights. I read the article, and must say I was much pleased when I saw your letter, and that is what brought me here so early: but mind, it is a long journey, and rather a dangerous one.”
“Well, my dear friend, if Government honour me with their confidence, I shall be happy to start immediately, and rough it for a short time—say a couple of months, which will be about the time required.”
“My opinion is, that you will soon hear from the authorities.”
“I say again, they are perfectly welcome to my humble services.”
“Are you going out this morning?”
“Yes, I am; excuse my shaving.”
“Oh, by all means; which way are you going?”
“Anywhere but to a wintry place.”
“Where’s that—Gravesend or Margate?”
“Oh dear, no—Virginia Water.”
“To stay?”
“No; only to settle a few important matters there, prior to my departure for Paris.”
“You were there the best part of last summer.”
“So I was; who told you that?”
“Don’t you recollect the party you gave there, when Messrs. R—— and ladies were present, with myself, my wife, and two daughters? We never enjoyed such a day in our lives; it really was a splendid affair altogether; and what an excellent dinner you gave us in the open air, in the long avenue of beech trees facing the lake! I shall not forget it as long as I live—I may say we, for my young ones often talk about it. There were about twenty-four guests—you recollect, of course?”
“Certainly I do now, and what a lovely day it was!”
“Never saw a finer,” said my friend; “the ladies walked round the lake without their bonnets, and with nothing but their parasols to screen them from the sun. But I tell you who was most amusing amongst the party—that old Yorkshire farmer.”
“Ha, ha! old Lawrence—he is a squire now, if you please, and has retired. He was very kind to me on the occasion of the grand agricultural dinner at Exeter; the ox I roasted whole upon that occasion came from his farm; it was roasted by gas, and in the castle yard.”
“Ah, I recollect seeing an engraving of it in the Illustrated London News; I can’t help laughing when I think of the old man, for at every fresh dish of which he partook—and he tasted a good many—he exclaimed—‘Well! hang me, if I know what stuff I am eating, but it’s precious good!’”
“I know he is very eccentric; he stayed with me nearly a week, and really made me laugh heartily with his genuine repartee. He is a good and a charitable man, I assure you. I taught his housekeeper how to make cheap soup while I was at his residence, and ever since the old gentleman has given it four times a-week to the poor round his small estate, during the winter season.”
“I know the soup you mean. I cut the receipt from the paper in the year ‘47, at the time of the famine in Ireland, when you were sent there by Government.”
“Exactly.”
“We tried it ourselves; and my wife’s mother has ever since given it throughout the winter to about twelve or fifteen poor people. The old lady was at first obliged to make it herself, her cook saying that no soup could be made with such a small quantity of meat. She would not even attempt to make it.”
“I believe you; but those people are not aware that in Scotland, where the strongest people in the British dominions are to be found, and especially in the Highlands, they live principally upon oatmeal porridge and vegetables, partaking of a very small portion of animal food;—and did you ever see a finer carnation cheek, or purer blood, than that which flows through the frame of a Scotch lassie, or in the veins of the descendants of the Bruce?”
“No, never; not even on the Continent. But, to return to the receipts: I would advise you to publish them. They would be eagerly purchased, and would render greater service. You must be aware that a slip from a newspaper is often lost.”
“Very true; and I intend to give a series of new receipts on food for the poor, still more simplified.”[2]
“With reference to our conversation about old Lawrence: no doubt he is a good fellow, and a genuine rough diamond into the bargain.”
“Yes,” said I, “and you may add, of the finest water. By the bye, didn’t he go to bed rather top-heavy?”
“Ah, that he did, and fancied himself at home blowing up his old woman, as he calls her, for having let the cat into the dairy, and being unable to find his gun to shoot her. What most astonished the old boy, he told me on the coach next morning on our way to London, was having no headache and feeling as hungry as a hunter—as I did myself. He made sure, after such