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THE BRIGHTON COACH.

I was once placed in a situation of peculiar embarrassment; the event made a strong impression on me at the time—an impression, indeed, which has lasted ever since.

Those who know as well as I do, and have known as long as I have known, that once muddy, shabby, dirty fishing-town on the Sussex coast, which has grown, under the smiles and patronage of our late beloved king, into splendour and opulence, called Brighton, will be aware that there run to it and from it, divers and sundry most admirable public conveyances in the shape of stage-coaches: that the rapid improvements in that sort of travelling have during late years interfered with and greatly injured the trade of posting; and that people of the first respectability think it no shame to pack themselves up in a Brighton coach, and step out of it at Charing Cross exactly five hours after they have stepped into it in Castle Square.

The gallant gay Stevenson, with his prancing grays under perfect command, used to attract a crowd to see him start; and now, although he, poor fellow, is gone that journey whence no traveller returns, Goodman still survives, and the "Times" still flourishes; in that is the principal scene of my embarrassment laid; and to that admirable, neat, and expeditious equipage must I endeavour to attract your attention for some ten minutes.

It was one day in the autumn of 1829, just as the Pavilion clock was striking three, that I stepped into Mr. Goodman's coach. In it I found already a thin stripling enveloped in a fur pelisse, the only distinguishing mark of whose sex was a tuft of mustachio on his upper lip. He wore a travelling cap on his head girt with a golden band, and eyed me and his other fellow-traveller as though we had been of a different race of beings from himself. That other fellow-traveller I took to be a small attorney. He was habited in a drab greatcoat, which matched his round fat face in colour; his hair, too, was drab, and his hat was drab; his features were those of a young pig: and his recreation through the day was sucking barley sugar, to which he perpetually kept helping himself from a neat white paper parcel of the luscious commodity, which he had placed in the pocket of the coach-window.

There was one other passenger to take up, and I began wondering what it would be like, and whether it would be male or female, old

VOL. III.

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or young, handsome or ugly, when my speculations were speedily terminated by the arrival of an extremely delicate pretty woman, attended by her maid. The lady was dressed in the extreme of plainness, and yielded the palm of gaiety to her soubrette, who mounted by the side of Mr. Goodman, at the moment that her mistress placed herself next my pig-faced friend and opposite to me.

It does not require half a second of time to see and know and understand what sort of woman it is who is thus brought in juxtaposition with one. The turn of her mind may be ascertained by the way she seats herself in her corner; her disposition by the look she gives to her companions; and her characterbut perhaps that may require a minute or two more. The lady in question cast a hasty glance round her, merely, as it should seem, to ascertain if she were personally acquainted with any of her companions. She evidently was not; and her eyes sank from the inquiring gaze round the party upon a black silk bag which lay on her lap. She was about four or fiveand-twenty; her eyes were blue and her hair fair; it hung carelessly over her forehead, and the whole of her costume gave evidence of a want of attention to what is called "setting one's self off to the best advantage." She was tall

thin-pale; and there was a sweet expression in her countenance which I shall never forget; it was mild and gentle, and seemed to be formed to its plaintive cast by sufferingand yet why should one so lovely be unhappy?

As the clock struck we started. The sudden turn of the team round the corner of North Street and Church Street brought a flush of colour into her cheeks; she was conscious of the glow which I was watching; she seemed ashamed of her own timidity. She looked up to see if she was observed; she saw she was, and looked down again. All this happened in the first hundred and seventy yards of a journey of fifty-two miles and a half.

My pig-faced friend, who sucked his barleysugar sonorously, paid little attention to anybody, or anything, except himself; and in pursuance of that amiable tenderness, pulled up the window at his side. The lady, like the beau in the fur coat, laid her delicate head back in the corner of the coach, and slept, or seemed to sleep. The horror I felt lest my pig-faced friend should consider it necessary to join in any conversation which I might venture to originate with my unknown beauty opposite, kept me quiet; and I "ever and anon" looked anxiously towards his vacant features, in hopes to see the two gray unmean.

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ing things which served him for eyes, closed in a sweet and satisfactory slumber. But no; although he spoke not, and if one may judge by countenances, thought not, still he kept awake, and ready, as it should seem, to join in a conversation which he had not courage to begin.

And so we travelled on, and not one syllable was exchanged until we reached Crawley. There my heart was much relieved. At Handscross we had dropped the cornet with the tufts; horses were ready to convey him to some man's house to dinner; and when we were quitting Crawley, I saw my excellent demolisher of barley-sugar mount a regular Sussex buggy, and export himself to some town or village out of the line of our road.

I here made a small effort at ice-breaking with my delicate companion, who consorted with her maid at one end of the room, while I with one or two more sensualists from the outside was refreshing myself with some cold fowl and salad. I ventured to ask her whether she would allow me to offer her some wine and water. Hang it! thought I, if we stand upon gentility in a stage-coach journey, smart as the things are, we shall never part sociably. She seemed somewhat of the same opinion, for she smiled. I shall never forget it: it seemed on her placid countenance like sunshine amidst showers-she accepted my proffered draught. "I rather think," said I, "we shall travel alone for the rest of the journey-our communicative friends have left us.' She made no answer; but from the sort of expression which passed over her features I was very sorry I had made the remark. I was in the greatest possible alarm lest she should require the presence of her maid to play propriety; but no, she had no such notion.

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A summons from Mr. Goodman soon put the party in motion, and in a few minutes we were again on our journey—the dear interesting creature and myself tête-à-tête. "Have you been long at Brighton?" said I. "Some time," replied the lady-"some months, indeed." Here came a pause. "You reside in London, I presume!" said I. "In the neighbourhood," replied the lady; at the same time drawing off the glove of her left hand (which by the way was as white as snow), to smooth one of her eyebrows, as it appeared by what she actually did with it, but, as I thought, to exhibit to my sight the golden badge of union which encircled its third finger. "And," said I, "have you been living alone at Brighton so long?" "Oh, no!" said the stranger; "my husband has only left me during the last few weeks, and

has now summoned me home, being unable to rejoin me on the coast." "Happy man!" said I, "to expect such a wife."

Now there did not seem much in this commonplace bit of folly, for I meant it for little else than jest, to summon up a thousand feelings, and excite a thousand passions-to raise a storm, and cause a flood of tears. But so it was-my companion held down her head to conceal her grief, and the big drops fell from her beautiful eyes. “Good God!” said I, “have I said anything to induce this emotion?-what have I done?-forgive me-believe me, if I have erred, it has been unintentionally—I—” "Don't speak to me," said the sufferer—“it is not your fault-you are forgiven-my heart is full, very full-and a word that touches the chord which vibrates to its very centre sadly affects me-pray-pray, let go my hand—and believe me, I am not angry with you-I am to blame." "But," said I-not implicitly obeying the injunction about letting go her hand, because what harm can holding a hand do?-"you must be more explicit before I can be satisfied with forgiveness you have occasioned an interest which I cannot control, you have excited feelings which I cannot subdue-I am sure you are unhappy, and that I have referred to something which- "Pray, pray, ask me nothing," said my agitated companion; "I have betrayed myself but I am sure, quite sure," added she-and I do think I felt a sort of gentle pressure of my hand at the moment-"that you will not take advantage of a weakness of which I ought to be ashamed." "You may rely upon me,” said I, "that, so far as you may choose to trust me, you are safe; and you may believe, that any anxiety I may express to know more of circumstances which (whatever they are) so deeply affect you, arises from an interest which you had excited even before you spoke." "What would you think of a woman," said she, “who should open her heart to a stranger? or, what sympathy could sorrows excite, which might be told by her after an hour's acquaintance? No, no; let me remain unknown to you, as I

am.

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Let us talk on ordinary topics, and let us part friends-but not to meet again."

Not much in the habit of making conquests, and not being of that particular "shape and make" to be fallen in love with at first sight, I confess this appeal seemed extraordinary. It was clear, from whatever cause arising I could not pretend to divine, that I had somehow prepossessed my companion in my favour; and certainly, if anything in the world could have induced me to resolve to meet this inter

esting creature again and again, it was her expressed desire that such a thing should not occur. I wonder if she anticipated the effect of her prohibition when she announced it! "Friends!" said I, "why should we not part friends? Why should we not live friends? Let me implore you, tell me more of yourself -that is all I ask.' "Alas!" said she, raising her blue eyes towards heaven, "is it possible that my pride and spirit should be so broken, so worked upon, that I could consent to admit of such a conversation with a stranger? How strangely do events operate upon the human mind!" "Gentle spirits should be gently treated," said I. "I fear some rude hand has broken in upon the rest that beings like you should enjoy?" "Oh," said she, "if I could tell you-and I believe I must-to justify myself for conduct which must appear to you so wild, so extraordinary, so unbecoming-oh, why did those people leave us together?"

I said nothing to this, because I could not exactly guess why they did; but that they had done so, I confess I did not so much regret as my companion said she did. "If my poor mother could look from heaven," said she, "and see me degraded as I am, what would she think of all the love and care expended upon me in my infancy and youth?" This last touch was rather wounding to my vanity; because, although the lady might consider herself somewhat let down in the world by travelling in a stage-coach, I thought it a little uncivil to refer to the circumstance while I was her fellow-passenger. "If," said I, "you will so far trust me as to confide your sorrows to me, I pledge myself to secrecy, and even to pursue any course which you may suggest for relieving them." "My story is brief," said my companion; "promise me not to refer to it at any future period during my life-that is, if we should ever meet after to-day, and I will trust you." Here the pressure of the hand was unequivocal; and by a corresponding, yet perhaps more fervent token, I sealed the compact between us. "I am the daughter," said she, "of a general officer, who with my exemplary mother resided chiefly in Somersetshire. The cares and attention of my parents were affectionately devoted to the education and improvement of their only child, and I became, as they have a thousand times said, the blessing of their declining years. I was scarcely seventeen when I lost my father, and his death produced not only a change of circumstances in our family, but a change of residence. My mother and myself removed to Bath. There

we resided until we were induced to visit the Continent, where—I am ashamed to go on—a nobleman became my avowed admirer, and made me an offer of marriage. His rank was exalted, his fortune large, but I could not love him; was I wrong in refusing to marry him?" "Assuredly not," said I, amazed at the animation which sparkled in eyes that lately flowed with tears, while she referred to the proper feeling and spirit she had exhibited in refusing a man she could not love. "That refusal,” continued the lady, “my poor mother could not forgive; she never did forgive it, and I believe that her anger is still over me, for what I have since suffered seems like a curse. My mother's disapprobation of my refusal of this desirable match had a complicated origin. She believed, and rightly too, that I discarded her favourite, not only upon the negative feeling of indifference or dislike towards him, but because I secretly preferred another. She was right__” "And you” "Stay," interrupted she-"hear me out-as I have begun, you shall know all. I did love another, a being all candour, openness, honour, and principle: talented, accomplished, gay, full of feeling, and generous to a fault. His name my mother would not hear me mention. She expelled him our house, excluded him from my society. What then?-trick and evasion on my part supplanted obedience and sincerity. The house of a friend afforded opportunities for our meeting, which my own denied -my youthful spirit could not bear restraint-we eloped and were married." "And thus you secured your happiness," said I. "Happiness!" said my companion; and never shall I forget the expression of bitterness, sorrow, and remorse which animated her countenance as she pronounced the word. "Misery-misery beyond redemption! My mother died two years after my ill-fated union with the man of my choice; and died without forgiving me my sad error. 'No,' said my angry parent; 'she has chosen her course and must follow it; and when I am in my cold grave she will repent, and I hope be forgiven. "But how were your prospects of happiness blighted?" said I. "Ah!" said my companion, "there is the point-there is the story which I dare not tell. Can I betray my husband? Can I accuse him? Can I commit him to a stranger?" "Being to a stranger," said I, "and one who, according to your own commands, is likely to remain a stranger to him always, you surely may." "Then hear me," said the lady: "we had scarcely been married three years, when, by some fatality to me wholly unaccountable, he

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was to rejoin her spouse in London, she would gladly have availed herself of any seasonable opportunity of changing the place of her destination. In fact, I had involved myself more deeply than I anticipated, for, having become a confidante, and having volunteered being a cavalier, I apprehended that in a minute or two I should be called forth as a champion, and, like another knight-errant, have the outraged Damosel placed under my especial care.

became infatuated by a woman-woman I must | from her mother-in-law's house at Brighton call her who led him into gaieties without his wife; who, fascinated by his agreeable qualities, became the monarch of his affections, the controller of his actions, and who, not satisfied with others attracting him from his home and all its ties, excited in his breast the fiercest jealousy against me." "Shocking!" said I; and I thought so as I looked at the bewitching creature; not but that I must confess I did not see the entire impossibility of the existence of causes for her husband's apprehension, considering the confidential manner in which she communicated all her sorrows to me. "Treatment the most barbarous followed this," said my companion; "a disbelief in my assertions, expressed contemptuously, marked all his answers to any request I made to him. The actions and conduct of my life were examined and discussed, until at length he sent me to the coast to live under the roof of his mother, while he was constantly domesticated with the vile partner of his gaieties and dissipations. Is not this enough to break a heart, or is it not enough to drive a woman to the commission of the very crimes with which she finds herself unjustly charged?"

Upon this last part of my fair friend's inquiry as to the lex talionis, I could but have one opinion to give, and agreed cordially in her view of a case to which, as it appeared to me, she had devoted some considerable portion of her attention. “But,” said I, "you are now returning home?" "I am," replied the lady; "because the rival I am doomed to bear with is no longer in London, and because the avocations of my husband will not permit him to visit Paris, whither she has gone. He thinks I am ignorant of all this, and thinks that I am a dupe to all his artifices; and why should I undeceive him?" "This rival," said I, "must be a very potent personage, if you are unable to break the charm which fascinates your husband, or dispel the influence which she has over him. You must have the power, if you have the will to do so." "No," said she; "my power is gone-his heart is lost to me, and is inaccessible by me. Oh! you little know the treatment I have received from him! -from him whose whole soul was mine, but whose mind is steeled and poisoned against me! No human being can tell what I have suffered what I do suffer!"

It was clear I had now arrived at the conclusion of the story; all that remained was to make the application, or deduce the moral; and, I honestly confess, it appeared to me, that, notwithstanding the object of her journey

I confess I was now rather anxious to ascertain who my fair friend was, and what her surname-her Christian name I had discovered to be Fanny. This discovery I made when she was recapitulating, more at length than I have thought it necessary to do, the dialogues between herself and her late respectable mother, in which I observed that, speaking in the maternal character, she called herself by that pretty and simple name, which never was better suited to a human being than herself. The animation and exertion of talking, and the excitement to which part of her narrative had given rise, together with the effect of the air on a delicate skin, had lighted up her sweet countenance, and I was just on the point of taking a very decisive step in the affair, when the coach suddenly stopped, and the door being opened, a portly lady, with a bandbox, and a bouquet as big as a gooseberry-bush, picked on purpose for her, as she told us, was squeezed by the high-pressure power of Mr. Goodman's right hand into the coach. She was followed by a pale-faced girl of about ten years of age, with a smaller-sized bouquet, a basketful of sweetheart cakes, and a large phial full of weak red wine and water.

That I was sorry for the interruption, I must candidly admit; but if the new-comers had been quiescent, it would have been more bearable, as I might have had time and leisure to consider what I had heard, and resolve in my mind not only the sad case of the fascinating creature before me, but to decide as to what step I myself should take, when we came to the place of parting.

It is curious to see how soon a feeling of sympathy, or congeniality, or whatever else it may be, renders strangers intimate; and when that sort of intimacy has begun, how it continues and shows itself by comparison with the conduct observed to the next strangers who appear. I and my fair friend were upon such good terms with each other, and so distant to the people who had just joined us, that the big lady and the little girl no doubt took us, if not for man and wife, at least for intimates of

ized road, that I endeavoured to induce her to tell me her name. This she positively refused. Then I looked about for the superscription of a letter, which sometimes very inflexible ladies, under similar circumstances, will considerately let slip-and thus, one gets in a moment accidentally what worlds would not tempt them deliberately to disclose-but no-it was too dark to read writing; yet, I was so convinced that she actually held a card ready to give me,

many years' standing; and then to see, the moment they came in, the care with which my fellow-traveller put her bonnet straight, and pulled her tippet round her, and put her bag in order, just as if she were before company! The contrast was very flattering to me, and so might have been much more of her conversation, but that she maintained it in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the strangers, forgetting, I conclude, that the pitch of voice which rendered it inaudible to them, left me equally ill-in-that I endeavoured gently to force her delicate formed. " Pray, sir," said the big lady, "when does this here coach git to the Olephant and Castle?" "At a little past eight," said I. "We goes through Kinnington, I believe," said the lady. "We do." "If it is quite agreeable, sir," continued the awful dame, "to your good lady to have that 'ere window up, I should be uncommon oblegated, because my little Emily Failing in the main point of my inquiries, Lawinia is jist out of the scarlet-fever, and II endeavoured to ascertain what part of Lonam afeard of her taking could." don she resided in, and tried every street, square, row, and corner, from Grove Road, Paddington, to Dog Row, Whitechapel, in order to excite an affirmative nod, and one of those bewitching smiles which I began to love

The combination of blunders in this little speech set the late weeping Fanny into a laugh; for there was in the corner of her eye that playful sparkle which no grief can quite subdue. She was as readily alive to fun as assailable by sorrow; and so it is with all people who feel strongly; for, as Moore says in one of his Melodies,

"The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns." The plump lady, however, found that she had made some mistake; and not at all taking into the account that people in general do not very much approve of shutting themselves up in a coach, hermetically sealed, with patients in the scarlet-fever, set me and my "good lady" down as two proud, conceited upstarts, and revenged herself, to our utter dismay, by dissipating the sorrows of silence, in enjoying the solace of peppermint lozenges, one of which she herself took, and administered another to her darling pet on the opposite seat; so that, while my companion was gratified by the redo lence of the fragrant herb through the medium of the old lady, I was indulged by the more active and efficient exertions of the living anatomy next her.

The coach rattled on, and I beheld my opposite neighbour no longer as a stranger. She leaned forward just as we passed Kennington turnpike, and asked me whether I went on to Charing Cross, or left the coach at the Elephant and Castle. I told her that I stuck by the ship to the last, and hoped she would permit me to assist her in securing her luggage. It was at this period, in the midst of the jangle of the vehicle and the clatter of the macadam

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right hand open, in order to obtain the desired information. But I found I was wrong; she seemed determined, either that I should know nothing more of her, or, if I did, that I should at least have the trouble, or pleasure, as the case might be, of hunting after my intelligence.

but no. Well, thought I, the time must come when you must go, and then I shall follow; and so, if you choose to be silent and uncommunicative, and dignified and disagreeable, I can be revenged upon you; not that I could believe a woman who would generously confide the sorrows of her heart to a man, could be ill-natured enough to withhold the trifling addition of telling him where that heart was doomed to beat.

The moment arrived, and we reached the Elephant and Castle. The sudden check of Goodman's team took my poor Fanny by surprise, and threw her forward, so as to bring her somewhat in contact with myself; but the lamps of the coach had been lighted at Smithers Bottom, and we were in the dark compared with objects without; and never shall I forget the hurried scramble into which she "righted herself," as her eye glanced on a countenance outside the carriage, brightly illuminated by the lamp on that side-she seemed thunderstruck. "Gracious!" said she, "here's Charles!" "Who the deuce is Charles?" said I. "Hush!

my husband," replied the lady; "he's coming;-I'm so glad these people are in the coach." The door opened, and a hand was introduced. "Fanny!" said the master of that hand, in a soft tone of endearment. "Here I am, love," said my companion. "Alone!what quite full!" said the husband. "Yes, dear," said the wife, "and so tired. I never was so glad to get out of a coach in my life.'

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