“‘It will, then, William,’ observed Mr Ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, ‘I may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the country — five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’

  “‘I dare say it will, uncle,’ replied William, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; ‘and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that I should also be enclosed in a ring-fence.’

  “‘And a beautiful property it will be,’ replied Mr Ponsonby.

  “‘Which, uncle? The estate or the wife?’

  “‘Both, nephew, both; and I expect your consent.’

  “‘Uncle, I am not avaricious. Your present property is sufficient for me. With your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, I will remain your sole heir, and single.’

  “‘Observe, William, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. We shall restore Forest Wild to its ancient boundaries. You know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. We now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by Henry the Eighth, at the period of the Reformation. This house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. Then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.’

  “‘Without encumbrance, uncle! You forget that, there will be a wife.’

  “‘And you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’

  “‘Indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that I should forget it. But, much as I should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, I do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of Miss Percival; and the more so, as I have never seen the property.’

  “‘We will ride over it to-morrow, William.’

  “‘Ride over Miss Percival, uncle! That will not be very gallant. I will, however, one of these days ride over the property with you, which, as well as Miss Percival, I have not as yet seen.’

  “‘Then I can tell you she is a very pretty property.’

  “‘If she were not in a ring-fence.’

  “‘In good heart, William. That is, I mean an excellent disposition.’

  “‘Valuable in matrimony.’

  “‘And well tilled — I should say well educated — by her three maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.’

  “‘Does any one follow the fashion?’

  “‘In a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system — what is it?’

  “‘A four-course shift, I presume,’ replied William, laughing; ‘that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.’

  “‘And only seventeen! Capital soil, promising good crops. What would you have more?’

  “‘A very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but I must decline taking a lease of it for life.’

  “‘Then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only a tenant-at-will. I consider it a duty that I owe to the family that the estate should be re-united. That can only be done by one of our family marrying Miss Percival; and as you will not, I shall now write to your cousin James, and if he accept my proposal, shall make him my heir. Probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’

  “And Mr Ponsonby directed his steps towards the door.

  “‘Stop, my dear uncle,’ cried William, rising up from his easy-chair; ‘we do not quite understand one another. It is very true that I would prefer half the property and remaining single, to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but at the same time I did not tell you that I would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. I know you to be a man of your word. I accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin James to the expense of postage.’

  “‘Very good, William; I require no more: and as I know you to be a man of your word, I shall consider this match as settled. It was on this account only that I sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. I will let you know when all is ready.’

  “‘I must be at Tattersall’s on Monday, uncle; there is a horse I must have for next season. Pray, uncle, may I ask when you are likely to want me?’

  “‘Let me see — this is May — about July, I should think.’

  “‘July, uncle! Spare me — I cannot marry in the dog-days. No, hang it! Not July.’

  “‘Well, William, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property — Miss Percival, I should say — it may be too soon — suppose we put it off till October.’

  “‘October — I shall be down at Melton.’

  “‘Pray, sir, may I then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, dog-days?’

  “‘Why, uncle, next April, now — I think that would do.’

  “‘Next April! Eleven months, and a winter between. Suppose Miss Percival was to take a cold and die.’

  “‘I should be excessively obliged to her,’ thought William.

  “‘No! No!’ continued Mr Ponsonby: ‘there is nothing certain in this world, William.’

  “‘Well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first hard frost.’

  “‘We have had no hard frosts, lately, William. We may wait for years. The sooner it is over the better. Go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here, my dear William, to oblige your uncle — never mind the dog-days.’

  “‘Well, sir, if I am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you I will even marry in July, without any regard to the thermometer.’

  “‘You are a good boy, William. Do you want a cheque?’

  “‘I have had one to-day,’ thought William, and was almost at fault. ‘I shall be most thankful, sir — they sell horse-flesh by the ounce now-a-days.’

  “‘And you pay in pounds. There, William.’

  “‘Thank you, sir, I’m all obedience; and I’ll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. I’ll go and buy the horse, and then I shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.’

  “‘Yes, and you’ll get over it cleverly, I’ve no doubt. Five thousand acres, William, and — a pretty wife!’

  “‘Have you any further commands, uncle?’ said William, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book.

  “‘None, my dear boy: are you going?’

  “‘Yes, sir; I dine at the Clarendon.’

  “‘Well, then, good-bye. Make my compliments and excuses to your friend Seagrove. You will come on Tuesday or Wednesday.’

  “Thus was concluded the marriage between William Ponsonby and Emily Percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum — five thousand acres in a ring-fence.”

  Mr Seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation.

  “Very good, indeed, Seagrove,” said his lordship; “you must take a glass of wine after that.”

  “I would not give much for Miss Percival’s chance of happiness,” observed the elder Miss Ossulton.

  “Of two evils choose the least, they say,” observed Mr Hautaine. “Poor Ponsonby could not help himself.”

  “That’s a very polite observation of yours, Mr Hautaine — I thank you in the name of the sex,” replied Cecilia Ossulton.

  “Nay, Miss Ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?”

  “Most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, Mr Hautaine, I appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?”

  “I must confess it, Miss Ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape.”

  “I only wish that the offer had been made to me,” observed Vaughan; “I should not have hesitated as Ponsonby did.”

  “Then I beg you will not think of proposing for me,” said Mrs Lascelles, laughing; for Mr Vaughan had been excessively attentive.

  “It appears to me, Vaughan,” observed Seagrove, “that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark.”

  Vaughan, who thought so too, replied: “Mrs Lascelles must be aware that I was only joking.”

  “Fie! Mr Vaughan,” cried Cecilia Ossulton; “you know it came from your heart.”

  “My dear Cecilia,” said the elder Miss Ossulton, “you forget yourself — what can you possibly know about gentlemen’s hearts?”

  “The Bible says that they are ‘deceitful and desperately wicked,’ aunt.”

  “And cannot we also quote the Bible against your sex, Miss Ossulton?” replied Seagrove.

  “Yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it,” replied Miss Ossulton, carelessly.

  “Upon my word, Cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen,” observed Lord B — ; “but I shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat à l’outrance. — I perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck.”

  “We were just about to retire, my lord,” observed the elder Miss Ossulton, with great asperity: “I have been trying to catch the eye of Mrs Lascelles for some time, but—”

  “I was looking another way, I presume,” interrupted Mrs Lascelles, smiling.

  “I am afraid that I am the unfortunate culprit,” said Mr Seagrove. “I was telling a little anecdote to Mrs Lascelles—”

  “Which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear,” replied the elder Miss Ossulton; “but if Mrs Lascelles is now ready,” continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair.

  “At all events, I can hear the remainder of it on deck,” replied Mrs Lascelles. The ladies rose and went into the cabin, Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles exchanging very significant smiles as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that Mrs Lascelles should take the lead merely because she had once happened to have been married. The gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck.

  “We have a nice breeze now, my lord,” observed Mr Stewart, who had remained on deck, “and we lie right up Channel.”

  “So much the better,” replied his lordship; “we ought to have been anchored at Cowes a week ago. They will all be there before us.”

  “Tell Mr Simpson to bring me a light for my cigar,” said Mr Ossulton to one of the men.

  Mr Stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck: the breeze was fine, the weather (it was April) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the Arrow, assisted by the tide, soon left the Mewstone far astern.

  Chapter Two.

  Cutter the Second.

  Reader, have you ever been at Portsmouth? If you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and if you have not you had better go there as soon as you can. From the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what I have described at Plymouth; the scenery is different, but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy are to be found there; and you will see Gosport on the other side of the harbour, and Sallyport close to you; besides a great many other places, which, from the saluting battery, you cannot see. And then there is Southsea Beach to your left. Before you, Spithead, with the men-of-war, and the Motherbank crowded with merchant vessels; and there is the buoy where the Royal George was wrecked and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows but that is not all; you can also see the Isle of Wight, — Ryde with its long wooden pier, and Cowes, where the yachts lie. In fact there is a great deal to be seen at Portsmouth as well as at Plymouth; but what I wish you particularly to see just now is a vessel holding fast to the buoy just off the saluting battery. She is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the Preventive Service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. She looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats; two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. You observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. She is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. She has no haunches of venison hanging over the stern! But I think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. But revenue-cutters are not yachts. You will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome.

  Let us go on board. You observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the score of paint — or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. She has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. But we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master’s mate, and a midshipman. They have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar — capital gin, too, ‘bove proof; it is from that small anker standing under the table. It was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. We must introduce them.

  The elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often “in the wind,” of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a Lieutenant Appleboy. He has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first-lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion — that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. It is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. He is just filling his fourteenth glass; he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings.

  The master’s mate’s name is Tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. He prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress — and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. He is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy or the liquor now before him.

  Mr Smith is the name of that young gentleman whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months; but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. He has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so — and therefore it is not his fault. A revenue-cutter suits him, she is half her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. Creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. He is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. He says little because he is too lazy to speak. He has served more than eight years; but as for passing — it has never come into his head. Such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy.

  “Let me see, it was, I think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. Before you were in the service, Tomkins—”

  “Maybe, sir; it’s so long ago since I entered, that I can’t recollect dates — but this I know, that my aunt died three days before.”

  “Then the question is, when did your aunt die?”

  “Oh! She died about a year after my uncle.”

  “And when did your uncle die?”

  “I’ll be hanged if I know!”

  “Then, d’ye see, you’ve no departure to work from. However, I think you cannot have been in the service at that time. We were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now.”

  “Then I think the service was all the better for it. Now-a-days, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a band-box.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. However, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which I was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if I was their dry-nurse. I wonder what Captain Prigg would have said if he had seen such a turn-out as you, Mr Smith, on his quarter-deck.”

  “I should have had one turn-out more,” drawled Smith.

  “With your out-at-elbows jacket, there, eh!” continued Mr Appleboy.

  Smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other; after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent.

  “Well, where was I? Oh! It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said that it happened — Tomkins, fill your glass and hand me the sugar — how do I get on? This is Number 15,” said Appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. “I don’t think this is so good a tub as the last, Tomkins, there’s a twang about it — a want of juniper; however, I hope, we shall have better luck this time. Of course you know we sail to-morrow?”

  “I presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board.”

  “True — true; I’m regular — as clock-work. After being twenty years a first-lieutenant one gets a little method. I like regularity. Now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time I have come into harbour, except this time. I was so certain of it, that I never expected to sail; and I have but two shirts clean in consequence.”