The History of Pendennis

ege of an entree into its most select circles, admit that Major Pendennis was a

capades to Fulham or Richmond on Saturdays and Sundays, his bow from my Lord Duke or my Lord Marquis at the great London entertainments, and his name in the Morning Post of the succeeding day,— his quieter little festi

ne party after another — at least to those who could understand, as Helen didn’t, the melancholy grandeur of his self-denial. Helen did not, or only smiled at the awful pathos with which the Major spoke of the Court Guid

s, and there are few families that can show such a clear descent as our own) as the account of family alliances, and who is related to whom. I have known a man’s career in life blasted by ignorance on this important, this all-important subject. Why, only last month, at dinner at my Lord Hobanob’s, a young man, who has lately been received among us, young Mr. Suckling (author of a work, I believe), began to speak lightly of Admiral Bowser’s conduct for ratting to Ministers, in what I must own is the most audacious man

is Clavering had not come down to the park, to live in it since his marriage, and to make a society for the neighbourhood. He mourned that Lord Eyrie was not in the country, that he might take Pen and present him to his l

tes of the great George, of the Royal Dukes, of the statesmen, beauties, and fashionable ladies of the day, filled young Pen’s soul with longing

ight not, perhaps, tend to a man’s progress in another world, but it was pretty well calculated to advance his interests in this; and then it must be remembered that the Major never for one instant doubted that his views were the only

nowing, always sings in the country, and let me tell you, it has a doosed fine effect from the family pew. And you are somebody down here. As long as the Claverings are away you are the first man in the parish: and as good as any. You might represent the town if you played your cards well. Your poor dear father would have done so had he lived; so might you.— Not if you marry a lady, however

couldn’t bring that man, unshaven and reeking of punch, to associate with his mother. Even about Emily — he faltered when the pitiless guardian began to question him. “Was she accomplished?” He was obliged to own, no. “Was she clever?” Well, she had

g himself upon Pen’s good feelings, begging the lad to excuse a fond old uncle, who had only his family’s honour in view — for Arthur was ready to flame up in

ed to spend some portion of his time. Miss Emily was alarmed when she heard of the arrival of Pen’s guardian, and rightly conceived that the Major came down with hostile i

oved Miss Fotheringay; and the Captain, looking up at his foils which were hung as a trophy on the wall of the room where Pen and he used to fence, grimly said, he would not advoise any man to meddle rashly with the

n and his mother together? He trembled when he thought that he had absolutely written to Costigan (enclosing to him a sovereign, the loan of which the worthy gentleman had need), and saying that one day he hoped to sign himself his affectionate son, Arthur Pendennis. He was glad to get away from Chatteris that day; from Miss Rouncy the confida

n that inevitable confession which the evening’s conversation would be sure to elicit in the most natural simple manner, made Pen go less frequently to sigh away his soul at the feet of his charmer than he had been wont to do previous to his uncle’s arrival. There was no use trying to

young gentleman: it was his uncle’s man, Mr. Morgan, who was going on a message for his master, and had been took up at the Lodge, as he said. And Mr. Morgan came back by the Rival, too; so that Pen had the pleasure of tha

r. He delicately cross-examined the waiters, the ostlers, and all the inmates of the bar at the George, and got from them what little they knew respecting the worthy Captain. He was not held in very great regard there, as it appeared. The waiters never saw the colour of his money, and were warned not to furnish the poor gentleman with any liquor for which some other party was not responsible. He swag

pumped them over their cigars and punch, and all agreed that Costigan was poor, shabby, and given to debt and to drink. But there was not a breath upon the reputation of Miss Fotheringay: her father’s courage was reported to have displayed itself on more than one occasion towards persons disposed to treat his dau

ladies of the theatre. The Captain did intoxicate himself sometimes, and did not always pay his rent regularly, but he did when he had money, or rather Miss Fotheringay did. Since the young gentleman from Clavering had been and took lessons in fencing, one or two more had come fr

nformation. Major Pendennis openly expressed his disappointment; and, I believe, the Divine h

lease, marm, you’ll on no account leave the room when that young gentleman’s here. And many’s the time I’ve seen him a lookin’ as if he wished I was away, poor young man: and he took to coming in service-

on, the prudence of Miss Emily was prodigious after Pen had declared himself: and the poor fe

n said, “one could bear it. A young fellow must sow his wild oats, and that sort of thing. But a virtuous

sirable for Pen than a virtuous attachment for a young lady of his own rank and with a corresponding fortune — this presen

rry tomorrow. We have got time from him, th

n in which the above subject was discussed —“I am not, of cour

ctress, and we have as good a right as any other of the public to see her if we pay our money.” So upon a day when it was arranged that Pen was to dine at home, and pass the evening with

ought he had somewhere seen. They left them at their meal, however, and hastened to the theatre. It was Hamlet over again. Shakspear

a saw precisely the same thing on one night as on another. Both the elderly gentlemen looke

en she was called forward as usual, and swept her curtsies to t

said he, “She is a very clever actress; and I must say, Major

enthusiasm. She looked extremely sweet upon him too, thought the Major: but that’s their way — and he shut up his natty opera-glass and pocketed it, as if he wished to see no more that night. Nor did the Doctor, of course, propos