The Bertrams

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER IX.

  MISS TODD'S PICNIC.

  That matter of obtaining permission for Sir Lionel to join thepicnic was not found difficult of arrangement. Good-looking,pleasant-mannered Sir Lionels, who bear the Queen's commission,and have pleasant military ways with them, are welcome enough atsuch parties as these, even though they be sixty years of age. WhenGeorge mentioned the matter to Miss Todd, that lady declared herselfdelighted. She had heard, she said, of the distinguished arrival atthe hotel, but she had been almost afraid to ask such a man as SirLionel to join their foolish little party. Then Miss Baker, who inthis affair bore the next authority to Miss Todd, declared that shehad intended to ask him, taking upon herself the freedom of an oldacquaintance; and so that matter was arranged.

  The party was not to be a large one. There was Miss Todd, thecompounder of it, a maiden lady, fat, fair, and perhaps almost forty;a jolly jovial lady, intent on seeing the world, and indifferent tomany of its prejudices and formal restraints. "If she threw herselfin Sir Lionel's way, people would of course say that she wanted tomarry him; but she did not care a straw what people said; if shefound Sir Lionel agreeable, she would throw herself in his way." Soshe told Miss Baker--with perhaps more courage than the occasionrequired.

  Then there was Mrs. and Miss Jones. Miss Jones was the young lady wholost her parasol on the Mount of Offence, and so recklessly chargedthe Arab children of Siloam with the theft. Mr. Jones was also inJerusalem, but could not be persuaded to attend at Miss Todd'sbehest. He was steadily engaged in antiquarian researches, beingminded to bring out to the world some startling new theory as tocertain points in Bible chronology and topography. He always wentabout the city with a trowel and a big set of tablets; and certainamong the more enthusiastic of the visitors to Jerusalem had put himdown as an infidel.

  There were also Mr. and Mrs. Hunter--a bridegroom and bride, now ontheir wedding trip; a somewhat fashionable couple, who were both gotup with considerable attention as to oriental costume. Mrs. Hunterseemed to think a good deal about her trousers, and Mr. Hunter's mindwas equally taken up with the fact that he had ceased to wear any.They had a knowing way of putting on their turbans, and carried theirsashes gracefully; those, however, who had seen Mr. Hunter rollhimself into his sash, were of opinion that sooner or later he wouldsuffer from vertigo in his head. Miss Baker and her niece had fallenin with these people, and were considered to be of the same party.

  There was a clergyman to be there, one Mr. Cruse, the gentleman whohad been so keenly annoyed at the absence of potatoes from the dinnerboard. He was travelling in charge of a young gentleman of fortune,a Mr. Pott, by whose fond parents the joint expense of the excursionwas defrayed. Mr. Cruse was a University man, of course; had beeneducated at Trinity College Cambridge, and piqued himself much onbeing far removed from the dangers of Puseyism. He was a man not ofa happy frame of mind, and seemed to find that from Dan to Beershebaeverything in truth was barren. He was good-looking, unmarried, notwithout some talent, and seemed to receive from the ladies thereassembled more attention than his merits altogether deserved.

  Mr. M'Gabbery had talked of not going, but had been over-persuaded bythe good-natured Miss Todd. He had become almost overwhelmed by theintensity of his feelings in regard to the sacred associations of theplace, since George Bertram had contrived to seat himself betweenMiss Baker and Miss Waddington. Up to that moment, no one had beenmerrier than he. He had, so he had flattered himself, altogether cutout Mr. Cruse in that special quarter, the good graces namely ofthose two ladies, and had been prepared to take on his own shouldersall the hard work of the picnic. But now things were altered withhim; he had some doubts whether the sacredness of the valley wouldnot be desecrated by such a proceeding, and consulted Mr. Cruse onthe matter. Hitherto these gentlemen had not been close friends;but now they allied themselves as against a common enemy. Mr. Crusedid not care much for associations, seemed indeed to think thatany special attention to sacred places savoured of idolatry, andprofessed himself willing to eat his dinner on any of the hills orin any of the valleys round Jerusalem. Fortified with so good anopinion, and relying on the excellence of his purpose, Mr. M'Gabberygave way, and renewed his offers of assistance to Miss Todd.

  There was also Mr. Pott, Mr. Cruse's young charge, the son of a manlargely engaged in the linen trade; a youth against whom very littlecan be alleged. His time at present was chiefly given up to waitingon Miss Jones; and, luckier in this respect than his tutor, Mr.Cruse, he had no rival to interfere with his bliss.

  Miss Baker and Miss Waddington made up the party. Of the former,little more need be said, and that little should be all in herpraise. She was a lady-like, soft-mannered, easy-tempered woman,devoted to her niece, but not strongly addicted to personal exertionson her own part. The fact that she was now at Jerusalem, so far awayfrom her own comfortable drawing-room, sufficiently proved that she_was_ devoted to her niece.

  And now for Caroline Waddington, our donna primissima. Her qualities,attributes, and virtues must be given more in detail than those ofher companions at the picnic, seeing that she is destined to fill aprominent place upon our canvas.

  At the time of which we are speaking, she might perhaps be twentyyears of age; but her general appearance, her figure, and especiallythe strong character marked in her face, would have led one tosuspect that she was older. She was certainly at that time abeautiful girl--very beautiful, handsome in the outline of her face,graceful and dignified in her mien, nay, sometimes almost majestic--aJuno rather than a Venus. But any Paris who might reject her, awed bythe rigour of her dignity, would know at the time that he was wrongin his judgment. She was tall, but not so tall as to be unfemininein her height. Her head stood nobly on her shoulders, giving to herbust that ease and grace of which sculptors are so fond, and ofwhich tight-laced stays are so utterly subversive. Her hair wasvery dark--not black, but the darkest shade of brown, and was wornin simple rolls on the side of her face. It was very long and veryglossy, soft as the richest silk, and gifted apparently with adelightful aptitude to keep itself in order. No stray jagged endswould show themselves if by chance she removed her bonnet, nor did iteven look as though it had been prematurely crushed and required tobe afresh puffed out by some head-dresser's mechanism. She had theforehead of a Juno; white, broad, and straight; not shining as aresome foreheads, which seem as though an insufficient allowance ofskin had been vouchsafed for their covering. It was a forehead onwhich an angel might long to press his lips--if angels have lips, andif, as we have been told, they do occasionally descend from theirstarry heights to love the daughters of men.

  Nor would an angel with a shade of human passion in his temperamenthave been contented with her forehead. Her mouth had all the richnessof youth, and the full enticing curves and ruby colour of Anglo-Saxonbeauty. Caroline Waddington was no pale, passionless goddess; hergraces and perfections were human, and in being so were the moredangerous to humanity. Her forehead we have said, or should havesaid, was perfect; we dare not affirm quite so much in praise of hermouth: there was sometimes a hardness there, not in the lines of thefeature itself, but in the expression which it conveyed, a want oftenderness, perhaps of trust, and too much self-confidence, it maybe, for a woman's character. The teeth within it, however, were neverexcelled by any that ever graced the face of a woman.

  Her nose was not quite Grecian; had it been so, her face might havebeen fairer, but it would certainly have been less expressive. Norcould it be called _retrousse_, but it had the slightest possibletendency in that direction; and the nostrils were more open, moreready to breathe forth flashes of indignation than is ever the casewith a truly Grecian nose.

  The contour of her face was admirable: nothing could exceed in beautythe lines of her cheeks or the shape and softness of her chin. Thosewho were fastidious in their requirements might object to them thatthey bore no dimple; but after all, it is only prettiness thatrequires a dimple: full-blown beauty wants no such adventitious aid.

  But her eyes! Miss Waddingt
on's eyes! The eyes are the poet'sstrongest fortress; it is for their description that he most gathersup his forces and puts forth all his strength. What of her eyes?Well, her eyes were bright enough, large enough, well set in herhead. They were clever eyes too--nay, honest eyes also, which isbetter. But they were not softly feminine eyes. They never hidthemselves beneath their soft fringes when too curiously looked into,as a young girl at her window half hides herself behind her curtain.They were bold eyes, I was going to say, but the word would signifytoo much in their dispraise; daring eyes, I would rather say,courageous, expressive, never shrinking, sometimes also suspicious.They were fit rather for a man than for so beautiful a girl as ourCaroline Waddington.

  But perhaps the most wonderful grace about her was her walk. "Veraincessu patuit Dea." Alas! how few women can walk! how many arewilfully averse to attempting any such motion! They scuffle, theytrip, they trot, they amble, they waddle, they crawl, they dragthemselves on painfully, as though the flounces and furbelows aroundthem were a burden too heavy for easy, graceful motion; but, exceptin Spain, they rarely walk. In this respect our heroine was equal toan Andalusian.

  Such and so great were Miss Waddington's outward graces. Some attemptmust also be made to tell of those inner stores with which thisgallant vessel was freighted; for, after all, the outward bravery isnot everything with a woman. It may be that a man in selecting hiswife rarely looks for much else;--for that in addition, of course, tomoney; but though he has looked for little else, some other things dofrequently force themselves on his attention soon after the knot istied; and as Caroline Waddington will appear in these pages as wifeas well as maid, as a man's companion as well as his plaything,it may be well to say now something as to her fitness for suchoccupation.

  We will say, then, that she was perhaps even more remarkable for herstrength of mind than for her beauty of person. At present, she wasa girl of twenty, and hardly knew her own power; but the time was tocome when she should know it and should use it. She was possessed ofa stubborn, enduring, manly will; capable of conquering much, and notto be conquered easily. She had a mind which, if rightly directed,might achieve great and good things, but of which it might bepredicted that it would certainly achieve something, and that if notdirected for good, it might not improbably direct itself for evil.It was impossible that she should ever grow into a piece of domesticfurniture, contented to adapt itself to such uses as a marital tyrantmight think fit to require of it. If destined to fall into goodhands, she might become a happy, loving wife; but it was quite aspossible that she should be neither happy nor loving.

  Like most other girls, she no doubt thought much of what might be herlot in love--thought much of loving, though she had never yet loved.It has been said that her turn of mind was manly; but it must noton that account be imagined that her wishes and aspirations were atpresent other than feminine. Her heart and feeling's were those of agirl, at any rate as yet; but her will and disposition were masculinein their firmness.

  For one so young, she had great and dangerous faults ofcharacter--great, as being injurious to her happiness; and dangerous,as being likely to grow with her years. Her faults were not youngfaults. Though true herself, she was suspicious of others; thoughtrustworthy, she was not trustful: and what person who is nottrustful ever remains trustworthy? Who can be fit for confidence whocannot himself confide? She was imperious, too, when occasion offereditself to her proud spirit. With her aunt, whom she loved, she wasnot so. Her she was content to persuade, using a soft voice and asoft eye; but with those whom she could not persuade and wished torule, her voice was sometimes stern enough, and her eye far fromsoft.

  She was a clever girl, capable of talking well, and possessed of moreinformation than most young ladies of the same age. She had been atan excellent school, if any schools are really excellent for youngladies; but there was, nevertheless, something in her style ofthought hardly suitable to the softness of girlhood. She could speakof sacred things with a mocking spirit, the mockery of philosophyrather than of youth; she had little or no enthusiasm, though therewas passion enough deep seated in her bosom; she suffered fromno transcendentalism; she saw nothing through a halo of poeticinspiration: among the various tints of her atmosphere there was norose colour; she preferred wit to poetry; and her smile was cynicalrather than joyous.

  Now I have described my donna primissima, with hardly sufficientdetail for my own satisfaction, doubtless with far too much foryours, oh, my reader! It must be added, however, that she was anorphan; that she lived entirely with her aunt, Miss Baker; that herfather had been in early life a sort of partner with Mr. GeorgeBertram; that Mr. George Bertram was her guardian, though he hadhitherto taken but little trouble in looking after her, whatevertrouble he may have taken in looking after her money; and that shewas possessed of a moderate fortune, say about four thousand pounds.

  A picnic undertaken from Jerusalem must in some respects be unlikeany picnic elsewhere. Ladies cannot be carried to it in carriages,because at Jerusalem there are no carriages; nor can the provisionsbe conveyed even in carts, for at Jerusalem there are no carts. Thestock of comestibles was therefore packed in hampers on a camel'sback, and sent off to the valley by one route, whereas Miss Todd andher friends went on horseback and on donkey-back by another and alonger road.

  It may as well be mentioned that Miss Todd was a little ashamed ofthe magnitude to which her undertaking had attained. Her originalplan had merely been this:--that she and a few others should ridethrough the valleys round the city, and send a basket of sandwichesto meet them at some hungry point on the road. Now there was a_cortege_ of eleven persons, exclusive of the groom-boys, a boiledham, sundry chickens, hard-boiled eggs, and champagne. Miss Toddwas somewhat ashamed of this. Here, in England, one would hardlyinaugurate a picnic to Kensal Green, or the Highgate Cemetery, norselect the tombs of our departed great ones as a shelter under whichto draw one's corks. But Miss Todd boasted of high spirits: when thislittle difficulty had been first suggested to her by Mr. M'Gabbery,she had scoffed at it, and had enlarged her circle in a spirit ofmild bravado. Then chance had done more for her; and now she wasdoomed to preside over a large party of revellers immediately overthe ashes of James the Just.

  None but Englishmen or Englishwomen do such things as this. To otherpeople is wanting sufficient pluck for such enterprises; is wantingalso a certain mixture of fun, honest independence, and bad taste.Let us go into some church on the Continent--in Italy, we willsay--where the walls of the churches still boast of the greatworks of the great masters.--Look at that man standing on the veryaltar-step while the priest is saying his mass; look at his grayshooting-coat, his thick shoes, his wide-awake hat stuck under onearm, and his stick under the other, while he holds his opera-glassto his eyes. How he shuffles about to get the best point of sight,quite indifferent as to clergy or laity! All that bell-ringing,incense-flinging, and breast-striking is nothing to him: he has paiddearly to be brought thither; he has paid the guide who is kneeling alittle behind him; he is going to pay the sacristan who attends him;he is quite ready to pay the priest himself, if the priest would onlysignify his wish that way; but he has come there to see that fresco,and see it he will: respecting that he will soon know more thaneither the priest or his worshippers. Perhaps some servant of thechurch, coming to him with submissive, almost suppliant gesture, begshim to step back just for one moment. The lover of art glares athim with insulted look, and hardly deigns to notice him further:he merely turns his eye to his Murray, puts his hat down on thealtar-step, and goes on studying his subject. All the world--German,Frenchman, Italian, Spaniard--all men of all nations know that thatugly gray shooting-coat must contain an Englishman. He cares for noone. If any one upsets him, he can do much towards righting himself;and if more be wanted, has he not Lord Malmesbury or Lord Clarendonat his back? But what would this Englishman say if his place ofworship were disturbed by some wandering Italian?

  It was somewhat in this way with Miss Todd. She knew that what shewas about to do was rathe
r absurd, but she had the blood of the Toddswarm at her heart. The Todds were a people not easily frightened, andMiss Todd was not going to disgrace her lineage. True, she had notintended to feed twelve people over a Jewish sepulchre, but as thetwelve people had assembled, looking to her for food, she was not thewoman to send them away fasting: so she gallantly led the way throughthe gate of Jaffa, Sir Lionel attending her on a donkey.

  When once out of the town, they turned sharp to the left. Their pathlay through the valley of Gihon, through the valley of Hinnom, downamong those strange, open sepulchres, deeply excavated in caves onthe mountain-sides--sepulchres quite unlike those below in the valleyof Jehoshaphat. There they are all covered, each stone marking agrave; but here they lie in open catacombs--in caves, at least, ofwhich the entrance is open. The hardy stranger crawling in may layhis hand within the cell--nay, may crawl up into it if he will--inwhich have mouldered the bones of some former visitor to Jerusalem.For this, so saith tradition, is the field purchased with the rewardof iniquity. It was the burying-place for strangers, Aceldama, thefield of blood.

  But where be these bones now? for the catacombs are mostly empty. Mr.Pott, descending as far as he could into the deepest of them, did atlast bring forth a skull and two parts of a back-bone; did presentthe former with much grace to Miss Jones, who, on beholding it, verynearly fell from off her donkey.

  "For shame, Pott," said Mr. Cruse. "How could you handle anythingso disgusting? You are desecrating the grave of some unfortunateMussulman who has probably died within the last fifty years." Mr.Cruse was always intent on showing that he believed none of thetraditions of the country.

  "It was quite dreadful of you, Mr. Pott," said Miss Jones; "quitedreadful! Indeed, I don't know what you would not do. But I am quitesure he was never a Mahomedan."

  "He looked like a Jew, didn't he?" said Pott.

  "Oh! I did not see the face; but he was certainly either a Jew or aChristian. Only think. Perhaps those remains have been there fornearly eighteen hundred years. Is it not wonderful? Mamma, it wasjust here that I lost my parasol."

  Sir Lionel had headed the cavalcade with Miss Todd, but GeorgeBertram was true to his new friends, Miss Baker and Miss Waddington.So also, for a time, were Mr. M'Gabbery and Mr. Cruse. As the auntand niece rode beside each other, a great part of this gallantattention fell upon the former. Indeed, the easiest way of addressingthe beauty was often found to be through the beauty's aunt; and itmay be doubted whether Mr. M'Gabbery would not have retreated longsince in despair, but for the scintillations of civility which fellto him from Miss Baker's good-humour. He had had the good fortuneof some previous days' journeying with them on horseback throughthe desert, and had found that privilege gave him an inestimableadvantage over Mr. Cruse. Why should it not also suffice as regardedthis new comer? He had held much commune with himself on the subjectthat morning; had called himself to task for his own pusillanimity,and had then fortified his courage with the old reflection about fairladies and faint hearts--and also with a glass of brandy. He wastherefore disposed to make himself very unpleasant to poor George ifoccasion should require.

  "How delighted you must have been to see your father!" said MissBaker, who, though her temper would not permit her to be uncivil toMr. M'Gabbery, would readily have dispensed with that gentleman'sattendance.

  "Indeed, I was. I never saw him before, you know."

  "Never saw him, your father, before, Mr. Bertram?" said Caroline."Why, aunt Mary says that I have seen him."

  "I never saw him to remember him. One doesn't count one'sacquaintance before seven or eight years of age."

  "Your memory must be very bad, then," said Mr. M'Gabbery, "or yourchildhood's love for your father very slight. I perfectly rememberthe sweetness of my mother's caresses when I was but three yearsold. There is nothing, Miss Waddington, to equal the sweetness of amother's kisses."

  "I never knew them," said she. "But I have found an aunt's do nearlyas well."

  "A grandmother's are not bad," said Bertram, looking very grave.

  "I can never think of my mother without emotion," continued Mr.M'Gabbery. "I remember, as though it were yesterday, when I firststood at her knee, with a picture-book on her lap before me. It isthe furthest point to which memory carries me--and the sweetest."

  "I can remember back much before that," said George; "a great dealbefore that. Listen to this, Miss Baker. My earliest impression was ahatred of dishonesty."

  "I hope your views have not altered since," said Caroline.

  "Very materially, I fear. But I must tell you about my memory. I waslying once in my cradle--"

  "You don't mean to tell me you remember that?" said M'Gabbery.

  "Perfectly, as you do the picture-book. Well, there I was lying, MissBaker, with my little eyes wide open. It is astonishing how muchbabies see, though people never calculate on their having eyes atall. I was lying on my back, staring at the mantelpiece, on which mymother had left her key-basket."

  "You remember, of course, that it was her key-basket?" said MissWaddington, with a smile that made M'Gabbery clench his walking-stickin his hand.

  "Perfectly; because she always kept her halfpence there also. Well,there was a nursery-girl who used to be about me in those days. Idistinctly saw her go to that basket, Miss Baker, and take out apenny; and I then made up my mind that the first use I would make ofmy coming speech should be to tell my mother. That, I think, is thefurthest point to which my memory carries me."

  The ladies laughed heartily, but Mr. M'Gabbery frowned bitterly. "Youmust have dreamt it," said he.

  "It is just possible," said George; "but I don't think it. Come, MissWaddington, let us have your earliest recollections."

  "Ah! mine will not be interesting. They do not go back at all so far.I think they have reference to bread and butter."

  "I remember being very angry," said Miss Baker, "because papaprophesied that I should be an old maid. It was very hard on me, forhis prophecy no doubt brought about the fact."

  "But the fact is no fact as yet," said Mr. M'Gabbery, with a smirkinggallantry for which he ought to have been kicked.

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. M'Gabbery," said Miss Waddington. "It isquite an established fact. My aunt will never have my consent tomarry; and I am sure she will never dream of such a thing withoutit."

  "And so Mr. M'Gabbery's hopes in that direction are all at an end,"said George, who was now able to speak to Caroline without beingheard by the others.

  "I declare I think he has entertained some such idea, for he neverleaves my aunt alone for a minute. He has been very civil, very; but,Mr. Bertram, perhaps you know that a very civil man may be a bore."

  "He always is, I think. No man is really liked who is ever ready torun on messages and tie up parcels. It is generally considered that aman knows his own value, and that, if he be willing to do such work,such work is fit for him."

  "You never do anything to oblige, then?"

  "Very rarely; at least, not in the little domestic line. If one couldhave an opportunity of picking a lady out of a fire, or saving herfrom the clutches of an Italian bravo, or getting her a fortune oftwenty thousand pounds, one would be inclined to do it. In suchcases, there would be no contempt mixed up with the lady's gratitude.But ladies are never really grateful to a man for turning himselfinto a flunky."

  "Ah! I like to be attended to all the same."

  "Then there is Mr. M'Gabbery. Half a smile will keep him at your feetthe whole day."

  Mr. M'Gabbery and poor Miss Baker were now walking behind them, sideby side. But his felicity in this respect was not at all sufficientfor that gentleman. In their long journey from Egypt, he and MissWaddington had always been within speaking distance; and who was thestranger of to-day that was thus to come and separate them?

  "Miss Waddington," he cried, "do you remember when your horsestumbled in the sand at El Arish? Ah! what a pleasant day that was!"

  "But you have not recalled it by a very pleasant incident. I was verynearly being thrown o
ut of my saddle."

  "And how we had to wait for our dinner at Gaza till the camels cameup?" And Mr. M'Gabbery, urging on his horse, brought him up once moreabreast with that of Miss Waddington.

  "I shall soon have as great a horror of Gaza as Samson had," saidshe, _sotto voce_. "I almost feel myself already in bonds underPhilistian yoke whenever it is mentioned."

  "Talking of recollections, that journey will certainly be among thesunniest of my life's memories," said Mr. M'Gabbery.

  "It was sunny, certainly," said Miss Waddington; for the heat of thedesert had been oppressive.

  "Ah! and so sweet! That encamping in your own tent; preparing yourown meals; having everything, as it were, within yourself. Civilizedlife has nothing to offer equal to that. A person who has only gonefrom city to city, or from steamboat to steamboat, knows nothing oforiental life. Does he, Miss Waddington?" This was intended as a blowat Bertram, who had got to Jerusalem without sleeping under canvas.

  "What ignorant wretches the natives must be!" said George; "forthey apparently sleep as regularly in their own beds as any stupidChristian in England."

  "I am not sure that even Mr. M'Gabbery would admire the tents so muchif he had not some Christian comforts along with him."

  "His brandy-flask and dressing-case, for instance," said George.

  "Yes; and his mattress and blankets," said Caroline.

  "His potted meat and preserved soup."

  "And especially his pot to boil his potatoes in."

  "That was Mr. Cruse," said Mr. M'Gabbery, quite angrily. "For myself,I do not care a bit about potatoes."

  "So it was, Mr. M'Gabbery; and I beg your pardon. It is Mr. Crusewhose soul is among the potatoes. But, if I remember right, it wasyou who were so angry when the milk ran out." Then Mr. M'Gabberyagain receded, and talked to Mrs. Jones about his associations.

  "How thoroughly the Turks and Arabs beat us in point of costume,"said Mrs. Hunter to Mr. Cruse.

  "It will be very hard, at any rate, for any of them to beat you,"said the tutor. "Since I have been out here, I have seen no one adopttheir ways with half as much grace as you do."

  Mrs. Hunter looked down well pleased to her ancles, which werecovered, and needed to be covered, by no riding-habit. "I was notthinking so much of myself as of Mr. Hunter. Women, you know, Mr.Cruse, are nothing in this land."

  "Except when imported from Christendom, Mrs. Hunter."

  "But I was speaking of gentlemen's toilets. Don't you think theTurkish dress very becoming? I declare, I shall never bear to seeCharles again in a coat and waistcoat and trousers."

  "Nor he you in an ordinary silk gown, puffed out with crinoline."

  "Well, I suppose we must live in the East altogether then. I am sureI should not object. I know one thing--I shall never endure to put abonnet on my head again. By-the-by, Mr. Cruse, who is this Sir LionelBertram that has just come? Is he a baronet?"

  "Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort, I imagine. I don't quite know whohe is; but that young man is his son."

  "They say he's very clever, don't they?"

  "He has that sort of boy's cleverness, I dare say, which goes towardstaking a good degree." Mr. Cruse himself had not shone very brightlyat the University.

  "Miss Waddington seems very much smitten with him; don't you thinkso?"

  "Miss Waddington is a beautiful girl; and variable--as beautifulgirls sometimes are."

  "Mr. Cruse, don't be satirical."

  "'Praise undeserved is satire in disguise,'" said Mr. Cruse, notquite understanding, himself, why he made the quotation. But it didexceedingly well. Mrs. Hunter smiled sweetly on him, said that he wasa dangerous man, and that no one would take him to be a clergyman;upon which Mr. Cruse begged that she would spare his character.

  And now they had come to the fountain of Enrogel, and havingdismounted from their steeds, stood clustering about the low wallwhich surrounds the little pool of water.

  "This, Sir Lionel," said Miss Todd, acting cicerone, "is the fountainof Enrogel, which you know so well by name."

  "Ah!" said Sir Lionel. "It seems rather dirty at present; doesn'tit?"

  "That is because the water is so low. When there has been much rain,there is quite a flood here. Those little gardens and fields thereare the most fertile spot round Jerusalem, because there is so muchirrigation here."

  "That's where the Jerusalem artichokes are grown, I suppose."

  "It is a singular fact, that though there are plenty of artichokes,that special plant is unknown," said Mr. M'Gabbery. "Do you remember,Miss Waddington--"

  But Miss Waddington had craftily slipped round the corner of thewall, and was now admiring Mrs. Hunter's costume, on the other sideof the fountain.

  "And that is the village of Siloam," continued Miss Todd, pointing toa range of cabins, some of which seemed to be cut out of the rock onthe hill-side, on her right hand as she looked up towards the valleyof Jehoshaphat. "And that is the pool of Siloam, Sir Lionel; we shallgo up there."

  "Ah!" said Sir Lionel again.

  "Is it not interesting?" said Miss Todd; and a smiling gleam ofsatisfaction spread itself across her jovial ruddy face.

  "Very," said Sir Lionel. "But don't you find it rather hot?"

  "Yes, it is warm. But one gets accustomed to that. I do so like tofind myself among these names which used to torment me so when Iwas a child. I had all manner of mysterious ideas about the pool ofBethesda and the beautiful gate, about the hill of Sion, and Gehenna,and the brook Cedron. I had a sort of belief that these places werescattered wide over the unknown deserts of Asia; and now, Sir Lionel,I am going to show them all to you in one day."

  "Would they were scattered wider, that the pleasure might last thelonger," said Sir Lionel, taking off his hat as he bowed to MissTodd, but putting it on again very quickly, as he felt the heat.

  "Yes; but the mystery, the beautiful mystery, is all gone," said MissJones. "I shall never feel again about these places as I used to do."

  "Nor I either, I hope," said Mr. Pott. "I always used to catch it forscripture geography."

  "Yes, the mystery of your childhood will be gone, Miss Jones," saidMr. M'Gabbery, who, in his present state of hopelessness as regardedMiss Waddington, was ill-naturedly interfering with young Pott. "Themystery of your childhood will be gone; but another mystery, a morematured mystery, will be created in your imagination. Yourassociations will henceforth bear a richer tint."

  "I don't know that," said Miss Jones, who did not approve of beinginterfered with a bit better than did Mr. Pott.

  And then they remounted, and the cavalcade moved on. They turned upthe rising ground towards the city wall, and leaving on the left thegardens in which Jerusalem artichokes did not grow, they came to thepool of Siloam. Here most of them again descended, and climbed downto the water, which bursts out from its underground channel into acool, but damp and somewhat dirty ravine.

  "You are my guide, Miss Todd, in everything," said Sir Lionel. "Is itnecessary that I should study scripture geography down in that hole?If you bid me, I'll do it."

  "Well, Sir Lionel, I'll let you off; the more especially as I havebeen down there myself already, and got dreadfully draggled in doingso. Oh! I declare, there is Miss Waddington in the water."

  Miss Waddington was in the water. Not in such a manner, gentlestof readers, as to occasion the slightest shock to your susceptiblenerves; but in such a degree as to be very disagreeable to her boots,and the cause of infinite damage to her stockings. George Bertram hadhanded her down, and when in the act of turning round to give similarassistance to some other adventurous lady, had left her alone on theslippery stones. Of course any young lady would take advantage ofsuch an unguarded moment to get into some catastrophe.

  Alas! and again alas! Unfortunately, Mr. M'Gabbery had been the firstto descend to the pool. He had calculated, cunningly enough, that inbeing there, seeing that the space was not very large, the duty mustfall to his lot of receiving into his arms any such ladies as choseto come down--Miss Waddin
gton, who was known to be very adventurous,among the number. He was no sooner there, however, than GeorgeBertram jumped in almost upon him, and hitherto he had not had anopportunity of touching Miss Waddington's glove. But now it seemedthat fortune was to reward him.

  "Good heavens!" cried Mr. M'Gabbery, as he dashed boldly into theflood, thereby splashing the water well up into Caroline's face.There was not much occasion for this display, for the gentleman couldhave assisted the lady quite as effectually without even wetting histoes; but common misfortunes do create common sympathies--or at leastthey should do. Would it not be natural that Miss Waddington andMr. M'Gabbery, when both wet through up to their knees, should hangtogether in their sufferings, make common cause of it, talk each ofwhat the other felt and understood so well? Nay, might it not beprobable that, in obedience to the behests of some wise senior, theymight be sent back to the city together;--understand, O reader, thatthe wall of Jerusalem had never yet been distant from them half amile--back, we say, together to get dry stockings? To achieve such anobject, Mr. M'Gabbery would have plunged bodily beneath the wave--hadthe wave been deep enough to receive his body. As it was, it onlyjust came over the tops of his boots, filling them comfortably withwater.

  "Oh, Mr. M'Gabbery!" exclaimed the ungrateful lady. "Now you havedrowned me altogether."

  "I never saw anything so awkward in my life," said M'Gabbery, lookingup at Bertram with a glance that should have frozen his blood.

  "Nor I, either," said Caroline.

  "What had you better do? Pray give me your hand, Miss Waddington. Toleave you in such a manner as that! We managed better in the desert,did we not, Miss Waddington? You really must go back to Jerusalem fordry shoes and stockings; you really must. Where is Miss Baker? Giveme your hand, Miss Waddington; both hands, you had better."

  So much said Mr. M'Gabbery while struggling in the pool of Siloam.But in the meantime, Miss Waddington, turning quickly round, had putout her hand to Bertram, who was standing--and I regret to say allbut laughing--on the rock above her; and before Mr. M'Gabbery'seloquence was over, she was safely landed among her friends.

  "Oh, Mr. Bertram," said she; "you are a horrid man. I'll neverforgive you. Had I trusted myself to poor Mr. M'Gabbery, I shouldhave been dry-footed at this moment." And she shook the water fromoff her dress, making a damp circle around herself as a Newfoundlanddog sometimes does. "If I served you right, I should make you go tothe hotel for a pair of shoes."

  "Do, Miss Waddington; make him go," said Sir Lionel. "If he doesn't,I'll go myself."

  "I shall be delighted," said Mr. Cruse; "my donkey is very quick;"and the clergyman mounted ready to start. "Only I shouldn't knowwhere to find the things."

  "No, Mr. Cruse; and I couldn't tell you. Besides, there is nothing Ilike so much as wet feet,--except wet strings to my hat, for whichlatter I have to thank Mr. M'Gabbery."

  "I will go, of course," said M'Gabbery, emerging slowly from thepool. "Of course it is for me to go; I shall be glad of anopportunity of getting dry boots myself."

  "I am so sorry you have got wet," said the beauty.

  "Oh! it's nothing; I like it. I was not going to see you in the waterwithout coming to you. Pray tell me what I shall fetch. I know allyour boxes so well, you know, so I can have no difficulty. Will theybe in the one with C. W. on it in brass nails? That was the one whichfell off the camel near the Temple of Dagon." Poor Mr. M'Gabbery!that ride through the desert was an oasis in his otherwise somewhatbarren life, never to be forgotten.

  "I am the sinner, Miss Waddington," said George, at last, "and on melet the punishment fall. I will go back to Jerusalem; and in orderthat you may suffer no inconvenience, I will bring hither all yourboxes and all your trunks on the backs of a score of Arab porters."

  "You know you intend to do no such thing," said she. "You havealready told me your ideas as to waiting upon young ladies."

  There was, however, at last some whispering between Miss Baker andher niece, in which Mr. M'Gabbery vainly attempted to join, and thematter ended in one of the grooms being sent into the town, ladenwith a bunch of keys and a written message for Miss Baker's servant.Before dinner-time, Miss Waddington had comfortably changed herstockings in the upper story of the tomb of St. James, and Mr.M'Gabbery--but Mr. M'Gabbery's wet feet did not receive the attentionwhich they deserved.

  Passing on from the pool of Siloam, they came to a water-course atwhich there was being conducted a considerable washing of clothes.The washerwomen--the term is used as being generic to the trade andnot to the sex, for some of the performers were men--were dividedinto two classes, who worked separately; not so separately but whatthey talked together, and were on friendly terms; but still there wasa division. The upper washerwomen, among whom the men were at work,were Mahomedans; the lower set were Jewesses. As to the men, butlittle observation was made, except that they seemed expert enough,dabbing their clothes, rubbing in the soap, and then rinsing, verymuch in the manner of Christians. But it was impossible not to lookat the women. The female followers of the Prophet had, as theyalways have, some pretence of a veil for their face. In the presentinstance, they held in their teeth a dirty blue calico rag, whichpassed over their heads, acting also as a shawl. By this contrivance,intended only to last while the Christians were there, they concealedone side of the face and the chin. No one could behold them withoutwishing that the eclipse had been total. No epithet commonly appliedto women in this country could adequately describe their want ofcomeliness. They kept their faces to their work, and except that theyheld their rags between their teeth, they gave no sign of knowingthat strangers were standing by them.

  It was different with the Jewesses. When they were stared at, theystood up boldly and stared again;--and well worth looking at theywere. There were three or four of them, young women all, thoughalready mothers, for their children were playing on the grass behindthem. Each bore on her head that moon-shaped head-dress which isthere the symbol of a Jewess; and no more graceful tiara can a womanwear. It was wonderful that the same land should produce womenso different as were these close neighbours. The Mahomedans wereape-like; but the Jewesses were glorious specimens of femininecreation. They were somewhat too bold, perhaps; there was too muchdaring in their eyes, as, with their naked shoulders and bosomsnearly bare, they met the eyes of the men that were looking at them.But there was nothing immodest in their audacity; it was defiantrather, and scornful.

  There was one among them, a girl, perhaps of eighteen, who might havebeen a sculptor's model, not only for form and figure, but for theexpression of her countenance and the beautiful turn of her head andshoulders. She was very unlike the Jewess that is ordinarily picturedto us. She had no beaky nose, no thin face, no sharp, small, black,bright eyes; she was fair, as Esther was fair; her forehead and facewere broad, her eyes large and open; yet she was a Jewess, plainly aJewess; such a Jewess as are many still to be seen--in Palestine, atleast, if not elsewhere.

  When they came upon her, she was pressing the dripping water fromsome large piece of linen, a sheet probably. In doing this she hadcunningly placed one end firmly under her foot upon a stone, andthen, with her hands raised high above her head, she twisted andretwisted it till the water oozing out fell in heavy drops round herfeet. Her arms and neck were bare, as were also her feet; and it wasclear that she put forth to her work as much strength as usuallyfalls to the lot of a woman in any country.

  She was very fair to look at, but there was about her no femininesoftness. Do not laugh, reader, unless you have already stopped tothink, and, thinking, have decided that a girl of eighteen, being awasherwoman, must therefore be without feminine softness. I would notmyself say that it is so. But here at least there was no femininesoftness, no tenderness in the eye, no young shame at being gazed at.She paused for a moment in her work, and gave back to them all thelook they gave her; and then, as though they were beneath her notice,she strained once more at her task, and so dropped the linen to theground.

  "If I knew how to set about the bargain, I woul
d take that woman homewith me, and mould her to be my wife." Such was George Bertram'soutspoken enthusiasm.

  "Moulded wives never answer well," said Sir Lionel.

  "I think he would prefer one that had been dipped," whispered MissTodd to the colonel; but her allusion to Miss Waddington's littleaccident on the water, and to the chandler's wares, was notthoroughly appreciated.

  It has been said that the hampers were to be sent to the tomb ofZachariah; but they agreed to dine immediately opposite to that ofSt. James the Less. This is situated in the middle of the valley ofJehoshaphat, in the centre of myriads of Jewish tombs, directlyopposite to the wall built with those huge temple stones, not manyfeet over the then dry water-course of the brook Cedron. Such was thespot chosen by Miss Todd for her cold chickens and champagne.

  Of course they wandered about a little in pairs and trios while thesedainties were being prepared for them. This St. James's tomb is alittle temple built on the side of the rock, singularly graceful. Thefront towards the city is adorned with two or three Roman pillars,bearing, if I remember rightly, plain capitals. There is, I think,no pediment above them, or any other adjunct of architecturalpretension; but the pillars themselves, so unlike anything elsethere, so unlike any other sepulchral monument that I, at least, haveseen, make the tomb very remarkable. That it was built for a tomb is,I suppose, not to be doubted; though for whose ashes it was in facterected may perhaps be questioned. I am not aware that any claimanthas been named as a rival to St. James.

  The most conspicuous of these monuments is that which traditionallots to Absalom, close to this other which we have just described.It consists of a solid square erection, bearing what, for want ofa better name, I must call a spire, with curved sides, the sidescurving inwards as they fall from the apex to the base. This spiralroof, too low and dumpy to be properly called a spire, is verystrong, built with stones laid in circles flat on each other, thecircles becoming smaller as they rise towards the top. Why Absalomshould have had such a tomb, who can say? That his bones were buriedthere, the Jews at least believe; for Jewish fathers, as they walk bywith their children, bid their boys each cast a stone there to marktheir displeasure at the child who rebelled against his parent. It isnow nearly full of such stones.

  While Miss Waddington was arranging her toilet within the tomb of St.James, her admirers below were not making themselves agreeable toeach other. "It was the awkwardest thing I ever saw," said Mr. Cruseto Mr. M'Gabbery, in a low tone, but not so low but what Bertram wasintended to hear it.

  "Very," said Mr. M'Gabbery. "Some men are awkward by nature;--seem,indeed, as though they were never intended for ladies' society."

  "And then to do nothing but laugh at the mischief he had caused. Thatmay be the way at Oxford; but we used to flatter ourselves atCambridge that we had more politeness."

  "Cambridge!" said Bertram, turning round and speaking with the mostcourteous tone he could command. "Were you at Cambridge? I thoughtI had understood that you were educated at St. Bees." Mr. Cruse hadbeen at St. Bees, but had afterwards gone to the University.

  "I was a scholar at St. John's, sir," replied Mr. Cruse, with muchdignity. "M'Gabbery, shall we take a stroll across the valley tillthe ladies are ready?" And so, having sufficiently shown theircontempt for the awkward Oxonian, they moved away.

  "Two very nice fellows, are they not?" said Bertram to Mr. Hunter."It's a stroke of good fortune to fall in with such men as that atsuch a place as this."

  "They're very well in their own way," said Mr. Hunter, who was lyingon the grass, and flattering himself that he looked more Turkish thanany Turk he had yet seen. "But they don't seem to me to be quite athome here in the East. Few Englishman in fact are. Cruse is alwayswanting boiled vegetables, and M'Gabbery can't eat without a regularknife and fork. Give me a pilau and a bit of bread, and I can make acapital dinner without anything to help me but my own fingers."

  "Cruse isn't a bad kind of coach," said young Pott. "He neverinterferes with a fellow. His only fault is that he's so spoony aboutwomen."

  "They're gentlemanlike men," said Sir Lionel; "very. One can'texpect, you know, that every one should set the Thames on fire."

  "Cruse won't do that, at any rate," put in Mr. Pott.

  "But Mr. M'Gabbery perhaps may," suggested George. "At any rate, hemade a little blaze just now at the brook above." And then the ladiescame down, and the business of the day commenced; seeing which, thetwo injured ones returned to their posts.

  "I am very fond of a picnic," said Sir Lionel, as, seated on a cornerof a tombstone, he stretched out his glass towards Miss Todd, who hadinsisted on being his cupbearer for the occasion; "excessively fond.I mean the eating and drinking part, of course. There is only onething I like better; and that is having my dinner under a roof, upona table, and with a chair to sit on."

  "Oh, you ungrateful man; after all that I am doing for you!"

  "I spoke of picnics generally, Miss Todd. Could I always have mynectar filled to me by a goddess, I would be content with no room,but expect to recline on a cloud, and have thunderbolts ready at myright hand."

  "What a beautiful Jupiter your father would make, Mr. Bertram!"

  "Yes; and what a happy king of gods with such a Juno as you, MissTodd!"

  "Ha! ha! ha! oh dear, no. I pretend to no _role_ higher than that ofHebe. Mr. M'Gabbery, may I thank you for a slice of ham? I declare,these tombs are very nice tables, are they not? Only, I suppose it'svery improper. Mr. Cruse, I'm so sorry that we have no potatoes; butthere is salad, I know."

  "Talking of chairs," said Mr. Hunter, "after all there has been noseat yet invented by man equal to a divan, either for ease, dignity,or grace." Mr. Hunter had long been practising to sit cross-legged,and was now attempting it on on the grass for the first time inpublic. It had at any rate this inconvenient effect, that he wasperfectly useless; for, when once seated, he could neither helphimself nor any one else.

  "The cigar divan is a very nice lounge when one has nothing better todo," suggested Mr. Pott. "They have capital coffee there."

  "A divan and a sofa are much the same, I suppose," said George.

  But to this Mr. Hunter demurred, and explained at some length whatwere the true essential qualities of a real Turkish divan: longbefore he had finished, however, George had got up to get a cleanplate for Miss Waddington, and in sitting down had turned his backupon the Turk. The unfortunate Turk could not revenge himself, as inhis present position any motion was very difficult to him.

  Picnic dinners are much the same in all parts of the world, andchickens and salad are devoured at Jerusalem very much in the sameway as they are at other places--except, indeed, by a few suchproficients in Turkish manners as Mr. Hunter. The little Arabchildren stood around them, expectant of scraps, as I have seenchildren do also in England; and the conversation, which was dullenough at the commencement of the feast, became more animated when afew corks had flown. As the afternoon wore on, Mr. M'Gabbery becamealmost bellicose under the continual indifference of his lady-love;and had it not been for the better sense of our hero--such bettersense may be expected from gentlemen who are successful--somethingvery like a quarrel would have taken place absolutely in the presenceof Miss Todd.

  Perhaps Miss Waddington was not free from all blame in the matter.It would be unjust to accuse her of flirting--of flirting, at least,in the objectionable sense of the word. It was not in her nature toflirt. But it was in her nature to please herself without thinkingmuch of the manner in which she did it, and it was in her nature alsoto be indifferent as to what others thought of her. Though she hadnever before known George Bertram, there was between them that sortof family knowledge of each other which justified a greater intimacythan between actual strangers. Then, too, he pleased her, whileMr. M'Gabbery only bored. She had not yet thought enough aboutthe world's inhabitants to have recognized and adjudicated on thedifference between those who talk pleasantly and those who do not;but she felt that she was amused by this young double-first Oxonian,and she had no idea o
f giving up amusement when it came in her way.Of such amusement, she had hitherto known but little. Miss Bakerherself was, perhaps, rather dull. Miss Baker's friends at Littlebathwere not very bright; but Caroline had never in her heart accusedthem of being other than amusing. It is only by knowing his contrastthat we recognize a bore when we meet him. It was in this manner thatshe now began to ascertain that Mr. M'Gabbery certainly had boredher. Ascertaining it, she threw him off at once--perhaps withoutsufficient compunction.

  "I'll cut that cock's comb before I have done with him," saidM'Gabbery to his friend Mr. Cruse, as they rode up towards St.Stephen's gate together, the rest of the cavalcade following them.Sir Lionel had suggested to Miss Todd that they might as well return,somewhat early though it was, seeing that there was cause why thatfeast of reason and that flow of soul should no longer be continuedby them round the yet only half-emptied hampers. So the ladies hadclimbed up into the tomb and there adjusted their hats, and thegentlemen had seen to the steeds; and the forks had been packed up;and when Mr. M'Gabbery made the state of his mind known to Mr. Cruse,they were on their way back to Jerusalem, close to the garden ofGethsemane.

  "I'll cut that young cock's comb yet before I have done with him,"repeated Mr. M'Gabbery.

  Now Mr. Cruse, as being a clergyman, was of course not a fightingman. "I shouldn't take any notice of him," said he; "nor, indeed, ofher either; I do not think she is worth it."

  "Oh, it isn't about that," said M'Gabbery. "They were two womentogether, and I therefore was inclined to show them some attention.You know how those things go on. From one thing to another it hascome to this, that they have depended on me for everything for thelast three or four weeks."

  "You haven't paid any money for them, have you?"

  "Well, no; I can't exactly say that I have paid money for them. Thatis to say, they have paid their own bills, and I have not lent themanything. But I dare say you know that a man never travels withladies in that free and easy way without feeling it in his pocket.One is apt to do twenty things for them which one wouldn't do foroneself; nor they for themselves if they had to pay the piper."

  Now here a very useful moral may be deduced. Ladies, take care howyou permit yourselves to fall into intimacies with unknown gentlemenon your travels. It is not pleasant to be spoken of as this man wasspeaking of Miss Baker and her niece. The truth was, that a morepunctilious person in her money dealings than Miss Baker nevercarried a purse. She had not allowed Mr. M'Gabbery so much as to layout on her behalf a single piastre for oranges on the road. Nor hadhe been their sole companion on their journey through the desert.They had come to Jerusalem with a gentleman and his wife: Mr.M'Gabbery had been kindly allowed to join them.

  "Well, if I were you, I should show them a cold shoulder," said Mr.Cruse; "and as to that intolerable puppy, I should take no furthernotice of him, except by cutting him dead."

  Mr. M'Gabbery at last promised to follow his friend's advice, and soMiss Todd's picnic came to an end without bloodshed.