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A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY 19
very low in pocket. The young Andrea bears up gaily, however ;
twangles his guitar, paints the worst pictures in the world, and
pens sonnets to his imaginary mistress's eyebrow. Luckily the
rogue did not know my name, or I should have been compelled to
unbosom to him; and when I called out to him, dubious as to
my name, ' Don't you know me ? I met you in Rome. My name
is Brandon,' the painter was perfectly satisfied, and majestically
bade me welcome.
" Fancy the continence of this young Joseph—he has absolutely
run away from Mrs. Carrickfergus! ' Sir,' said he, with some hesitation
and blushes, when I questioned him about the widow, ' I was
compelled to leave Rome in consequence of the fatal fondness of
that woman. I am an 'andsome man, sir,—I know it—all the
chaps in the Academy want me for a model ; and that woman, sir,
is sixty. Do you think I would ally myself with her ; sacrifice my
happiness for the sake of a creature that's as hugly as an 'arpy?
I'd rather starve, sir. I'd rather give up my hart and my 'opes of
rising in it than do a haction so dishhhhonourable.'
" There is a stock of virtue for you ! and the poor fellow halfstarved.
He lived at Rome upon the seven portraits that the
Carrickfergus ordered of him, and, as I fancy, now does not make
twenty pounds in the year. 0 rare chastity ! 0 wondrous silly
hopes ! O motus animorum, atque 0 certamina tanta !—pulveris,
exigui jactu, in such an insignificant little lump of mud as this !
Why the deuce does not the fool marry the widow ? His betters
would. There was a captain of dragoons, an Italian prince, and four
sons of Irish peers, all at her feet ; but the Cockney's beard and
whiskers have overcome them all. Here my paper has come to
an end; and I have the honour to bid your Lordship a respectful
farewell. G. B."
Of the young gentleman who goes by the name of Brandon, the
reader of the above letter will not be so misguided, we trust, as to
have a very exalted opinion. The noble viscount read this document
to a supper-party in Christchurch, in Oxford, and left it in a bowl
of milk-punch ; whence a scout abstracted it, and handed it over to
us. My Lord was twenty years of age when he received the epistle,
and had spent a couple of years abroad, before going to the
university, under the guardianship of the worthy individual who
called himself George Brandon.
Mr. Brandon was the son of a half-pay colonel of good family,
who, honouring the great himself, thought his son would vastly
benefit by an acquaintance with them, and sent him to Eton, at cruel
charges upon a slender purse. From Eton the lad went to Oxford,