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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lewis
Arundel; Or, The Railroad Of Life
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Lewis Arundel; Or, The Railroad Of Life

Author: Frank E. Smedley

Illustrator: Hablot Knight Browne

Release date: February 18, 2018 [eBook #56600]

Most recently updated: February 25, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Widger from page images generously

provided by the Internet Archive

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIS ARUNDEL;

OR, THE RAILROAD OF LIFE ***
LEWIS ARUNDEL
Or, The Railroad Of Life
By Frank E. Smedley,
Author Of “Frank Fairlegh.”
With Illustrations By “Phiz”
The Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd.

London And Newcastle-On-Tyne.

1852
CONTENTS
 CHAPTER I.—IN WHICH THE TRAIN STARTS, AND THE
READER IS INTRODUCED TO THREE FIRST-CLASS
PASSENGERS.
CHAPTER II.—SHOWING HOW LEWIS LOSES HIS TEMPER,
AND LEAVES HIS HOME.
CHAPTER III.—IN WHICH RICHARD FRERE MENDS THE
BACK OF ST. THOMAS AQUINAS, AND THE READER IS
INTRODUCED TO CHARLEY LEICESTER.
CHAPTER IV.—LEWIS ENLISTS UNDER A “CONQUERING
HERO,” AND STARTS ON A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION.
CHAPTER V.—IS OF A DECIDEDLY WARLIKE CHARACTER.
CHAPTER VI.—IN WHICH LEWIS ARUNDEL SKETCHES A
COW, AND THE AUTHOR DRAWS A YOUNG LADY.
CHAPTER VII.—WHEREIN THE READER IS INTRODUCED
TO MISS LIVINGSTONE, AND INFORMED WHO IS THE
GREATEST MAN OF THE AGE.
CHAPTER VIII.—LEWIS RECEIVES A LECTURE AND A COLD
BATH.
CHAPTER IX.—WHEREIN RICHARD FRERE AND LEWIS
TURN MAHOMETANS.
CHAPTER X.—CONTAINS A PRACTICAL COMMENTARY ON
THE PROVERB, “ALL IS NOT GOLD WHICH GLITTERS.”
CHAPTER XI.—TOM BRACY MEETS HIS MATCH.
CHAPTER XII.—LEWIS FORFEITS THE RESPECT OF ALL
POOR-LAW GUARDIANS.
CHAPTER XIII.—IS CHIEFLY HORTICULTURAL, SHOWING
THE EFFECTS PRODUCED BY TRAINING UPON A SWEET AND
DELICATE ROSE.
 CHAPTER XIV.—PRESENTS TOM BRACY IN A NEW AND
INTERESTING ASPECT.
CHAPTER XV.—CONTAINS A DISQUISITION ON MODERN
POETRY, AND AFFORDS THE READER A PEEP BEHIND THE
EDITORIAL CURTAIN.
CHAPTER XVI.—MISS LIVINGSTONE SPEAKS A BIT OF HER
MIND.
CHAPTER XVII.—CONTAINS MUCH FOLLY AND A LITTLE
COMMON SENSE.
CHAPTER XVIII.—LEWIS RECEIVES A MYSTERIOUS
COMMUNICATION, AND IS RUN AWAY WITH BY TWO
YOUTHFUL BEAUTIES.
CHAPTER XIX.—CHARLEY LEICESTER BEWAILS HIS CRUEL
MISFORTUNE.
CHAPTER XX.—SOME OF THE CHARACTERS FALL OUT AND
OTHERS FALL IN.
CHAPTER XXI.—FAUST GETS ON SWIMMINGLY, AND THE
READER IS INTRODUCED TO A DIVING BELLE “WRINGING”
WET.
CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAIN ARRIVES AT AN IMPORTANT
STATION.
CHAPTER XXIII.—DE GRANDEVILLE THREATENS A
CONFIDENCE AND ELICITS CHARLEY LEICESTER’S IDEAS ON
MATRIMONY.
CHAPTER XXIV.—RELATES HOW CHARLEY LEICESTER WAS
FIRST “SPRIGHTED BY A FOOL,” THEN BESET BY AN
AMAZON.
CHAPTER XXV.—CONTAINS A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT, AND
SHOWS HOW THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DOES RUN
SMOOTH.
CHAPTER XXVI.—SUNSHINE AFTER SHOWERS.
CHAPTER XXVII.—BROTHERLY LOVE “À LA MODE.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.—BEGINS ABRUPTLY AND ENDS
UNCOMFORTABLY.
CHAPTER XXIX.—DE GRANDEVILLE MEETS HIS MATCH.
CHAPTER XXX.—THE GENERAL TAKES THE FIELD.
CHAPTER XXXI.—IS CHIEFLY CULINARY, CONTAINING
RECIPES FOR A “GOOD PRESERVE” AND A “PRETTY PICKLE.”
CHAPTER XXXII—LEWIS MAKES A DISCOVERY AND GETS
INTO A “STATE OF MIND.”
CHAPTER XXXIII.—CONTAINS SUNDRY DEFINITIONS OF
WOMAN “AS SHE SHOULD BE,” AND DISCLOSES MRS.
ARUNDEL’S OPINION OF RICHARD FRERE.
CHAPTER XXXIV.—ROSE AND FRERE GO TO VISIT MR.
NONPAREIL THE PUBLISHER.
CHAPTER XXXV.—HOW RICHARD FRERE OBTAINED A
SPECIMEN OF THE “PODICEPS CORNUTUS.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.—RECOUNTS “YE PLEASAUNTE PASTYMES
AND CUNNYNGE DEVYCES” OF ONE THOMAS BRACY.
CHAPTER XXXVII.—WHEREIN IS FAITHFULLY DEPICTED
THE CONSTANCY OF THE TURTLE-DOVE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.—DESCRIBES THE HUMOURS OF A
LONDON DINNER-PARTY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
CHAPTER XXXIX.—IS IN TWO FYTTES—VIZ., FYTTE THE
FIRST, A SULKY FIT—FYTTE THE SECOND, A FIT OF
HYSTERICS.
 CHAPTER XL.—SHOWS, AMONGST OTHER MATTERS, HOW
RICHARD FRERE PASSED A RESTLESS NIGHT.
CHAPTER XLI.—ANNIE GRANT FALLS INTO DIFFICULTIES.
CHAPTER XLII.—A TÊTE-À-TÊTE, AND A TRAGEDY.
CHAPTER XLIII.—WHEREIN FAUST “SETS UP” FOR A
GENTLEMAN, AND TAKES A COURSE OF SERIOUS READING.
CHAPTER XLIV.—LEWIS PRACTICALLY TESTS THE
ASSERTION THAT VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD, AND
OBTAINS AN UNSATISFACTORY RESULT.
CHAPTER XLV.—ANNIE GRANT TAKES TO STUDYING
GERMAN, AND MEETS WITH AN ALARMING ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER XLVI.—IS CALCULATED TO “MURDER SLEEP” FOR
ALL NERVOUS YOUNG LADIES WHO READ IT.
CHAPTER XLVII.—CONTAINS A “MIDNIGHT STRUGGLE,”
GARNISHED WITH A DUE AMOUNT OF BLOODSHED, AND
OTHER NECESSARY HORRORS.
CHAPTER XLVIII.—WHEREIN THE READER DIVERGES INTO
A NEW BRANCH OF “THE RAILROAD OF LIFE” IN A THIRD-
CLASS CARRIAGE.
CHAPTER XLIX.—CONTAINS A PARADOX—LEWIS, WHEN
LEAST RESIGNED, DISPLAYS THE VIRTUE OF RESIGNATION.
CHAPTER L.—SHOWS HOW LEWIS CAME TO A “DOGGED”
DETERMINATION, AND WAS MADE THE SHUTTLECOCK OF
FATE.
CHAPTER LI.—CONTAINS MUCH SORROW, AND PREPARES
THE WAY FOR MORE.
CHAPTER LII.—VINDICATES THE APHORISM THAT “’TIS
AN ILL WIND WHICH BLOWS NO ONE ANY GOOD.”
 CHAPTER LIII.—DEPICTS THE MARRIED LIFE OF CHARLEY
LEICESTER.
CHAPTER LIV.—TREATS OF A METAMORPHOSIS NOT
DESCRIBED BY OVID.
CHAPTER LV.—IS DECIDEDLY ORIGINAL, AS IT DISPLAYS
MATRIMONY IN A MORE FAVOURABLE LIGHT THAN
COURTSHIP.
CHAPTER LVI.—LEWIS ATTENDS AN EVENING PARTY, AND
NARROWLY ESCAPES BEING “CUT” BY AN OLD
ACQUAINTANCE.
CHAPTER LVII.—WALTER SEES A GHOST.
CHAPTER LVIII.—CONTAINS MUCH PLOTTING AND
COUNTERPLOTTING.
CHAPTER LIX.—DESCRIBES THAT INDESCRIBABLE SCENE,
“THE DERBY DAY.”
CHAPTER LX.—CONTAINS SOME “NOVEL” REMARKS UPON
THE ROMANTIC CEREMONY OF MATRIMONY.
CHAPTER LXI.—“WE MET, ’TWAS IN A CROWD!”
CHAPTER LXII.—“POINTS A MORAL,” AND SO IT IS TO BE
HOPED “ADORNS A TALE.”
CHAPTER LXIII.—SHOWS HOW IT FARED WITH THE LAMB
WHICH THE WOLF HAD WORRIED.
CHAPTER LXIV.—THE FATE OF THE WOLF!
CHAPTER LXV.—FAUST PAYS A MORNING VISIT.
CHAPTER LXVI.—URSA MAJOR SHOWS HIS TEETH.
CHAPTER LXVII.—RELATES HOW, THE ECLIPSE BEING
OVER, THE SUN BEGAN TO SHINE AGAIN.
 CHAPTER LXVIII.—LEWIS OUT-GENERALS THE GENERAL,
AND THE TRAIN STOPS.
CHAPTER I.—IN WHICH THE TRAIN
STARTS, AND THE READER IS
INTRODUCED TO THREE FIRST-
CLASS PASSENGERS.

“S
urely he ought to be here by this time, Rose; it must be
past nine o’clock!”
“Scarcely so much, mamma; indeed, it wants a quarter
of nine yet. The coach does not arrive till half-past eight, and he has
quite four miles to walk afterwards.”
“Oh! this waiting, it destroys me,” rejoined the first speaker, rising
from her seat and pacing the room with agitated steps. “How you
can contrive to sit there, drawing so quietly, I do not comprehend!”
“Does it annoy you, dear mamma? Why did you not tell me so
before?” returned Rose gently, putting away her drawing-apparatus
as she spoke. No one would have called Rose Arundel handsome, or
even pretty, and yet her face had a charm about it—a charm that
lurked in the depths of her dreamy grey eyes, and played about the
corners of her mouth when she smiled, and sat like a glory upon her
high, smooth forehead. Both she and her mother were clad in the
deepest mourning, and the traces of some recent heartfelt sorrow
might be discerned in either face. A stranger would have taken them
for sisters, rather than for mother and daughter; for there were lines
of thought on Rose’s brow which her twenty years scarcely
warranted, while Mrs. Arundel, at eight-and-thirty, looked full six
years younger, despite her widow’s cap.
“I have been thinking, Rose,” resumed the elder lady, after a short
pause, during which she continued pacing the room most
assiduously, “I have been thinking that if we were to settle near
some large town, I could give lessons in music and singing: my voice
is as good as ever it was—listen;” and, seating herself at a small
cottage piano, she began to execute some difficult solfeggi in a rich,
clear soprano, with a degree of ease and grace which proved her to
be a finished singer; and, apparently carried away by the feeling the
music had excited, she allowed her voice to flow, as it were
unconsciously, into the words of an Italian song, which she
continued for some moments, without noticing a look of pain which
shot across her daughter’s pale features. At length, suddenly
breaking off, she exclaimed in a voice broken with emotion, “Ah!
what am I singing?” and, burying her face in her handkerchief, she
burst into a flood of tears: it had been her husband’s favourite song.
Recovering herself more quickly than from the violence of her grief
might have been expected, she was about to resume her walk,
when, observing for the first time the expression of her daughter’s
face, she sprang towards her, and placing her arm caressingly round
her waist, kissed her tenderly, exclaiming in a tone of the fondest
affection, “Rose, my own darling, I have distressed you by my
heedlessness, but I forget everything now!” She paused; then
added, in a calmer tone, “Really, love, I have been thinking seriously
of what I said just now about teaching. If I could but get a sufficient
number of pupils, it would be much better than allowing you to go
out as governess, for we could live together then; and I know I shall
never be able to part with you. Besides, you would be miserable,
managing naughty children all day long—throwing away your talents
on a set of stupid little wretches,—such drudgery would ennui you to
death.”
“And do you think, mamma, that I could be content to live in
idleness and allow you to work for my support?” replied Rose, while
a faint smile played over her expressive features. “Oh, no! Lewis will
try to obtain some appointment: you shall live with him and keep his
house, while I go out as governess for a few years; and we must
save all we can, until we are rich enough to live together again.”
 “And perhaps some day we may be able to come back and take
the dear old cottage, if Lewis is very lucky and should make a
fortune,” returned Mrs. Arundel. “How shall we be able to bear to
leave it!” she added, glancing round the room regretfully.
“How, indeed!” replied Rose, with a sigh; “but it must be done.
Lewis will not feel it as we shall—he has been away so long.”
“It seems an age,” resumed Mrs. Arundel, musing. “How old was
he when he left Westminster?”
“Sixteen, was he not?” replied Rose.
“And he has been at Bonn three years. Why, Rose, he must be a
man by this time!”
“Mr. Frere wrote us word he was the taller of the two by half a
head last year, if you recollect,” returned Rose.
“Hark!” exclaimed Mrs. Arundel, starting up and going to the
window, which opened in the French fashion upon a small flower-
garden. As she spoke, the gate-bell rang smartly, and in another
moment the person outside, having apparently caught sight of the
figure at the window, sprang lightly over the paling, crossed the
lawn in a couple of bounds, and ere the slave of the bell had
answered its impatient summons, Lewis was in his mother’s arms.
After the first greeting, in which smiles and tears had mingled in
strange fellowship, Mrs. Arundel drew her son towards a table, on
which a lamp was burning, saying as she did so, “Why, Rose, can
this be our little Lewis? He is as tall as a grenadier! Heads up, sir!—
Attention!—You are going to be inspected. Do you remember when
the old sergeant used to drill us all, and wanted to teach Rose to
fence?”
Smiling at his mother’s caprice, Lewis Arundel drew himself up to
his full height, and, placing his back against the wall, stood in the
attitude of a soldier on parade—his head just touching the frame of
a picture which hung above him. The light of the lamp shone full
upon the spot where he had stationed himself, displaying a face and
figure on which a mother’s eye might well rest with pride and
admiration. Considerably above the middle height, his figure was
slender, but singularly graceful; his head small and intellectual
looking. The features, exquisitely formed, were, if anything, too
delicately cut and regular; which, together with a brilliant
complexion and long silken eyelashes, tended to impart an almost
feminine character to his beauty. The expression of his face,
however, effectually counteracted any such tendency; no one could
observe the flashing of the dark eyes, the sarcastic curl of the short
upper lip, the curved nostril slightly drawn back, the stern resolution
of the knitted brow, without tracing signs of pride unbroken, stormy
feelings and passions unsubdued, and an iron will, which, according
as it might be directed, must prove all-powerful for good or evil. His
hair, which he wore somewhat long, was, like his mother’s, of that
jet black colour characteristic of the inhabitants of a southern clime
rather than of the descendants of the fair-haired Saxons, while a soft
down of the same dark hue as his clustering curls fringed the sides
of his face, affording promise of a goodly crop of whiskers. Despite
the differences of feature and expression,—and they were great,—
there was a decided resemblance between the brother and sister,
and the same indescribable charm, which made it next to impossible
to watch Rose Arundel without loving her, shed its sunshine also
over Lewis’s face when he smiled.
After surveying her son attentively, with eyes which sparkled with
surprise and pleasure, Mrs. Arundel exclaimed, “Why, how the boy is
altered! Is he not improved, Rose?” As she spoke, she involuntarily
glanced from Lewis to the picture under which he stood. It was a
half-length portrait of a young man, in what appeared to be some
foreign uniform, the hand resting on the hilt of a cavalry sabre. The
features, though scarcely so handsome, were strikingly like those of
Lewis Arundel, the greatest difference being in the expression, which
was more joyous, and that the hair in the portrait was of a rich
brown instead of black. After comparing the two for a moment, Mrs
Arundel attempted to speak, but her voice failing from emotion, she
burst into tears, and hastily left the room.
“Why, Rose, what is it?” exclaimed Lewis in surprise; “is my
mother ill?”
“No; it is your likeness to that picture, Lewis love, that has
overcome her: you know it is a portrait of our dearest father” (her
voice faltered as she pronounced his name), “taken just after they
were married, I believe.”
Lewis regarded the picture attentively, then averting his head as if
he could not bear that even Rose should witness his grief, he threw
himself on a sofa and concealed his face with his hands. Recovering
himself almost immediately, he drew his sister gently towards him,
and placing her beside him, asked, as he stroked her glossy hair—
“Rose, dearest, how is it that I was not informed of our poor
father’s illness? Surely a letter must have miscarried!”
“Did not mamma explain to you, then, how sudden it was?”
“Not a word: she only wrote a few hurried lines, leading me to
prepare for a great shock; then told me that my father was dead;
and entreating me to return immediately, broke off abruptly, saying
she could write no more.”
“Poor mamma! she was quite overcome by her grief, and yet she
was so excited and so anxious to save me, she would do everything
herself. I wished her to let me write to you, but she objected, and I
was afraid of annoying her.”
“It was most unfortunate,” returned Lewis; “in her hurry she
misdirected the letter; and, as I told you when I wrote, I was from
home at the time, and did not receive it till three weeks after it
should have reached me. I was at a rifle-match got up by some of
the students, and had just gained the prize, a pair of silver-mounted
pistols, when her letter was put into my hand. Fancy receiving such
news in a scene of gaiety!”
 “How exquisitely painful! My poor brother!” said Rose, while the
tears she could no longer repress dimmed her bright eyes. After a
moment she continued, “But I was going to tell you,—it was more
than a month ago,—poor papa had walked over to Warlington to
negotiate about selling one of his paintings. Did you know that he
had lately made his talent for painting serve as a means of adding to
our income?”
“Richard Frere told me of it last year,” replied Lewis.
“Oh yes, Mr. Frere was kind enough to get introductions to several
picture-dealers, and was of the greatest use,” continued Rose. “Well,
when papa came in, he looked tired and harassed; and in answer to
my questions, he said he had received intelligence which had excited
him a good deal, and added something about being called upon to
take a very important step. I left him to fetch a glass of wine, and
when I returned, to my horror, his head was leaning forward on his
breast, and he was both speechless and insensible. We instantly sent
for the nearest medical man, but it was of no use; he pronounced it
to be congestion of the brain, and gave us no hope: his opinion was
but too correct; my dear father never spoke again, and in less than
six hours all was over.”
“How dreadful!” murmured Lewis. “My poor Rose, how shocked
you must have been!” After a few minutes’ silence he continued,
“And what was this news which produced such an effect upon my
father?”
“Strange to say,” replied Rose, “we have not the slightest notion.
No letter or other paper has been found which could at all account
for it, nor can we learn that papa met any one at Warlington likely to
have brought him news. The only clue we have been able to gain is
that Mr. Bowing, who keeps the library there, remarked that papa
came in as usual to look at the daily papers, and as he was reading,
suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise and put his hand to his
brow. Mr. Bowing was about to inquire whether anything was the
matter, when he was called away to attend to a customer; and when
he was again at liberty papa had left the shop. Mr. Bowing sent us
the paper afterwards, but neither mamma nor I could discover in it
anything we could imagine at all likely to have affected papa so
strongly.”
“How singular!” returned Lewis, musing. “What could it possibly
have been? You say my father’s papers have been examined?”
“Yes, mamma wrote to Mr. Coke, papa’s man of business in
London, and he came down directly, but nothing appeared to throw
any light on the matter. Papa had not even made a will.” She paused
to dry the tears which had flowed copiously during this narration,
then continued: “But oh! Lewis, do you know we are so very, very
poor?”
“I suspected as much, dear Rose; I knew my father’s was a life
income. But why speak in such a melancholy tone? Surely my sister
has not grown mercenary?”
“Scarcely that, I hope,” returned Rose, smiling; “but there is some
difference between being mercenary and regretting that we are so
poor that we shall be unable to live together: is there not, Lewis
dear?”
“Unable to live together?” repeated Lewis slowly. “Yes, well, I may
of course be obliged to leave you, but I shall not accept any
employment which will necessitate my quitting England, so I shall
often come and take a peep at you.”
“Oh! but, Lewis love, it is worse than that—we shall not be able to
—— Hush! here comes mamma; we will talk about this another
time.”
“Why, Lewis,” exclaimed Mrs. Arundel, entering the room with a
light elastic step, without a trace of her late emotion visible on her
animated countenance, “what is this? Here’s Rachel complaining that
you have brought a wild beast with you, which has eaten up all the
tea-cakes.”
 “Let alone fright’ning the blessed cat so that she’s flowed up the
chimley like a whirlpool, and me a’most in fits all the time, the brute!
But I’ll not sleep in the house with it, to be devoured like a cannibal
in my quiet bed, if there was not another sitivation in Sussex!” And
here Rachel, a stout serving-woman, with a face which, sufficiently
red by nature, had become the deepest crimson from fear and
anger, burst into a flood of tears, which, mingling with a tolerably
thick deposit of soot, acquired during the hurried rise and progress
of the outraged cat, imparted to her the appearance of some piebald
variety of female Ethiopian Serenader.
“Rachel, have you forgotten me?” inquired Lewis, as soon as he
could speak for laughing. “What are you crying about? You are not
so silly as to be afraid of a dog? Here, Faust, where are you?” As he
spoke he uttered a low, peculiar whistle; and in obedience to his
signal a magnificent Livonian wolf-hound, which bore sufficient
likeness to the animal it was trained to destroy to have alarmed a
more discriminating zoologist than poor Rachel, sprang into the
room, and, delighted at rejoining his master, began to testify his joy
so roughly as not only to raise the terror of that damsel to screaming
point, but to cause Mrs. Arundel to interpose a chair between herself
and the intruder, while Rose, pale but silent, shrank timidly into a
corner of the apartment. In an instant the expression of Lewis’s face
changed; his brow contracted, his mouth grew stern, and fixing his
flashing eyes upon those of the dog, he uttered in a deep, low voice
some German word of command; and as he spoke the animal
dropped at his feet, where it crouched in a suppliant attitude, gazing
wistfully at his master’s countenance, without offering to move.
“You need not have erected a barricade to defend yourself, my
dear mother,” said Lewis, as a smile chased the cloud which had for
a moment shaded his features; “the monster is soon quelled. Rose,
you must learn to love Faust—he is my second self; come and stroke
him.”
Thus exhorted, Rose approached and patted the dog’s shaggy
head, at first timidly, but more boldly when she found that he still
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