Agnes, or, Beauty and Pleasure — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

frivolities of fashion. No longer possessing your own artless candour, you mistrust the words and the actions of all who are brought in contact with you: you plunge with false excitement into plea- sure, having lost the naturally buoyant spirit which gave its healthful charm to innocent re- creation: you are no longer willing to put favour- able interpretations upon words, nor generous con- structions upon actions: you listen with incre- dulity even to the sublimest truths, should they happen to be told you: you look without a sincere admiration upon things that are really admirable ; —and if you should chance to become the victim of calamity or wrong-doing, it Coes not render you charitable to the misfortunes, to the sufferings, or the frailties of others. No!—for you are an altered being: your mind is warped, your imagi- nation is led astray, and your fancy is fevered by the sinister influences of that idol of fashion at whose shrine you have become a votary. It was the beginning of the month of August, in the year 1829, as we have already said,—when, a little after eight o’clock in the evening, a young gentleman issued from the coffee-room of a fashionable West End Hotel, where he had been dining. He was about twenty-three years of age —tall and well made. Without being handsome, he might be termed good-looking; for the slight flush of wine that was now upon his countenance concealed the traces of dissipation which would have otherwise been apparent. His hair was dark: he had fine eyes, but somewhat thickly pen. eilled brows—a rather large mouth, but a very good set of teeth. He was dressed with con- siderable elegance; and though there was a cer- tain air of the libertine about him, yet his bearing and his manners bespoke him to be, by social position, a gentleman. Pausing for an instant upon the threshold of the hotel, he yawned and looked languidly up and down the street, as if at a loss what next to do with himself. And such was the fact. The breaking-up of the season had just taken his usual companions out of town—while he, for a very good reason, was compelled to remain in London. In truth, he had no country-soat of his own, nor any wealthy friends who appeared to esteem him sufficiently to invite him to one: while his purse was too slender and his resources tvo much exhausted to enable him to stand the ex- penditure of a watering-place, He was almost ashamed at being seen alone, as it were, in Lon- don when all the fashionable world had left it: but necessity left hiza not a choice—there was no help for it—and at the hotel he had hinted, as if in a casual way, in the presence of the waiters, that pressing business connected with a legacy just left him, compelled him, to his disgust and annoyance, to remain for the present in the capital. The tale of the legacy was however a little fic- tion, which served a double purpose—in the first place accounting for his unfashionable presence in London when the season was over; and in the second place enabling the young gentlemen to add the cost of his dinner to the already somewhat lengthy bill standing against him at the establish- ment. The hotel-keeper and the waiters however hed full confidence in him; for during the past ‘wo or three yoars» he had expended considerable AGNES: OR, BEAUTY AND PLEASURE. 8 sums at the house; and according to al’ ouiward appearance ke was still in the same aihuent cir. cumstances as ever. But how deceptive are such appearances! A man may continue to dress well, display a waich- chain festooning over his waistcoat, smoke his cigars, wear lemon-coloured kid gloves, and drop in with half-a-dozen “young gentlemen about town” to dine off turtle and venison at an hotel, without in reality having any of his once good fortune left. And such was precisely the case with Morton Evelyn—the young gentleman of whom we are speaking. Not that he was utterly penniless: for in his pocket-book he possessed bank-notes to the ex- tent of about fifty or sixty pounds -tho remnant of the last five hundred which he hee sold out of the Bank of England. He could tiius have paid for his dinner if he thought fit: but it would oave seemed odd to settle for a single repast when he owed for twenty or thirty; and moreover it. wag acainst his system to pay where he might obtain credit. He lounged along the street, wondering parti- ally what be should do with himself to while away two or three hours until it was time to return home to his lodgings —and wondering partially what he should do for the means of existence at all, when the contents of his pocket-book were ex- hausted. He strolled into Regent Street; nnd if there were fewer fashionable loungers in that fa- vourite evening resort, there were quite as many unfortunate females as usual. Evelyn scarcely glanced at the flaunting creatures, with their painted cheeks, and their hollow eyes that cast forth enticing looks: he was too much accustomed to the scene to find any novelty in it. Presently however he found his attention gradually settling upon a young girl, who, though plying the trade of infamy, yet seemed to be new at it: for there was no wanton hardihood in her looks—no paint upon her cheeks: she had not lost all the first freshness of her youthful beauty: there was neat- ness and no tawdriness in her attire; and she ap- peared even to shrink from public notice rather than to court it. Morton Evelyn lingered to wateh her for a little while; and as the blaze from a shop window streamed full upon her counte- nance, ha saw that there was a shadow of despair upon it. Though not much given to moral reflec- tions, it struck him that there was the element of sincere penitence in that young soul, if a philan- thropic hand were stretched forth to drag her up from the abysm of degradation and infamy into which she had sunk down. He looked at her again: he contemplated her more attentively: her countenance, naturally of an exceeding beauty, ap- peared to show that the heart-break had begun ;— and Morton, touched by the spectacle, hurried on- ward to escape from it. But the despairing, anguished face of that un- fortunate girl, haunted him as he continued his way; and he thought to himself, “ Well, aftor all, I shall not be much the poorer if I give hera trifle.” He retraced his steps: he could not immediately discern her amidst the gay flaunting tribe that thronged the street; and ® pang like that of a remorse struck to his heart for not having imme- Giately relieved her. Dut all of a sudden he comiclooolks es i rr a — ——__ + er OO OO Or ee Conn