Page:The London Magazine, volume 8 (July–December 1823).djvu/545

 it from the genuine light sentimental billet-doux style of young ladies of seventeen. How should he learn then? William dares not tell him for his life. And the fellow can never be such a brute as to refuse the bust to a young lady whom he pretends to admire. Lord! it makes me laugh to think what a long face he’ll show when he asks for permission to visit you upon the strength of this sacrifice; and I, looking at him like a bull, shall say—“No, indeed, my good Sir; as to the bust, what’s that to me, my good Sir? What do I care for the bust, my good Sir? I believe it’s all broken to pieces with a sledge-hammer, or else you might have it back again for anything I care. Eh, Ida, my girl, won’t that be droll? Won’t it be laughable to see what a long face he’ll cut?”—But, but—

If Ida had any particular wish to see how laughable a fellow looked under such circumstances, she had very soon that gratification; for her father’s under jaw dropped enormously on the return of the messenger. It did not perhaps require any great critical penetration to determine from what member of the family the letter proceeded: and independently of that, Mr. Tempest had (as the reader knows) some little acquaintance with the epistolary style of Miss Goodchild. In his answer therefore he declined complying with the request: but, to convince his beloved Ida that his refusal was designed not for her but for her father, he expressed himself as follows:

“Now then,” thought Mr. Goodchild, “the world is come to a pretty pass.” The honour and credit of his name and family seemed to stand on the edge of a razor: and, without staying for any further consideration, he shot over like an arrow to Mr. Tempest.

Scarcely was he out of the house, when in rushed the postman with a second note to Miss Goodchild, apologizing for the former and explaining to her the particular purpose he had in writing it.

How well he succeeded in this, was very soon made evident by the circumstance of her father’s coming back with him arm in arm. Mr. Tempest had so handsomely apologized for any offence he might have given, and with a tone of real feeling had rested his defence so entirely upon the excess of his admiration for Miss Goodchild which had left him no longer master of his own actions or understanding, that her father felt touched and flattered—forgave every thing very frankly—and allowed him to hope from his daughter’s mouth for the final ratification of his hopes.

“But this one stipulation I must make, my good Sir,” said Mr. Goodchild returning to his political anxieties, “that in future you must wholly renounce that black fellow who styles himself (most absurdly!) the king of Hayti.” “With all my heart,” said Mr. Tempest, “Miss Goodchild will be cheaply purchased by renouncing The King of Hayti.”