The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 333: what you’re looking at

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

_ TILE YOUNG DUCIIESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY, tered about the money which his uncle so bounti- fully supplied. He was constantly proclaiming his resolve ‘“‘to see London life.” This phrase, which forms so frequent and yet so wretched an apology for the novice who is plunging headlong into dissipation, was constantly on the lips of Edward Walpole when in the midst of these low vile associates whose company he was thus eagerly seeking. And then too, with a readiness that might well have served to make his new associates suspect that he had a natural inclination for vicious debauchery, did he penetrate into houses of the most infamous description — gathering around him all the female occupants of each suc- cessive den that he thus visited, and regaling them with the most expensive wines that the taverns or public-houses in those districts could furnish. But all remarked that there was a certain restlessness about him, as if he were no sooner in one place than he was weary of it and wanted to get to another,—just as if he could not see too much debauchery in one night, or as if he felt that he could not diversify these loathsome amusements too rapidly in order to sustain a requisite degree of excitement. But we will not dwell at unnecessary length upon this portion of our narrative. Suffice it to say that having passed some hours in flitting from one den of infamy to another, the young man re- turned to his lodgings when the day was dawning; and therefore it was no wonder if after a short feverish sleep he rose to breakfast between nine and ten with a countenance that was paler even than on the preceding day. At about nocn Mr. Seymour arrived in his carriage; and Edward Walpole was dressed in readiness to accompany him. ‘‘Good heavens, my dear boy! how pale and ill you look!” cried the contractor. “Do I, uncle?” said the young man, with a start; and he glanced at his countenance in the opposite mirror—but the cheeks were now red with blushes. “Were you up late last night?” inquired Mr. Seymour. “Late? Oh, no, uncle!—that is to say, not very. 1 went to the theatre ” ‘Well, well, my dear boy, I am sure I do not wish to pry into your pursuits.” ‘Oh, but you have a right!” ejaculated Wal- pole: and then he suddenly checked the next words that were about to issue from his lips, and he stooped to pick up the kerchief which he had just dropped. “You certainly do not look well, Edward,” re- sumed Mr. Seymour, contemplating his nephew with some little uneasiness. ‘I must send our family doctor to you.” ‘*Oh, I can assure you, dear uncle, I am quite well!” “Ah!” ejaculated Seymour, as he caught sight of all the books thaf lay scattered about on the sofa and side-tables; ‘‘perhaps you read too much? Come—confess, Edward—you pursue your studies late at night ?” ‘‘'Well, sir,” answered the young man, with an air of the supremest meekness and diffidence, “perhaps I do continue my pursuits until too late anhour. But 7 “Tinough, Edward! I now see the entire clue to the mystery. You are naturally studious; but 319 pray, my dear boy, take care of your health. And now come!—the carriage is waiting—and I am giving myself a holiday that we may all pass a pleasant day together at Highgate.” In a few moments the uncle and nephew were seated together in a carriage, which rolled rapidly away towards the northern suburb of the metro- polis. “By the bye, Edward,” said Mr. Seymour, ‘' what a shocking discovery that seems to be! I only just had time to glance over the account in the newspaper, while I was despatching my breakfast.” “You mean the-discovery at Waterloo Bridge yesterday morning?” said the young man. ‘‘Yes—the carpet-bag that was found on the abutment at the base of the pier of one of the arches. Was it not so?” “Tt was,” replied Edward; ‘and there can be no doubt that a horrible murder, followed by a hideous mutilation, has been perpetrated.” “Ts there any clue to the assassin ?” asked Mr. Seymour. “ Scarcely, I should think, from what I read,” rejoined Walpole. ‘The surgeon who was called in tothe Bow Street Station, to which the carpet- bag was conveyed, put the remnants together, as it were ; and he made out the perfect form of a man, with the exception of the head.” ‘‘ Good heavens, how horrible !—the missing!” cried Mr. Seymour. ‘‘The head was missing. Ah, my dear uncle ! you may well say it was a horrible affair—and as mysterious as it is horrible!” ‘‘- You say there is no clue?” asked his uncle. ‘‘Nothing more than this,—that one of the toll-keepers perfectly recollects a stout elderly woman having passed through the gate on the Strand side, with a large carpet=bag, between eleven and twelve o'clock on the night preceding the hideous discovery. Yet it appears that so many different persons pass the bridge with bags in their hands at almost all hours—especially when the trains of the South-Western are about to start . “No doubt of it,” interjected Seymour. there no other clue ?” ‘It seems not—at least so far as one may judge from the newspaper-account.” “It is horrible!” said the railway contractor, with a shudder. ‘“ Perhaps some unfortunate man who was inveigled into one of the myriad dens of infamy which abound in the metrepolis— some stranger perhaps vi ‘Tt is suspected that the victim was a foreigner, from his clothes,” remarked Edward. “Poor devil!” said the contractor: “little thought he to what a dangerous place he was coming, and what a doom awaited him! But it is enough to make one shudder to reflect how many houses of an infamous description there are in this modern Babylon, and how recklessly the profligate and dissipated trust themselves in those dens! As well plunge into a morass swarming with reptiles! Ah, if the debauched and the libertine — young men especially — would only pause to reflect what fearful risks they run when venturing into such places, where hocussing, rob- bery, and murder are no doubt crimes far more common than the world is generally inclined to suspect,—if men, I repeat, would only think of head 7) Is oO Connicloookks Colin