The Great Hoggarty Diamond

  This etext was prepared from the 1911 John Murray edition.

  THE GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND

  CHAPTER I

  GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VILLAGE AND THE FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE

  DIAMOND

  When I came up to town for my second year, my aunt Hoggarty made me

  a present of a diamond-pin; that is to say, it was not a diamond-

  pin then, but a large old-fashioned locket, of Dublin manufacture

  in the year 1795, which the late Mr. Hoggarty used to sport at the

  Lord Lieutenant's balls and elsewhere. He wore it, he said, at the

  battle of Vinegar Hill, when his club pigtail saved his head from

  being taken off,--but that is neither here nor there.

  In the middle of the brooch was Hoggarty in the scarlet uniform of

  the corps of Fencibles to which he belonged; around it were

  thirteen locks of hair, belonging to a baker's dozen of sisters

  that the old gentleman had; and, as all these little ringlets

  partook of the family hue of brilliant auburn, Hoggarty's portrait

  seemed to the fanciful view like a great fat red round of beef

  surrounded by thirteen carrots. These were dished up on a plate of

  blue enamel, and it was from the GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND (as we

  called it in the family) that the collection of hairs in question

  seemed as it were to spring.

  My aunt, I need not say, is rich; and I thought I might be her heir

  as well as another. During my month's holiday, she was

  particularly pleased with me; made me drink tea with her often

  (though there was a certain person in the village with whom on

  those golden summer evenings I should have liked to have taken a

  stroll in the hayfields); promised every time I drank her bohea to

  do something handsome for me when I went back to town,--nay, three

  or four times had me to dinner at three, and to whist or cribbage

  afterwards. I did not care for the cards; for though we always

  played seven hours on a stretch, and I always lost, my losings were

  never more than nineteenpence a night: but there was some infernal

  sour black-currant wine, that the old lady always produced at

  dinner, and with the tray at ten o'clock, and which I dared not

  refuse; though upon my word and honour it made me very unwell.

  Well, I thought after all this obsequiousness on my part, and my

  aunt's repeated promises, that the old lady would at least make me

  a present of a score of guineas (of which she had a power in the

  drawer); and so convinced was I that some such present was intended

  for me, that a young lady by the name of Miss Mary Smith, with whom

  I had conversed on the subject, actually netted me a little green

  silk purse, which she gave me (behind Hicks's hayrick, as you turn

  to the right up Churchyard Lane)--which she gave me, I say, wrapped

  up in a bit of silver paper. There was something in the purse,

  too, if the truth must be known. First there was a thick curl of

  the glossiest blackest hair you ever saw in your life, and next

  there was threepence: that is to say, the half of a silver

  sixpence hanging by a little necklace of blue riband. Ah, but I

  knew where the other half of the sixpence was, and envied that

  happy bit of silver!

  The last day of my holiday I was obliged, of course, to devote to

  Mrs. Hoggarty. My aunt was excessively gracious; and by way of a

  treat brought out a couple of bottles of the black currant, of

  which she made me drink the greater part. At night when all the

  ladies assembled at her party had gone off with their pattens and

  their maids, Mrs. Hoggarty, who had made a signal to me to stay,

  first blew out three of the wax candles in the drawing-room, and

  taking the fourth in her hand, went and unlocked her escritoire.

  I can tell you my heart beat, though I pretended to look quite

  unconcerned.

  "Sam my dear," said she, as she was fumbling with her keys, "take

  another glass of Rosolio" (that was the name by which she baptised

  the cursed beverage): "it will do you good." I took it, and you

  might have seen my hand tremble as the bottle went click--click

  against the glass. By the time I had swallowed it, the old lady

  had finished her operations at the bureau, and was coming towards

  me, the wax-candle bobbing in one hand and a large parcel in the

  other.

  "Now's the time," thought I.

  "Samuel, my dear nephew," said she, "your first name you received

  from your sainted uncle, my blessed husband; and of all my nephews

  and nieces, you are the one whose conduct in life has most pleased

  me."

  When you consider that my aunt herself was one of seven married

  sisters, that all the Hoggarties were married in Ireland and

  mothers of numerous children, I must say that the compliment my

  aunt paid me was a very handsome one.

  "Dear aunt," says I, in a slow agitated voice, "I have often heard

  you say there were seventy-three of us in all, and believe me I do

  think your high opinion of me very complimentary indeed: I'm

  unworthy of it--indeed I am."

  "As for those odious Irish people," says my aunt, rather sharply,

  "don't speak of them, I hate them, and every one of their mothers"

  (the fact is, there had been a lawsuit about Hoggarty's property);

  "but of all my other kindred, you, Samuel, have been the most

  dutiful and affectionate to me. Your employers in London give the

  best accounts of your regularity and good conduct. Though you have

  had eighty pounds a year (a liberal salary), you have not spent a

  shilling more than your income, as other young men would; and you

  have devoted your month's holidays to your old aunt, who, I assure

  you, is grateful."

  "Oh, ma'am!" said I. It was all that I could utter.

  "Samuel," continued she, "I promised you a present, and here it is.

  I first thought of giving you money; but you are a regular lad; and

  don't want it. You are above money, dear Samuel. I give you what

  I value most in life--the p,--the po, the po-ortrait of my sainted

  Hoggarty" (tears), "set in the locket which contains the valuable

  diamond that you have often heard me speak of. Wear it, dear Sam,

  for my sake; and think of that angel in heaven, and of your dear

  Aunt Susy."

  She put the machine into my hands: it was about the size of the

  lid of a shaving-box: and I should as soon have thought of wearing

  it as of wearing a cocked-hat and pigtail. I was so disgusted and

  disappointed that I really could not get out a single word.

  When I recovered my presence of mind a little, I took the locket

  out of the bit of paper (the locket indeed! it was as big as a

  barndoor padlock), and slowly put it into my shirt. "Thank you,

  Aunt," said I, with admirable raillery. "I shall always value this

  present for the sake of you, who gave it me; and it will recall to

  me my
uncle, and my thirteen aunts in Ireland."

  "I don't want you to wear it in THAT way!" shrieked Mrs. Hoggarty,

  "with the hair of those odious carroty women. You must have their

  hair removed."

  "Then the locket will be spoiled, Aunt."

  "Well, sir, never mind the locket; have it set afresh."

  "Or suppose," said I, "I put aside the setting altogether: it is a

  little too large for the present fashion; and have the portrait of

  my uncle framed and placed over my chimney-piece, next to yours.

  It's a sweet miniature."

  "That miniature," said Mrs. Hoggarty, solemnly, "was the great

  Mulcahy's chef-d'oeuvre" (pronounced shy dewver, a favourite word

  of my aunt's; being, with the words bongtong and ally mode de

  Parry, the extent of her French vocabulary). "You know the

  dreadful story of that poor poor artist. When he had finished that

  wonderful likeness for the late Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty,

  county Mayo, she wore it in her bosom at the Lord Lieutenant's

  ball, where she played a game of piquet with the Commander-in-

  Chief. What could have made her put the hair of her vulgar

  daughters round Mick's portrait, I can't think; but so it was, as

  you see it this day. 'Madam,' says the Commander-in-Chief, 'if

  that is not my friend Mick Hoggarty, I'm a Dutchman!' Those were

  his Lordship's very words. Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty took

  off the brooch and showed it to him.

  "'Who is the artist?' says my Lord. 'It's the most wonderful

  likeness I ever saw in my life!'

  "'Mulcahy,' says she, 'of Ormond's Quay.'

  "'Begad, I patronise him!' says my Lord; but presently his face

  darkened, and he gave back the picture with a dissatisfied air.

  'There is one fault in that portrait,' said his Lordship, who was a

  rigid disciplinarian; 'and I wonder that my friend Mick, as a

  military man, should have overlooked it.'

  "'What's that?' says Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty.

  "'Madam, he has been painted WITHOUT HIS SWORD-BELT!' And he took

  up the cards again in a passion, and finished the game without

  saying a single word.

  "The news was carried to Mr. Mulcahy the next day, and that

  unfortunate artist WENT MAD IMMEDIATELY! He had set his whole

  reputation upon this miniature, and declared that it should be

  faultless. Such was the effect of the announcement upon his

  susceptible heart! When Mrs. Hoggarty died, your uncle took the

  portrait and always wore it himself. His sisters said it was for

  the sake of the diamond; whereas, ungrateful things! it was merely

  on account of their hair, and his love for the fine arts. As for

  the poor artist, my dear, some people said it was the profuse use

  of spirit that brought on delirium tremens; but I don't believe it.

  Take another glass of Rosolio."

  The telling of this story always put my aunt into great good-

  humour, and she promised at the end of it to pay for the new

  setting of the diamond; desiring me to take it on my arrival in

  London to the great jeweller, Mr. Polonius, and send her the bill.

  "The fact is," said she, "that the gold in which the thing is set

  is worth five guineas at the very least, and you can have the

  diamond reset for two. However, keep the remainder, dear Sam, and

  buy yourself what you please with it."

  With this the old lady bade me adieu. The clock was striking

  twelve as I walked down the village, for the story of Mulcahy

  always took an hour in the telling, and I went away not quite so

  downhearted as when the present was first made to me. "After all,"

  thought I, "a diamond-pin is a handsome thing, and will give me a

  distingue air, though my clothes be never so shabby"--and shabby

  they were without any doubt. "Well," I said, "three guineas, which

  I shall have over, will buy me a couple of pairs of what-d'ye-call-

  'ems;" of which, entre nous, I was in great want, having just then

  done growing, whereas my pantaloons were made a good eighteen

  months before.

  Well, I walked down the village, my hands in my breeches pockets; I

  had poor Mary's purse there, having removed the little things which

  she gave me the day before, and placed them--never mind where: but

  look you, in those days I had a heart, and a warm one too. I had

  Mary's purse ready for my aunt's donation, which never came, and

  with my own little stock of money besides, that Mrs. Hoggarty's

  card parties had lessened by a good five-and-twenty shillings, I

  calculated that, after paying my fare, I should get to town with a

  couple of seven-shilling pieces in my pocket.

  I walked down the village at a deuce of a pace; so quick that, if

  the thing had been possible, I should have overtaken ten o'clock

  that had passed by me two hours ago, when I was listening to Mrs.

  H.'s long stories over her terrible Rosolio. The truth is, at ten

  I had an appointment under a certain person's window, who was to

  have been looking at the moon at that hour, with her pretty quilled

  nightcap on, and her blessed hair in papers.

  There was the window shut, and not so much as a candle in it; and

  though I hemmed and hawed, and whistled over the garden paling, and

  sang a song of which Somebody was very fond, and even threw a

  pebble at the window, which hit it exactly at the opening of the

  lattice,--I woke no one except a great brute of a house-dog, that

  yelled, and howled, and bounced so at me over the rails, that I

  thought every moment he would have had my nose between his teeth.

  So I was obliged to go off as quickly as might be; and the next

  morning Mamma and my sisters made breakfast for me at four, and at

  five came the "True Blue" light six-inside post-coach to London,

  and I got up on the roof without having seen Mary Smith.

  As we passed the house, it DID seem as if the window curtain in her

  room was drawn aside just a little bit. Certainly the window was

  open, and it had been shut the night before: but away went the

  coach; and the village, cottage, and the churchyard, and Hicks's

  hayricks were soon out of sight.

  * * *

  "My hi, what a pin!" said a stable-boy, who was smoking a cigar, to

  the guard, looking at me and putting his finger to his nose.

  The fact is, that I had never undressed since my aunt's party; and

  being uneasy in mind and having all my clothes to pack up, and

  thinking of something else, had quite forgotten Mrs. Hoggarty's

  brooch, which I had stuck into my shirt-frill the night before.

  CHAPTER II

  TELLS HOW THE DIAMOND IS BROUGHT UP TO LONDON, AND PRODUCES

  WONDERFUL EFFECTS BOTH IN THE CITY AND AT THE WEST END

  The circumstances recorded in this story took place some score of

  years ago, when, as the reader may remember, there was a great

  mania in the City of London for establishing companies of all

  sorts; by which many people made pretty fortunes.

  I was at this period, as the truth must be known, thirteenth clerk

  of twenty-four young gents who did the immense business of the

  Independent West Diddlesex Fire and Life Insurance Company,
at

  their splendid stone mansion in Cornhill. Mamma had sunk a sum of

  four hundred pounds in the purchase of an annuity at this office,

  which paid her no less than six-and-thirty pounds a year, when no

  other company in London would give her more than twenty-four. The

  chairman of the directors was the great Mr. Brough, of the house of

  Brough and Hoff, Crutched Friars, Turkey Merchants. It was a new

  house, but did a tremendous business in the fig and sponge way, and

  more in the Zante currant line than any other firm in the City.

  Brough was a great man among the Dissenting connection, and you saw

  his name for hundreds at the head of every charitable society

  patronised by those good people. He had nine clerks residing at

  his office in Crutched Friars; he would not take one without a

  certificate from the schoolmaster and clergyman of his native

  place, strongly vouching for his morals and doctrine; and the

  places were so run after, that he got a premium of four or five

  hundred pounds with each young gent, whom he made to slave for ten

  hours a day, and to whom in compensation he taught all the

  mysteries of the Turkish business. He was a great man on 'Change,

  too; and our young chaps used to hear from the stockbrokers' clerks

  (we commonly dined together at the "Cock and Woolpack," a

  respectable house, where you get a capital cut of meat, bread,

  vegetables, cheese, half a pint of porter, and a penny to the

  waiter, for a shilling)--the young stockbrokers used to tell us of

  immense bargains in Spanish, Greek, and Columbians, that Brough

  made. Hoff had nothing to do with them, but stopped at home

  minding exclusively the business of the house. He was a young

  chap, very quiet and steady, of the Quaker persuasion, and had been

  taken into partnership by Brough for a matter of thirty thousand

  pounds: and a very good bargain too. I was told in the strictest

  confidence that the house one year with another divided a good

  seven thousand pounds: of which Brough had half, Hoff two-sixths,

  and the other sixth went to old Tudlow, who had been Mr. Brough's

  clerk before the new partnership began. Tudlow always went about

  very shabby, and we thought him an old miser. One of our gents,

  Bob Swinney by name, used to say that Tudlow's share was all

  nonsense, and that Brough had it all; but Bob was always too

  knowing by half, used to wear a green cutaway coat, and had his

  free admission to Covent Garden Theatre. He was always talking

  down at the shop, as we called it (it wasn't a shop, but as

  splendid an office as any in Cornhill)--he was always talking about

  Vestris and Miss Tree, and singing

  "The bramble, the bramble,

  The jolly jolly bramble!"

  one of Charles Kemble's famous songs in "Maid Marian;" a play that

  was all the rage then, taken from a famous story-book by one

  Peacock, a clerk in the India House; and a precious good place he

  has too.

  When Brough heard how Master Swinney abused him, and had his

  admission to the theatre, he came one day down to the office where

  we all were, four-and-twenty of us, and made one of the most

  beautiful speeches I ever heard in my life. He said that for

  slander he did not care, contumely was the lot of every public man

  who had austere principles of his own, and acted by them austerely;

  but what he DID care for was the character of every single

  gentleman forming a part of the Independent West Diddlesex

  Association. The welfare of thousands was in their keeping;

  millions of money were daily passing through their hands; the City-

  -the country looked upon them for order, honesty, and good example.

  And if he found amongst those whom he considered as his children--

  those whom he loved as his own flesh and blood--that that order was

  departed from, that that regularity was not maintained, that that