pocket of his dreadnought, the other contained
her miniature, which he dreaded the night before that my
indiscretion would produce, to the derision of the men, the distress
and confusion of the young lady herself, and the possible
displeasure of her brother. Mr. Morton Berkeley's manners to me
after that were again, as they always had been, respectful and
rather reserved; the subject of our "fight" was never again alluded
to, and he remained to me a gentle, shy, courteous (and romantic)
gentleman.

He was habitually silent, but when he did speak, he was very apt to
say something apposite, and generally containing the pith of the
matter under discussion. I remember once, when I was reproaching his
brother Henry and his sister with what I thought the unbecoming
manner in which they criticised the deportment and delivery of a
clergyman whose sermon they had just listened to (and who certainly
was rather an unfortunate specimen of outward divinity), Mr. Morton
Berkeley suddenly turned to me, and said, "Why, Mrs. Butler, he is
only the rusty bars the light shines through"--a quotation, in fact,
but a very apposite one, and I am not sure but that it was an
unconscious one, and an original illustration on his part.

Mr. Thomas Duncombe, the notorious Radical Member for Finsbury, very
generally and very disrespectfully designated in the London society
of his day as "Tommy Duncombe," and Mr. Maxse (Lady Caroline
Berkeley's husband), were also among the persons with whom I became
acquainted at Cranford.

Of a curious feat of charioteership performed by the latter
gentleman I was told once by the Duke of Beaufort, who said he had
derived from it the nickname of "Go-along Maxse." Driving late one
night with a friend on a turnpike road after the gates were closed,
he said to his companion, "Now, if the turnpike we are just coming
to is shut, I'll take the horse and gig over the gate." The gig was
light, the horse powerful and swift. As they bowled along and came
in sight of the gate, they perceived that it was closed; when Mr.
Maxse's companion calling out to him, "Go-along, Maxse," that
gentleman fulfilled his threat or promise, whichever it might be,
and put his horse full at the gate, which the gallant creature
cleared, bringing the carriage and its live freight safe to the
ground