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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Penelope: or, Love's Labour Lost. Vol. 2 of 3, by William Pitt Scargill.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44159 ***</div>
<div class="tnote covernote">
<p class="noind">The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
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<h1>PENELOPE:<br />
<span class="x-small">OR,</span><br />
LOVE’S LABOUR LOST.</h1>
<p class="frontispiece p2">A NOVEL.</p>
<p class="small frontispiece p2">IN THREE VOLUMES.</p>
<p class="frontispiece p2 big">II.</p>
<hr class="r5" />
<p class="p6 frontispiece">
LONDON:<br />
<span class="small">PRINTED FOR HUNT AND CLARKE,</span><br />
<span class="x-small">YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.</span><br />
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<p class="frontispiece">1828.</p>
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LONDON:<br />
<span class="small">PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.</span><br />
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<p class="p6 frontispiece big b2">PENELOPE:<br />
<span class="small">OR,</span><br />
LOVE’S LABOUR LOST.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>Table of Contents</h2>
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<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Chapter XVIII.</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX.</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Lord Spoonbill</span> was not less disappointed than
the Countess of Smatterton, to hear that Penelope
was in daily expectation of seeing her father.
Hereditary legislators are sometimes perplexed,
and in the present case the son of the Earl of
Smatterton was in a state of grievous doubt and
agitation.</p>
<p>His object in the first instance had been to
take Penelope under his protection, and he supposed
that if the correspondence between her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
and Robert Darnley could be broken off, there
would be very little difficulty in inducing her to
comply with his proposals. For it was his intention
to make a most liberal settlement and to
place her in a very handsome establishment.
Living as he had always in splendour, and
enjoying the luxuries and ostentation of wealth,
though accustomed to them from his birth, he
thought, that to one educated in such humble
obscurity as Penelope had been, these fascinations
would be irresistible. During the short
time that he had been under the same roof with
her, he had seen and observed more of the
character of her mind, and he felt that it was not
personal beauty alone that she possessed, but
that her disposition was kind and her temper
beautiful; and therefore he loved her with a
much purer regard than ever he had before
entertained for any one of the sex. He loved her
so much, in fact, that he absolutely regretted
that her rank in life was not nearer to his own.</p>
<p>It now also occurred to him, from what he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
had heard in the autumn, that it was very
probable that Robert Darnley might be in
England, and that through the intervention of
Mr Primrose some explanation might bring the
parties together again, and thus his lordship’s
hopes would be disappointed and his schemes
frustrated. Then there came into his lordship’s
mind the thought of the intercepted letters, and
with that thought the fear that a discovery might
be made as to the manner in which, and the
person by whom, they had been intercepted.
But that fear was transient, for his lordship
confidently said to himself, “It is absolutely
impossible that Nick Muggins should betray
me.” What could his lordship be thinking
about when he uttered this soliloquy? Did the
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill think that the
principle of honor was stronger in the mind of
Nick Muggins, the Smatterton post-boy, than it
was in his own Right Honorable self? Wherein,
did his lordship imagine, consisted the essential<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
superiority of the high born above the sons of
the peasantry? Did his lordship imagine that
the only difference was in titles and soft white
hands? It is not for us to know what lords
may think, it is enough for us to gaze with
wonderment on what they do.</p>
<p>Present circumstances and present feelings
compelled Lord Spoonbill to enter into serious
deliberation with himself as to what step he
should pursue. He could not for a moment
admit the possibility of making an honorable
offer of his hand to the young lady; such a
proposal would have been the death of the Earl
of Smatterton. That offer, which his lordship
gravely called the other proposal, required a
little more circumlocution and management; for
his lordship was not quite so simple as not to be
aware that, if making the first proposal was condescension
on his part, accepting the latter would
be condescension on the part of the lady. There
was required for this purpose a tolerably strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
attachment to his lordship, which might not yet
exist in the lady’s mind. And though Lord
Spoonbill was not by any means a man of great
understanding or extraordinary penetration, yet
in those matters in which he was most conversant
he was not altogether unskilful. In pursuits
of a similar nature to the present, his
lordship was by no means inexpert; but, in the
present instance, he knew that the person in
question was gifted with mental powers superior
to those which had belonged to his previous
victims, and his own regard for her was somewhat
more tender and respectful.</p>
<p>These considerations on the one hand told his
lordship that success would be endangered by
precipitancy, while the fact that Mr Primrose, in
the course of a day or two, would make his
appearance, rendered it necessary that some
immediate steps should be taken. It is a great
pity that hereditary legislators, who are born to
govern a nation, should in any case be incapable
of legislating for themselves. Such a case now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
occurred. Lord Spoonbill thought of calling to
his aid the counsel of a friend. For this purpose
he forthwith ordered his horse for a morning
ride; and, after an unmercifully rapid gallop of
ten miles, he dismounted at the door of one of
the prettiest little cottages within twenty miles
of London.</p>
<p>This cottage was almost secluded from the
sight of the world, but was yet within reach of
life’s gaieties and luxuries. Its secludedness
was owing partly to the immensely thick plantations
by which it was hidden from the road, and
partly to the narrow and almost imperceptible
lane which led to it. The external appearance
of the plantation was rugged and uncultivated
and neglected; and this appearance was, on
the part of the owner and occupier of the place,
cunningly intentional. He was a man who loved
seclusion, but who loved the world; but the
world which he loved was not the miscellaneous
world of promiscuous humanity; it was only the
world of select and superfastidious fashion, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
graceful gaiety and refined voluptuousness. He
loved society not as society, but as the means
of more intense and effective sensual gratification.
Our readers, we trust, will excuse and
accompany us if we describe with very particular
minuteness this very singular character. He
belonged not to any class, or tribe, or general
description of men; for if he had, a few words
of outline would suffice to state the class to
which he belonged, and imagination or observation
might supply the rest. But he was a
perfect unique.</p>
<p>His personal appearance was striking, though
not marked by any decided or obvious singularity.
He was tall and well formed, finely
proportioned and of graceful carriage. The top
of his head was entirely and shiningly bald;
his complexion was fair, and there was for the
most part a look of good humour and easy gaiety
in his countenance; but an attentive observer
might occasionally perceive a transient cloudiness
that looked like disappointment, and there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
were also visible traces of slight asperity and
symptoms of sneer and contemptuousness. In
his dress he was fastidiously accurate and expensively
splendid. He regarded fashion no farther
than as it gave him an opportunity of exhibiting
himself to the greatest possible advantage.</p>
<p>Of the qualities of his mind it is difficult to
speak intelligibly. He was intellectual, though
sensual; his reading was remarkably limited,
and his knowledge as remarkably extensive. He
had received the rudiments of his education at
Westminster, and had finished his studies at
Cambridge, at which place he had become acquainted
with Lord Spoonbill. But, notwithstanding
all the opportunities which had been
afforded him, he had not made what is called
progress in literature. He was perfect in no
species of knowledge or science which is derivable
from books. He had learned Greek, Latin,
French, Italian and German, but he was familiar
with none of them. He had slightly attended
to the exact sciences, but he had forgotten of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
them everything but their existence. He had
read ancient and modern history; his recollection
of them was little, but clear, and when he had
any occasion to speak of any of their facts or their
philosophies, he generally spoke with accuracy,
and thereby acquired a reputation, which he had
no wish or ambition to acquire, of being a well
read man. Few people speak Greek or Latin,
and therefore our gentleman, not being examined,
passed for a scholar. Everybody who pretends
to any degree of refinement or fashion, interslops
his own native language with an ungrammatical
nasal blattering, called quoting French; and our
gentleman had picked up enough of that affected
trumpery to pass well in the society which he
occasionally frequented. With how small a
portion of real literature and actual knowledge
a man may pass muster in society, is only known
to those who love the reputation of scholarship
better than its toils.</p>
<p>The gentleman of whom we are speaking was
too politic to trouble himself about politics. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
politics, if the theory of such an indolent one
may be called by that name, were Ascendancy
politics. Those are the best subjects who never
trouble their heads about politics: if we were
king we should always encourage and patronize
such people. The tame negroes in the West
India islands do not trouble their heads about
politics, nor do the subjects of the Emperor of
Morocco, or the King of Persia, for if they did,
their heads would soon cease to trouble them.
The people of the United States do trouble their
heads, but the time may come when there may
be in that part of the world a great multitude
who will not trouble their heads about politics;
it will then be a much pleasanter thing to be
king of America than it would now. But while
we say that our gentleman was indifferent to
politics, and therefore a good subject, we by no
means wish it to be understood that he was a
Tory, for Tories do trouble their heads about
politics, and trouble other people’s heads too.</p>
<p>This person eschewed partisanship, because it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
would give him trouble to belong to a party.
His principle was to possess and enjoy animally
every luxury within his reach; but at the same
time to avoid those excesses which are palpably
and obviously ruinous to the constitution. He
had made the experiment for very few years, but
he began to find thus early that the experiment
was not likely to succeed. For want of exertion
and activity the keenness of his relish had
already begun to abate; and by carefully extracting
the bitter ingredients from life’s cup and
casting them away, he found that its sweets
were sickening and saturating. Whatever was
annoying to mind or body, he endeavoured, and
in most cases successfully, to avoid. But there
was gradually and surely coming upon him the
bitterest of all annoyances; that kind of mental
suffering which is only describable in the language
of paradox, and which we will set down
for the purpose of giving the purblind puppies
of criticism something to yelp at. He was then
beginning to feel the bitterness of sweetness, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
darkness of light, the discord of harmony, the
solitude of society, the weariness of rest, the
deformity of beauty; but he knew not how
and from whence this annoyance was coming
upon him. He had felt that sensibility was
painful, and he had suppressed or neutralized it;
he avoided the sight or thought of suffering, for
he felt that sympathy with pain was painful.
He had not exercised the powers of his mind, lest
that exercise should interfere with that system of
luxurious enjoyment which he had adopted.
He had despised and derided the moral feeling,
and had studiously guarded himself against all
reproofs which conscience might administer to
him. But with all this care he experienced
feelings far more oppressive than those against
which he guarded.</p>
<p>Now the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill was
also a man of no mental exertion, but he was
a man of no mental power; he also was sensual,
but his was not a deliberate and studied sensuality,
it was purely animal and instinctive.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
He was an Epicurean, but not an Epicurean
philosopher. At Cambridge he had been acquainted
with this Mr Erpingham, and he had
admired the dextrous sophistry by which this
gentleman had proved the worse to be the better
cause. Mr Erpingham had also been proud of
the acquaintance with nobility, though Lord
Spoonbill was a younger man than he. And
they had become the confidents and companions
of each others profligacies.</p>
<p>In a difficulty therefore of that kind to which
we have above alluded, it is not to be wondered
at that his lordship should enter into consultation,
or at least into conversation, concerning
the subject with his good friend Erpingham.</p>
<p>We would not, however, have our readers
imagine that Lord Spoonbill was quite such a
ninny as to make it the subject of deliberate
consultation and express enquiry, to learn what
he ought to do on the present occasion; he
merely meant to make a call upon his friend,
and he was prompted to make that call by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
circumstances in which he was then placed with
regard to Penelope Primrose. His object was
to talk the matter over, and he certainly could
not have selected a properer person to take part
in such conversation.</p>
<p>The two friends had not met for some time; the
interview was agreeable therefore to both parties;
for they had a great mutual respect for each other:
Lord Spoonbill admired Mr Erpingham’s talents,
and Mr Erpingham had a high respect for Lord
Spoonbill’s title and high connexions.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Lord Spoonbill</span> was ushered into an apartment,
the air of which was warm and fragrant:
the warmth came from Newcastle, and the
fragrancy from Bond street. At first entering
the room his lordship saw not any one to whom
his name could have been announced. The
servant who had opened the door for him closed
it immediately behind him, and he seemed to
be in an empty apartment. By an instinct
natural to an Englishman he advanced towards
the fire-place, and there he presently saw on a
sofa, the back of which was towards the door,
his friend Erpingham reclining at full length,
and having before him an open volume placed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
on a low table, which had been constructed and
adapted for reading on a sofa. This was what
Erpingham called “reading made easy.”</p>
<p>His lordship expressed by his looks some surprise
that his friend should not rise from the
sofa, and said, “Erpingham! are you unwell?”</p>
<p>“Ah! Spoonbill, is it you? Excuse my not
rising to receive you; but the fact is, I have
been trying for the last hour and a half to get
into an easy position, and I have but just accomplished
it, and if I move now I shall not be
able to recover the position, and you know how
wretched that sensation is. Well, how are the
old materials?”</p>
<p>This last question referred to the health of
the Earl and Countess of Smatterton; and it
was a phrase which Erpingham had learned
from Lord Spoonbill himself.</p>
<p>To this question Lord Spoonbill made the
regular response, and continued,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> “How is it,
Erpingham, that I never have the pleasure of
seeing you unless I ride over to you?”</p>
<p>“Can’t say,” was the careless reply: “but,”
continued the Epicurean, “I am not partial to
mixed company. Now your house in town is too
multitudinous for me.—But my Clarissa tells
me that the Countess of Smatterton is going
to astonish the whole world by introducing a
new first-rate voice.”</p>
<p>For explanation, it may be enough to inform
the reader that Clarissa held the same place in
Mr Erpingham’s establishment as Lord Spoonbill
wished Penelope to hold in his. His lordship
therefore was not sorry that the subject
should be thus introduced, and he replied:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
<p>“Exactly so. But we have our doubts whether
the lady will, under present circumstances,
assent to the arrangement: for when she came
to London, it was as an orphan, but now her
father has returned from India after a long, and,
I suppose, a profitable absence. Mr Primrose,
the father, is now on his way from Smatterton,
and he has said in his letter to his daughter,
that he is about to place her in a home of his
own. So I fear we shall lose this star.”</p>
<p>Mr Erpingham did not lay anything very
much to heart, and therefore he did not express
any serious lamentation on this probable loss.
He directed his remarks to other matters; and
among other questions which he asked of Lord
Spoonbill, alluding to the circumstances and
events of his lordship’s life, he enquired: “And
have you got rid of your dear little Ellen at last?
You had a great deal of trouble with her, I think
you told me some time ago.”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill was quite as profligate as his
elegant friend, but he had not so successfully
and completely neutralized all his feelings.
Though his profligacy therefore was coarser
than that of Erpingham, and though his lordship
was not over gifted with sensibility, yet
he was not so entirely and systematically heartless.
To this question concerning poor Ellen
he shook his head, and said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
<p>“Why, yes; I was sorry for the poor thing
too: she was very much in love with me at
one time, I really believe.”</p>
<p>“Ay,” replied Erpingham, “that was bad.
It is quite annoying to have a woman in love
with one. I could not endure it. I make
it a rule never to encourage anything of the
kind. You were too much addicted to sentimentality
when you were at Cambridge. I suspect
now that you are more than half in love
with this Miss Primrose. Is she pretty and
silly?”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill frowned at the question, and
did not answer it.</p>
<p>“Oh, well,” replied his friend, “I have no
wish to be in your confidence. Pray don’t tell
me any more of your secrets than you wish
me to know. And if you are going to talk as
much nonsense to me about Miss Primrose as
you did two years ago about your ‘dear little
Ellen,’ I must beg to be excused. Positively,
Spoonbill, I have grown quite nervous of late.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
<p>“I think,” replied his lordship, “you have
grown quite provoking. I have no intention of
boring your ears with any sentimentality, as you
are pleased to call it.”</p>
<p>This being uttered in a petulant tone, and
Erpingham not liking to take the trouble of
replying in the same tone, contented himself
with indolently saying:</p>
<p>“Well, well, don’t be angry. Say what you
please. I will bear it very patiently.”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill having but little time to
spare, and being very desirous of unburthening
his mind to his friend, suffered this kind of
careless half-apology to extract from him the
secret of his attachment to Penelope. Erpingham
listened as attentively as he could to the
story, and when it was finished he yawned out,
“Ah! sure! But what assistance can I give
you?”</p>
<p>It was not very easy to answer that question.
His lordship was more disposed indeed to ask
questions than answer them, and therefore, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>stead
of replying to the question of his friend,
he said: “Now what would you advise me to
do?”</p>
<p>“Make her an offer of a handsome establishment.
I suppose she is violently in love
with you.”</p>
<p>“I cannot be quite sure of that,” replied his
lordship; “but I believe I am not quite disagreeable
to her.”</p>
<p>“There is something in that,” replied Erpingham;
“but not much. According to your account
of this Miss Primrose, it should seem
that she is of a good family, and perhaps the
arrangement that you contemplate would not be
acceded to.”</p>
<p>“That,” answered his lordship, “is what I
most fear; and I will acknowledge to you that
I am so far in love, that rather than lose her
I would actually marry her.”</p>
<p>“Marry her,” exclaimed the Epicurean;
“marry her! Impossible!” Saying this, Erpingham
roused himself from his indolent loung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>ing
posture, and with much greater energy than
he was accustomed to use, he said: “Spoonbill,
I am not much in the habit of either giving or
taking advice, but I will for once so far advise
you as to say, that if you contemplate marrying
Miss Primrose, you must not on any account
whatever make her any other offer.”</p>
<p>“Why so?” replied his booby lordship, with
a stare of awkward astonishment.</p>
<p>“Why so!” echoed his friend;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> “because, if
the young lady has a proper sense of her own
dignity, she will not accept an offer of marriage
from one who has made her an offer of another
description; and if she has not that sense of
dignity, but merely makes a profitable market
of your passion for her, she will despise you for
a fond fool, and you, when your fondness is
over, will look upon her as a cunning, artful
baggage. I know nothing about Miss Primrose;
but I am very sure that no woman is fit to be
a wife who could ever forgive a proposal of a
different description.”</p>
<p>The sagacious hereditary legislator could not
understand this logic, and he stared at his friend
as if he thought that he was crazy. “Bless
my soul, Erpingham,” at length he said, “what
nonsense you are talking. I really cannot understand
you. What can be more natural and
regular than to offer her marriage, if she will
not accept me on any other terms. You talk
about hating sentimentality; I am sure you
are now talking as much sentimentality as any
one need wish to hear.”</p>
<p>Erpingham had exerted himself so much by
the two last speeches which he had made, as
not to wish to continue the discussion, or to
undergo any more blundering interrogations from
his noble friend; he therefore began to resume
his indolent attitude, and said, “Well, do as
you like best, Spoonbill, only remember I did
not refuse my advice when you asked it. Will
you stop now and take your dinner with me?”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill was not any more disposed
than his friend to carry on the discourse, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
therefore declined the invitation to dine, and
made the best of his way home again. As he
rode homewards he attempted to think, but he
found no small difficulty in that mental operation.
There are some advertising schoolmasters who
profess to teach their pupils to think; but as
we were not educated in one of these thought-mongering
seminaries, we cannot think how
thinking can be taught. It may be possible,
for the only impossibility in these days is to
decide à priori that anything is impossible.
But we do verily believe that, had Lord Spoonbill
been at one of these establishments, he
would have puzzled his preceptor as much as
his preceptor would have puzzled him.</p>
<p>By the time that his lordship had arrived at
home he had come to the conclusion of his
thinking, and the result was, that he thought
Erpingham to be quite an altered man; and
he also thought that he would not follow the
ridiculous advice which his friend had given
him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
<p>Penelope made her appearance at dinner, and
looked, as Lord Spoonbill said, most divinely.
How Lord Spoonbill should know what divine
looks are, we cannot tell: perhaps he meant
that Penelope looked like a parson. However
Penelope might look at dinner, it is very certain
that Lord Spoonbill looked very much at Penelope.
But the young lady’s thoughts were so
pleasingly and agreeably engaged, and her anticipations
were so delightful, that everybody
and everything appeared agreeable to her. It
was very different with the Countess of Smatterton.
Her anticipations were not very pleasant:
her ladyship apprehended that the return of
Mr Primrose to England would be the destruction
of her prospects, as far as they related to
Miss Primrose. Having already observed that
the young lady had manifested some reluctance
to the public exhibition of her musical talents,
the Countess very naturally supposed that Mr
Primrose would indulge an only child in whatever
fancy she might take up.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
<p>It was unfortunate also for the Countess, that
she could not easily suppress her feelings of
displeasure or dissatisfaction when any of her
favourite fancies were disappointed. Having
already so far committed herself among her rival
prodigy-fanciers as to make a kind of preliminary
exhibition of her newly discovered wonder,
her ladyship felt that it would be very mortifying
indeed to make her appearance in town
without fulfilling the high promises which she
had made, and gratifying the expectations which
she had raised.</p>
<p>It is mortifying to spend money for nothing;
but it is infinitely more mortifying to be at the
expense of a prodigious deal of condescension
to answer at last no good or self-gratifying
end. This was the loss and the mortification
which the Countess of Smatterton now suffered,
or at least anticipated. Instead therefore of
the usual courteous manner which her ladyship
had hitherto manifested towards the niece
of the late rector of Smatterton, there was cold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>ness,
haughtiness, and silence. The Earl of
Smatterton had not so quick a perception as
the Countess, and he had not anticipated any
disappointment in the return of Penelope’s
father to England. His lordship still continued
to sport the condescensions, and he did
not take any notice whatever of her ladyship’s
fit of ill-humour. When stupid men are henpecked
they often receive more pity than they
need, for they are very frequently insensible
to many of the ill-humours of their mates.</p>
<p>Now, as the Countess was silent, an opportunity
was offered for his lordship to talk.
Happy would it be if all married people would
talk only one at a time.</p>
<p>“And so, Miss Primrose,” thus spake the
Earl of Smatterton, “I find that you expect
shortly to see your father. It is a long while,
I think, since you have seen him?”</p>
<p>“It is sixteen years, my lord,” answered
Penelope.</p>
<p>“Sixteen years!” repeated his lordship:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> “you
will hardly recollect him. The meeting, I dare
say, will be very interesting. And may I ask,
what time in the day you expect your father?”</p>
<p>“I fear it will be late in the day, my lord,
for my father will not arrive in London till
twelve or one o’clock. His letter tells me that
he will call soon after that time at your lordship’s
house in town, where he supposes I now
am.”</p>
<p>“He will be disappointed at not finding you
in town,” said Lord Smatterton.</p>
<p>There was much truth in this last remark of
his lordship’s. The Earl was somewhat remarkable
for the intense and unquestionable truth of
many of his remarks. He was by no means
given to what is called romancing. Indeed,
so exquisitely and unquestionably true was this
observation, that Penelope thought it needed
not the corroboration of her assent, but that it
must carry conviction to every mind. And so
it did; and especially to the mind of the Countess,
who immediately observed:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> “Perhaps it
may be agreeable to Miss Primrose to go to
town early to-morrow morning for the purpose
of meeting her father.”</p>
<p>Her ladyship made this proposal because she
had no desire to entertain Mr Primrose, and
she thought that if Penelope was to be taken
from her patronage at all, the sooner it was
done the better. What prodigious lies patrons
and patronesses do tell when they profess to
have no other object in view than the welfare
and happiness of those whom they patronise.
The Countess of Smatterton had been pleasing
herself with the thought that she should be
the talk of the season, as producing and exhibiting
such a prodigy as Miss Primrose; and
her ladyship, who was very partial to thanks,
had been enjoying the anticipation of Penelope’s
overpowering gratitude for such distinguished
and desirable patronage. But when all these
pleasant and agreeable speculations seemed to
burst like a bubble, then was her ladyship very
angry and morose; and it was her wish to let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
Penelope know how deeply the disappointment
was felt. There were no words however which
her ladyship could use expressive of her feelings,
and at the same time reproachful to Miss
Primrose. It was not Penelope’s fault that her
father, after an absence of sixteen years, was
now returned to England; nor would it have
been proper and just ground of rebuke that the
young lady should be pleased at the thought of
seeing her father again, and be ready to yield
herself to his direction in preference to undergoing
the precarious patronage of the great.</p>
<p>Lady Smatterton was not the less ill-humoured
because she had no just ground on which she
might utter the language of expostulation and
reproof to Penelope, but on the contrary her
anger was greater: for had there been an opportunity
of indulging in language of reproach,
that very circumstance would have been a relief
and consolation. It was not therefore with a
very agreeable intonation nor with the accompaniment
of the most gracious of all possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
looks that her ladyship proposed that Penelope
should go to town to meet her father. But the
poor girl being happy in her own thoughts, and
unconscious of anything done or said by her
that could be offensive to the Countess, was
quite unobservant of the harshness of her ladyship’s
manner, and thought only of the substantial
kindness of the proposal. To the suggestion
of the Countess Penelope therefore
replied with grateful and pleasurable vivacity:</p>
<p>“Your ladyship is extremely kind; and, if
it is not giving too much trouble, I should certainly
be happy to take the earliest opportunity
of meeting my father.”</p>
<p>“It will be giving no trouble,” hastily and
sharply replied her ladyship; “there are coaches
to town almost every hour. They will tell you
in the housekeeper’s room what time the first
coach goes.”</p>
<p>Some high-spirited young ladies would have
been mightily indignant at a reference from a
nobleman’s table to the housekeeper’s room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
and stage-coaches. But Penelope was not so
high-spirited; she was so completely occupied
with the thought of an early meeting with her
father, that nothing else was able to obtain possession
of her mind.</p>
<p>A momentary pause followed the last observation
of the Countess; and then, in his own
peculiarly majestic manner, the Earl of Smatterton
said, “I am of opinion that it is not quite
proper and suitable for a young lady to travel
in a stage alone and unprotected.”</p>
<p>With exquisite, and as if premeditated,
promptitude Lord Spoonbill replied, “Certainly
not; but there will be no necessity for
Miss Primrose going alone or in the stage-coach
at all. I shall drive up to town tomorrow
morning, and if the young lady will accept of
a seat in my gig, I shall be most happy in her
company.”</p>
<p>Hereupon a general family frowning took
place. The Countess frowned at the Earl, his
lordship frowned at Lord Spoonbill, and Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
Spoonbill frowned at the Countess; and if Penelope
had not been too polite she would have
laughed at all three. Lord Spoonbill, however,
in spite of frowns, determined to have his own
way, and seeing that Penelope was desirous of
going to town, insisted on accompanying her.</p>
<p>The Countess was next puzzled how to part
with Miss Primrose; whether as concluding that
the young lady would not return to her and
adopt the profession which had been recommended
by her ladyship, or as admitting the
probability that Mr Primrose would not object
to the public employment of his daughter’s
musical talents. For with all her ladyship’s
alarm at the return of Mr Primrose to England,
it had not yet appeared that his return would
interfere with her ladyship’s schemes. The probability
however was, that when there was no
pecuniary necessity for the exercise of these
talents, they would not be cultivated for public
display.</p>
<p>Before the Countess parted from Penelope for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
the night, her ladyship said, “Miss Primrose,
as I presume that your father may not object
to the profession which I have chosen for you,
may I ask when it will be convenient for you
to take lessons previous to your public appearance:
for it is now time to think of that matter?
Of course you know that I have engaged a preceptor
for you?”</p>
<p>The Countess of <ins title="original: Smattertno">Smatterton</ins> had more fears
than hopes on the subject, and as for Penelope
herself, she had taken it for granted that the
return of her father would of course release her
from dependence on strangers, and consequently
render all professional employment unnecessary.
She was therefore startled at the question, but
with tolerable promptitude and presence of mind,
replied:</p>
<p>“I am grateful for your ladyship’s kindness.
But, till I have seen my father, it is impossible
to say when I can begin to apply myself to the
instruction so kindly provided. I will return
as soon as——”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
<p>The Countess understood this sentence, and
answered with rather more asperity than became
a kind and condescending patron: “You
need not trouble yourself to return to me, Miss
Primrose, unless you please to accept of the
instruction that I have provided for you. If I
confer favours I expect to choose what favours
I shall confer.”</p>
<p>Penelope made no reply, for her heart was
full, and she thought of Mrs Greendale; but,
under all this, the joy at the thought of her
father’s return kept her spirits from sinking.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">It was</span> a very fine morning when Lord Spoonbill’s
gig was brought to the door to convey
Penelope to London. The young lady was joyful
even to tears. Hers was a joy of such intoxicating
and almost bewildering nature, that
it became necessary for her to exercise some
restraint over herself, lest she should make herself
ridiculous by ungoverned prating. Lord
Spoonbill was also pleased with the commission
which he had given to himself, to conduct the
young lady to town. But his pleasure was
mingled with thoughtfulness, and alloyed by
meditating and contriving. He not been inexperienced
in the winning of female affection,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
but he was conscious that there was in the mind
of Penelope something widely different from and
far superior to those with whom his former intimacies
had been.</p>
<p>Deeply and seriously did he endeavour to
revolve in his mind the advice which he had
received from his friend Erpingham. But his
lordship’s mind was unfortunately too narrow
and contracted to afford room for anything to
turn round in it. He tried and tried, but all
to no purpose, to understand what Erpingham
could possibly mean, when he said that a
woman is not fit for a wife who can forgive
an offer of a different description. His lordship,
on the contrary, thought that a woman is not
fit for a wife who is of an unforgiving disposition.</p>
<p>So far indeed as his lordship’s own personal
feelings were concerned he would have had no
objection whatever to offer his hand to Miss
Primrose; an offer which he thought of course
could not possibly be rejected. But then again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
he thought of his dignity; and he remembered
how very severely he had spoken, and how very
contemptibly he had thought, of some titled individuals
who had so far compromised their dignity
as to marry from the lower orders. Yet there
was something so elegant and so naturally noble
in Penelope’s look, manner, expression, tone of
voice, carriage and person, that nature itself
seemed to have ennobled her. She seemed fitted
for any station in society. This was all very
true; but Lord Spoonbill could not for all this
reconcile his mind to the thought of raising Miss
Primrose to the exalted rank of the Spoonbill
family. He was fearful too that the degradation
would break his mother’s heart. All these
thoughts, if thoughts they might be called, with
myriads more of the same complexion and tendency,
passed through the mind, if mind he had
any, of the son and heir of the Right Honorable
the Earl of Smatterton.</p>
<p>We have said it was a fine morning, and if
two of the English nation can on such a morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
travel together without talking about the fineness
of the weather, when it is really fine, they are
two that we have never seen, heard, or read of.</p>
<p>“We have a beautiful morning for our ride,
Miss Primrose,” said Lord Spoonbill.</p>
<p>“Beautiful, indeed,” replied Penelope; and
she said it with such energy, with such heart-bounding
glee, as if the sun had never shewn her
its cloudless face before. And never indeed had
it shone so brightly before to her. There is
something peculiarly and positively beautiful in
a fine bright day in the midst of winter. The
shortness of its light adds to its intensity and
condenses its interest. But when there is sunshine
within as well as without, and when the
heart is young, pure, hopeful and buoyant, then
is there felt a revelry of delight, a wantonness of
happiness. So felt Penelope on this bright and
brilliant winter’s morning. And when there was
added to the joyous feeling within and to the
effect of the spirit-stirring anticipation with
which she set out on her journey, the bracing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
and sharpening of an almost frosty air, her fine
countenance was suffused with as brilliant a hue
as ever graced the human countenance. As far
as life excels the art of the sculptor, so far did
the countenance of Penelope on this morning’s
journey excel in brightness and beauty its
ordinary expression. “We are not stocks and
stones.” So thought Lord Spoonbill when he
gazed on the lovely one who sat beside him. He
almost felt the majesty of loveliness, and was
almost awed into reverence.</p>
<p>And did not the thought then occur to his
lordship, that the scheme which he was meditating
must of necessity destroy that peace, that
happiness, that purity, which now formed so
lovely and interesting a picture? Did not some
recollection of beauty prematurely fading, of the
burning blushes of self-reproach, of the convulsive
throbbings of breaking hearts, of memory
burdened and writhing under the agony of
thoughts it cannot bear and cannot forget, come
into the mind of the Right Honorable Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
Spoonbill? Did he not recollect poor Ellen,
lovely in her simplicity, happy in her innocence,
the light of her home and the joy of her
widowed mother’s heart? And did he not think
of that same Ellen dropping the tears of agonizing
penitence on that mother’s dying pillow,
and wandering now, for aught he knew to the
contrary, a houseless, shivering, desolate outcast?</p>
<p>No such thoughts entered his mind. Selfishness
and sensuality predominated over, or excluded
all other feelings. He used all the art of
which he was master to render himself agreeable
to his companion during their short journey. He
also exerted all his power of observation to see
whether any symptoms betrayed an interest in
him on the part of Penelope. But in the brightness
of her looks, and the joyousness of her
features, no other emotions were visible and no
other thoughts could be read. His lordship
was convinced that he could not possibly live
without her, and he resolved that at all events he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
would make known his admiration by words
as well as by looks. Like all the rest of the
world, preferring his own judgment to the advice
of any other, he determined that the offer of
marriage should be reserved till he should ascertain
that no other was likely to succeed.</p>
<p>The journey was soon over. They arrived at
the Earl of Smatterton’s town mansion full two
hours before it was likely that Mr Primrose
should be in town. Ten thousand thanks were
given by the grateful Penelope for the kindness
of his lordship, and unnumbered acknowledgments
of the goodness and condescension of the
Earl and Countess of Smatterton. Such were
the joyous feelings of the young lady, that these
thanks and acknowledgments were expressed
with unusual earnestness and warmth of manner;
and such was the modesty of Lord Spoonbill,
that for himself and for his right honorable
parents he disclaimed all right and title to such
a profusion of thanks.</p>
<p>“I beg, Miss Primrose,” said his modest lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>ship,
“that you will not so overwhelm us with
your thanks. We are but too happy in having
had it in our power to afford you any little accommodation.”</p>
<p>“Oh my lord, you are very kind, very kind.
But I am almost afraid that I have said or done
something to offend her ladyship, the Countess;
for, when I took my leave last night, her ladyship
spoke to me as in anger. I fear I did
wrong in so readily accepting the offer to come
to town to meet my father.”</p>
<p>To the ear of Lord Spoonbill there was something
exceedingly graceful and musical in the
tone with which this language was uttered. There
is indeed an indescribable beauty in the accents
of a grateful mind fearful of having offended
its benefactor. His lordship was aware of his
mother’s feelings on the subject of the probable
loss of Penelope, and his lordship was himself
also fearful of losing her. But he did not use
the language of harshness under that apprehen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>sion,
he sought rather to retain her by kindness
of expression. Assuming therefore an unusual
tenderness and considerateness of manner, he
took the young lady’s hand, as if unconsciously,
but in truth designedly, and holding the hand
with sufficient firmness to prevent it being withdrawn,
but not so as to excite suspicion or
thought of intentional seriousness, he said:</p>
<p>“I am very sorry that anything which the
Countess may have said, has given you uneasiness;
but my mother has a peculiar earnestness
and hastiness of manner, that you have mistaken
for anger. No one can ever be offended with
Miss Primrose.”</p>
<p>There was a little pause, during which Lord
Spoonbill endeavoured to catch a glance of the
expression of Penelope’s countenance, without
appearing to make any particular observation;
and, in this short pause, Penelope almost sighed.
Lovers delight to hear sighs, and Lord Spoonbill
was especially pleased at this symptom of emo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>tion
in Miss Primrose. Retaining her hand
therefore, and softening his tone down to deeper
tenderness, he continued:</p>
<p>“The Countess no doubt will be sorry to lose
you, if the return of your father necessarily involves
that condition. But let us hope that may
not be the case.”</p>
<p>Having thus spoken, his lordship pressed
the young lady’s hand more emphatically, and
sighed. Now, by rights, Penelope should at this
have started up, and suddenly withdrawing her
hand, knitting her brows, advancing three steps
backward and darting a look of indignation at
his lordship, should have exclaimed, “Unhand
me, my lord; what is the meaning of this language?”
But Penelope neither did nor said anything
of the kind. For the word ‘unhand’ was
not in her dictionary, and she had been too long
acquainted with Lord Spoonbill to expect that
he should be able to explain the meaning of all
he said. There was also another reason why the
young lady did not thus express indignation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
and astonishment; namely, that having no suspicion
of the views or intentions of his lordship,
she did not observe or rightly interpret his language
and his sigh. In addition to this, it may
be also supposed that the expectation of her
father’s arrival had some influence in rendering
her unobservant of everything else.</p>
<p>Emboldened by the unresisting manner in
which Penelope listened to his conversation, his
lordship proceeded to speak less equivocally,
and grasping with both his hands the still unremoved
hand of Penelope, and assuming a look
and tone of tenderness, he said:</p>
<p>“Pardon me, Miss Primrose, if I seize this
first and perhaps last opportunity of avowing how
dearly I do love you.”</p>
<p>His lordship was about to say much more on
the same interesting topic, but Miss Primrose
interrupted him. The manner in which the interruption
was given was rather singular, and did
not seem at all favorable to his lordship’s hopes.
For, instead of looking serious and frowning and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
attitudinizing, the young lady merely withdrew
her hand, and said with a smile:</p>
<p>“My lord, I hope you are only jesting; but
my feelings are too much interested with the
thought of presently meeting my father, to allow
me now even to enter into the humour of a
jest.”</p>
<p>Thereupon his lordship rose from his seat, laid
his hand upon his heart, and directed to Miss
Primrose a look, which would, on the stage,
have called down deafening plaudits from the
back of the one shilling gallery to the front row
of the pit, and with indescribable earnestness
exclaimed, “By heavens, Miss Primrose, I am
serious!”</p>
<p>To that declaration the young lady replied
seriously, “Then, my lord, I am very sorry to
hear it.”</p>
<p>Thus speaking, Penelope went towards the
window, leaving his lordship to think what he
should say next. The enamoured hereditary
legislator then, undaunted by the smiles or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
frowns of Miss Primrose, followed the young
lady to the window, and in less impassioned but
mildly persuasive tones continued his address,
saying:</p>
<p>“Miss Primrose, may I request of you the
favor to hear me?”</p>
<p>“Certainly, my lord,” replied Penelope, “if
you will hear me first.”</p>
<p>“Most willingly,” replied his lordship.</p>
<p>“Then, my lord,” continued Penelope, “I
must be permitted to say that I feel very much
hurt and surprised at what you have already
said. You have recalled to my mind thoughts
that I would willingly have forgotten; this allusion
will suffice to let your lordship understand
the state of my feelings. I hope you will forbear
the unpleasant discussion. Indeed”—here her
voice was feebler, and her lip quivered, and
the full tear was in her eyes, and her whole frame
trembled, but she did not look the less lovely
for this emotion; summoning an effort, she
continued, “For mercy’s sake, my lord, let me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
meet my father as composedly as I possibly can.
In less than an hour he will be here. Pray do
not rob our meeting of its happiness.”</p>
<p>In saying this she threw herself into the
nearest chair, and covering her face with her
handkerchief she sobbed and wept, and in spite
of herself thought of Robert Darnley. The Right
Honorable Lord Spoonbill also sat down, and
thought of Nick Muggins and the indescribable
pony. But his lordship neither wept nor
blushed. We record this fact rather for its truth
than its beauty. It seems indeed an encouragement
to such sparks as, in their transgressions,
sometimes feel remorse; for it is as much as to
say that, by practice, they will become so familiarized
with meanness and cruelty as to cease to
feel ashamed of them.</p>
<p>His lordship for a few minutes was silent.
But as soon as Penelope was a little more composed,
he said;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> “I am very much concerned,
Miss Primrose, for the uneasiness which I have
occasioned you, and so far from wishing to
interrupt the happiness of your meeting with
your father I will retire, that you may compose
yourself. Only let me request that I may have
the honor of being introduced to Mr Primrose
after your first meeting is over.”</p>
<p>This was all very rational and proper, and the
kind, considerate manner in which it was spoken
pleased Penelope very much, and she made her
acknowledgments for the kindness with so
much grace as to fascinate his lordship more
than ever. He thought he had never seen so
lovely and interesting a creature in his life. He
apologized for having introduced such a subject
so inopportunely, and attributed it solely to the
fear that the arrival of her father might preclude
him from speaking on the subject at a future
time.</p>
<p>When the poor girl was left alone, it was no
easy matter for her to arrange her scattered
thoughts and to bring herself back to that state
of holiday extasy with which she had begun the
day. Nor was much time afforded her for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
purpose; for, not many minutes after the departure
of Lord Spoonbill, the arrival of Mr
Primrose was announced. There seemed to
Penelope to be scarcely any interval between
hearing a carriage stop at the door, and finding
herself embraced in the arms of her long lost
father.</p>
<p>Over a scene like this all modest dramatists
would drop the curtain, knowing that imagination
would be rather impeded than assisted by
farther exhibition.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">To</span> continue that reference to the drama with
which the preceding chapter was concluded, it
may be remarked that, when the curtain has
fallen thus abruptly on one scene, the spectators
do not anticipate that, on its being drawn
up again, the eye should be greeted with any
continuation of that scene; but rather do they
look for some great and decided transition. Our
readers therefore will not now be surprised if
we take them back again to Neverden and
Smatterton. They are pleasant villages, and
their inhabitants are for the most part unartificial
people.</p>
<p>It is a fact worthy of notice, and we have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
doubt that our observant readers have already
remarked it, that all the personages in those
two villages of whom we have yet spoken, have
had that delectable and pleasing feeling of their
own importance, by which they have considered
that the world has been under infinite obligations
to them. To have that feeling strongly
and genuinely, is a real happiness; and if there
has ever been any human being whom we have
envied, it has been P. P., clerk of this parish,
especially while he was writing his own memoirs.
To endeavour to rob any one of this sense, is
cruel, heart-rendingly cruel and barbarous; but
fortunately for human happiness, this robbery
cannot easily be effected.</p>
<p>But though the good people of these villages
had this feeling in a very high and pure degree,
yet it is not altogether confined to them; and
if the Reverend Mr Darnley, in his vigintennial
visits to London, has been rather angry and
offended at the rude behaviour of the people in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
the streets who have jostled and driven against
him, without having the grace to move their hats
to him, that self-same Mr Darnley has in his
turn inflicted upon a distinguished inhabitant
of the great metropolis as serious a mortification
as his reverence experienced from metropolitan
neglect.</p>
<p>We have introduced to our readers the Rev.
Charles Pringle; we have now to introduce that
gentleman’s first-cousin, Zephaniah Pringle, Esq.
This illustrious personage was not a native, but
had long been an inhabitant, of the great metropolis,
and, according to his own view of the
matter, a great ornament to it. He was a literary
man. He had been destined by his parents
for agricultural pursuits, but his genius was
above them. The circumstances, the trifling circumstances,
which tend to develope the powers
of the mind and to direct the energies into their
proper channel, are always worthy of notice.
Everybody knows the story of Sir Isaac Newton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
and the apple. But everybody does not know,
but soon will know, the circumstances which
made Zephaniah Pringle a critic.</p>
<p>When Zephaniah was about twelve years old
he was taken to Smatterton by his father, who
had to make a call of business on Mr Kipperson.
While Mr Pringle and Mr Kipperson were
engaged in looking at some cattle which the
latter had to dispose of, young Pringle was
gaping about in the library, and admiring with
great veneration all its literary wonders; but
that which most powerfully arrested his attention
was a plaister bust of Dr Johnson. And
when the agricultural gentlemen returned to the
library, Zephaniah, pointing to the bust, said,
“Father, was that there thick-headed man a
heathen philosopher?”</p>
<p>Mr Kipperson, who was pleased with the
young gentleman’s manifestation of a taste for
literature and philosophy, kindly corrected the
misapprehension of the youth, and said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> “No,
my lad, the heathen philosophers did not wear
wigs. That is a bust of Dr Johnson, the celebrated
critic and lexicographer.”</p>
<p>Zephaniah, with open mouth and expanded
eyes, stared his thanks to Mr Kipperson, who
immediately asked the young gentleman if he
was fond of reading. To which he replied in the
affirmative. Whereupon Mr Kipperson kindly
lent the youth Boswell’s Life of Dr Johnson.</p>
<p>From that moment young Pringle felt an
irresistible impulse to become a man of letters;
and with a view to gratify that ambition, his
father was kind enough to let him have another
quarter’s Latin, in order to give him an
opportunity to perfect himself in classical literature.</p>
<p>Thus qualified, the young man in due time
went up to London. In the great metropolis
he soon divested himself of the rusticity of his
manners, and after some few failures in the
first instance, for want of knowing the proper
knack of writing, he soon acquired a tolerable
facility, and absolutely once wrote something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
that was talked about. From that moment he
never saw two people talking together in a
bookseller’s shop, without fancying that they
were talking about Zephaniah Pringle.</p>
<p>He took great pains to imitate Dr Johnson;
but his literary companions detected him and
laughed at him. He had but a slender frame
and a slender voice; and when he attempted
the oracular and the pompous style, it was like
playing the Hallelujah Chorus on a fife. He
could not adopt the doctor’s Jacobitism, but
he took instead of that a double extra super-Eldon
high Toryism. And in religion, not that
he ever went to church, he was decidedly of
opinion that all dissenters and Roman Catholics
were convinced that the church of England
was the only true church, but that they would
not conform merely out of spite. It was his
opinion that the Duke of Wellington would
never have driven the French out of Spain,
had he not always made a point of hearing all
his soldiers every day say the church catechism.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
<p>He had a praiseworthy and prodigious horror
of gymnastics; they came from Greece, and
the ancient Greeks were republicans. In his
notion of mechanics’ institutes he was exceedingly
ungrateful to Mr Kipperson, who patronized
him and them too; and when Mr Kipperson
once proposed to establish a mechanics’
institute at Smatterton for the benefit of the
agricultural operatives, this Zephaniah Pringle
had the impudence to write him a long letter
on the subject, accusing him of a design to
subvert the established church, and convert
England into a republic. Mr Kipperson gave
up the scheme, not because of this letter, but
because, when he assembled the people of the
village in one of his barns to read them a
lecture on hydrostatics, every soul of them fell
fast asleep.</p>
<p>There was another subject on which Mr Zephaniah
Pringle had very strong opinions,—viz.
West India slavery. He very properly laughed
at the absurdity of supposing that negroes have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
the slightest objection to be flogged to death;
and he knew that the only object which the
abolitionists had in view, was <ins title="original: too verturn">to overturn</ins> the
established church.</p>
<p>Mr Zephaniah Pringle had a most exquisite
conceit of his own superlative wisdom and penetration.
This gentleman must have experienced
therefore a sensation of great delight
in taking his important self down to Smatterton
to visit Mr Kipperson and surprise the natives.
But how great must have been his astonishment,
when introduced by Mr Kipperson at the rectory
of Neverden, to find that Mr Darnley the elder
had never heard of the name and fame of Zephaniah
Pringle. He consoled himself, however,
with the reflection, that many other names great
as his own were equally unknown to this obscure
village parson.</p>
<p>Finding that the young ladies of Mr Darnley’s
family were addicted to reading, the critic
kindly administered his gratuitous and unasked
commentaries on divers modern and ancient
authors. He astonished the daughters of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
rector of Neverden by opinions hitherto unheard
and unthought of. The confidence of his manner
passed for wisdom and decided apprehension
of the subjects on which he spoke; and as he
took care to let it be thoroughly understood
that all who differed from him were fools, and
as literary young ladies do not like to be considered
fools, they of course assented to Zephaniah
Pringle’s opinions on literary topics.</p>
<p>In his conversation with Mr Darnley the
younger he found that, by talking literature, he
did not seem to magnify himself to his heart’s
content; for Robert Darnley did not believe that
critics were conjurors. The genius then had
recourse to talk concerning those persons of
high style and dignity with whom he had the
honor to be acquainted. Among other great
names, he mentioned that of Lord Smatterton,
and the scarcely less illustrious name of Lord
Spoonbill.</p>
<p>“You are acquainted then with Lord Spoonbill?”
said Robert Darnley.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, perfectly well,” replied the critic.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
<p>“And pray what kind of man is this Lord
Spoonbill? for, though the family resides in the
next village, I am totally unacquainted with
them.”</p>
<p>“Lord Spoonbill himself is the best creature
in the world. The Earl of Smatterton is a
proud, haughty man, like the rest of the Whig
aristocracy.”</p>
<p>“Then Lord Spoonbill is not so very proud?”</p>
<p>“I cannot say that Lord Spoonbill is altogether
without pride. He has very high notions;
but his manner is not pompous like his father’s.
And he can be very agreeable, though he is by
no means a man of any great share of intellect.”</p>
<p>“I have heard him spoken of,” replied Robert
Darnley, “as being a very profligate man.”</p>
<p>“I believe,” said the critic, “he is rather
gay, but not more so than most young men of
his rank. The finest joke in the world is, that
his father, the Earl of Smatterton, thinks that
he is one of the gravest and steadiest young men
of the age, and quotes him as such accordingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
But the fact is, that his lordship has lately taken
under his protection a lady, now received at Lord
Smatterton’s table.”</p>
<p>Robert Darnley could not believe his own
senses. The language which he now heard from
Zephaniah Pringle seemed to allude plainly
enough to Penelope, but it could not be possible,
he thought, that a young lady of such
high and pure spirit as Miss Primrose could
ever submit to an arrangement so truly humiliating.
Suppressing and concealing his agitation
as well as he could, he endeavoured to
ascertain from the man of letters what was
really the fact concerning Lord Spoonbill and
this, as yet unnamed, young lady.</p>
<p>“Surely, Mr Pringle, you do not mean to say
that Lord Spoonbill has a lady in keeping, whom
he introduces to his father’s table? This is really
beyond all credence.”</p>
<p>“But indeed, sir, I do mean it,” replied Zephaniah
the critic:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> “and, if you have never heard
the story, I can tell you all the particulars.”</p>
<p>“It is no business of mine,” said Darnley,
“but I do feel curious to know the particulars
of so very singular a case, as a young man
bringing a kept lady to his father’s own table.”</p>
<p>“It is not altogether so,” replied Mr Pringle;
“but I will tell you exactly how the case stands;
I know Spoonbill very intimately.”</p>
<p>This last expression was uttered as everybody
would naturally suppose such an expression
would be uttered by such a man. After
thoroughly enjoying the high and refined satisfaction
of having said, “I know Spoonbill
very intimately,” the loyal and religious critic
proceeded:</p>
<p>“You must remember old Greendale, the
rector of Smatterton, who was my cousin’s predecessor
in the living. He died a very short
time before you returned from India. This old
man had a very pretty niece, you know; you
must remember her, for I understand that she
lived with old Dr Greendale from her infancy.”</p>
<p>“Oh, certainly,” said Darnley, with much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
effort concealing the agitation which he felt;
“I remember her very well, her name is Primrose;
but you surely do not mean to say that
Miss Primrose is living under the protection
of Lord Spoonbill?”</p>
<p>Hereupon Mr Pringle did somewhat hesitate
and say, “Why, why—I cannot exactly say
that—that she is absolutely living under his
protection. She is rather living under the protection
of Lady Smatterton as yet. You perhaps
may not know that Miss Primrose has a
remarkably fine voice, and is in fact a first-rate
vocalist: now Lady Smatterton is a great patroness
of musical talent, and has taken a fancy
to bring Miss Primrose out this season as a
public singer, and Lord Spoonbill has made
proposals, which I believe have been accepted
by the lady; and she is to be under his lordship’s
protection as soon as she leaves Lord
Smatterton’s house, and that will be very soon.
That is the true state of the case. I wonder
you have never heard of it before; for though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
you have been from India a very short time, yet
in country places intelligence flies very rapidly.”</p>
<p>“Well, you astonish me,” said Mr Darnley
the younger; “I could not have thought that
a young lady, brought up by such an exemplary
and virtuous man as the late Dr Greendale,
should ever condescend to live upon those terms
with the first nobleman in the kingdom.”</p>
<p>“Oh, sir,” replied the knowing critic, “you
do not understand the heart, especially the
female heart. There is something in title and
splendour so fascinating to the weaker sex,
that few can resist its influence. I have observed
and studied the human mind in all its
various attitudes, and I have lived in the world
long enough to cease to be astonished at anything
I hear or see. In such an outlandish
place as India you see nothing and learn nothing.
London is the only place where the
human character can be thoroughly and properly
studied.”</p>
<p>Much more to the same purpose did the fluent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
cousin of the new rector of Smatterton say to
the son of the rector of Neverden. But Robert
Darnley heard him and heeded him not. Deeply
did the intelligence concerning Penelope sink
into his mind, and painfully did he revolve the
idle gossip of the loyal and religious critic,
who had properly and thoroughly studied human
nature, in his lodgings in Fetter lane, Holborn.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">The</span> day which followed immediately after
the above-mentioned conversation, was destined
for a grand dinner party at the mansion of Sir
George Aimwell, Bart. Preparations were made
for a splendid entertainment. It was not an
easy matter to get together a large party in that
neighbourhood without admitting to the table
some individuals of dubious dignity. There was,
for instance, the equivocal Mr Kipperson, at
once landlord and tenant, gentleman and farmer;
but then he was so zealous a friend to the
interest of agriculture. He was so thoroughly
enlightened on the corn question, that the
great men of Smatterton and Neverden could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
not but respect him. Sir George Aimwell also
liked Mr Kipperson, because he was a bad
shot, and had so ardent a zeal against poachers.</p>
<p>This party was assembled, among other objects,
for the purpose of welcoming to England the son
of the rector of Neverden. But Robert Darnley
was by no means in spirits for the enjoyment of
festivity. He was sorry for what he had heard
from Zephaniah Pringle, and he was angry that
he was sorry, and then again sorry that he was
angry.</p>
<p>It had been unfortunate for him that there
had been such silence observed on the subject
of his correspondence and acquaintance with
Penelope. Scarcely any one but the parties
concerned knew anything of the matter. Mr
Kipperson suspected it, and the Smatterton
family had been informed of it by Mr Darnley,
because the reverend gentleman thought it but
respectful to let them into the secret. As for
Sir George Aimwell, he scarcely knew or thought
of anything, except administering justice and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
killing birds. The Reverend Charles Pringle,
rector of Smatterton, was also quite unaware of
the existence of any correspondence between
Robert Darnley and Penelope Primrose. No
wonder then that, under the present awkward
circumstances, and with the false account which
Zephaniah, the critic, had brought from London,
there should be in the hearing of Robert Darnley
much conversation by no means agreeable
to his feelings, or soothing to his mind.</p>
<p>When the party began to assemble they began
also to talk: but at the first their talk was very
desultory and common-place. The worthy baronet
was congratulated by Mr Kipperson on
having caught a poacher, and was condoled with
by the same gentleman on having lost almost
his whole brood of pheasants. It is astonishing
that any one can be so simple as not to see
that pheasants were obviously created to be shot
by gentlemen and noblemen only, or their gamekeepers.
There was also much talk about horses
and dogs, and the poor-rates, and Mr Malthus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
and parish settlements, and the agricultural interest.</p>
<p>It is very erroneously stated by many persons,
both in writing and in speaking, that the period
between the first arrival of the company and the
serving up of the dinner is most weary, stale,
flat and unprofitable. But as there is no spot
of earth so barren as not to produce some curiosity
to reward the toil and gratify the taste
of the botanist, so there is no attitude or condition
of our being which may not yield some
fruit of instruction and amusement to the moral
botanist. We deserve the thanks of our readers
for much that we communicate in the way of
information and amusement, but perhaps for
nothing so much as for directing their attention
to the great and valuable truth, that even the
usually-considered dreary half hour before dinner
is not absolutely barren and worthless. Peradventure
also, by directing the attention to this
matter, we may prevent many a dinner from
being spoiled, because we thus present a strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
inducement to an early arrival. He that arrives
first is pretty certain that the rest of the company
can have no opportunity of pulling his
character to pieces behind his back. For when
the host expresses to the rest of his party his
wonder that Mr Smith is not come, then the
good people who are hungry and impatient begin
to talk about Mr Smith, and they use him
ungently, treating his transgressions with no
candour, and honoring his virtues with no encomium.
There is also something very curious in
observing the different effects which dining produces
on different persons. Some will enter
the drawing-room brimfull of intelligence, telling
everybody everything that everybody knows, and
nobody cares about. There are people who entertain
the strange notion that tongues were
made to talk about mere matters of fact; and
when they have said their say, they are silent
for the rest of the evening. There are again
others who, before dinner, look as wise and as
stupid as owls; who seem at a most painful loss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
what to do with their hands, or their feet, or
their eyes; who having no motive to look at
one object in the room more than at another,
let their eyes roll unmeaningly and incessantly
about as if they were endeavouring to keep them
open without looking at anything. But when
these apparently inanimate imitations of Chinese
Mandarins have had their dinner, their looks are
brightened and their tongues loosened, and as
before dinner they seemed as if they were wishing
most ardently for an opportunity to simper
at something which might be said by another,
they after dinner give forth that which interests
and delights. The period before dinner is also
one of great importance for the exhibition of
personal decoration. Then, and then only, has
dress its right display, and its full complement
of observers. In this brief digression it is impossible
to enter into one half, or one twentieth
of the particulars which may interest and delight
an observant mind. “Sermons in stones and
good in everything,” is one of the most true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
and most valuable expressions which the pen of
Shakspeare ever wrote. But to proceed.</p>
<p>There was, as we have said above, much miscellaneous
talk before dinner at this “grand
miscellaneous” entertainment, given by Sir
George Aimwell. Mr Kipperson strutted about
the room with his hands in his pockets, looking
as wise as a conjuror and as pleased as Punch,
saying something scientific or agricultural to
every one there. The Reverend Charles Pringle
made his appearance also time enough to show
the company how possible it was to violate the
decorum of clerical attire without actually transgressing
the literal regulations. Lady Aimwell
received much of that gentleman’s polite attention;
and the daughters of Mr Darnley were
also not unnoticed. The new rector of Smatterton
was very clever at conundrums, some new
ones of his own making were graciously communicated
to the young ladies. Zephaniah Pringle,
the critic, was pleased to look very important,
and to feel his dignity and intellectuality mightily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
hurt, because the talk, such as it was, had no
interest for him. He was much at a loss to
think how it was possible for human beings to
take an interest in such unintellectual things
as corn, cattle, game and poor-laws; and he
thought the people were great blockheads because
they talked about what concerned themselves.
Robert Darnley received the congratulations
of his friends; but he received them coldly,
for his mind was not at ease.</p>
<p>Now after much talk, miscellaneous and desultory,
several of the party, while yet they were
waiting for dinner, congregated together at one
of the windows, and their talk was almost in
whispers. Zephaniah Pringle was one of that
select committee, and he was speaking very
gravely and very knowingly, and Sir George
Aimwell was looking as much as to say, “I am
very sorry for it.” Mr Darnley the elder was
also one of the whispering group, and looked
as serious and solemn as any one of them; and
every now and then he turned his eyes suspi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>ciously
and inquiringly towards his son. The
young gentleman more than suspected what was
the subject of their discourse; and as the rector
of Neverden was the only one of the party who
had any suspicion of the interest which Robert
Darnley took in the person concerning whom the
discussion was made, they did not very carefully
subdue and suppress their voices, but they
spoke loudly enough to be heard in their whispering,
and the name of Primrose was heard by
Robert Darnley, and in spite of his high spirit
he felt sick at heart. And though he felt little
appetite for dinner, he was glad of the announcement,
which relieved him from hearing, or rather
fancying that he heard, talk that told of the
shame of Penelope.</p>
<p>Oh, that our pen could write strongly as
our heart feels against those villanous, viper-souled,
low-minded, merciless reptiles, who, from
motives too grovelling and dirty to be analyzed,
impertinently by their ill-digested calumnies,
mutilate and mangle the fairest reputation, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
sully the purest characters. Never can such
vermin be sufficiently punished or adequately
vituperated, for they are absolutely incapable
of feeling such racking mental agonies as they
inflict on others. What could such a heartless
puppy as Zephaniah Pringle feel of mental
and heart-rending agony, compared with that
which Robert Darnley experienced, when he
had reason to think that the high-minded,
clear-souled Penelope, whom he had loved for
her purity, her moral as well as personal beauty,
had so far forgotten all good feelings and all
high thoughts as to sink down into a character
for which refined language has no name?</p>
<p>The baronet’s table was splendidly covered,
and the guests were as well pleased in demolishing
as the cook had been in constructing
and compiling the various specimens of culinary
art. Sir George Aimwell paid, as was proper,
especial attention to Robert Darnley, and endeavoured
to draw the young man into conversation,
or, more properly speaking, to provoke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
him into narrative. To such questions as were
asked he gave an ample and intelligent answer,
but he proceeded no further; he did not seem
desirous to obtrude himself upon the attention
of the company.</p>
<p>Table-talk was by no means the forte of the
worthy baronet; but when he had a party he
generally exerted himself: and as he was very
well aware that, in his own proper person, and
from his own peculiar stores, he was by no
means a man of talk, he very considerately endeavoured
to set in motion other tongues than
his own. On the present occasion he thought,
that as Mr Robert Darnley had been long
abroad, he would most likely be best able to
entertain the guests. But when the hospitable
host observed how very slowly and reluctantly
the young man brought out the stores of his
information, he next directed his attention to
Zephaniah Pringle, who was not so reserved.
He spoke fluently, and readily, and oracularly.
Sir George, though not a man of letters, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
ready enough to indulge his guests, or to suffer
them, if they would, to indulge themselves, with
literary conversation; and it was a great happiness
to Zephaniah Pringle to let the inhabitants
of Smatterton and Neverden know how great a
man was in their company. Yet there was a
little abatement from the purity and intensity
of that enjoyment, in the observing how inapt
they seemed to be in comprehending which
were the first publications of the day, and
which were productions of inferior note. Some
of the party asked strange things about reviews
and magazines, and Zephaniah was astonished
that there should be in any part of Great
Britain such complete, total darkness, and intellectual
neglect, as that his own peculiar periodical
should be altogether unknown even by
name. He attributed their ignorance to mere
spite, or thought that Lord Smatterton, being a
Whig, had made it a point to conceal from his
country neighbours the existence of that periodical,
which, by the means of pastry-cooks and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
tobacconists, had an immense circulation in the
metropolis. The daughters of Mr Darnley
listened with much reverence to the oracles of
Zephaniah the critic, and they thought him
prodigiously wise, because he thought differently
from everybody else. They asked his
opinion of every book which they remembered
having read: and they endeavoured to persuade
themselves to entertain the same opinions as
he did.</p>
<p>If our readers imagine that, from what we
have said concerning the daughters of the rector
of Neverden, these young ladies were superficial
simpletons, we are desirous of removing
such impression. They were not conceitedly
confident in their own judgment; and, as they
were not much in the way of seeing or hearing
literary pretenders and intellectual quacks, they
gave Zephaniah Pringle credit for all that he
assumed. They did not think very highly of
themselves, and therefore they readily yielded
assent to the oracles of one who appeared so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
competent and able to give an opinion. Many
others, besides the daughters of Mr Darnley,
have been at a first, or even second interview
with Zephaniah, very greatly deceived as to the
height, the depth, and the breadth, of the critic’s
understanding.</p>
<p>This part of our narrative, though not directly
tending to the developement of the history, we
could not consent to pass by unnoticed; for
though it may not be very entertaining, it is instructive,
and it affords us an opportunity of
giving a valuable hint to our young readers.
The hint to which we allude, is to caution
them against too much modesty. Only suppose,
for instance, that such an empty-headed
coxcomb as Zephaniah Pringle had entertained
a fair opinion of his own understanding, or that
he had underrated his own intellectual powers
and stores, who would ever have found out that
he was superior to what he assumed? Who
would have taken the trouble to urge him to
assume a higher rank? Not one. But now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
that he set himself up for a great one, who was
to detect the hollowness of his pretensions?
Not above one in a hundred. And who would
take the trouble to expose him? Not one in a
thousand. And who would take notice of the
exposure? Not one in ten thousand.</p>
<p>In our next edition we will cancel this last
paragraph, if we find that modesty has ever made
its owner rich or celebrated. Modesty is certainly
very much to be praised, and if we were
candidate for any situation of honor or emolument,
or even for a good seat in a theatre, we
should very much approve of the modesty of
such as, having power to rival us, would meekly
and quietly stand out of our way.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">During</span> the night which followed the grand
dinner given by Sir George Aimwell, Robert
Darnley scarcely slept a single hour. He retired
to his apartment full of bitter and distracting
thoughts, almost tempted to believe that
there was truth in the foul libels that thoughtless
blockheads have uttered and written concerning
the gentler sex. He said to himself,
“Frailty! thy name is woman.” He was so
grieved, so pierced to the heart’s core, that he
forgot for a while all that he had heard, read,
or witnessed of woman’s devout affection, unwearied
kindness, heroic attachment, and moral
sublimity. And he thought not of the patience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
with which woman bears the peevishness of our
infancy, the selfishness of our riper years, and
the capricious fretfulness of our declining age.
He was for a while angry and contemptuous,
professing to himself an indifference which he
did not feel, and fancying himself superior to
that weakness under which he was writhing and
labouring in bitter agony. Then there was a
change in the complexion of his thoughts, and
as the angry passions yielded to the approaching
drowsiness which health must periodically experience,
more tender and more gentle thoughts
subdued him. The eyelids were scarcely closed,
when imagination threw her rainbow light on past
days, and there stood before him, not quite in
a dream, the image of Penelope—lovely, bright,
and living. The momentary vision melted him,
and the effort to retain it banished it. Slowly
his slumbers crept again upon him, and the
vision was more distinct, and he could hear
again that sweet voice with which he had been
enraptured, and there was in his heart a repeti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>tion
of that swell of feeling with which he had
years ago taken his leave of her. So passed the
night.</p>
<p>When morning came again, it found the
young man unrefreshed and unrested. But in
the family of the rector of Neverden there was
great regularity and punctuality. Robert Darnley
therefore made his appearance at breakfast
at the usual hour. It was impossible not to
see that his mind was painfully disturbed, and
it was also equally impossible not to conjecture
the cause of its agitation.</p>
<p>A very unpleasant restraint sat upon the whole
party. Mr Darnley the elder would not speak
on the subject of his son’s altered appearance,
and Mrs Darnley and her daughters were reluctant
to introduce any mention of the matter,
unsanctioned by Mr Darnley. The hour of
breakfast was usually to that family a season
of social and cheerful talk, but on the present
occasion there was silence and restraint; and as
they abstained from addressing themselves to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
Robert, they also abstained from talking to one
another. When breakfast was over Mr Darnley
desired his son’s presence in the study.</p>
<p>Robert Darnley knew he was destined to undergo
a lecture, and he braced himself up to
bear it with filial resignation. The young man’s
father prided himself on the fluency with which
he could talk in the way of admonition, and we
believe that he derived almost as much pleasure
from these exhibitions as his auditors did profit.
Sir George Aimwell used to say, that instead of
sending poachers to gaol, it would be a better
plan to send them to Mr Darnley to be talked
to; for the worthy baronet thought that they
would not readily expose themselves to the risk
of a second infliction. Those of our readers who
have never been talked to will not be able to
sympathize with Robert Darnley; those who
have, will pity him from the bottom of their
hearts.</p>
<p>The young man promptly obeyed his father’s
commands and delayed not to attend him in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
study; for he naturally supposed that the sooner
the lecture began the sooner it would be over.
The father seated himself and desired his son to
shut the door and seat himself too. These preliminary
steps having been taken, and Mr Darnley
having stirred and arranged the fire so amply
as to preclude the necessity of any more attention
to it for some time, thus began:</p>
<p>“Robert, my dear boy, I wish to have some
little talk with you. I have not had much
opportunity of speaking to you since you came
home. Now, you know, I can have no other
object in view than your welfare. I do not
desire you to follow the advice I may give you,
unless you are convinced of its propriety. You
know of course what I am now alluding to—your
unhappy attachment to that unfortunate
young woman, Miss Primrose. For my part, I
cannot say that I altogether approved of it in
the first instance; but I said nothing. I knew
the impetuosity of your character and the obstinacy
of your disposition, and therefore I con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>cluded
that opposition might do more harm than
good. I hoped that, in time, your own good
sense would let you see that it was not a suitable
connexion for you. I do not say indeed
that I have ever observed anything absolutely
improper in the conduct of Miss Primrose; but
I must be permitted to say, that there was
too much pride in her manner, considering her
station and expectations. Of the young woman’s
father I knew comparatively nothing, except that
he had gambled away his property and broken
his wife’s heart. Mr Primrose did call here,
as you know; but I must confess to you I was
not much pleased with his manners. I was
under the disagreeable necessity of rebuking
him for taking the name of the Lord in vain.
As for the young woman herself, of course you
must relinquish all thoughts of her after what
you have heard from Mr Pringle. Now let me
advise you to banish her from your mind at
once. I am sorry to see that your thoughts
are still too much dwelling upon her. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
make your mother and your sisters and me very
uncomfortable by these gloomy looks. Why
can you not be cheerful as you used to be?
What have you to regret? You ought rather
to be grateful that you have been rescued from
such a marriage, and that it cannot be said that
the dissolution of the acquaintance arose from
your own caprice. I think that the young
woman did not manifest a very great sense of
propriety when she so readily adopted the profession
of a public singer. And what would
the world say, should the report ever get abroad,
that my son was desirous of marrying a public
singer? I gave the young woman all the good
advice I possibly could; but I fear it will be
of no use to her. There were such very strong
manifestations of her partiality for that profligate
young man, Lord Spoonbill, that I am not
at all surprised at what I hear from Mr Pringle.
Now all that I can say is, that if after this you
can retain any regard for Miss Primrose, you do
not shew yourself a man of sense and prudence.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<p>Here Mr Darnley paused, not because he was
out of breath, for he spoke very slowly and
deliberately, but because he thought that he
had said enough to induce his son to relinquish
the thought of Penelope, and to make himself
mightily happy under his disappointment. But
it certainly is very provoking, after living three
years or more in expectation of receiving the
hand and heart of a lovely, amiable, and intelligent
young lady, to find at last that all this
bright anticipation is come to nought. It had
been painful to Robert Darnley that several of
his later communications had been unanswered;
but he would not suffer that circumstance
alone to weigh with him, considering it possible
that the fault was in the irregular transmission
of letters. When he came back to England
and heard that Miss Primrose was in London
with the Earl of Smatterton’s family, it
appeared obvious enough that she had considered
the correspondence as having ceased.
But still it was not clear to the young ma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>n’s
entire satisfaction that this had been a voluntary
act on the part of Penelope. It was
possible that his letters might not have reached
their destination, and that Miss Primrose might
be regarding him as the faithless one. Such
was his spirit, that he would not rest under the
imputation of such conduct, and he resolved
to take the earliest opportunity of coming to
an explanation. When, however, in addition to
all that he had heard from his own family of
the partiality manifested by Penelope for Lord
Spoonbill, he heard also the tale told by Zephaniah
Pringle, he wavered and hesitated. It was
not probable, he thought, that such rumours
could be totally unfounded, and it comported
but too well with what Mr Darnley had already
said.</p>
<p>The distress of mind which Robert Darnley
suffered, and that gloominess of look which his
father reprobated and lectured him upon, did
not arise so much from the mere loss of
Penelope, as from the harassing doubts to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
which he was exposed by the conflicting of
external and internal evidence. It is a painful
thing to doubt, because it is humiliating, and
seems to question our discernment. It is also
very perplexing to the mind when it sees evidence
enough to prove that which it feels to be
impossible, or very unlikely. In this dilemma
Robert Darnley had been placed by what he
had heard of Penelope Primrose. He knew, or
at least very firmly believed her to be of decided
character, good principle and high spirit. He
felt it impossible that she should love a profligate
or a blockhead, and he knew Lord Spoonbill
to be both. But it was very clear that she
was with Lord Smatterton’s family, and that
she had certainly contemplated the public exercise
of her musical talents.</p>
<p>To his fathers discourse therefore he listened
with unresisting patience, and only replied when
it was finished; “I can only say, sir, that if
what Mr Pringle has said concerning Miss
Primrose be true, I have been very much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
deceived in the estimate which I had formed
of the young lady’s mind and character.”</p>
<p>“Certainly you were,” replied his father;
“you are a young man and have seen but little
of human nature. You are hasty, very hasty,
in forming your judgment. You will grow wiser
as you grow older. Now I was not deceived
in Miss Primrose. I could see her real character.
I always thought her very proud and
vain and conceited. But she laboured under
great disadvantages in her education. Her uncle
was a worthy man, but he was a mere scholar,
by no means a man of the world. And as for
Mrs Greendale, she is a very weak woman.”</p>
<p>Robert Darnley knew his father too well to
contradict him directly in anything which he
might be pleased to assert; he therefore only
ventured in a very circuitous way to insinuate
the possibility that Mr Zephaniah Pringle might
be erroneously informed, and that there might
be some mistake or misapprehension. But the
worthy rector of Neverden was not able to bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
the slightest approach to contradiction or opposition.
He had lived so long in absolute authority
in his own house and parish, that he was
perfectly sincere in believing that he could never
be wrong and ought never to be contradicted.
He therefore contributed very considerably to
shorten the discussion, by saying:</p>
<p>“You are of age, and of course may do as you
please; but, if you will condescend to take my
advice, you will think no more of Miss Primrose.
At all events, it is my particular request that I
may hear no more of her.”</p>
<p>To this the young gentleman bowed respectfully.
Now it does not appear to us that Mr
Darnley adopted the best plan in the world to
set his son’s heart at rest. Nor did Robert
Darnley find any great alleviation in what
his father had been pleased to say concerning
Penelope’s actual situation and real character.
It also occurred to the young gentleman’s mind,
that his father had superfluously and unnecessarily
quoted the fact of Mr Primrose having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
used irreverent and thoughtless language. It is
not indeed, generally speaking, advisable to
bring every possible accusation against an offending
one; for by so doing we make known
our own pettishness or malignity quite as much
as we display the sins of the accused. If Miss
Primrose had been in other respects a suitable
wife for Robert Darnley, the fact that her father
had spoken hastily and unadvisedly, would not
have rendered her unsuitable. And if the situation
of Penelope had been such as it had been
represented by Mr Pringle, then there was quite
enough to set Robert Darnley’s mind at rest
upon the subject, without quoting Mr Primrose’s
transgressions.</p>
<p>The disappointed lover had no sooner finished
the task of hearing his father’s lecture, than
he was destined to undergo a gabblement from
his mother and sisters. Mrs Darnley was a
worthy good creature as ever lived; but she
would talk, and that not always consequentially.
She always however meant well, though she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
might be clumsy in the manifestation of her
well-meaning.</p>
<p>“Well, Robert,”—thus began Mrs Darnley,—“and
so your father has been talking to you
about poor Penelope Primrose. What a pity it
is that such a nice young woman should turn
out so. I really could hardly believe my senses
when I first heard of it. Dear me, what a
favorite she used to be here; your father used
to think so highly of her.”</p>
<p>“I can’t say that I thought so very highly of
her,” interrupted Miss Mary Darnley; “she was
a great deal too haughty for my liking. Of
course we were civil to her for Robert’s sake.”</p>
<p>Miss Mary was rude in thus interrupting her
mother, but it was the general practice with the
young ladies, and Mrs Darnley was so much
in the habit of being interrupted, that she always
expected it, and kept talking on till some one
else of the party began. Now this remark of
Miss Mary might be founded on truth, or it
might be merely the result of an angry imagi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>nation.
For there is in the human mind such
a reluctance to acknowledge an error in judgment,
that even when we have been really and
palpably deceived in a human character, we
generally find out or persuade ourselves that
we “prophesied so,” though we never told any
body.</p>
<p>The eldest Miss Darnley, however, had more
candour. It was her opinion that, though Miss
Primrose had not behaved exactly as she ought
to do, yet she had too high a sense of propriety
and decorum ever to transgress as was represented
by Mr Pringle.</p>
<p>In this annunciation of opinions it was but
right and regular that the youngest should speak
in her turn; and notwithstanding the apparent
deference which she had seemed on the previous
day to yield to the oracular language of Zephaniah
Pringle the critic, she said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
<p>“I wonder who told Mr Pringle? I dare say
Miss Primrose did not, and I should not think
it likely that Lord Spoonbill did.”</p>
<p>“Oh dear,” replied Mary, “I dare say it is
the general talk in London, and everbody knows
it by this time.”</p>
<p>“Oh dear,” retorted Martha, “I dare say
you know a great deal about London.”</p>
<p>“I know a great deal more about it than you
do, Martha; I was there with papa nearly two
months when we had lodgings in Wigmore
street.”</p>
<p>Martha was inclined to be pert, and Mary to
be pettish, and the two sisters would very
likely have enjoyed a skirmish of tongues, had
they not been stopped by the good humour of
their brother, who was very happy to divert
their tongues and thoughts to other topics.
Robert Darnley therefore made an effort to suppress
unpleasant feelings, and directed the conversation
to affairs of a different description;
and he amused his mother and sisters with
anecdotes and narratives descriptive of the
country from which he had recently arrived.</p>
<p>In assuming this composure, Robert Darnley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
was not a little aided by the suggestion thrown
out by Martha. And he began to think it very
possible that Mr Zephaniah Pringle might have
been misinformed. He might have had wit
enough to form that conjecture without the
assistance of his youngest sister; but he was
too much agitated to think calmly on the
subject.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">The</span> preceding chapters, relative to affairs at
Neverden, were rendered indispensable by the
necessity under which we were placed to account
for the non-appearance of Robert Darnley
in London, to clear up the mystery and explain
the cause of the interrupted correspondence.
We are now most happy to revert to that part
of our narrative which more immediately and
directly concerns Penelope Primrose and her
father. For this purpose therefore our history
goes back a few days.</p>
<p>After the first passionate agitation of meeting
had subsided, and Penelope was able to
speak collectedly, and Mr Primrose was patient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
enough to listen to two successive sentences,
the young lady explained to her father the situation
in which she had been placed by the
sudden decease of her uncle, and spoke of the
kindness which she had experienced from the
Earl and Countess of Smatterton, adding, that
they had been so kind as to propose giving her
the opportunity of meeting her father in London.
She then informed her father that Lord Spoonbill
was in the house, and would be happy to
see him.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose was too happy at the meeting
with his daughter to think anything of the
awkward stories which he had heard of the
young gentleman’s irregularities. He therefore
expressed himself pleased with an opportunity
of making his acknowledgments to any part of
the family. The young lord therefore soon made
his appearance. And such was the frank, gentlemanly
aspect and bearing of Mr Primrose,
that his lordship was quite delighted with him,
and said with great sincerity much which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
would otherwise have said with polite formality
and hypocrisy.</p>
<p>Penelope exercised a considerable degree of
self-command in introducing Lord Spoonbill so
composedly to her father. And happy was it
at this moment for Mr Primrose, that such was
his cheerfulness and hilarity of feeling, that he
was only sensible to that which was pleasant
and agreeable.</p>
<p>“My Lord Spoonbill,” said he with one
of his politest bows, and with the most agreeable
intonation of voice that he could command,
“I thank you most sincerely, and I beg
that you will convey my most cordial and respectful
thanks to the Earl and Countess of
Smatterton for their kind and generous attention
to my dear child.”</p>
<p>Even with similar politeness did Lord Spoonbill
profess how truly happy the Earl and Countess
had been in affording any accommodation
to the neice of their late esteemed friend, the
respected rector of Smatterton. By making men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>tion
of that good man, Lord Spoonbill brought
tears into the eyes of Mr Primrose, who mournfully
shook his head and replied:</p>
<p>“Ah, my lord, he was indeed a good man.
I lament the loss of him most sincerely. So
much kind feeling, blended with such strict integrity,
and so high a degree of moral purity, I
never have witnessed in any other. I have seen
strictness of principle with severity of manners,
and I have witnessed kindness of heart with
moral carelessness; but the late Dr Greendale
had the most finely attempered mind of any
man I ever knew. He did, or desired to do,
good to everybody, and that must have been
a hard heart which he could not soften.”</p>
<p>It was well for Lord Spoonbill at this moment
that he was not of so susceptible a temperament
as Mr Primrose, or the remark last recorded
would have distressed him. It was in another
point of view ill for his lordship that he had
not a little more sensibility, for if he had he
might have been moved to contrition and re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>flection.
His lordship very courteously assented
to every compliment which Mr Primrose felt
disposed to pay to the late Dr Greendale. And
presently his lordship directed the talk to other
matters; for though he had not sensibility to
be moved, yet he had enough of that kind
of feeling which rendered him awkward under
reflections and recollections. The hereditary
legislator was also especially desirous of knowing
what was to be the immediate destination
of Miss Primrose and her father; but found,
after a long conversation and many indirect
hints, that no arrangement of any determinate
nature had entered the mind of Mr Primrose,
who probably thought, that for the night ensuing,
he might take up his abode at the town residence
of Lord Smatterton.</p>
<p>At length, Lord Spoonbill, finding that it
became time for him to return to dinner, and
knowing that it would not be very agreeable
to the Countess to take back with him father
and daughter too, and suspecting also very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
strongly and very naturally that the two were
not likely to be separated, began to make something
like an apology to Mr Primrose for having
brought him to an empty house, and offered
such accommodation as the house might afford,
expressing his great regret that he himself was
under the necessity of returning to Lord Smatterton’s
suburban villa.</p>
<p>These explanations and apologies roused Mr
Primrose to his recollection, and he presently
and promptly declined availing himself of his
lordship’s kind offer, and expressed his intention
of taking up his abode at a hotel, which
he named.</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill was satisfied. He now knew
where to find Mr Primrose again; and so long
as he was not at a loss where to seek Penelope,
his lordship readily took his leave, with a promise
that he would very shortly pay his respects
again to his good friends.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose and his daughter then went to
their hotel, and the overjoyed parent endeavoured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
to compose himself for the sobriety of narrative
and interrogation. Many questions were asked,
and multitudinous digressions and recommencements
and interruptions rendered their discourse
rather less instructive than entertaining.
The father of Penelope walked restlessly about
the room, and ever and anon would he stop and
look with an indescribable earnestness on the
face of his child, as if to fill his mind’s eye
with her image, or to endeavour to trace her
likeness to her departed mother. And from
these momentary absorptions he would start into
recollection, and utter such thrilling expressions
of delight, that his poor child feared that the
joy would be too much for him.</p>
<p>Some of the human species have suffered more
from joy than from sorrow. Ecstacy has lifted
the mind to that height and giddiness as to
destroy its self-command, and to precipitate it
into the depths and darkness of idiocy. Penelope
entertained a fear of this kind for her
father. For she had not been accustomed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
witness or yield to any very strong emotions.
Her uncle, with whom she had lived, had been
a very quiet man; and, in his studious retirement,
life had passed smoothly and placidly as
the waveless current of a subterranean stream.
Mrs Greendale had experienced and manifested
occasional ebullitions, but they were merely culinary,
domestic, common-place, and transitory. As
for herself, poor girl, deep as her feelings might
have been, and strongly, as in various instances,
she might have been moved, these emotions were
solitary and soon suppressed.</p>
<p>When therefore she saw her father in this state
of agitation, much of her own joy was abated in
thoughts and fears for him. But in time the
violence of the emotion abated, and the father
and daughter sat down together to dinner. This
was a relief to them both. When the cloth was
removed, Mr Primrose then bethought himself
of Robert Darnley. Drawing closer to the fire,
he said to Penelope; “Well, but, my dear child,
I have not yet said a word about an old ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>quaintance
of yours, whom report says you have
not used handsomely. But I don’t mind what
report says. Have you quite forgot your old
neighbour Robert Darnley?”</p>
<p>Penelope sighed and shook her head, and
replied, “Oh, no, my dear father; I have not
forgotten him.”</p>
<p>“Then why did you not answer his letters?”</p>
<p>“I answered his letters, but he did not answer
mine.”</p>
<p>“What!” exclaimed Mr Primrose;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> “do you
say that he was the person who dropped the
correspondence? You are wrong, my dear, you
are wrong. Ay, ay, I see how it is—some letters
have not been delivered. It is all a misunderstanding;
but it will soon be set right. I have
seen the young man. He is now at Neverden;
and he tells me that you have not answered his
letters. But we shall soon see him in town.
He would have come with me, but he must
needs stay to eat his Christmas dinner at the
parsonage, just to please the old folks. That
of course is right; and if children did but
know how easily parents are pleased, and how
happy they are when their children please them,
there would not be so many undutiful children
in the world.—And so, my dear Penelope, it is
all a mere invention that you are attached to
Lord Spoonbill?”</p>
<p>Recollecting what had that morning taken
place, and from that also calling to mind what
before she had not noticed, and what without
that event she would have forgotten; thinking
again how assiduously and politely attentive
Lord Spoonbill had behaved towards her, she
began to think that his lordship’s attentive behaviour
had been seen and noticed by others
when it had not been obvious to herself. And
these thoughts confused and perplexed her.
Therefore she did not immediately reply to her
father’s interrogation. Her silence was observed
by her anxious parent, and he hastily said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
<p>“What then, is it true? But it is a great
pity. Robert Darnley is a fine spirited young
man; and I am sure he did not design to drop
the correspondence. Well, well; you are like
your father, you are very hasty. But never
mind, it cannot be helped now. And what will
you say to poor Darnley when he sees you
again; for I fully expect him up in town as soon
as Christmas is well over? I dare say he will
be here in a week, or a little more. I told him
that he would find us at this hotel. And has
Lord Spoonbill really made proposals to you?
And have you accepted his offer?”</p>
<p>The discovery which this talk of her father
opened to the mind of Penelope moved her with
feelings not describable. There was powerful
and oppressive agitation, but whether painful or
pleasurable she scarcely knew. Her heart was
too full to speak, and her thoughts too hurried
for utterance. The colour was in her cheeks,
and the tears were silently falling, and presently
the quick glancing eye of her father caught the
expression of concern and deep feeling, and his
impetuosity misinterpreted the emotion. With<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
rapidity of utterance, and with kind tenderness
of tone, he exclaimed, grasping her hand:</p>
<p>“Nay, nay, my dear Penelope, do not be so
afflicted. You misunderstand me, indeed you
do. I am not angry with you. If you are
really attached to Lord Spoonbill, and if he has
a regard for you, I would not for the world
oppose your inclinations. If you are happy, I
shall be so. I know comparatively very little
of Robert Darnley. As to what I saw of his
father, I certainly thought not favourably. The
young man appeared not so proud and formal
as the old gentleman. But Lord Spoonbill may
be a very excellent man, and I am sure he would
not be your choice if he were not so. I dare
say that all these stories I have heard of his
profligacies are not true.”</p>
<p>Hereat the young lady started; and she thought
that she had some faint recollection of having
heard some obscure hints on that subject; for
these matters are not made the topic of explicit
discourse in the presence of young ladies. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
with this impression she hastened to undeceive
her father as to the state of her affections, protesting
very calmly and deliberately that there
had not been any transfer of her attachment to
Lord Spoonbill from Robert Darnley. And, as
connectedly and circumstantially as she was able,
she narrated the history of her life, from the
decease of her worthy uncle to the moment of
her meeting with her father.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose made his observations on these
events, and expressed himself delighted in having
arrived in England time enough to prevent
his daughter from publicly exhibiting her musical
talents. Now, in the course of Penelope’s
narrative, mention had not been made, nor did
it seem necessary to state the fact, of Lord
Spoonbill’s declaration of devotedness, which his
lordship had made that very morning. It was
therefore unfortunate, though of no great consequence,
that when the poor <ins title="original: gird">girl</ins> had finished
her story, Mr Primrose said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
<p>“And so then after all Lord Spoonbill has
not said a word to you on the subject of attachment?”</p>
<p>It became necessary then to acknowledge what
had passed in the morning; and the reluctance
with which the acknowledgment was made very
naturally excited some slight suspicion in the
breast of Mr Primrose, that there was something
more serious than had been acknowledged. A
satisfactory explanation however was made, and
all was right again.</p>
<p>This trifling incident would not have been
mentioned, but for the illustration which it
affords of the value of explicitness and candour,
and for the proof which it presents that the
purest and most upright mind may, from a false
delicacy, involve itself in serious perplexity.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">At</span> the hotel where Mr Primrose had taken up
his residence, he remained with his daughter for
two or three weeks. Penelope and her father
were during this time in daily expectation of
seeing or hearing from Robert Darnley, but
there came no letter, there came no visitor.
Mr Primrose grew impatient, and talked to his
daughter about writing. That Penelope should
write was quite out of the question, nor could
the young lady bring herself readily to allow
her father to write.</p>
<p>They both agreed that, if the young man was
still seriously attached, he would find some way
of communicating with them now all parties
were together in England. And so he certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
would have done, had it not been for the false
report carried to Neverden by the loyal and
religious Zephaniah Pringle, and corroborated
by the almost unanimous and universal talk of
the people of that village. Influenced by this
tale, he remained at Neverden spending day after
day in most clumsily doing nothing at all. His
father talked to him, his mother talked to him,
and his sisters talked to him, but all their talk
amounted to nothing. Disappointed affection is
a painful feeling, and talking cannot heal it;
nor was it ever known in the course of human
experience, that calling a man a fool has been
the means of making him wise.</p>
<p>Whatever were the feelings of Robert Darnley
on this sad blight of his fair hopes, he was wise
enough to keep them to himself; he was indeed
dull and listless, but he did not annoy others
any farther than thus negatively. On the other
hand, the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill had
no sooner accomplished the mighty feat of telling
Miss Primrose how devoted he was to her, than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
he must needs again invade the luxurious and
lounging solitude of his friend Erpingham in
order again to talk over the subject. His lordship
did not indeed on the very day after, but
at as short an interval as possible consistent
with other engagements, call upon his luxurious
friend to enjoy the pleasure of talking about
Miss Primrose.</p>
<p>Now Erpingham, as we have already intimated,
was by no means a simpleton. He had
wisdom enough to see through Lord Spoonbill,
though his lordship was not always able to comprehend
the logic of his old college companion.
There is at Cambridge, as everybody knows, a
species of animal called a tuft-hunter, that is, a
plebeian man, who, for pence or pride, cultivates
an acquaintance with the young green shoots
of nobility that are sent to that place to learn
horse-racing, card-playing, and mathematics, in
order to make laws to preserve game and keep
up the dignity of hereditary legislators. Now
Erpingham was not one of that description.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
But there are, among the unfledged lordlings
who honor that town and university with their
superfine presence, some few individuals who,
in order to enjoy a stronger sense and feeling of
their own noble rank and exalted condition, seek
for acquaintance among the untitled. Of this
class was Lord Spoonbill, and his acquaintance
thus and there formed, was Mr Erpingham.</p>
<p>To seek an acquaintance with any individual
is generally felt, whether it be so considered
or not, as an act of humiliation. It is at all
events a homage paid to the acquaintance thus
sought. He that voluntarily seeks after another,
involuntarily pays that other a compliment. And
frequently that compliment is taken by those
who receive it for more than it is really worth.
By this circumstance therefore that the acquaintance
with Erpingham had been of Lord Spoonbill’s
own seeking, the former did not quite so
highly value and honor the young legislator as
otherwise he might have done. And when once
we can thoroughly and heartily take it into our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
heads that any man is a fool, it is no difficult
matter to convince ourselves that he really is so.
Plenty of illustrations are always at hand, if we
be intimate with the person in question.</p>
<p>Now, in spite of all the reverence which Mr
Erpingham felt for high rank, he could not help
thinking that his lordship was no conjuror.
Indeed it is no more to be wished than it is to be
expected that the House of Lords should be all
conjurors. As therefore Mr Erpingham thought
but indifferently of the understanding of his
right honorable friend, it is not to be wondered
at that Lord Spoonbill should not always be
treated with the most profound respect. At
Cambridge, indeed, Erpingham thought it something
of an honor to be acquainted with a nobleman;
but by degrees, and especially after
leaving the university, the gentleman thought
otherwise, and diminished much of the homage
which he had formerly paid to that right honorable
hereditary pillar of the Protestant succession.</p>
<p>When therefore Lord Spoonbill made his ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>pearance
again, and threatened a tedious lack-a-daisical
prating about love, Mr Erpingham
almost laughed at him.</p>
<p>“Well, Spoonbill,” said the Epicurean, “and
so you are coming to report progress. And what
says this paragon of wit and beauty? I suppose
you have made your arrangements: and am I to
be honored by an introduction?”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill shook his head, and went on
tediously to relate all the particulars of the
journey to London and the introduction to Mr
Primrose. To all this Mr Erpingham listened
very attentively; and, when the narrative was
concluded, he drawled out, “Well, Spoonbill,
and what then?”</p>
<p>To that question the hereditary legislator made
no direct or intelligible reply. His friend therefore
repeated his question, adding:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> “Were you
content with making a mere sentimental speech
about your devotion to this young lady? And
did not you give the slightest intimation of your
designs?”</p>
<p>“How could I,” replied his lordship, “under
these circumstances?”</p>
<p>“Then I will tell you, my good friend, that I
have done more for you than you have done for
yourself.”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill started and stared, and exclaimed:
“Erpingham! what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean what I say. Do you know Zephaniah
Pringle, a literary prig, with whose vanity
I sometimes amuse myself?”</p>
<p>“Certainly I do,” replied his lordship; “but
what can he have to do with this matter?”</p>
<p>“A great deal,” replied Erpingham; “he is,
as I suppose you know, an impertinent chatter-box,
and whatever is trusted to him as a profound
secret is sure to be known to all the world; so
I communicated to him that Miss Primrose was
in the high road to be placed under the protection
of the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill, and
by this time Smatterton and its adjoining village
is already in possession of the important secret.”</p>
<p>On hearing this, Lord Spoonbill started, as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
with a strong sense of moral indignation, and exclaimed:
“Erpingham, are you mad? What
could you mean by circulating such a report?
Suppose I should intend to marry Miss Primrose!”</p>
<p>“Why, then you are less likely to have a
rival.”</p>
<p>Although Lord Spoonbill was quite as profligate
and unprincipled as Mr Erpingham, yet
as his profligacy and want of principle were
not managed and directed precisely after the
model of the same vices in the conduct of his
friend, his lordship took credit to himself that
he could enjoy the pleasure of reproving the
vicious principles of this Epicurean. But though
he expressed a feeling of indignation at the cool,
deliberate viciousness of this son of luxury and
sensuality, he felt no little satisfaction in the
thought that this report must infallibly reach
the ears of Mr Robert Darnley, and thus prevent
any further attempt on his part to renew the
acquaintance with Penelope.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
<p>It may seem rather strange to some part of
our readers, that a man who could descend to the
meanness of intercepting letters, should lift up
his voice and turn up his eyes at the sin of circulating
false reports touching the character and
situation of a young woman, and that this same
man should deliberately meditate on schemes for
placing that young woman in that situation
which he professed to think so degrading. But
there is a wonderful difference in the apprehension
which men entertain of the same vices under
different circumstances. There is also observable
in the feelings of Lord Spoonbill, on the
present occasion, the readiness and satisfaction
with which a man will cheerfully avail himself
of the benefits derivable from the vicious or unprincipled
conduct of others.</p>
<p>The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill seemed
to think that his friend Erpingham had behaved
very unhandsomely and disrespectfully to Penelope
by causing such a rumour to get into cir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>culation;
but, when it occurred to him that some
advantage might be taken of the said rumour,
his indignation was abated, and all his reproof
was softened down into merely saying:</p>
<p>“Really, Erpingham, you are too bad.”</p>
<p>Everybody who is worse than ourselves is too
bad; everybody, whose vices differ from ours,
is too bad. Lord Spoonbill was selfish, sensual,
and unprincipled; but he endeavoured to conceal
his character, and, from attempting to deceive
others, had come at last to deceive himself;
and he really did flatter himself that there was
some good in his character, and some good feelings
in his heart. But Erpingham, on the other
hand, did not play the hypocrite either to himself
or to others; he was definite and decided,
and he took to himself some little credit for the
unblushing honesty of his conduct and character.
He smiled contemptuously at the meanness and
littleness of his friend Spoonbill’s vices; but
this meanness was essential to the very exist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>ence
of his vices, he would have been frightened
at himself had he seen his own moral features
without a mask.</p>
<p>There was this difference in the character of
these two friends, that had Erpingham had the
same object in view as Lord Spoonbill, he would
have pursued it unblushingly, unhesitatingly, and
without remorse. He would have intercepted
letters, but he would not have shuddered when
he had them in his possession; nor would he
have hesitated to open them, if that would have
forwarded his schemes. There would have been
no demur or doubt, but everything would have
been rendered subservient to his villanous purposes.
But Lord Spoonbill was not so straitforward
in his roguery, he was a more pusillanimous
profligate. The difference between the
two is, that Erpingham was an object of indignation,
and Lord Spoonbill of contempt.</p>
<p>Seeing therefore how matters now stood, the
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill thought that he
might as well pursue his first object with regard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
to Penelope, and not, at least for the present,
think or say a word concerning marriage. And
it was a great consolation to him in the course
of his meditations to think how much more unprincipled
Erpingham was than he.</p>
<p>From a long, and to the Epicurean a wearying
discussion, Lord Spoonbill returned to his home;
and on his return he found that the Countess
was quite angry, and that her patience was exhausted
in waiting for Penelope’s return. The
young lady had indeed mentioned the subject to
her father, but he did not think any further
acknowledgments necessary than he had already
personally made to the heir of the house of
Smatterton. Nor could Mr Primrose persuade
himself that any very high tribute of gratitude
was due for that species of patronage which the
Countess of Smatterton had proposed for his
daughter. It was his feeling, that her ladyship
had in view her own gratification quite as much
as the welfare of Penelope.</p>
<p>When therefore Lord Spoonbill found that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
Countess was still expecting either the return of
Miss Primrose, or some grateful intimation that
the proffered patronage was declined, he thought
it an excellent opportunity to propose a call on
Mr Primrose; and, after some of the usual prate
about condescension and dignity, the young lord,
on the following morning, rode up to town.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">When</span> a lady finds herself a second time alone
with a gentleman who has once addressed her
on an interesting topic, but whose address has
not been altogether pleasant and agreeable, the
lady’s situation is by no means enviable. It is
more distressing still when, in the recollection of
the young lady, there are yet lingering the faint
relics of brighter and better hopes.</p>
<p>This was the situation of Penelope when Lord
Spoonbill called upon her. Mr Primrose was
not within: business demanded his attention in
the City, and there he was likely to be detained
some hours. The young lord, with well feigned
seriousness, expressed his regret that he should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
be so unfortunate as not to meet with Mr Primrose,
and he added that he would call again if
Mr Primrose was likely soon to return. When
however he heard that Penelope did not expect
her father till dinner-time, he was more pleased
with the information than he professed to be.
Miss Primrose very respectfully enquired after
the Earl and Countess of Smatterton; and, in
replying to those enquiries, Lord Spoonbill took
the opportunity of hinting that her ladyship
felt somewhat anxious to know whether the
return of Mr Primrose to England had induced
Penelope to relinquish the thought of that profession
which she had recently contemplated,
and for which immediate preparation became
otherwise necessary and important.</p>
<p>In reply to this enquiry, Penelope informed his
lordship that her father had expressed himself
decidedly of opinion that such pursuit would
not be agreeable to himself or necessary for his
daughter. Lord Spoonbill cared little for the
disappointment, except that it would be in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
way of his schemes, and render the arrangement
which he meditated rather more difficult of execution.
So far as expectation was concerned,
he was prepared for this event; but he was not
prepared with any plan that he might immediately
pursue.</p>
<p>After the common-place talk was finished,
his lordship thought that he ought to take his
leave; but he was reluctant to go, and he did
not know how to stay. Penelope also wished
him gone, for she was afraid of a renewal of an
unpleasant topic. The young lady also took no
particular pains to conceal that wish, and his lordship
was not quite so flat as not to discern that
his presence was not very acceptable. In truth,
his situation was grievously perplexing, and a
wiser man than he would have been at a loss in
such circumstances how to act. It was clear
to him that Penelope had not quite forgotten
Robert Darnley; it was also obvious that Lord
Spoonbill was not yet essential to the happiness
of Miss Primrose; he most earnestly desired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
to render himself agreeable to Miss Primrose,
and he very well knew that nothing could be
more agreeable than that he should take his
leave; but that would not have been agreeable
to himself; and greatly as he desired to do anything
that might recommend him to the approbation
of Miss Primrose, he was equally desirous
of avoiding anything that might be disagreeable
or unpleasant to himself.</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill is not to be regarded in this
instance as differing so very widely from the
rest of the world. Other lovers frequently have
the same ideas on the subject of the mutual
accommodation of themselves and their adored
ones. And if, after this observation, any individual
of the gentler sex should be deceived
by professions and protestations of disinterestedness,
the fault will be hers and not ours.</p>
<p>In this embarrassing situation in which Lord
Spoonbill was placed, it occurred to his most
fertile imagination that it might greatly forward
his designs upon Penelope, if, by any means,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
he could contrive to bring the young lady to
think unhandsomely of Robert Darnley. It
certainly would not do for his lordship to make
any direct allusion to this young gentleman;
for it was hardly supposed by Miss Primrose
that there existed in the mind of his lordship
any knowledge of the acquaintance between
her and the son of the rector of Neverden;
and such was his lordship’s clumsiness in the
management of his irregularities, that he was
even fearful of the most indirect allusion to
Robert Darnley, lest, in making that allusion,
he might betray himself.</p>
<p>At length it came into his lordship’s most
sagacious head that, although it might be
hazardous to make any allusion to Neverden,
there could not be much risk incurred by enquiring
after Mrs Greendale, therefore he ventured
to ask, as if for want of something else
to say, if Miss Primrose had lately heard from
Smatterton, and in making this enquiry he endeavoured
to watch the countenance of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
young lady most narrowly, in order to observe
whether the mention of Smatterton produced
any deep emotion as connected with Neverden.
Penelope answered with perfect composure, and
informed the hereditary legislator that Mrs Greendale
had not written to her since her departure
from Smatterton.</p>
<p>After mentioning Mrs Greendale, his lordship
proceeded to some more common talk, merely
and obviously to delay his departure; and he
manifested in this kind of talk that he had a
great wish to recur to that topic which he had
introduced on the morning of Mr Primrose’s
meeting with his daughter. But if it was evident
to Penelope that such was his lordship’s
wish, it was quite as evident to his lordship that
the young lady was equally uneasy under the
apprehension, and dreaded the repetition of a
discussion which at its first introduction had so
distressed her thoughts.</p>
<p>And now it would have been absolutely and
uncontrollably necessary for Lord Spoonbill to
take his leave, and he must have taken his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
leave, not knowing when or how he might find
Penelope again, had it not been for one of those
unexpected and extraordinary accidents which
often change the aspect of a whole life. This
accident was neither more nor less than the
sudden return of Mr Primrose to his hotel.</p>
<p>By the expression of Mr Primrose’s countenance,
which seldom indeed concealed or belied
the emotions of his mind, it was visible that
some calamity had befallen him, or at least that
something had occurred to discompose him. It
might not be anything very serious; Penelope
hoped it was not; for, during the short time
that she had been with her father she had had
abundant occasion of observing that such was the
susceptibility of his feelings, that the expressions
of joy and sorrow were soon excited, and that
by a very slight and trifling occurrence.</p>
<p>But it was soon manifest that it was no trivial
circumstance that oppressed the spirits of her
father in the present instance. When he entered
the apartment he scarcely noticed his
daughter or Lord Spoonbill. He took the former<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
by the hand, and to the latter he slightly bowed;
and this was his only recognition of them, for
he did not open his lips, and he scarcely directed
his looks towards them. His lips were closely
compressed, as if he feared that by opening
them he should betray or give way to stronger
expressions of grief than might well become
him. He sat himself down upon a chair and
looked listlessly out into the street, moving
neither feature nor muscle, except that the vibration
of his eyelids was more rapid than usual.</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill was now at a loss whether to
offer his sympathy or to take his departure. He
could not, with any great propriety, leave the
room without taking some notice of Mr Primrose;
but such was the expression of the poor
man’s countenance, that it seemed that merely
to speak to him in the most common-place
manner imaginable would be to distress his
feelings, and to burst open that flood of grief
which he seemed to endeavour to restrain. Directing
therefore an enquiring look to Penelope,
and again turning towards Mr Primrose, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
lordship, by these looks and the movements which
accompanied them, intimated an intention of
departing, if his presence were a restraint.
Seeing that Mr Primrose kept his position, and
that no change was made in his features, his
lordship was just whispering to Penelope that
he was sorry to see her father under such depression,
and that it might be agreeable that he
should leave them, Mr Primrose hastily started
up and said;</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, Lord Spoonbill, for my
rudeness, but I have met with a shock this
morning that has completely subdued me.”</p>
<p>At this speech, Penelope caught her father’s
hand with tender eagerness, and asked, as well
as her feelings would allow, what was the nature
of the misfortune that he had met with. Most
tenderly, and with a tone which reached even
the heart of Lord Spoonbill, Mr Primrose said;</p>
<p>“My dear, dear child, you are a dependent
again, and God knows how soon you may be an
orphan indeed.”</p>
<p>Before Penelope could speak, and indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
before she well comprehended her father’s
meaning, the distressed man directed his speech
to Lord Spoonbill, saying;</p>
<p>“Could you believe it possible, my lord, that
such deliberate villains should exist in a Christian
country, as to take from a man the little
property which he had been toiling for years to
accumulate, to take what they knew they never
could restore. Those villains suffered me, but
ten days ago, to deposit my all in their hands,
and now they have stopped payment; and from
all that I can hear in the City, I am not likely
to receive above one shilling in the pound, and
I may wait months, or perhaps years, for that.”</p>
<p>It may be in the recollection of the reader, that
Lord Spoonbill was described in an early part
of this narrative as being unduly and indecently
pleased to hear of the illness of Dr Greendale,
as exulting in the thought that the decease of
that worthy, kind-hearted man would afford his
lordship a more convenient opportunity of pursuing
his schemes against the peace and inno<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>cence
of Penelope Primrose. It will not therefore
appear very surprizing if that same hereditary
legislator should regard the present calamity
of Mr Primrose as an agreeable circumstance to
himself, and as greatly favouring his designs.
There was however, in the contemplation of this
misfortune of the father of Penelope, a desire
also on the part of his lordship to contribute
towards its alleviation. Lord Spoonbill was a
profligate, and he was a mean, contemptible
fellow; but he was not a devil incarnate, delighting
in mischief or wickedness purely for its
own sake. He wished Mr Primrose no ill, he
had no desire to inflict any injuries or to give
pain to any one, but he loved himself, and he
pursued his own plans for his own pleasure, and
he was pleased with whatever gave him promise
or hope of success, even though that very circumstance
should be the death or injury of another.</p>
<p>Seeing, therefore, that in the present circumstances
there was something which afforded him
promise, he was pleased, and being pleased he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
very kindly sympathised with Mr Primrose, and
expressed a wish that matters might not be quite
so bad as was expected.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose took his lordship’s sympathy
very kindly, and his mind was soothed by it; and
with rather more self-possession than might have
been expected, he replied; “For myself, I care
but little; but it is mortifying, after so long an
absence from my native land, and after so much
toil and perseverance for the sake of my own
and only child, to find that all the fruit of that
toil is swept away at once.”</p>
<p>Penelope, who had been overwhelmed by the
suddenness of the intelligence, had scarcely
spoken; but now assuming with great success
a calmness and resolvedness of manner, said to
her father:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
<p>“If that be all the calamity, my dear father,
it is easily remedied. The Countess of Smatterton
has been kind enough to promise me
her high patronage, and to facilitate my efforts
towards providing an independency, and Lord
Spoonbill has but this moment, just before you
returned, been enquiring whether or not I design
to continue my preparation for that pursuit.”</p>
<p>“No, no, my Penelope, that is an occupation
which I am sure can never suit your taste. I
will not on any account consent to that. How
can I bear to think of my own child exerting
and wasting her strength to amuse the public,
and to see her standing before a promiscuous
and unfeeling multitude, exposed to the rudeness
and insolence of loudly expressed disapprobation
and extempore criticism?”</p>
<p>“Nay, my good sir,” said Lord Spoonbill in
his pleasantest manner; “there is no danger, and
there need be no fear, that Miss Primrose will
ever incur disapprobation; whatever loud expressions
there may be, will be expressions of
applause and delight.”</p>
<p>“And that,” rejoined Mr Primrose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> “is almost
as bad. To stand up before a multitude and
beg for their applause, even if the applause be
gained, is to my feelings humiliating. To a female
it is more painful still. I cannot brook the idea
of being dependent on a multitude, a capricious
mass of, perhaps, gross and indiscriminating individuals.”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill was so much delighted with
the probability of Miss Primrose’s return to the
condescending and discriminating patronage of
the Countess of Smatterton, that the anticipation
made him more than usually eloquent and
logical; and there was something also in the
manner of Mr Primrose that excited the hereditary
legislator to use his utmost powers of
persuasion. He therefore thus pursued the subject:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p>
<p>“But, sir, it is not merely in that profession
which Miss Primrose contemplates, that the
public takes the liberty of expressing its opinion.
The highest personage in the kingdom is
not exempt from expressions of public censure
or public applause; and when a nobleman in
the House of Peers, or a gentleman in the House
of Commons, rises and expresses his sentiments
on any question of policy, the public takes the
liberty to express, and sometimes very loudly
and rudely, an opinion of the merits or demerits
of such speech.”</p>
<p>“Yes, my lord, you are talking very plausibly;
but you must feel that there is a wide
difference between the two cases. You cannot by
such arguments cheat me out of my feelings.
I thought it a calamity when I heard that my
child meditated that profession, and I was delighted
that it was in my power to save her from
such a painful publicity.”</p>
<p>It was not perhaps quite consistent with the
strictest veracity when Penelope, interrupting her
father, said: “Indeed, my dear father, you quite
misunderstand me, if you think that I should feel
any unpleasant sensations in that publicity.”</p>
<p>Mr Primrose saw clearly enough the motive of
that speech; and he began to wish that this
discussion had not taken place in the presence of
a third person; and Lord Spoonbill saw that this
feeling oppressed the poor man. With a degree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
of propriety and delicacy therefore, which he
could readily assume when it suited his purpose,
he concluded his visit by saying:</p>
<p>“Well, Mr Primrose, I will not intrude upon
you any longer for the present; and I can only
say, that I hope you will not find the affairs of
your banker quite so bad as you expect; but if
you should, then I will venture to say that the
Earl of Smatterton will not forget a near relative
of the late respected Dr Greendale. Our family
will be in town in a few days, and I shall be most
happy then to repeat my call. And should Miss
Primrose still persist in wishing to adopt the
musical profession, a patroness and every possible
assistance will not be wanting.”</p>
<p>In this there was much kindness, and Mr
Primrose was accordingly pleased with the
young lord, and forgot for a moment that he
had ever heard any stories to his discredit.
And, when the father and daughter were left
alone, they entered into long and serious talk
concerning their respective prospects.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p>
<p>Mr Primrose was not left absolutely pennyless
by the stopping of his banker; but the
greater part of his property was gone if, as report
stated, the house should be only able to
pay one shilling in the pound. Indeed, upon
the supposition of a much larger dividend, the
property, which would then remain to Mr Primrose,
would be but a very narrow and scanty
independence. He had not made so very large
a fortune in India as some persons are said to
have accumulated; but, as soon as he had acquired
what he thought a respectable competence,
he returned to England to have as much
as possible the enjoyment of his daughter’s
company, and those pleasures which none but
a native land is capable of affording.</p>
<p>When he had stated to Penelope as accurately
and fully as possible the various particulars relative
to his property, and mentioned the sources
from whence the rumours came concerning the
incompetency of his banker, the young lady
very composedly expressed her readiness to avail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
herself of the proffered patronage of the Countess
of Smatterton. There appeared so much
sincerity and cheerfulness in the proposal, that
Mr Primrose felt himself considerably relieved:
and not only did there appear sincerity in the
language used by Penelope, but there really was
what there appeared to be. For reluctant as
she might have been to engage in such a profession
merely for the gratification of a patroness,
she felt very differently when she thought
that she might thereby be an assistance to her
father.</p>
<p>Hurt as Mr Primrose’s feelings, or pride, might
have been at the thought of receiving assistance
from his own daughter, whom he had hoped
to place in a state of independence, and mortified
as he might be at the prospect of the
young lady making a public appearance, yet he
had but little to say to the repeated enquiry
which Penelope made in answer to all his
objections; for invariably his remarks were fol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>lowed
by the question—“What else can be
done?”</p>
<p>It was too late for Mr Primrose to return to
India; and the patronage or interest which once
had favoured him now existed for him no longer.
He had not been brought up to any profession
whereby he might gain a livelihood in England,
and he had been accustomed to a style of living
which rendered daily bread a more expensive
article to him than to those of humbler prospects.</p>
<p>A very distressing and heart-rending scene
may be drawn of human suffering from the lowest
and most abject of the children of penury
and destitution. But we have our doubts whether
the bitterest and keenest sense of suffering
is really in that class. The poor gentleman
suffers mentally, and while the beggar who lives
on casual charity has an occasional luxury in
a full meal, he, whose poverty must be hidden
but cannot be unknown, is labouring under an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
unremitting and incessant pressure; and it is
this that wastes away the body to a mere shadow
and bows down the spirit to the earth. They
are cruel and unfeeling indeed, who mock such
misery as this. We envy not the talent which
can draw mirth from a source so painful.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Another</span> morning dawned, and with its opening
light there came to the father of Penelope
a feeling of his comparatively destitute situation.
His heart swelled as he thought of it, and he
had some difficulty to preserve composure enough
to meet his child. There was however one drop
of consolation in the cup of his affliction, for it
was not by his own fault or folly that his present
loss was occasioned. But even this consolation
afflicted him, for it brought to his recollection
his past folly, and reminded him of the patient
endurance with which the mother of his
Penelope had borne up, as long as possible,
against her sufferings. He recollected how gra<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>dually
and slowly she sunk, and how to the very
last moment of life her looks were to him all
tenderness and forgiveness. And he thought
that he could also discern in his child those
same moral features which had been the grace
and glory of her departed mother.</p>
<p>Commanding his feelings as well as he could,
he commenced the talk concerning the calamity
of the preceding day. His heart was touched
by the cheerful manner in which Penelope referred
to the proposal of the Countess of Smatterton,
and he smiled through his tears to hear
how sanguinely the poor girl talked of the certainty
of high success. But as yet all was in
uncertainty.</p>
<p>His banker, in whose hands he had placed the
greater part of his property, had certainly stopped
payment; but it could not yet be ascertained
when his affairs would be put into a train for
settlement, nor was it likely that one so little
acquainted with the City as Mr Primrose should
be able to form any idea of the dividend which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
might be paid. He certainly had heard it said
that no greater dividend would be forthcoming,
than one shilling in the pound. But people in
the City sometimes tells lies not knowing them
to be lies, and sometimes even do they go so far
as to tell lies knowing them to be so.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose was a very hasty man, catching
up whatever he heard, and taking it for granted
that all he heard was true. He never thought
of enquiring what was the political party to
which his banker belonged, nor did he know to
what party those persons attached themselves
who told him the melancholy story of that banker’s
inability to pay more than one shilling in
the pound. As for Mr Primrose himself, he,
poor man, knew nothing about party; he was
not aware that England contained two classes
of men, one of which is all that is good, and
the other all that is bad. He simply knew that
the banker had stopped payment, and that two
very respectable-looking gentlemen had declared
it as their opinion that there would not be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
dividend of more than one shilling in the pound.
That story he believed, and on that presumption
was proceeding. His daughter of course could
know nothing about the matter; and as for the
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill, he was such a
superfine sort of a gentleman that he hardly
knew that there was such a place as the City;
and if he had ever heard of such an animal as a
City Alderman, he took it for some such a creature
as the Bonassus.</p>
<p>Now this melancholy intelligence, which Mr
Primrose had brought with him from the City,
put a stop of course to those employments in
which he would otherwise have been engaged.
He was preparing to look out for some residence,
either in town or country; and for that purpose
he had every morning read with great attention
all the advertisements of desirable residences to
be sold or let. It was not very pleasant to turn
from these thoughts to study painfully the means
of again acquiring a maintenance.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
<p>It was more especially distressing to him to
observe how anxiously his poor child now supplicated
as a favour to be permitted to engage
in an occupation, from which he knew that,
under other circumstances, she would have
timidly shrunk. He was afflicted to hear such
solicitations; but he had so much pleasure in
his daughter’s society, and so little occasion to
go out, that he remained in his hotel the greater
part of the morning, or more properly speaking
the day. Towards evening however it occurred
to him, and to any one else it would have occurred
much earlier, that it might be the means
of setting his mind a little at rest, and of giving
him some little ground of hope, if he should go
once more into the City and enquire of his agent
into the probability of a settlement or arrangement
of his banker’s affairs.</p>
<p>While Mr Primrose was gone into the City
Penelope was left mournfully alone. It is indeed
very dull to spend a long solitary evening in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
strange place without occupation, and with nothing
to think upon but painful recollections
and fearful anticipations.</p>
<p>The room in which the poor girl was left was
large and well furnished, but there were no books
in it, and the pictures were but indifferent engravings
in splendid frames. There was a newspaper,
but that was soon exhausted. There were
many persons in the house, but Penelope knew
none of them, and none of them cared about
her.</p>
<p>It had been very different at Smatterton, and
at Neverden; in those two villages everybody
knew her, and everybody loved her more or less;
and there she never felt herself alone, for she
knew that her good uncle was near her, and
there is some pleasure in knowing that a good
friend is near us. There, when she heard footsteps
and voices, they were familiar voices and
the footsteps of friends; but in the large hotel,
where she sat alone waiting for her father, she
heard only the voices of strangers. And when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
for the sake of a little variety she drew aside the
drapery of the long windows and looked down
upon the lamp illuminated street, there was
something quite melancholy in the dim appearance
and the monotonous sounds. Carriage-wheels
seemed to roll incessantly, and their
passing lights were miserably reflected from myriads
of little puddles coldly shining amidst the
uneven pavement.</p>
<p>There was a specimen or two to be heard
of the London cries; but there was no music
in them, and they fell upon the ear with a
strangely unpleasant effect, intermingled with the
occasional sound of a street organ. Penelope
strained her attention to listen to the music, and
it was pleasant to her, though the images which
it raised in her mind were those only of sad
regrets. There is more effect produced by those
street organs than people in general are aware
of. Shall we be pardoned the strangeness of the
expression, if we say that they sometimes give a
wholesome agitation to the stagnation of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
moral atmosphere? And shall we be still farther
pardoned if we digress, for the sake of illustrating
by an anecdote the above singular expression?
By such a digression we are not interrupting
our narrative, which is now indeed, like
its pensive heroine, standing still.</p>
<p>A father had lost an affectionate and promising
child, over whose long lingering illness he had
watched anxiously but hopelessly. The poor
child had suffered patiently, but had experienced
some intervals of ease, and some sensations
even of delight. A popular melody had
caught his fancy, and when the wandering organist
of that neighbourhood played his favourite
air, the little sufferer’s eyes would brighten, and
his pale transparent hand would beat the time
as knowingly as an amateur. That was a scene
for a parent to recollect. And the poor little one
died, and the father, when he had seen the grave
closed upon the child’s remains, returned to his
home in a state of apathy: feeling seemed to
have perished in him. The organist made his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
accustomed round, played the favourite air; the
bereaved father was awakened to the agony of
remembrance, and those tears flowed freely and
spontaneously, which told that feeling had not
departed.</p>
<p>By the itinerant musicians the feelings of
Penelope were awakened; but she could not
help observing how much less emotion she experienced
than formerly, when these well-known
melodies brought to her mind thoughts of the
absent and the distant. Her mind was otherwise
engaged and her thoughts otherwise directed.
Little did she imagine, when she had been anxiously
expecting and joyfully anticipating her
father’s return to England, that so dark a cloud
would obscure the first dawn of her happiness.
While she was thus wearing away the slowly
moving hours, the door of the apartment was
opened and Lord Spoonbill made his appearance.</p>
<p>It is a great evil that virtuous men should
ever make themselves disagreeable, and it is also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
a great evil that vicious men should make themselves
agreeable; but the latter is quite as common
as the former, and perhaps more so. He
that exercises no reflection, and never turns his
thoughts within, has so much the more attention
to give to the external of manner and
address. And so much had Lord Spoonbill cultivated
manner, that although Penelope had
reason to suppose him to be no conjuror, and
though she had also reason to think that his
morals were not the most pure, yet he was not
altogether offensive and disagreeable to her.
She could not but feel almost grateful to him
for having so readily abstained from urging the
topic which he had mentioned on the day of her
meeting with her father. It also appeared to
her highly flattering and complimentary, that a
person of his lordship’s rank should deign to pay
court to one of inferior station; for there was
not in her mind the slightest or remotest suspicion
that Lord Spoonbill had any other than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
most honourable intention in making a profession
of attachment.</p>
<p>When his lordship made his appearance, he
was received cordially and as cheerfully as
circumstances would permit. Penelope had now
fully made up her mind to adopt the profession
recommended by the Countess of Smatterton,
and as Lord Spoonbill had on the previous day,
in conversation with Mr Primrose, used arguments
rather recommendatory of that step, the
young lady could not of course imagine that
there remained in his lordship’s mind any intention
whatever of pursuing the subject of his
attachment, or renewing any mention of his love
and devotedness.</p>
<p>This thought gave to her manner a much
greater ease, and being also blended with the
pensiveness of her present feelings, presented her
to the eye of Lord Spoonbill as more interesting
and lovely than ever. His lordship was a vain
man; and to possess so lovely a creature as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
Penelope, would be the means of gratifying his
vanity. He was cunning enough however to
see that Miss Primrose was quite unsuspicious
of his designs, and that she did not anticipate a
revival of that discourse to which her earnest
supplications had put a stop. He felt therefore
that it would not be prudent hastily to recommence
a conversation of that nature, but to
endeavour to render himself more agreeable, and
to try to ascertain how far there yet remained in
her recollection any tender thoughts of Robert
Darnley.</p>
<p>Such were his lordship’s intentions, but they
were frustrated by the manner in which Penelope
spoke, and by the decision with which she proposed
to cast herself on the patronage of the
Countess, and to adopt the profession so earnestly
recommended by her ladyship. Lord
Spoonbill to this proposal replied, that the
Countess would be most happy to afford Miss
Primrose all the assistance in her power; and his
lordship was also pleased to say, that this reso<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>lution
would contribute very essentially to increase
the attractions of Lady Smatterton’s
parties.</p>
<p>Penelope sighed and almost shuddered at the
thought; but, as the effort was made for the
sake of her father, she subdued or concealed her
reluctance. It was of course understood by his
lordship, that this resolution of the young lady
arose from the loss which her father had experienced;
it was therefore very natural that some
expressions of sympathy and concern should be
used on the occasion by the hereditary legislator.
These expressions were gratefully received
by Penelope, though her language of acknowledgment
was only the language of looks and
imperfectly suppressed tears.</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill interpreted this emotion as an
omen in his favour; and he was tempted by his
evil genius to say something farther in allusion
to the prohibited topic. He was greatly and
agreeably surprised to hear no express and hasty
interruption; and fearful lest this silence should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
proceed only from abstraction of mind, he went
on to speak more decidedly and less equivocally
concerning his attachment to the young lady.
Penelope gave symptoms of understanding his
lordship, but shewed no decided or obvious
marks of disapprobation. There seemed to be,
and there certainly was, a strong conflict in her
mind. She had not, indeed, ceased to think
tenderly and affectionately of Robert Darnley;
but she had nearly, if not altogether, ceased to
hope. The conflict in her mind was between
her affection for her father and her indifference
to Lord Spoonbill. We will not say that her
vanity was not flattered by the apparent offer
of so splendid an alliance. It perhaps influenced
her as little as it would influence any
one; but when the mind is just recovering from
the pains and mortifications of a first disappointment,
it is mightily indifferent to matters of
sentiment. The very loss of a first love is of
itself so great an affliction, that it appears as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
if no condition of being could render the affliction
greater.</p>
<p>Finding that Penelope returned no answer to
his protestations of attachment, and that she
did not withdraw her hand from his grasp, his
lordship proceeded to urge his suit in the common
language adapted for such occasions as the
present, and used by such persons as his lordship.
Penelope, fancying that she was about
to give her consent to become Lady Spoonbill,
prefaced that consent by expressing her fears
that the Earl and Countess of Smatterton would
look down, with disapprobation at least, on one
so humble and portionless. To obviate this
objection his lordship, who did not, or who
would not see the misapprehension of the young
lady, observed that the Earl and Countess need
not know anything of the arrangement.</p>
<p>“But how is that possible?” inquired Penelope
in the simplicity of her heart.</p>
<p>In explaining that possibility his lordship also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
explained the object which he had in view in
making a declaration of his attachment. Now
Penelope, who had been brought up under the
roof and instruction of Dr Greendale, and who
knew no more of the world than the world knew
of her, was not able immediately and readily to
comprehend his lordship’s meaning, and when
she did comprehend it, she was shocked and
astonished at it; her pride also, of which she
possessed constitutionally an abundant share,
took alarm at the indignity, and she would, but
for the utter depression of her spirits, have
resented the insult loudly and contemptuously.
As it was, her only resource was in a copious
flood of silent tears, and when her paroxysm of
anguish was somewhat abated, so that she could
find utterance for words, she said:</p>
<p>“My Lord Spoonbill, let me request you to
leave me. My father will soon return, and if
he should learn what has passed, I cannot
answer for the consequences.”</p>
<p>The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill began<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
to discern symptoms of a horsewhipping, and
having acted dishonorably, he looked foolishly.
It was not generous to attempt to take advantage
of the misfortunes of Mr Primrose, and the
destitute condition of Penelope. But there was
in his lordship’s heart so great a regard for
Penelope, that he resolved at all events to make
her his own, and that if marriage was the only
condition, he would offer her marriage. With
this view he stammered out something which he
intended as an apology, and endeavoured, as
well as he could, to unsay all that he had said
concerning the humiliating arrangement which
he had at first proposed; but Penelope heard
him not, or if hearing, heeded him not.</p>
<p>Hereupon his lordship became more earnest
in his solicitations, and made such clumsy attempts
to explain away his first proposal, that
the young lady began to think more contemptuously
of him than she had ever thought before.
And now his lordship saw that there was some
truth and justice in the observations which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
been thrown out by his friend Erpingham. Seeing
the lady so resolute and obdurate, he thought
it would be the wisest step that he could take
to leave her for the present, in hope that hereafter
her indignation might somewhat abate.</p>
<p>When he was gone, the poor, perplexed, and
almost desolate one, felt in some measure relieved
by his absence; but, when she began to reflect,
she found that her hopes of the patronage of
Lady Smatterton were now gone; for it would
be absolutely impossible for her to place herself
again in a situation where she might be exposed
to the importunities of Lord Spoonbill. And
when at a late hour in the evening her father returned
from the City, it was too much for her to
receive him cheerfully, and she could no longer
speak sanguinely and with confidence concerning
her prospects under the patronage of Lady
Smatterton.</p>
<p>As for Mr Primrose, no brighter prospect
seemed to shine before him; for he had gained
no intelligence. He had found, as he might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
have expected, the office of his agent closed,
and there was no one in the house who could
give him the slightest information. He was astonished
at the world’s apathy; no one seemed to
sympathise with him. Everybody was wrapped
up in their own concerns, and the thoughts of all
seemed to be centred in themselves. This is
indeed not much to be wondered at. It is the
way of the world, and always has been, and
always will, until some change takes place which
we cannot yet anticipate or conjecture. It was
pleasantly observed by a sentimental jockey, who
lost by a considerable length the first race he
ever rode, “I’ll never ride another race as long
as I live. The riders are the most selfish, narrow-minded
creatures on the face of the earth.
They kept riding and galloping as fast as they
could, and never had once the kindness or civility
to stop for me.”</p>
<p>In some such state of mind as this was Mr
Primrose when he returned from his fruitless
excursion in the City. All the inquiries which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
he had made about his agent, as to where he
was, and how long the office had been shut,
and what time it would be open tomorrow, and
ten thousand other matters, had been answered
with a toil-saving brevity and a coldness, which
intimated that the persons answering the questions
had not so great an interest in them as the
person asking them.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Many</span> days had now passed away since Mr
Primrose had left Neverden and Smatterton, and
since Robert Darnley had expressed his resolution
to make prompt inquiry into the cause of
the interruption of the correspondence between
Penelope and himself. There had arrived no
intelligence from the young gentleman: but Mr
Primrose began now to think that he himself
had not done right in listening and yielding to
the delicate scruples of his daughter. The
father of Penelope was of that complexion of
mind that, under similar circumstances, he would
have thanked any one for removing any misunderstanding,
even had it been the lady herself.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
<p>He knew that Robert Darnley had not been
the wilful cause of breaking off the correspondence,
and he knew also that his own daughter
had not neglected to answer the letters which
she had received. He knew that the parties
were attached to each other, and he had learned
from Penelope herself that there was no foundation
for the story of her attachment to Lord
Spoonbill. Now what should prevent him from
writing to Neverden to inform the young gentleman
of this fact? He thought that it would be
an act of kindness to both parties. Nevertheless,
it should be observed, that Mr Primrose
was not one of those terribly kind people who
force their kindness upon one, whether we like
it or not, as the man who beat his wife and
said, “It is all for your good, my dear.”</p>
<p>When therefore he was fully satisfied that it
would be but an act of kindness to his daughter
to remove the mystery from the mind of Robert
Darnley, he did not take this step without first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
consulting her for whose benefit such step was
to be taken. At breakfast he said to Penelope:</p>
<p>“So, my dear, my excursion into the City
was to no purpose last night. I find that I
must make an earlier visit, and therefore I shall
go again to-day. I hope and trust I may find
matters not quite so bad as I first anticipated.
And I think that you need not be in a very
great hurry to engage in this profession. I
cannot say I like patronage. But why should
not we take some steps to let Robert Darnley
know that the breaking off the correspondence
was not your act? I think I ought to write to
him. Indeed I almost promised that I would.
Very likely he may be waiting till he hears from
me.”</p>
<p>“My dear father,” exclaimed Penelope, “you
surely would not think of such a step as that.
It would be exceedingly indelicate, and might
expose me to contempt. Mr Darnley knows
that I am in London, and if he were at all dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>posed
to renew the correspondence, or to have
an explanation of the cause of its interruption,
he would either have written or have made his
appearance in town. Knowing that I was at
Lord Smatterton’s, it was no difficult matter
to write to me; for the letter would be sure
to find me, if directed under cover to his lordship.”</p>
<p>“But, my dear child,” interrupted Mr Primrose,
“I think he expects to hear from me; for
I recollect now having said something to that
effect.”</p>
<p>“But after this long interval, if Mr Darnley
were really anxious, and at all concerned about
me, he would have written to press you to the
performance of your promise.”</p>
<p>“He might have done so to be sure,” said her
father, slowly and thoughtfully, and then, as if
recollecting himself, he continued in a livelier
and quicker tone;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> “but perhaps, as he has not
heard from me, he takes it for granted that you
really were desirous of dropping the correspondence;
and so after all you will appear to him
as the person by whose act and deed the acquaintance
has ceased.”</p>
<p>“And what will he, or can he think,” rejoined
Penelope, “if, under present circumstances, there
should be on my part an effort made to renew
the acquaintance? No, no; let the matter rest.
Even if you did promise to write first, you may
be sure that he would not have waited patiently
all this while in expectation of hearing from you.
He might naturally enough suppose that I should
object to having overtures made as from me;
and if he had a real regard for me, we should
have heard from him by this time. My attachment
to Mr Darnley was founded on the qualities
and endowments of the mind, and if I were
deceived as to them, that attachment will soon
die away.”</p>
<p>“Upon my word, child,” said Mr Primrose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
“I really do not think you have any regard for
Mr Darnley. You are certainly captivated by
this Lord Spoonbill.”</p>
<p>This was said by Mr Primrose not angrily,
but with a tone of mock reproach. Penelope
shuddered at the allusion to Lord Spoonbill; but
she endeavoured to conceal her emotion as much
as possible, lest she should be under the necessity
of informing her father of the proposal which
his lordship had made her the day before.</p>
<p>While this conversation was passing between
Mr Primrose and his daughter, another scene
was passing at the town mansion of the Earl
of Smatterton, where his lordship and family
had arrived on the preceding day. Parliament
was about to meet after the prorogation. On
such occasions his lordship’s magnificence swelled
out to most extraordinary dimensions. Then did
he bethink himself that he was one of those who
held in his hand the destiny of the British empire;
and, when the postman brought letters from
divers parts of the kingdom, his lordship felt
himself to be the centre to which many minds
were directing their most anxious thoughts. The
letters were handed to his lordship on a silver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
tray. The servant who brought them swelled
with importance, and even the silver tray shone
with unusual brightness beneath its important
burden.</p>
<p>“It is very fatiguing,” his lordship would
sometimes say, “to have anything to do with
public business. I often envy the obscurity of
humble station. There is peace and quietness
in the lowly valley.”</p>
<p>This, together with much more pompous sentimentality
of the same kind, his lordship would
utter when an unusual number of letters were
brought to him. On the morning to which we
now refer the number of letters was great, and
they were spread on the table by his important
lordship’s own right honorable hands. The contents
of some he anticipated, and of others he
uttered his conjectures.</p>
<p>“Oh! here are two from Smatterton,” exclaimed
his lordship:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> “one, I see, is from Kipperson:
that Kipperson is really a man of some
talent; he has very just views of things. This
letter from Kipperson is of course on private
business, which must be postponed to the more
important affairs which concern the destiny of
the empire. But from whom can this other
letter come? I have no other correspondent
there, except my cousin Letitia, and this is not
her writing.”</p>
<p>Then his lordship looked very knowingly at
the letter again. But all this speechification
was perfectly needless; for if he wished to know
from whom the letter came, he had nothing to
do but to open it; and till he did open it he was
not likely to know anything about it. After a
full share of idle wonderment, his lordship took
the envelope off the mysterious letter, and found
that it was addressed to Mr Primrose. Thereat
his lordship was angry, and expressed great
astonishment at the liberty thus taken with his
right honorable name. On looking again at the
cover he discerned a few lines of apology, bearing
the signature of Robert Darnley, and stating that
the liberty had been taken because the writer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
did not know the gentleman’s address, and
because he also understood that Mr Primrose’s
daughter was under his lordship’s roof.</p>
<p>“And how am I to know the gentleman’s
address?” exclaimed his lordship with a most
magnificent air.</p>
<p>But the Countess, who had been informed by
Lord Spoonbill that Penelope had the intention
of returning to undergo her ladyship’s patronage,
did not feel quite so angry as her lord, but
suggested that the young lord had seen Mr
Primrose, and knew the name of the hotel where
he lodged.</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said Lord Spoonbill, “I will
take care of it.” And he forthwith laid hands
upon the letter. Lord Smatterton then added,
“I beg that Mr Primrose may be immediately
recommended to make known his address to
Mr Darnley, that this liberty may not be taken
again.”</p>
<p>When Lord Spoonbill had possession of this
letter he forthwith began to think how he should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
dispose of it. He was not quite sure, though it
came from Robert Darnley to Mr Primrose, that
it must of necessity discourse concerning love
and Penelope. When his lordship therefore in
his own apartment sat muttering over the letter,
and wondering what it could contain, there was
some little more reason for his doubts and wonderments
than for those of Lord Smatterton over
the unopened cover addressed to himself. The
letter in possession of Lord Spoonbill was not
addressed to himself, and therefore he had no
right to open it, however deeply he might feel
interested in its contents.</p>
<p>He took up the letter, and looked at the direction
and at the seal; and he endeavoured to
conjecture on what other subject than that of
Penelope Mr Darnley could write to Mr Primrose.
Then did his lordship poke his right
honorable finger and thumb into the open sides
of the letter, endeavouring to catch a glimpse
of a word or two that might help him over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
difficulties of conjecture. But the letter was
so very ingeniously folded that not a single word
could be seen. Hereupon, incredible as it may
appear, his lordship was in a very great wrath,
and was offended with the insolence of Robert
Darnley, who had taken such pains to fold his
letter, as if he had a suspicion that any individual
of Lord Smatterton’s family should have
the meanness to look into it. This curious mode
of folding the letter induced his lordship to make
another and another attempt to read a line or a
word. But nothing could be seen. Now, in the
progress of these repeated efforts at investigation,
the letter was so much disfigured that his lordship,
with all his ingenuity, could not make it
look like itself again.</p>
<p>Another difficulty now arose: for his lordship
was ashamed to send it in so questionable a
shape; and should he send or make any apology,
he must tell something very much like a lie, and
perhaps by his clumsiness in apologizing create<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
a suspicion of the real fact. Perplexed and undecided,
he thrust the letter into his pocket and
walked out.</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill must have been very much
attached to Miss Primrose to take all this
trouble, and to expose himself to so many annoyances
on her account; and the worst of the
matter was that he could not, in making his visit
to the young lady, quote all these instances of
mortification and self-denial as illustrations and
proofs of his devotedness to her. He could not
tell her that, for her sake, he had stooped to
meannesses of which any other man would have
been ashamed. He could not tell her that, in
order to place her in the enviable rank of nobility,
he had intercepted her letters and had corrupted
the integrity of Nick Muggins, the Smatterton
post-boy. By the way we cannot help
remarking, that Muggins was much to blame
for accepting a bribe to betray his trust. But
the love of gold is an universal passion, it is not
confined to any one class or condition of human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
life; it influences the high and the low, the rich
and the poor, the learned and the unlearned;</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“In peace it tunes the shepherd’s reed,</div>
<div class="verse">In war it mounts the warrior’s steed,</div>
<div class="verse">In halls in gay attire ’tis seen,</div>
<div class="verse">In hamlets dances on the green;</div>
<div class="verse">It rules the court, the camp, the grove,</div>
<div class="verse">And men below and gentlemen above.”</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>But to return to our enamoured hereditary
legislator. He was walking, he scarcely knew
whither, with Robert Darnley’s letter in his
pocket; and he was meditating most perplexedly
on the various events of human life, on
those at least which concerned himself, and he
thought that he had been acting very much like
a fool, and he felt very much inclined to make
a mighty effort to act like a wise man. But
wisdom is not an extemporaneous production
of a fool’s head. It required something more
than a volition to change the whole tenor of the
conduct.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
<p>In his resolution to act more wisely, the Right
Honorable Lord Spoonbill made with himself
this stipulation, namely, that at all events, and
by any means honorable, or dishonorable, he must
have Miss Primrose; for it was absolutely impossible
that he could live without her. It was
therefore no easy matter for his lordship so to
manage matters as to gain Miss Primrose at all
events, and yet to act as a man of honor. For
here was in his pocket a letter, which, as a man
of honor, he ought immediately to hand over to
Mr Primrose; and yet he very strongly suspected,
that if the said letter should come into
the possession of the person to whom it was addressed,
it would be most probably the means
of placing an insuperable objection in the way of
his lordship’s designs. It also entered into the
mind of the meditating young gentleman that,
if the acquaintance between Miss Primrose and
Robert Darnley should be renewed, there might
be some talk about the letters which had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
reached their destination, and there might be
made some enquiries. And what if, after all,
Nick Muggins should turn traitor! Who could
tell what influences fear or hope might exercise
over the uncivilized post-boy of Smatterton?</p>
<p>Instruction being a much more important object
than amusement, we feel ourselves bound to
direct the attention of our readers to the instruction
which may be derived from the fact here
alluded to. Here is political instruction and
personal instruction. We do not believe a word
of the idle prating that some political greenhorns
make about secret service money; but we do
believe that many of those politicians, and they
are not a few, who mistake cunning for wisdom,
frequently become entangled in nets of their own
weaving, and fall into pits of their own digging.
To play the rogue with perfect success, is a
perfection almost beyond the reach of ordinary
humanity: for they, who have talent and power
to do so, are generally too wise to possess the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
inclination, and they who are weak enough to
possess the inclination, are in nine cases out of
ten too clumsy to carry it on with perfect success.
And the worst of it is, that they must
make use of tools which are either too strong
to be managed, or too weak to be depended on.</p>
<p>This is also a lesson of instruction to persons
in private life, especially to those who have nothing
to do but to live on the fruits of their
grandfather’s industry, or their great grandfather’s
roguery; for it teaches them that, if they will
pursue those ends which are dishonorable, they
must also make use of dishonorable means; and
they will very frequently be placed in very uncomfortable
and mortifying situations.</p>
<p>Now, however willing Lord Spoonbill might
have been to suffer the letter in his possession
to reach its proper destination, he found that he
could not send it without exposing his former
meanness to the risk of detection, and in all probability
defeating the end which he had in view<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
in intercepting the letters which were passing
between Miss Primrose and Robert Darnley.
In such perplexity, his lordship walked from one
street to another till he found himself at a very
considerable distance from Mr Primrose’s hotel.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Lord Spoonbill</span> was not like Cato. For history
records of the latter that he preferred being
good to seeming so: Lord Spoonbill had no
great objection to being a rogue, but did not
like to be thought one. It was therefore not
very pleasant for him to be placed in that dilemma,
of which we made mention in the last
chapter. He saw, or at least had good reason to
think that he saw, that Mr Darnley was bent on
renewing the acquaintance with Miss Primrose;
and he also feared that Penelope had not sufficiently
forgotten her first lover.</p>
<p>There also occurred to his mind the thought
that it was possible for Mr Darnley to make a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
journey to London for a personal explanation,
if the letter to Mr Primrose should not be answered.
This consideration suggested to his
lordship the necessity of taking prompt and
decided measures. He saw that no chance remained
for him but in the way of matrimony.
He certainly dreaded the encounter with his right
honorable parents; but, if he could not live without
Penelope, it was absolutely necessary that he
should take steps to live with her.</p>
<p>This is a very proper place wherein to make a
digression concerning the omnipotence of love;
and here we ought to be extremely pathetic,
shewing and demonstrating with heart-rending
eloquence, how irresistible is this universal passion:
and perhaps some of our readers, not many
we hope, may think that we ought to make a
very sentimental defence of Lord Spoonbill, as
some of our predecessors in the history of lovers
have made of those idle cubs who have shewn
their refinement and sensibility by seducing engaged
or betrothed affections. But we do not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
believe in the omnipotence of love; and we do
not think Lord Spoonbill at all deserving of pity.
Falling in love with Penelope was on his part
perfectly voluntary, deliberate, wilful, and intentional.
It is all very possible and very plausible
for an inexperienced and thoughtless youth
to find himself mightily attached to a young
woman before he is aware almost of the existence
of the passion; but this was not the case with
Lord Spoonbill. When he saw Miss Primrose he
admired her; when he became more acquainted
with her, he liked her; and, from pursuing, he
loved her. But he knew from the first that she
was otherwise engaged; and his designs towards
her had been degrading.</p>
<p>We have dwelt long, and perhaps tediously,
on Lord Spoonbill’s embarrassment; we have
done so intentionally, because that embarrassment
dwelt tediously on his mind, and it was
necessary, for the sake of accuracy in the picture,
to represent the case not transiently, but
copiously.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
<p>The result of the right honorable hereditary
legislator’s meditation was, that as it was not
possible for him to live without Penelope, and
as delay might expose him to the danger of being
compelled to do that which he knew to be impossible,
he would take the earliest opportunity
of making regular and deliberate overtures of
marriage. And he felt satisfied that the fascination
of title and the splendour of opulence
would be too much for a female heart to withstand.
There was also another thought on
which he grounded his hopes: he considered
that the affection which Penelope had for her
father would induce her more readily to accept
an offer which would provide her with the means
of assisting him.</p>
<p>With this resolution he returned home; as he
thought that it might be more advisable to communicate
his intention to the parties concerned
by letter than by word of mouth. Probably
his lordship might imagine that, if thus Mr
Primrose were made acquainted with the mag<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>nificent
offer that awaited his daughter’s acceptance,
paternal pride would be gratified, and
paternal authority might be added to other motives,
inducing the young lady’s compliance.
Lord Spoonbill was by no means fastidious as
to the manner in which he gained his object,
provided that the object was gained.</p>
<p>His lordship dined that day at home. During
dinner he was silent, and looked almost
sulky. The Earl and Countess inferred from
these looks that their hopeful son was on the
eve of saying or doing something not very agreeable
to his parents; for he most usually prefaced
an act of opposition to their will by putting himself
into an ill-humour. This is a refined piece
of domestic tactics. None however but spoiled
children can use it with proper dexterity and
complete success. When a wife wishes to persuade
her husband out of his senses, or to guide
him against his better judgment, her prelude is
generally an extraordinary degree of sweetness,
and her preface is made of witching smiles; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
then the husband thinks that it would be cruel
to convert such smiles into tears, and he passively
yields to the power of the silent logic of
the laughing eye. But the policy of a great
overgrown booby is different. The spoiled blockhead
knows that no art of his can give extra
loveliness to his looks in the eyes of his fond
parents. His own precious numskull is to them
the ne plus ultra of human excellence. But if
that sweet face is darkened by a frown, and if
the dear pet is sulky, cross-grained, and ill-humoured,
then anything and everything must be
conceded to bring him back to his good-humour
again.</p>
<p>“Spoonbill, are you unwell?” said Lord Smatterton.</p>
<p>“No,” replied Spoonbill in a style of sulky
abruptness, which Tony Lumpkin himself might
have envied.</p>
<p>“You seem to be quite out of spirits to-day:”
said the Countess, in one of her most agreeable
and winning tones.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p>
<p>“One cannot be always laughing and talking,”
was the uncourteous and ungrateful reply.</p>
<p>Then followed a long pause. The Earl and
Countess scarcely dared to speak to each other,
and Lord Spoonbill pertinaciously held his peace.
Now such a state of things cannot last long;
it is absolutely unbearable. Very soon after
the servants had left the room, as the young
man’s silence and sulkiness yet continued, Lord
Smatterton, who thought himself a bit of a politician,
gave her ladyship a hint to indulge them
with her absence.</p>
<p>When they were alone, the Earl of Smatterton
thus addressed his hopeful son: “Spoonbill, I
fear that something is preying upon your mind.
May I be permitted to know what it is that disturbs
you?”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill did not make any reply to this
consolatory interrogation: for he felt very well
satisfied that the communication of the cause
of his concern would not be very likely to remove
it. He therefore thought it best to con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>trive,
if it could be so managed, to let the truth
come out gradually, and to bring his father to
guess, than to tell abruptly, the cause of his
oppression.</p>
<p>“You are silent,” said the Earl of Smatterton.
Lord Spoonbill knew that without requiring
to be told of it. The Earl then continued:</p>
<p>“Why should you conceal from me anything
that concerns and interests you? I am only desirous
of promoting your welfare; and, if in any
matter I can serve you, command me.”</p>
<p>It is quite contrary to our notions of propriety
that sons should command their parents; it was
also contrary to Lord Smatterton’s ideas of his
own dignity that any one should dictate to him;
but in the present instance he adopted the courtier’s
language. As his son did not seem disposed
to command him, the father felt very much
inclined to command his son, and to insist with
mighty dignity on knowing the cause of this
strange behaviour. But Lord Spoonbill was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
rather too old to be treated like a boy. His
lordship would not be snubbed; but he could
not always escape a lecturing.</p>
<p>There is this difference between the rational
and irrational part of the creation; that, among
the irrational animals, the parents are in haste to
give their offspring a hint of their independence;
but among rational beings, the young ones are
more in haste to throw off their dependence than
parents to renounce their authority or withdraw
their protection. One reason perhaps for this
arrangement is, that rational youngsters are not
quite so well able to guide and to take care of
themselves as irrational animals are.</p>
<p>The feeling of which we are here speaking
operated very powerfully in the minds of Lord
Smatterton and his son. The father was especially
fond of authority, and the son as fond of
independence: but the father held the purse,
and there lay the great secret of his power.
Lord Spoonbill knew that he could not marry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
Miss Primrose without the consent of more parties
than himself and the young lady; he knew
that the means of an establishment must be contributed
by his own right honorable father; and
therefore his consideration was, how to obtain
that consent, and how to reconcile his father’s
well-known horror of plebeianism with his own
marriage, with the daughter of a man who had
originally sprung from the City. To have made
the proposal flatly and plainly, would have put
the Earl into a most tremendous passion. It
was therefore necessary to have recourse to management.</p>
<p>Finding that the Earl was slow in uttering
conjectures, Lord Spoonbill was compelled to
give broader hints; and for that purpose he rose
from his seat and walked to the fire-place, and
put his elbow on the chimney-piece, and his
hand upon his forehead, and sighed—oh, how
he did sigh! He would have been a fine subject
for Chantrey; but neither Chantrey nor any one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
else could have immortalized that magnificent
sigh.</p>
<p>At this movement the Earl started, and exclaimed:
“Are you in love, Spoonbill?”</p>
<p>“Suppose I am, sir;” replied the son of the
patrician, “and what then?”</p>
<p>“What then!” echoed Lord Smatterton; “that
very much depends on the person who has
engaged your affections. If it be a suitable
connexion, I shall throw no impediment in your
way.”</p>
<p>“But, perhaps, what may appear a suitable
connexion to me may not appear in the same
light to you.”</p>
<p>“Of course you will not think of marrying a
woman of no understanding.”</p>
<p>“Certainly not,” replied Lord Spoonbill cheerfully
and confidently; “I could not bear to live
with a wife who was not a person of intellect.”</p>
<p>Some of our readers might not have expected
this remark from Lord Smatterton, or this reply
from Lord Spoonbill; but let those readers look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
out among their acquaintance for a great blockhead,
and let them talk to him about intellect,
and they will not wonder that Lord Spoonbill
had a fancy for an intellectual wife. There is,
now a-days, a great demand for intellect, and a
demand will always create a supply of some sort
or other.</p>
<p>“And I think,” continued the Earl of Smatterton,
“that I know your opinions on that
subject too well to suppose that you would ever
degrade yourself so far as to marry a person of
low birth.”</p>
<p>Lord Spoonbill bit his lips; and said, “I
would never marry a woman of vulgar manners,
whatever might be her birth.”</p>
<p>“You are right,” said the Earl; “but why
can you not tell me at once, without all this
circumlocution, who is the lady that is destined
to the honor of becoming Lady Spoonbill?”</p>
<p>Here the young man hesitated and demurred,
and endeavoured to say something that should
amount to nothing. But the Earl was not con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>tent
to be put off evasively, and pressed so hard,
that at length the secret was extorted. Then
was the Lord of Smatterton exceedingly astonished
and grieved, and he groaned and shook
his head most solemnly, and in a tone of great
anguish of mind, said;</p>
<p>“Oh, Spoonbill! Spoonbill! That you should
ever have come to this! And have you made the
young woman an offer of your hand?”</p>
<p>“I have,” replied the son, who thought that
the readiest way of bringing the matter to a
conclusion would be to avow it at once.</p>
<p>But, when the Earl farther enquired whether
the offer had been accepted or not, the young
lord was under the necessity of acknowledging
that it had not been exactly accepted, but that
he had no doubt it would be. This was a curious
piece of refinement in the art of lying. Lord
Spoonbill was too scrupulous to commit himself
by a downright palpable falsehood, which might
be detected, but instead of that he had recourse
to one of those lies, which are not so easy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
detection, but which answer quite as well the
purpose of deceit. It was quite as much a lie to
say that he had no doubt that his offer would be
accepted, as it would have been to say that it
had already been accepted. But the one lie
might have been detected, the other could not.
He had doubts of his acceptance, and serious
doubts too; but he thought that if the young
lady and her father found that the match was
countenanced by the Earl, and, if proposals
could be fairly and fully made before Mr Darnley
should have an opportunity of holding any intercourse
with Miss Primrose or her father, there
was a possibility of success.</p>
<p>This information was indeed melancholy news
to Lord Smatterton, who had enjoyed and pleased
himself with the thought that he had to boast
of true patrician blood, and who looked forward
to see his only son uphold the dignity of his
house. There is a pleasure in greatness which
none but great ones know. It had been the
pride of the Earl of Smatterton to look down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
with contempt on such noble families as had
degraded themselves by admixture with plebeian
blood. Now all his sneers and sarcasms, he
thought, would be turned against himself, and it
pained him to think that it might be said of him,
“that is Lord Smatterton, whose son married a
woman from the City.”</p>
<p>His lordship knew that his son was obstinate
and headstrong, and he saw that there was no
mode of preventing the catastrophe, if the young
man had set his mind upon it. But notwithstanding
he knew that opposition must be fruitless,
he could not help speaking in his own
peculiarly emphatic manner against the proposed
match.</p>
<p>“Spoonbill,” said the Earl, “marry Miss
Primrose if you please; but remember”—here
his lordship made a most magnificent pause—“remember
that your establishment must be
from the fortune of your destined bride. From
me you have nothing.”</p>
<p>Had circumstances been otherwise than they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
were, and not requiring such despatch, Lord
Spoonbill would not have heeded this speech.
He would have known that ultimately he should
succeed with his magnificent father; but his
object was to come to a speedy decision; he
wished to be able at once to make a decided
proposal. At this remark of his father Lord
Spoonbill was angry and sulky, and he pettishly
replied; “I think I have a right to marry as I
please.”</p>
<p>“And I also have a right to use my property
as I please; and I will never consent to appropriate
any part of it to the purpose of introducing
a woman of low birth into my family.”</p>
<p>It may be very well supposed by our readers,
that the discussion on this interesting topic between
Lord Smatterton and his son did not end
here; and we shall not be blamed for omitting
the remainder of the angry discussion between
father and son on this very interesting and
delicate topic. It may be very easily imagined
that the son went on grumbling, and that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
father went on prosing, for a considerable length
of time, and that they did not arrive at any
satisfactory conclusion.</p>
<p>It may be also very easily imagined that when
the melancholy intelligence was communicated
to Lady Smatterton, her ladyship must have
suffered very acutely when she found that her
beloved and only child had so far forgotten the
pure and high principles in which he had been
nourished, as to think of bringing misery and
disgrace into a noble family, by letting down the
Spoonbills to an alliance with the Primroses.</p>
<p>It is a pity that in these days of invention
and ingenuity no contrivance can be hit upon
for preventing such miserable and heart-breaking
casualties, as patrician youths falling in love
with plebeian damsels. The “order” of hereditary
legislators has been in many instances most
cruelly and mercilessly invaded by impertinent,
instrusive plebeians. Sometimes love and sometimes
necessity have compelled an union between
the high and low; and yet, notwith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>standing
these painful and melancholy admixtures,
patricianism has kept up a very pretty
spirit of distinctness, and does yet contain some
choice specimens of the finer sorts of humanity.
How much more magnificent and sublime patricianism
might have been but for these admixtures,
it is impossible to say.</p>
<p>It is enough however for our present purpose
to observe that, with all the power which Lord
Spoonbill, as an only one and a spoiled child,
possessed over his parents, he was not able, even
with the additional force of his sulkiness and
ill-humour, to bring them to assent to the ill-assorted
union which he contemplated. The
Earl and Countess of Smatterton could not give
their consent to such a humiliating and degrading
connexion. They did not indeed know who
or what Mr Primrose was, but they did know
who and what he was not. They knew that he
was not of their set; that he was not a man of
family or title, and that whatever property he
might possess, he had acquired it by his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
diligence or wit. Now that was an abomination,
an indelible disgrace, a reproach not easily to
be wiped away. They took it for granted,
indeed, that Mr Primrose had some property;
but if they had known that even the little property
which he had was placed in jeopardy,
their indignation would have been greater still
at the folly of their own and only precious pet
essaying to unite himself with a young woman
who had nothing to recommend her but the
possession of almost every virtue that can adorn
the female character, united with a strong and
masculine understanding, and embellished with
gracefulness of manners, gentleness of deportment,
and a moral dignity, which was high
enough to look down with indifference on the
accidental distinctions of society.</p>
<p>All that Lord Spoonbill could gain from his
inexorable and right honorable parents, was a
promise that they would think about it.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">It</span> is a sad thing to be the most unfortunate
creature in the world; and the only consolation
under such calamity, is the thought that it is
by no means uncommon. Almost every body is
in this condition at some period or other of his
life. This calamity befel Lord Spoonbill at the
juncture of which we are now writing. It happened
under the following circumstances.</p>
<p>We have related that Mr Primrose, after hearing
of the stoppage of his banker, went into the
City to his agent at a preposterously late hour
of the day, and that in so doing he lost his
labour. We have also related that, during the
absence of Mr Primrose from his hotel, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill called and made
overtures to Miss Primrose. We have also related
that Lord Spoonbill, finding that it was
absolutely impossible to live without Penelope,
and finding also that, without an establishment, it
would be as impossible to live with her, had made
known to his respected parents his intention to
lead that same young lady to the altar, or, in
plain English, to marry her. Leading a lady
to the altar is merely a newspaper phrase, and
sounds heathenish; we ought rather to say,
leading her to the communion table. But, not
to use superfluous words, let us proceed.</p>
<p>We have narrated that the right honorable
parents of Lord Spoonbill were indignant at the
proposal of their son, and we have also stated
that despatch was to the young gentleman an
object of the greatest importance. The reason
why he was in so much haste has also been
stated.</p>
<p>Now it so happened, that on the very day on
which the letter of Robert Darnley was inter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>cepted
at the house of Lord Smatterton, and by
the meanness of Lord Spoonbill, Mr Primrose
went again into the City and called on his agent,
and made enquiries concerning the probabilities
or chances of his bankers paying a good dividend.
In these enquiries he found himself most
agreeably surprised, by ascertaining two very
important points: one was, that only part, and
that no very great part of his property had been
paid into the hands of the said banker; and another
was, that what had been already paid there
would, in all probability, be soon forthcoming
again, very little, if at all, diminished by the untoward
circumstances that compelled a stoppage.</p>
<p>While therefore Lord Spoonbill was sulking
and pouting to his papa and mama about Penelope
Primrose, that young lady was enjoying the
agreeable and pleasant intelligence which her
father had brought from the City. The brief
discussion which passed between the father and
daughter concerning the propriety of writing to
Robert Darnley, we have already narrated. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
took place on the morning of the day on which
Mr Primrose, going into the City, found his affairs
in so much better order than he had anticipated.</p>
<p>On the evening of that day the subject was
renewed, though but faintly and indirectly. But
in the course of conversation Mr Primrose
alluded to the offer which Mr Pringle, the new
rector of Smatterton, had made of accommodating
Mr Primrose with the parsonage-house, provided
he should choose to take up his residence at Smatterton.
Now Penelope loved Smatterton for
many reasons. There had she first learned to
know and feel what was real kindness of heart.
With that village were blended all her early
associations and recollections. She loved the
village church, and there was to her ear music
in its abrupt little ring of six small bells. The
very air of the village was wholesome to her,
morally as well as physically. The great booby
boys and the freckled girls of the village were
her intimates; not her companions indeed, but
she could sympathize with them, although they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
could not always sympathize with her. She also
knew the cows and the dogs and the horses.
She knew the names of a great many of them;
and very often, during her short sojourn in the
great city, she had called to mind with a starting
tear the recollection of the monotonous, drawling,
daily tone, with which the farmers’ men
talked to these animals.</p>
<p>When therefore her father proposed taking up
his abode at Smatterton, and hiring for that purpose
the parsonage-house, she altogether forgot
its vicinity to Neverden and its association with
the name of Darnley, and she was delighted with
the prospect of going back again to those scenes
with which her mind connected images of pleasure
and recollections of peace.</p>
<p>It was with ready and delightful acquiescence
that Penelope assented to the proposal; and as
Mr Primrose saw that his child was pleased with
the thought of going to reside at Smatterton,
he hastened to put his intentions into execution;
and at the very time that Lord Spoonbill was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
grumbling about his right to marry whomsoever
he pleased, Mr Primrose was making arrangements
to leave London.</p>
<p>The father of Penelope was not slow in his
movements, and he was not in the habit of giving
his purposes time to cool. He wrote by that
evening’s post to Smatterton, and at an early
hour on the following morning he and his
daughter commenced their journey. So that
when Lord Spoonbill, who heeded not his father’s
long lecture on the subject of dignity,
called again at Mr Primrose’s hotel, and heard
that the gentleman and his daughter were gone,
and that they were gone to Smatterton, then his
lordship was grieved beyond measure, and his
perplexity was serious, and his fears rose within
him: for he took it for granted that there must
soon be an interview and an explanation, and
then he distrusted Nick Muggins, and there rose
up before his mind’s eye the phantom of that
ungainly cub and his clumsy pony: that image
which, in the recollection of most who had seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
it, would excite a smile at its uncouthness, was
to the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill productive
of very painful emotions and disagreeable
apprehensions. So his lordship thought himself
the most unfortunate creature in the world.</p>
<p>Then again there was in his lordship’s possession
the letter from Robert Darnley to Mr Primrose,
and his lordship hardly knew what to do
with that. He thought that the secret of his
having already detained it for a whole day must
inevitably transpire. Whether he should send
it or detain it would be equally ruinous to his
schemes. He looked very thoughtfully at the
letter, and at length resolved to send it with an
explanation to Mr Primrose at Smatterton. He
thought that, if there should be on the letter
any symptoms of curious or prying fingers, it
might be attributed to any one rather than to
his lordship; and he thought that, at the worst,
no one would explicitly charge him with an
attempt to penetrate into its secresy. The letter
was therefore despatched with an apology for its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
detention as much like a lie as anything that a
lord could write.</p>
<p>There was nothing now left for Lord Spoonbill
to do but to sigh over his calamitous loss
as deeply as he could, and to explain to his
father, as ingeniously as might be, the singular
event of the sudden departure of Mr Primrose
and his daughter from London, at the very moment
when a right honorable suitor for the young
lady’s hand had started up in the person of Lord
Spoonbill. The son said it was very strange, and
the father also thought it was very strange, and
he recommended his son not to have any farther
correspondence with persons who could behave
thus disrespectfully. But the young gentleman
was too much enamoured to listen to such advice,
and he exercised most heartily all his little
wits to devise means of carrying on his suit to
Penelope.</p>
<p>For the present we must leave his loving lordship
in London, enjoying all the luxuries and
splendors which gas, fog, smoke, foolery, wax<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
candles, painted faces, late hours, French cookery,
Italian music, prosy dancing, Whig politics,
and patrician scandal, could afford him. It is
far more to our taste to follow Mr Primrose and
his daughter into the country than to remain
with Lord Spoonbill in London. If any of our
readers wish to know what Lord Spoonbill did
with himself in London, they may form a tolerably
correct idea from ascertaining how the rest
of that tribe occupy their time. He was a very
fashionable man, he knew all the common-places
perfectly, and with his own set he was quite at
home. There let us leave him.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose and Penelope travelled to Smatterton
in perfect safety; and the father congratulated
himself and his daughter upon their safe
arrival, observing that had they ventured to use
the stage-coach instead of post-chaises, they
would certainly have had their necks broken
at the bottom of some steep hill.</p>
<p>Their reception at Smatterton parsonage was
most cordial and highly courteous. Nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
could exceed the happiness of the young rector
in receiving under his roof so respected a friend
as Mr Primrose. Preparations had been made
according to the best of the young clergyman’s
ability; and, as Mr Primrose’s letter mentioned
the day and the hour of his arrival, Mr Pringle
thought that he could not do otherwise than
make a party to meet the gentleman at dinner.</p>
<p>Since the departure of Mrs Greendale from
Smatterton, the establishment of Mr Pringle had
continued the same, but his domestics had not
had a very bustling life; and they ventured to
contradict the popular theory which represents
man as a creature of habit. For during the
reign of Mrs Greendale they had been accustomed
to fly about the house with unceasing
bustle and activity, but since her departure they
had become almost as lazy as their master. The
domestics were two female servants, one about
sixty and the other about forty. They were
clumsy and uncouth, but their clumsiness was
hardly visible in the time of Mrs Greendale; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
under her administration they had been habituated
to move about with most marvellous celerity,
and now that the old lady was departed
they seemed glad to take breath, and they took
it very leisurely. It was a great mercy that they
were not absolutely broken-winded.</p>
<p>There was also remaining in the establishment
a man servant, an amphibious animal as it were,
not because he lived partly on land and partly
in water, but as living partly in the house and
partly out of it. He was a mighty pluralist, and
filled, or rather occupied, many places; and from
the universality of his genius he might, had he
been in higher station, have aspired to be prime
minister, commander-in-chief, lord chancellor,
and archbishop of Canterbury. As it was, his
occupations were quite as multitudinous and
heterogeneous. His great skill was in gardening,
and finding that he was successful in cultivating
cabbages, he ventured also to undertake the
cavalry department in the late Dr Greendale’s
service. His duties here were not many or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
oppressive, seeing that the late doctor kept but
one horse, and that was very quiet and gentle.
This universal genius acted also as butler and
footman. In this last capacity he did not shine.
He did not want for head, he had enough of
that, and more than enough. As for figure, it is
difficult to say what that was, it was so exceedingly
indefinite. It was considerate of the late
Dr Greendale that he did not task the poor man
very hardly as to his department of footman.
But the new rector loved state, and it was his
pride to keep a livery servant, and he would also
insist upon the attendance of this man at table.
And though the footman was not himself a great
adept in waiting at table, he soon brought his
master to wait.</p>
<p>With this ungainly establishment, the Reverend
Charles Pringle took it into his head to give a
dinner to as many as he could collect, in order
to pay a compliment to Mr Primrose, and to pay
court to Miss Primrose. Unfortunately for Mr
Pringle it did not answer.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>
<p>It would be wearying to our readers to have
the particulars and the failures of a clumsy
mockery of an elegant dinner set forth at full
length. Let it be supposed that there was expense,
inelegance, constraint, anxiety, mortification.
As we are not writing for cooks, we pass
over the minutenesses of a spoiled dinner; the
greatest evil of which was, that the party was in
some degree silent during the progress of dinner,
for they had not much opportunity of talking
gastronomically.</p>
<p>The English people can talk, but they must
have something to begin with. If they meet out
of doors, they must begin talking about the
weather, and within doors, especially at dinner
time, they must begin talking about eatables
and drinkables. From such beginnings they can
go on to any subject; but they must of necessity
have a common-place beginning.</p>
<p>After the cloth was removed, and the spoiled
or ill-arranged dishes were forgotten, the party
felt themselves more at liberty. We have not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
yet named the persons who composed the party;
and when we say that Mr Kipperson, Mr Zephaniah
Pringle, and five or six of lesser note were
present, our readers may well suppose that there
was no lack of inclination to discourse, especially
on the part of those two gentlemen whom we
have named.</p>
<p>Now it has been stated, that Zephaniah the
critic had carried down to Smatterton an awkward
rumour concerning Penelope Primrose.
The source from whence the said critic had gathered
the information has been also stated. But
as soon as the intelligence of Mr Primrose’s
intention to reside with his daughter at Smatterton
reached the new rector, and was by him
communicated to his brother and to Mr Kipperson,
a virtual contradiction was given to the ill report;
and then all three of the gentlemen found out
that they had never believed it.</p>
<p>To render themselves as agreeable as possible
to Mr Primrose, the three whom we have named
talked great abundance of nonsense and magni<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>ficence.
Their first concern immediately after
dinner was to consult on the best means of saving
the nation. Mr Kipperson was well satisfied
that nothing would or could do the nation the
slightest service, so long as the agricultural
interest was neglected. There were two serious
evils which were growing worse and worse, the
increase of the population, and the importation
of foreign grain. The ingenious agriculturist
proved that the farmer was eaten up by the
increasing population, and that the quantity of
grain in the country was so large that it could
not find consumers.</p>
<p>Zephaniah Pringle agreed with Mr Kipperson
in the grand principle that there were too many
consumers for the corn, and too much corn for
the consumers. There was the great evil, he
thought, in these two troubles existing at once;
were they in existence separately they might
soon be got rid of. The consumers might consume
an extra quantity, and soon settle matters
in that way, or the want of corn might thin the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
consumers, and soon settle matters that way.
But, while the two evils operated together, they
were dreadful calamities.</p>
<p>Those of our readers who are not agriculturists,
or political economists, cannot understand
this reasoning, or, more properly speaking, they
will not; they are blinded by their own interested
feelings; they have prejudices which agriculturists
have not.</p>
<p>But though Zephaniah Pringle agreed with
Mr Kipperson, that the people were starving because
there was too much corn, and that the
corn could not find consumers because there
were so many people to eat it, yet he thought
that there were more serious evils in the country
yet. He thought that those obscure seditious
newspapers and vile trumpery publications, which
nobody reads and which everybody despises,
which are published by a set of needy miscreants,
who spare no expense in circulating
them all over the kingdom, had corrupted the
minds of all the people in this once happy land.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
He thought that the nation was in a most prosperous
condition, and that nothing was wanting
to render it more prosperous, than an additional
number of bishops, and an increase in the numbers
of the yeomanry cavalry.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose listened with polite and pleased
attention to these dextrous and acute politicians,
and he thought that his Majesty need
never be at a loss for a prime minister, or for
two, if he wanted them, while Zephaniah Pringle
and Mr Kipperson should live. But, as Mr
Primrose was neither an agriculturist, nor a political
economist, he felt himself a little puzzled
to reconcile the apparent contradiction which
was contained in Mr Kipperson’s statement of
the agricultural grievances. Mr Kipperson was
very properly angry with Mr Primrose for expressing
a doubt on the subject; and the
scientific agriculturist immediately and satisfactorily
explained that all the superfluous population
was pennyless, and could not pay for the
corn which they would like to consume. Where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>upon
Mr Primrose understood that in the good
old times people were born with money in their
pockets.</p>
<p>Zephaniah Pringle almost feared that Mr
Primrose was a radical, at least he thought he
was in the high road to become so, unless he
should resist that foolish propensity of wishing
to understand what he talked about.</p>
<p>There might have been at the table of Mr
Pringle, rector of Smatterton, some diversity of
political opinion, as there certainly was, seeing
that Mr Kipperson was a Whig, and Zephaniah
Pringle a Tory; but the corn question most cordially
united them. How far these gentlemen
differed in some other points, we have seen
already in the matter of mechanics’ institutes.
On this subject Mr Kipperson’s hopes were
rather too sanguine; and perhaps Zephaniah the
critic was too nervously susceptible, on the
other hand, of apprehensions of danger to the
Protestant succession; for, to his mind, the mechanics’
institutes had no other ultimate object<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
in view than transubstantiation and republicanism.</p>
<p>Concerning gymnastics, the gentlemen also
differed. Zephaniah condemned them in toto,
and so did the rector of Smatterton, in spite of
his whiggism. Mr Kipperson spoke very learnedly
about muscles and tension, and proved
that bodily exercise was essential to intellectual
vigour; but he had the candour to acknowledge
that he could never persuade his men to take
gymnastic exercises when their day’s work was
over; and he attributed their ignorance of science
to their neglect of gymnastics.</p>
<p>The whole of the conversation, to which we
have above alluded, did not take place in the
hearing of Miss Primrose, nor indeed did one
tenth part of it; for the fatigue of the journey,
together with the agitation of her spirits, led her
to make an early retreat from the dining-room.
And the old female servant, who had known
Penelope from childhood, was delighted in the
opportunity of again attending upon her. Fluent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
was the old gentlewoman’s speech, and mightily
communicative was she touching the various
changes which had taken place in Smatterton
and Neverden since the decease of the good
Dr Greendale. The kind-hearted woman also
expressed herself delighted at the return of Miss
Primrose to Smatterton, inasmuch as there was
one person who would be so happy to see her
again, and that person was Mr Robert Darnley.
Penelope begged that his name might never be
mentioned again in her hearing, and thereupon
the poor old domestic began to fear that there
was some truth in the stories that had been
talked about in the village concerning Miss
Primrose and Lord Spoonbill. And when the
old servant found that she could not talk to her
late young mistress concerning love-matters, she
hastily finished her discourse and left the young
lady to retire quietly to rest.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">The</span> news of Mr Primrose’s arrival at Smatterton
soon reached the rectory at Neverden. Had
it not found its way there sooner, Mr Zephaniah
Pringle would have been the first to communicate
the intelligence on the following morning.
The arrival having been announced, was of course
expected. And there was much anxiety felt on
the subject by all the parties concerned: of
course more especially by Robert Darnley. For
in consequence of his letter having been unanswered,
he had fully determined, in spite of
all domestic opposition and paternal expostulation,
to make a journey to London for the purpose
of explanation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p>
<p>The elder Mr Darnley was mightily displeased
to hear of the purpose which Mr Primrose had
in view in coming to Smatterton. To the fastidious
mind of the rector of Neverden it appeared
very indelicate for Miss Primrose, after
what had taken place, to throw herself in the
way of Mr Robert Darnley: for in no other light
could the rector of Neverden regard the meditated
settlement of Mr Primrose at Smatterton.</p>
<p>It is a great pity that such a man as Mr
Darnley, who had for the most part a good understanding
and good feelings, should be so
obstinate in his prejudices and so immoveable
in his fancies. He had, for some reason or
other, taken it into his head that Miss Primrose
was proud and fantastical and unfeeling; and
nothing could bring him to think favourably of
her. He saw everything that she did or said
through the deceptive medium of his erroneous
apprehension of her character. It was a vain
attempt to turn him from his humour. He
had thoroughly believed at the first the calum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>nious
report brought from London by Zephaniah
Pringle. He had also believed that it was
Penelope’s own wish, purpose, and desire, to
adopt the musical profession; and though he
had felt satisfied that the cessation of the correspondence
between his son and the young lady
had sprung altogether from the caprice of the
latter, yet he considered that this meditated
residence in Smatterton was, on the part of
Penelope, with a desire of meeting again with
Robert Darnley.</p>
<p>We have already acknowledged, nor do we
wish to retract the acknowledgment, that the
rector of Neverden was a very conscientious,
attentive, and upright parish priest; we will
give him credit for great zeal and activity in
the discharge of his pastoral duties; but, notwithstanding
all this, he was grievously deficient
in one part of the Christian character, seeing
that he had very little of that “charity which
thinketh no evil.” We have seen other good
people, besides the rector of Neverden, who,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
fancying themselves models of all that is right,
and patterns for the rest of the world, have exercised
a perverse ingenuity in discovering, and
an unholy pleasure in displaying and condemning,
their neighbours’ faults, real or imaginary.
These people imagine that they cannot show a
dislike of what is wrong without exhibiting a
degree of malignity against such as transgress.
Now the late Dr Greendale, though a man of
great purity and integrity, had no such feeling
as this. He was as candid as he was pure, and
his gentleness was equal to his integrity. And
the people of his parish liked him very much for
his goodness and gentleness, and so his character
had a very powerful influence upon them.
But Mr Darnley was a different kind of man.</p>
<p>When Zephaniah Pringle therefore made his
appearance at Neverden, and repeated the information
which had already been conveyed to the
rectory, as touching the arrival of Mr and Miss
Primrose at Smatterton, the Rev. Mr Darnley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
expressed himself astonished at the indecorum
and want of feeling which Miss Primrose
manifested.</p>
<p>“Mr Pringle, I am quite surprized at this
intelligence. Your relative at Smatterton has
certainly a right to let the parsonage-house if
he pleases; but I must say that I could wish,
for the sake of public morals, that it had a more
respectable tenant.”</p>
<p>Now as Penelope had appeared most truly
respectable, and not a little fascinating in the
eyes of Zephaniah the critic, and as he was not
quite certain that the rumour which he had been
the means of circulating was quite founded on
fact, and as his doubts were stronger after he
had seen Penelope and her father, he wished to
unsay or to soften down what he had said. He
therefore replied to the above exclamation:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
<p>“Why really, sir, I must say that I think Miss
Primrose a respectable young lady, and it is
probable that the report which I heard in town
may not be perfectly correct. And indeed, as
the lady is about to reside with her father, it is
certainly not true to its full extent.”</p>
<p>Mr Darnley was not much in the habit of
changing his opinion on matters of fact any
more than on matters of speculation; and having
once felt himself persuaded that Miss Primrose
had acted improperly, it was no easy matter
for Mr Pringle to bring him to change the view
which he had entertained of the young lady’s
character. Reasoning may be a very fine thing,
and logic may be a very fine thing, and facts may
be very stubborn things; but neither reasoning
nor logic can make a man change his opinion, if
he does not like to do so; and there are no facts
in the world so stubborn as a conceited man’s
own stubborn will. Mr Darnley took it for
granted that whatever he took for granted must
be most incontestably true; and Mr Darnley had
taken it for granted that Miss Primrose had
not demeaned herself aright, and nothing could
convince him to the contrary. He adhered to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
the general thought, though beaten out of all
its particulars. We would not recommend
any one who has exalted notions of the power
of reasoning and the force of evidence, to endeavour
to convince another of any fact or speculation,
till that other has shewn symptoms
of an inclination to believe such fact or to
adopt such theory.</p>
<p>It was all in vain that Zephaniah Pringle contended
that Miss Primrose could not possibly
be living dishonorably with Lord Spoonbill in
London, while she was living quietly and reputably
with her father at Smatterton. Mr
Darnley had made up his mind, and nothing
could shake his conclusions. Of some heads it
is observed, that you can get nothing into them;
of others it may with as much truth be said,
that you can get nothing out of them. In this
latter predicament was placed the head of the
rector of Neverden.</p>
<p>When therefore Zephaniah found that no impression
was to be made on Mr Darnley, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
gave up the discussion, not a little regretting
that he himself had, for the sake of gratifying a
little vanity in talking about his own intimacy
with Lord Spoonbill, done an injury which he
could not undo. He began also to fear lest he
should be detected and exposed; and under that
apprehension he found himself uneasy at Smatterton,
and wished that his visit was finished.
This served him perfectly right. He had made
public talk of what had been told to him in
confidence, and as a secret, and he had circulated
a calumnious report, careless whether it were
true or false, and heedless what injury it might
inflict upon innocence, or what misery it might
occasion to those concerned.</p>
<p>Yet this prodigiously conceited puppy could
and did in his critical lucubrations write himself
down as being most zealously devoted to the
service of religion, and he would make a mighty
noise about those most execrable and abominable
caitiffs, who presume to question one iota of the
faith according to Queen Elizabeth.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
<p>It is hard, very hard, that religion should have
to bear the reproach of the whims, vagaries,
bigotry, and fanaticism of many, who are sincere
in their profession and honest in their intemperate
zeal; but it is doubly hard that a set of
coxcomical greenhorns, who scarcely know the
difference between the Bible and the Koran, who
cannot tell why they believe, and who do not
care what they believe, who never enter a church,
and who never doubt because they never think,
it is doubly hard that all their impertinent arrogance
should be laid to the charge of a religion
which has never influenced one action of their
lives, or one thought of their hearts.</p>
<p>Finding that Mr Darnley the elder would not
listen to or be influenced by any recantation of
his calumny, the critic next sought for the young
gentleman to whom he made known the fact of
the arrival of Mr Primrose at Smatterton.</p>
<p>During the visit, which the loyal and religious
Zephaniah Pringle paid at Smatterton, there had
been comparatively little intercourse between him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
and Robert Darnley. This was owing to two
causes: in the first place, Robert Darnley was
in low spirits, and had not much intercourse with
any one; and, in the second place, he had a
contempt for puppyism, and Zephaniah had wit
<ins title="original: enoug">enough</ins> to see that he had.</p>
<p>In the present instance it was an object with
Mr Pringle to correct any erroneous notion which
he might have conveyed to the mind of Mr
Robert Darnley; he therefore began the conversation.</p>
<p>“I think I must have been in an error when
I informed you, as you may remember, that Miss
Primrose was living with Lord Spoonbill.”</p>
<p>“Very likely you were, sir,” replied Mr Robert
Darnley, somewhat abruptly; “but did you not
insinuate to me that you had the information
from Lord Spoonbill himself?”</p>
<p>This question was perplexing to the critic.
He had insinuated as much, but he had not
absolutely said so. Therefore he could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
promptly reply in the negative, but was forced
to make use of a little circumlocution, saying:</p>
<p>“Why not exactly so; I did not say that Lord
Spoonbill himself told me in so many words:
I merely—I said—-that is—a very intimate friend
of Spoonbill said, that he thought—that is, he
understood that—I believe he said that he had
reason to suspect that some arrangement was
likely to be made—”</p>
<p>Thereupon the explanation tapered off into an
indistinct muttering that was sufficient, if for
no other purpose, at least to show that Mr
Zephaniah Pringle was a sneaking, shuffling,
contemptible fellow. Robert Darnley was not
in the habit of flying into a violent passion when
he felt contempt for any meanness of character
or conduct; if such had been his temperament,
the present was an occasion, all circumstances
being considered, strong enough to tempt him to
knock a fool’s head and the wall together. He
contented himself with coolly saying:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
<p>“It is a great pity, sir, that you should have
circulated a report of that nature before you
were quite certain that it was true.”</p>
<p>“I am very sorry indeed,” replied Zephaniah,
“that I was led into such an error.”</p>
<p>“Well, well,” said Robert Darnley, “I dare
say it will not be productive of any very serious
consequence. Nobody who was at all acquainted
with Miss Primrose could possibly believe the
report.”</p>
<p>Zephaniah Pringle thought it but poor consolation
to be told that he was not likely to
be believed. He felt himself indeed so thoroughly
humbled, that he was heartily glad to
bring his conference with Robert Darnley to
a close. The critic very soon said, “Good morning,”
and Robert Darnley returned his “Good
morning” in such a tone, and with such an air,
as to make Zephaniah experience the sensation
of being looked down upon.</p>
<p>It was a great refreshment and relief to the
mind of the younger Darnley, to hear that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
Penelope and her father had arrived at Smatterton.
He had never believed the calumnious
tale of the loyal and religious critic, but he
certainly did entertain some apprehension that
assiduous attentions from a person of high rank
and large estate might produce in time an effect
even upon the mind of Penelope. As now Mr
Primrose had come down expressly to take up
his residence at Smatterton, and as this was not
a time of year for such families as that of the
Earl of Smatterton to take up their abode in
the country, there was some ground to hope that,
if the young nobleman had even made endeavours
to gain the affection of Penelope, he had
not succeeded.</p>
<p>It was the blessing of Robert Darnley’s mind
that he had a disposition to look on the most
favorable aspect of events, and it was not in his
nature to yield himself up to a slight misunderstanding
or misapprehension. Many miseries
might be avoided if mankind possessed in general
a little more of that kind of considerate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>ness;
but the evil is, that they too often take
up with any idle tale, and are led by the merest
and slightest apprehensions into quarrels, coldnesses,
and loss of friendships: inasmuch, that
a quarrel is courteously called a misunderstanding,
much to the reproach indeed of the misunderstanders;
for it is thereby intimated that
the parties quarrel merely for the want of taking
the pains to understand one another, or sometimes
perhaps to understand themselves.</p>
<p>Under the circumstances which belong to this
narration, it would have been very possible for
two simpletons to have made themselves completely
wretched. And as some people are very
glad to be miserable for the sake of the pathos
and sentimentality thereof, we will tell these
people, though perhaps they could find it out
without our assistance, how they might make
themselves truly wretched under similar circumstances.</p>
<p>To gain this desirable end, the gentleman and
the lady should have despaired of meeting each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
other again, and should have carefully avoided
everything that might lead to an explanation,
and they should, while very much in love with
each other, have made all possible haste to give
their hands to another. They ought to have
married, as it were, out of spite, and then after
marriage they ought to have met by accident,
and to have explained; and then they ought to
have compared notes, and to have made it out
that one had the worst husband, and the other
the worst wife, in the world; and then they
would have had nothing more to do than to
have made a very pretty tragical conclusion of
the business, either giving employment to, what
the newspapers call, the gentlemen of the long
robe, or, more seriously still, causing the calling
together of a coroner’s jury.</p>
<p>It was well for Robert Darnley that such was
not his disposition. He thought it much the
best to ascertain, if he possibly could, what were
Penelope’s real sentiments; and for that purpose
he had already spoken to her father, and, as no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
result had come from speaking, he had written;
and if his letter had not been soon answered, or
if Mr Primrose had not arrived at Smatterton,
he would have visited the party in London.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">The</span> arrival of Mr Primrose and Penelope at
Smatterton gave trouble and disturbance to many
minds there, and at Neverden. We shall be
fortunate if, without tediousness, we can explain this.</p>
<p>Zephaniah Pringle was troubled, because he
laboured under the apprehension that some kind
friend or other might communicate to the father
what had been said of the daughter. And Zephaniah
very naturally thought that the young
lady’s father would resent the insult very much
to the inconvenience, bodily or mental, of the
said loyal and religious critic.</p>
<p>The elder Mr Darnley was troubled, as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
have already intimated, lest this arrival should
again unsettle the mind of his son. Mrs Darnley
also thought it was a pity, now Robert
had so nearly recovered his spirits, that there
should be any probability of his being again
disturbed. Miss Mary Darnley, who, by frequent
literary and scientific discussions with the
learned and scientific Mr Kipperson, had become
a great admirer of the gentleman, was jealous
of the presence of Miss Primrose again in the
country. The two other young ladies, who did
not like to hear their father preach, except in
the pulpit, were troubled with the apprehension
of long lectures on the impropriety of being
improperly in love.</p>
<p>Mr Kipperson also had his troubles; for though
it would have given him great pleasure to have
gained the heart of Miss Primrose, he thought
he saw several formidable rivals among gentlemen
of more suitable age. But Mr Kipperson
had too much self-love to suffer much from love
of any other description. Robert Darnley was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
troubled and perplexed, though very much
pleased. He now saw that he should have
an opportunity of ascertaining the truth: but
in either case there was an evil. For if Penelope
still retained a regard for him, there was yet
to be dreaded the opposition of his father; and
if she did not, the change would be painful to
him.</p>
<p>But the greatest trouble was at Neverden Hall.
There was residing under the roof of Sir George
Aimwell a young lady, who had been consigned
to the care of the worthy baronet. The name
of this lady was Arabella Glossop. She had
very recently been sent to Neverden by her
careful father, in order that time, absence, and
change of scene, might eradicate from her mind
an unfortunate attachment which she had formed
for a pennyless lieutenant.</p>
<p>Here we cannot but suggest to our legislators
an improvement, which might and ought to be
made in our military code. It is melancholy to
think how many instances have occurred of men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
of low family and no fortune winning the hearts
of young ladies of high birth, of respectable
connexions, and of good fortune. This might
be prevented by a law, making it felony for a
military officer without fortune to fall in love
with a lady of good family.</p>
<p>Miss Glossop was not indeed of high family;
but she was the daughter of a gentleman whose
family had with great diligence been pushing
itself up into consideration and importance.
The mortification of anything like a humiliating
connexion was so much the greater. Mr Glossop,
the young lady’s father, was an eminent
solicitor in a small but genteel town, and had
married a distant relation of Sir George Aimwell.
Of this connexion Mr Glossop was naturally
proud; and he made the most of it.</p>
<p>In the town where he lived was a theatre;
and the company which performed there was
pronounced by such London performers as occasionally
lent their mighty selves for provincial
exhibition, to be one of the best provincial com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>panies
they had ever performed with. When an
actor from London made his appearance on the
stage, Miss Glossop honored the theatre with her
presence. Greatly did the young lady surprize
the natives by her studied inattention to what
was passing on the stage. It was to her a mighty
amusement to laugh and talk aloud, especially
during those passages of the performance which
were most interesting to the rest of the audience.
By such means did Miss Glossop manifest
her own importance and superiority. This
kind of public rudeness passed with the ignorant
people in the country for elegance and
fashion.</p>
<p>The young lady was in error in this respect.
But not only was she wrong in her calculations in
this point. Many other blunders did she make.
For being very pretty, she thought herself handsome;
and being tall, she thought herself elegant;
and being acquainted with many books, she
thought herself learned; and having a full, clear,
comprehensive voice, she thought herself a beau<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>tiful
singer; and being able to perform at sight
very complicated pieces of music, she apprehended
that she was an excellent musician; and
being rude and blunt in her manner of speaking,
she thought herself a person of great intellectual
superiority; and from being very much stared at,
she took it for granted that she was very much
admired.</p>
<p>Now this lady did not apprehend that there
was any individual in the compass of her provincial
acquaintance worthy to aspire to the
honor of her hand; and she was in the habit of
giving herself such arrogant and domineering
airs at the country balls, that a facetiously inclined
young gentleman once actually contrived
in the advertisement announcing these balls, to
have the name of Arabella Glossop, Esq., printed
as one of the stewards. The circumstance caused
a great deal of talk at the time; but it is now
totally forgotten, or at least very seldom alluded
to. The printer of the paper was forced to tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
a great many lies to save himself from serious
inconvenience.</p>
<p>At one of these country balls there happened
to be a lieutenant who was quartered in that
neighbourhood, and was a person of exceedingly
good address, and also of good understanding,
except that he was so very desirous of obtaining
a fortune, that, for the sake of money, he would
willingly have married Miss Glossop. He had
heard reports of the lady’s fortune, and these
reports were of course exaggerated. He paid
the usual attentions, and was so far successful
that, had it not been for some untoward accident,
Mr Glossop’s ambition of matching his daughter
with some gentleman of fortune and consideration
in the county, would have been frustrated
by a poor lieutenant.</p>
<p>As soon as the unfortunate attachment was
made known to the father, he put himself with
all suitable speed into a most towering passion;
he banged all the doors, thumped all the tables,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
kicked all the chairs, and, but for the interference
of Mrs Glossop, would have broken all the
crockery in the house, because his daughter
would not listen to reason. The young lady
was locked up; but the young lady grew sulky,
and thought that her dear lieutenant was the
most charming creature in the world, because
her father was in a violent passion. And the
more angry was Mr Glossop, the more deeply in
love was Miss Glossop.</p>
<p>We have said that the young lady was locked
up. Now Arabella did not like this discipline,
and she seriously threatened her inexorable paa,
that if she was not suffered to have her own
way, she would either starve herself to death, or
go mad. This last idea was no doubt suggested
by a pathetic passage in one of Oliver Goldsmith’s
poems, wherein he says:</p>
<p>
“The dog to gain his private ends<br />
Went mad.”——<br />
</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>
<p>Whatever apprehensions Mr Glossop might
entertain concerning his daughter’s madness, he
certainly had some slight idea that he himself
might be driven mad by the young lady’s perverseness
and obstinacy. Therefore he adopted
the very wise and prudent precaution, in such
cases made and provided, of sending the lovely
and loving Arabella to his worthy friend and
relative, Sir George Aimwell, Bart.</p>
<p>Mr Glossop wisely thought that absence and
change of scene might produce a beneficial
change in his daughter’s mind. The worthy
baronet was pleased with the charge; for as the
shooting season was nearly over, and as he had
suffered very bitterly from the encroachments of
the poachers, and as the transgressing ones had
made their escape, he was glad of anything that
promised him a little amusement. Arabella had
always been a favorite with the baronet on
account of her high spirit, and when he heard
of the nature of the complaint which rendered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
change of air desirable, he very readily undertook
the charge, thinking that a better remedy was
within reach, and that Robert Darnley might
very probably banish from the mind of his young
kinswoman all thoughts of the poor lieutenant.</p>
<p>Nor did the baronet judge unwisely. For, as
soon as the lady had taken up her abode at
Neverden Hall, her spirits revived, and her wit
and humour were all alive again, and her love
of admiration was as strong as ever, and she
very soon pronounced Robert Darnley to be a
charming young fellow. The worthy baronet
was pleased with such good symptoms, and had
written word to her father accordingly. To a
match of this nature Mr Glossop had no very
great objection. The Darnleys were of good
family, and the young man was likely to have a
good property. Perhaps, Mr Glossop would
have preferred an union with the family of the
Earl of Smatterton; but at all events the Darnleys
were better than poor lieutenants.</p>
<p>The circumstance of Arabella Glossop being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
placed under the care of Sir George Aimwell,
had rendered the intercourse between the hall
and the rectory rather more frequent than usual;
and the baronet had of course been made acquainted
with the fact of Robert Darnley’s former
engagement to Miss Primrose. When,
therefore, Penelope and her father made their
appearance at Smatterton again, and thus gave
a virtual contradiction to the calumnious report
which Mr Zephaniah Pringle had circulated, Sir
George began to be apprehensive that his
schemes with regard to the son of the rector of
Neverden were very likely to fail.</p>
<p>We have now explained according to the best
of our ability, and in as few words as distinctness
would permit us to use, the varied perplexities
occasioned by the apparently simple fact of
Mr Primrose and his daughter taking up their
abode at Smatterton rectory. Oh! how complicated
are the interests of humanity, and what
mighty changes are made in the history of the
world and the destiny of nations by movements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
apparently trifling and of no moment. Common
people do not observe these things; it is only
such wise people, gentle reader, as you and I
and Tacitus, that can take a philosophical and
comprehensive view of the history of man. But
we must economise our wisdom, or it will not
hold out. Therefore let us proceed with our
history.</p>
<p>The letter which Robert Darnley had written
to Mr Primrose, and which the Right Honorable
Lord Spoonbill had fruitlessly fumbled and
tumbled to ascertain the contents thereof, found
its way at last into the hands for which it was
by its writer originally destined. It was brought
to Smatterton, as usual, by Nick Muggins.</p>
<p>Nick was a poor lad and a somewhat simple
one, though not altogether lacking craftiness.
He was not so rich as an archdeacon, but he had
not quite determined that he was too poor to
keep a conscience; therefore he had not entirely
given it up for a bad job. He kept a pony—he
was almost forced to do so—but he kept his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
pony very scantily and worked it hardly, and
the beast was at best but a queer kind of animal.
It would have been a riddle to Buffon, and a
treasure to Sir Joseph Banks. Nick’s conscience
was kept about as scurvily as his pony,
and was much such another nondescript; but,
like his pony, it answered his purpose as well as a
better; it was kicked, cuffed, and buffeted about,
but still it was a conscience.</p>
<p>Now this conscience, such as it was, smote
poor Muggins right heartily when he delivered
into the fair hands of Penelope Primrose a letter
for her father. The poor lad recollected that he
had, at Lord Spoonbill’s expense, drunk several
more quarts of strong beer and glasses of gin
than would otherwise have fallen to his lot, and
that he had obtained these extra luxuries by
putting into the hands of his lordship those
letters which he ought to have delivered to
Penelope Primrose.</p>
<p>When Penelope left Smatterton, and was residing
in London, Nick thought little or nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
concerning his treachery. But now she had
returned to the country again, and he had seen
her, and she had spoken to him kindly and
civilly, and had condescended to make enquiries
after his poor old mother, his heart melted
within him, and he could hardly speak to her.
It was very kind of her to come out and speak
to him, there was not one young lady in a hundred
who would have condescended so much.
Poor Muggins could not think what had bewitched
him to play the traitor to so beautiful,
so elegant, and so sweet-tempered a young lady
as Miss Primrose; for Nick had a notion of
elegance and beauty, though, to look at himself
and his pony, one would hardly have imagined it.</p>
<p>That was a curious refinement in Nick’s
conscience, that he should reproach himself so
much the more bitterly for his transgression,
because the person whom he had injured was
beautiful and sweet-tempered. Perhaps he
would have thought less of the matter had Miss
Primrose been a little, under-sized, snub-nosed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
cross-grained old maid. But that is a very
dangerous and wicked mode of reasoning, and
wiser people than Nick Muggins are guilty of
it; let such persons be told that under-sized,
snub-nosed, cross-grained old maids have as
much feeling as the rest of the world, and are
as much entitled to the advantages and protection
of the laws of humanity as the young, and
the lovely, and the amiable.</p>
<p>Be this as it may, still the ungainly post-boy
felt rather awkwardly and looked foolishly
when he thus encountered the unexpected appearance
and condescension of Penelope Primrose.
And when he returned home to his
mother’s cottage, he could not help acknowledging
to her his transgressions, and speaking of
the remorse that he felt.</p>
<p>The old woman however thought and said,
that what was done could not be undone, and
that he had better be more cautious another
time, and that mayhap it might not be a matter
of much consequence; just a love affair like, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
some sich stuff; and she concluded by telling
him never to take money out of letters for fear
of being hanged.</p>
<p>“But I am so sorry, mother,” said Nick,
“you can’t think what a nice, kind young lady
Miss Primrose is.”</p>
<p>“Ay, ay,” said Mrs Muggins, in reply, “and
so is my Lord Spoonbill a very nice young
gentleman. Never mind now, only don’t do so
again. And what’s the use of your telling Miss
Primrose anything about it?”</p>
<p>“Oh why, because somehow I think it was
such a pity like. She is so pretty.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, boy; Lord Spoonbill is a person
of much greater consequence than a dozen pretty
Miss Primroses. I am sure he is as nice a man
as ever lived.”</p>
<p>Nick muttered something about Lord Spoonbill’s
large whiskers, and the colloquy ceased;
but Nick was fidgetty still.</p>
<p>The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill suffered
much uneasiness, and would, had he known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
what was passing in the mind of Nick Muggins,
have suffered much more. But our business is
now with the good people at Smatterton and
Neverden, and we must therefore leave his lordship
to bear his troubles by himself as well as
he can.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">On</span> the Sunday after their arrival, Mr Primrose
and his daughter made their appearance at
church, and the people of the village stared at
them of course. The rector of Smatterton
preached one of his best sermons, and in his
best style. The eloquence was lost upon all his
audience, except Mr Primrose and his daughter;
they attended to the preacher, and the rest of
the congregation attended to them.</p>
<p>When the service was over, Penelope took her
father to look at the monument which had been
raised in the churchyard to the memory of Dr
Greendale. It was a very handsome monument,
and had been put up at the expense of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
Earl of Smatterton. There was a very long and
elaborate eulogium on the deceased, which had
been drawn up, it is supposed, by Mr Darnley,
but subsequently corrected and altered by the
Earl of Smatterton in the first instance, and in
the next by the stone-mason.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose had been so long out of England
that, for aught he knew to the contrary, it might
be the fashion now to write nonsense on grave
stones. There was however a kind intention,
and Mr Primrose was pleased with it. While
the father and daughter were thus mournfully
enjoying the contemplation of this memorial of
their deceased relative’s virtues, the great boys
and girls of the village who had been in the
habit of bowing and curtseying to Penelope, and
who remembered that their homage had been
graciously received while she lived there under
her uncle’s roof, now thronged almost rudely
round them, as if with a view of attracting the
lady’s notice.</p>
<p>For a little while Penelope was too much taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
up to notice them; but when her curiosity had
been gratified, and her feelings had been indulged
by a few gentle and stainless tears shed to
the memory of her departed benefactor, she turned
round and took particular notice of such as she
remembered. She asked them such questions as
occurred to her concerning their respective families
and occupations, and she heard many an old
story repeated concerning the aged and infirm.
Enquiries were made by Penelope after grandfathers
and grandmothers, and in one or two
instances of great grandmothers. These enquiries
were copiously or sheepishly answered,
according to the several tastes and habits of the
persons answering them.</p>
<p>There was one little girl in the group whose
face Penelope did not recollect. The child looked
very earnestly at her, and seemed several times
as if about to make an effort to speak, but awe
held her back. With her, and as if urging her
on to speak, was another and greater girl. And
the greater girl moved the little one towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
Miss Primrose, and the poor little girl coloured
up to the eyes; but she had gone too far to
retract, and she was emboldened at last by
Penelope’s kind looks to make a very pretty
curtsey and say, “Please Miss—”</p>
<p>The poor thing could get no farther, till
Penelope relieved her embarrassment by taking
hold of her hand and saying, “Well, my dear,
what have you to say to me? I have no recollection
that I have ever seen you before. How
long have you lived at Smatterton?”</p>
<p>Then the little one was emboldened to speak,
and she told Penelope that she had but recently
come there, and that she had taken the liberty
to speak, because she had some few weeks ago
picked up a letter directed to Miss Primrose.</p>
<p>Hereupon the girl drew from her pocket a
handkerchief which was carefully folded up, and
when with great ceremony the handkerchief was
unfolded, a letter made its appearance, which
did not seem to have required much careful enveloping
to keep it clean. It was miserably dirty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
and the direction was barely visible. Penelope
wondered indeed that the child had been able to
make out the inscription, so far as to ascertain
to whom it was addressed; but the hand-writing
was so manifestly Robert Darnley’s, that the
young lady felt too much emotion and too eager
a curiosity to wait to ask any farther particulars
of the mode, place and time in which the letter
was found. Only waiting to ask the child her
name and place of abode, and to make such
acknowledgment as is expected in such cases,
Penelope hastened home full of contending and
harassing thoughts, unable to form the slightest
conjecture of a satisfactory nature concerning
this strange occurrence.</p>
<p>Now this letter, together with that which
Robert Darnley had written to Mr Primrose,
and which Mr Primrose gave to his daughter for
her perusal, set the question completely at rest
in the mind of Penelope, and assured her that
the young gentleman had not by any neglect
designed to break off the correspondence.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p>
<p>But when one difficulty was removed, another
started up in its place. There was something
very remarkable in a letter being dropped out of
the bag; but though it was barely possible that
such mishap might have befallen one letter, it
was by no means a supposable case that several
letters in succession passing between the same
persons should all have met with the same accident.
In the interruption of these letters there
was clearly design and intention; but what was
the design, or who was the designer, Penelope
could not conjecture. Her suspicions could not
find an object to rest upon; she was not aware of
having any enemies, and of course she could not
imagine that any one but an enemy could have
behaved so cruelly. She concluded, therefore,
as far as in such a case any conclusion could
be made, that the interruption of the correspondence
must have been effected by some enemy of
Robert Darnley.</p>
<p>It was not very pleasant to have the idea of
some concealed and unascertained enemy, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
there was something gratifying to Penelope in
having discovered that verily the cessation of the
correspondence had not been voluntary on the
part of her lover. Therefore, as it appeared from
the letter which had been picked up that the
young gentleman had not ceased to write, even
after he had some ground to fear that the correspondence
was discontinued by the young
lady, and as it was also manifest from the letter
addressed to Mr Primrose, that Robert Darnley
was still desirous of an explanation of the young
lady’s silence, Penelope could not any longer
resist her father’s proposal that he should write
to the young gentleman.</p>
<p>The answer was accordingly sent to Robert
Darnley, and the explanation which he sought
was amply and fully given. He was also as
much puzzled as the young lady was at the
circumstance of the letter being picked up, and
his conjectures found no resting place. His
immediate impulse was to make direct enquiry
of the post-boy, and to extort from him, if pos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>sible,
some account of the very remarkable fact
of a correspondence actually suppressed by the
failure of three letters in succession.</p>
<p>But there was a more interesting matter yet
to attend to, and that was the meeting with
Penelope after a long absence and an interrupted
correspondence. Robert Darnley knew
his father’s temperament, and felt a difficulty in
mentioning the subject to him, but still he could
not think of renewing the acquaintance with a
view to marriage, without explicitly informing
his father of the intention.</p>
<p>Mr Primrose and his daughter had now been
at Smatterton a few days, and as the two villages
were so remarkably intimate with each
other, it was impossible for anything to take
place in the one without its being known in the
other. The arrival of the parties had been made
known, as we have seen, at the rectory of Neverden,
and apprehensions were entertained by
the daughters of Mr Darnley that their father
would be grievously liberal of his wise exhorta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>tions
to his yet enamoured son. And when two
or three days had passed away, and not a word
of public notice had been taken of the fact in the
family of the rector, the young ladies began to
please themselves with the hope that no notice
would be taken of the matter, and they trusted
that some circumstance or other might remove
Penelope again, and finally, from Smatterton;
or, as they thought it not unlikely, their brother
might soon fix his affections elsewhere.</p>
<p>It was very clear to the young ladies that
Miss Glossop, notwithstanding her recent disappointment,
was something of an admirer of
their brother; and it was obvious that Sir
George Aimwell was desirous of cultivating an
acquaintance between the parties. The worthy
baronet was unusually eloquent in praising Miss
Glossop, and mightily ingenious in discovering
innumerable, and to other eyes undiscernible,
good qualities in his fair kinswoman. But though
Sir George was a magistrate and a game preserver,
he was no conjurer. He was not aware<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
that there could exist any diversities of taste;
but he seemed to imagine that those qualities
which were agreeable to himself must be agreeable
to everybody else; and when he was
descanting on the multitudinous excellences of
Miss Glossop, and describing her to Robert
Darnley as possessing every possible and impossible
virtue, he did not see that the young man’s
mind was of a complexion widely different from
his own. It was not therefore to this young
lady that the daughters of the rector of Neverden
looked forward as the person likely to
liberate them from Miss Primrose.</p>
<p>Their hope was altogether of an undefined
nature. They merely hoped and trusted that
something would occur to relieve them from
their present uncomfortable condition. This undefined
hope is, perhaps, after all the best that
we can entertain. It may appear not very rational,
but we have a notion that in serious truth it is
a great deal more rational than that hope which
seems to have a foundation in something pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>bable:
for it is in the very nature and condition
of earthly events, that they almost invariably
disappoint expectation and miserably mock our
sagacity. If therefore our hopes be of something
definite, they will be almost assuredly
disappointed; but if we only hope generally and
indefinitely that something, we know not what,
may occur to remove the cause of our troubles,
we may have a much better chance that we shall
not be disappointed. The chances in our favor
are thus indefinitely multiplied.</p>
<p>The hope of the young ladies, that nothing
would be said about Miss Primrose because
nothing had been said about her for several days,
was disappointed on the very morning that Mr
Primrose sent his answer to Robert Darnley,
explaining the cause of the suspension of the
correspondence. The note from Mr Primrose
was brought to Neverden by the trusty servant
and universal genius who performed at Smatterton
rectory the various duties of foot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>man,
groom, gardener, butler, stable-boy, and
porter.</p>
<p>Mr Darnley, whose eyes were ever vigilant,
no sooner saw the messenger than he conjectured
what was the object of his coming; that is, he
so far conjectured as to form an idea that the
note was with reference to Miss Primrose.
When therefore the reverend gentleman heard
that a note was actually brought from Smatterton
rectory, and addressed to Mr Robert
Darnley, the feeling of curiosity was strongly
excited to know what was the object of the said
note. But, to say nothing of curiosity, the elder
Mr Darnley felt that it was his duty to be
acquainted with all correspondence carried on
with persons under his roof, especially with
members of his own family.</p>
<p>Impelled then by a double motive—the power
of curiosity and a sense of duty—the rector
of Neverden very peremptorily commanded the
attendance of his son in the study. The com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>mand
was as promptly obeyed as it had been
authoritatively given.</p>
<p>“You have had a note from Smatterton this
morning?” said the father.</p>
<p>“I have, sir,” replied the son steadily, but
respectfully.</p>
<p>“And may I be permitted to know the contents
of that communication?”</p>
<p>“Most assuredly, sir,” replied the young gentleman:
“I intended to acquaint you with its
contents as soon as I had read it.”</p>
<p>Robert Darnley then handed the paper to his
father, who perused it with eager haste and
anxious excitement. Rapidly however as the
rector read the communication, he discerned two
facts which made him angry, and, as he said,
astonished. We have observed that the astonishment
rests upon the testimony only of Mr
Darnley’s own saying; and we have made that
observation, because we think that Mr Darnley
was not strictly correct in his assertion: we do
not believe that Mr Darnley was at all astonished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
at those facts. He was no doubt angry when he
discovered that his son had written to Mr Primrose;
and there is nothing incredible in the idea
that he was angry at the anticipation of a renewal
of the acquaintance between his son and Miss
Primrose. But he was not astonished at these
things, and he ought not to have said that he
was. It is however a very common practice, for
the sake of giving pathos and effect to moral
exhortation or expostulation, to express an astonishment
which is not felt. This is a species of
lying, and Mrs Opie would certainly set it down
as such.</p>
<p>Mr Darnley not only said that he was astonished,
but absolutely affected to look astonished.
But that dramatic species of visual rebuke was
by no means adapted to produce an impression
on Mr Darnley the younger; and had the trick
been played off by any one else than a parent,
the young gentleman would certainly have
laughed. It has been often observed, that children
are much more knowing than is generally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
supposed, and the same observation may be
applied to children of a larger growth. But
parents cannot well help considering their children
as always children.</p>
<p>“And so,” said the rector of Neverden, “you
have actually had the folly to write to Mr Primrose,
and to endeavour to renew an acquaintance
which was clearly and positively broken off by
Miss Primrose herself?”</p>
<p>“I think, sir,” responded with much gentleness
the rector’s son, “that, if you read this note
attentively, you will see that Miss Primrose did
not positively break the acquaintance, but that
by some means, as yet unknown, the letters
which should have passed between us were intercepted.
Proof of that is given in the singular
circumstance, that the last letter which I wrote
to Smatterton from India was the other day
picked up by a child.”</p>
<p>Mr Darnley smiled a smile of incredulity and
compassionate condescension.</p>
<p>“Foolish boy,” said he,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> “and can you suffer
yourself to be so easily deceived as to believe this
story?”</p>
<p>“Surely you will not go so far as to say that
Miss Primrose would descend to the meanness
of asserting an untruth.”</p>
<p>“I am asserting nothing concerning Miss
Primrose. This note is not her’s, it is her
father’s; and I do know that Mr Primrose can
use profane language; I have heard him. And
would such a man hesitate at untruth for the
sake of an establishment for his daughter? Besides
what can be more clear than that, now the
negotiation with Lord Spoonbill is broken off,
they are very willing to apply to you again.”</p>
<p>There is great power in imagination. Mr
Darnley had taken it into his head that Penelope
had really been simple enough to admire Lord
Spoonbill, and vain enough to aspire to title on
the strength of personal beauty. She was what
is commonly called a fine young woman, and
there was in her deportment, especially in the
season of health and spirits, while her uncle lived,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
a certain constitutional magnificence of manner
which might easily bear the name of pride and
haughtiness. Now as Mr Darnley was himself
a proud man, he did not like pride; and there
is nothing at all paradoxical or inconsistent in
this. It is perfectly natural that those who feel
a pleasure in looking down on others and being
looked up to, should not be pleased with such as
indulge them not in their favourite occupation.</p>
<p>There had not indeed ever been in the behaviour
of Penelope towards Mr Darnley anything
actually disrespectful; but Mr Darnley could see
that her spirit was high and essentially unsubmissive.
He had therefore always called her proud;
and as soon as any suspicion arose of the withdrawing
of her affections from Robert Darnley,
immediately the father concluded that this change
was owing to the young lady’s pride aspiring to
the hand of Lord Spoonbill; and when she went
to London to the Countess, then his suspicion
seemed corroborated; and when she returned to
Smatterton, and when Mr Primrose sent the note<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
in question to Neverden, then did Mr Darnley
feel himself assured that the young lady had
been disappointed in her calculations concerning
Lord Spoonbill, and that now she repented her
folly in renouncing the hand of Robert Darnley,
and wished to recall the affection which she had
spurned.</p>
<p>Under such persuasion, from which not all the
logic in the world could move him, he smiled at
the credulity and the weakness of the young
man, while the young man was equally astonished
and grieved at the immovable obstinacy of his
father. Such cases sometimes occur, and perplexing
are they when they do occur, in which a
son bearing all possible respect towards a father
feels himself yet justified in the court of his own
conscience in acting contrary to his father’s will.
Thus situated was the son of the rector of Neverden.
He found that it would be in vain to use
any arguments, and he was firm in his intention
of taking the earliest opportunity of acknowledging
the receipt of Mr Primrose’s letter, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
of expressing his full determination to renew the
acquaintance with Penelope. So far was the
young man from participating in his father’s suspicions,
that the very arguments which the father
had used, and the particulars which he had
stated, did but strengthen his own opinion of the
purity and correctness of the young lady’s conduct;
and when he considered the circumstances
under which she had been placed, he felt a degree
of pity for her, and he pitied her also that she
laboured under those untoward and unfounded
suspicions which had been excited by the idle
tongue of Zephaniah Pringle.</p>
<p>It became in fact to Robert Darnley a matter
of conscience to rectify all misunderstandings as
early as possible. Without therefore affecting
to enter into any elaborate discussion with his
father, he merely replied to what had been said:
“I cannot say that I view this affair in the same
light that you do, sir; and I am satisfied that if
you had a knowledge of all the facts, you would
not have reason to blame Miss Primrose. I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
not pretend to argue with you, or to presume to
put my knowledge of the world in competition
with yours. But I must take the liberty to say
firmly, though respectfully, that it is my intention
to see Mr and Miss Primrose, and if I find
that Penelope is still the same amiable and pure-minded
young woman as she was when I first
made her an offer of my hand, I will repeat that
offer; and I am convinced your prejudice will
wear off, if not by my arguments, at least they
will give way to the young lady’s real excellence
of character.”</p>
<p>Mr Darnley was not accustomed to be contradicted.
Neither his wife nor his daughters ever
disputed his will, or affected to oppose their logic
to his determinations. Of his son’s obedience
and gentleness of disposition he had always
entertained the highest opinion, and with reason:
but he forgot that everything has its limits, and
there is a point beyond which compliance and
obedience cannot go. If Mr Darnley had said at
the close of his son’s last speech,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> “I am astonished,”
he would have spoken truly. He was
indeed astonished, but he was not frightened out
of his propriety; he was rather frightened into
propriety.</p>
<p>For a few seconds he was absolutely speechless
and almost breathless. But soon respiration
returned, and the power of speech returned with
it; and his momentary gasp of astonishment
gave him time for consideration. He considered
in that brief interval that he had no more power
over his son than his son chose to give him, and
he thought it a pity to endanger his influence by
attempting to retain his authority. Subduing
himself, he replied:</p>
<p>“If you will be obstinate there is no help for
it. But I could wish that you would listen to
reason.”</p>
<p>Thus speaking, Mr Darnley left the apartment,
angry but endeavouring to keep himself calm.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">Mr Darnley’s</span> study overlooked the avenue
which led to the house. For a study it was not
well situated, inasmuch as it was next to impossible
for any one but a person of great powers of
abstraction to keep himself free from interruption.
The situation however was very well
adapted to the humour of the rector of Neverden;
for thus he could observe every one who approached
the house, and exercise a continual
superintendance over his establishment, seeing
that no one could enter or leave the house without
his knowledge.</p>
<p>At the study window Robert Darnley took his
station, looking listlessly towards the road that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
passed the end of the avenue and led towards
the village of Smatterton. Turning a little towards
the left hand he could see at a very short
distance the magnificent towers of Smatterton
castle and the smart gilt weathercock of Smatterton
church. The young man was beginning to
grow sentimental and melancholy; but soon his
thoughts were diverted from sentimentality by
the appearance of Nick Muggins and his pony
fumbling their clumsy entrance at the great white
gate that opened into the road. Better riders
than Nick are sometimes puzzled at opening a
heavy swing gate on horseback; but Nick would
always manage it without dismounting, if he had
to make twenty efforts for it.</p>
<p>Nick was certainly a picturesque, though by no
means a poetical object; and his appearance dispersed
the gathering cloud of lackadaisicalness
which was just threatening Robert Darnley with
a fit of melancholy. Other thoughts, though
bearing on the same object, now took possession
of him; and as he was very straitforward and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
prompt in whatever occurred to him, he immediately
resolved to question the boy concerning the
lost letters.</p>
<p>For this purpose, without waiting for the arrival
of the letter-carrier at the house-door, Robert
Darnley went partly down the avenue to meet
him. Nick made one of his best bows, and
grinned his compliments to the young gentleman
on his arrival in England; for this was the first
meeting of the parties since the rector’s son
arrived at home. Robert Darnley was not a man
of compliments; he proceeded directly to business.
Producing from his pocket the letter
which had been picked up by the little girl, he
held it out to the lad, saying:</p>
<p>“Muggins, can you give any account of this
letter; it was picked up in the road the other
day; do you ever drop the letters out of the
bag?”</p>
<p>Muggins, who was as cunning a rogue as many
of his betters, concealed his conviction and shame
as well as might be, and took the letter into his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
hand with much simplicity of look, and gazed
upon it for a while with “lack-lustre eye;” not
that he had any great need to examine the letter
in order to answer the question, but thereby
he gained time to meditate a lie of some kind or
other. After looking at it for a few moments he
handed it back to Robert Darnley, and said:</p>
<p>“Please, sir, I can’t make out the ’rection
of it.”</p>
<p>That might be true, but it was not much of an
answer to the question which was proposed to
him.</p>
<p>“The direction of the letter,” answered Darnley,
“is to Miss Primrose at Smatterton. Now
do you remember ever losing a letter that should
have been delivered at the rectory at Smatterton?”</p>
<p>Nick Muggins, we have related, was so melted
by the condescending kindness of Penelope
Primrose, that his heart smote him sorely for his
unfaithfulness to his trust, and he was on the
very verge of a confession of his iniquity; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
then Penelope was not likely to horsewhip him,
whereas there did appear to the sagacious mind
of the treacherous letter-carrier some possibility
of such operation being performed by the more
vigorous arm of Robert Darnley; and as such a
catastrophe must be exceedingly unpleasant to a
man of any feeling, Nick resolved to use his
utmost sagacity to avoid it. The question therefore,
which was last proposed, he answered thus:</p>
<p>“I’ve took a great many letters to Smatterton
parsonage, sir, and I don’t never remember losen
none as I took there.”</p>
<p>Here again was an equivocation worthy of
the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill himself.
Robert Darnley thought that Nick Muggins was
a fool, but Nick was not such a fool as he
looked. He had prodigiously fine diplomatic
talents, but ‘Full many a flower, &c.’ as the
poet says.</p>
<p>All the questions and cross-questionings of
the son of the rector of Neverden could not
extort from the carrier of the Smatterton and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
Neverden letter-bags any information leading to
the discovery of the circumstances to which the
interruption of the correspondence might be
attributed. In despair of ascertaining anything,
Robert Darnley ceased his interrogations, and
the uncouth rider of the indescribable beast
then handed to his interrogator his share of the
contents of the letter-bag. It was only one
letter, and the superscription was in an unknown
hand.</p>
<p>The young gentleman opened the letter with
great eagerness of curiosity, and looking to the
end of it he found that it was anonymous. He
endeavoured to read and comprehend the whole
by one glance, but it did not betray its meaning
so obviously; he was therefore under the
necessity of reading it regularly line by line.
We are not much in the habit of printing letters—we
think it a breach of confidence; but,
as the present is anonymous, we venture to
give it:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a><br /><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>
<p>“A sincere well-wisher to Mr Robert Darnley,
though a total stranger, or nearly so, wishes
to caution an unsuspicious and generous mind
against a deep-laid plot, which has for its object
to entrap Mr D. into a marriage, which
will bring with it poverty and disgrace. It may
not be altogether unknown to Mr D. that a
certain gentleman, who shall be nameless, once
ruined a handsome fortune by gaming. This
gentleman now professes to have repaired his
shattered fortunes, and to have forsaken entirely
his vicious habit. But this is mere pretence.
Nearly the whole of that which he acquired
abroad, he has in a short time lost by gambling
at home; and now he gives out that his
loss arises from the stoppage of a banking-house
in town. Concerning the character of a
young lady nearly related to the gentleman
above alluded to, Mr D. would do well to make
the strictest inquiry before he ventures on the
irretrievable step of marriage. Mr D. ought to
ascertain why Smatterton is chosen for her
residence. The —— family is not residing at
the castle, but it is possible that an individual of
that family may find a pretence for an incognito
visit there. A word to the wise is enough.”</p>
<p>A letter such as this was almost too much
for Robert Darnley. He was honest, candid,
and unsuspicious; but even in such minds as
his jealousy may be excited, and the above
letter very nearly answered the purpose.</p>
<p>Instead of going directly to Smatterton, according
to his first intention, he returned to the
house, and read over and over again this mysterious
and anonymous epistle. But there was
nothing in it which could afford him the slightest
information as to the source from whence it
came, or the motive with which it could have
been written.</p>
<p>It was peculiarly mortifying, after the magnanimous,
prompt, and decided avowal which
he had made to his father, of his intention of
renewing his acquaintance with Miss Primrose,
that he should meet with this painful and perplexing
interruption. He began to wish that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
had not been quite so positive. He supposed
that of course his father took it for granted
that the threatened visit to Smatterton would
be paid that very morning. And he had dreaded
meeting the family at dinner, should the visit
have been paid; but still greater would be his
mortification to meet his father again and be
forced to acknowledge that he had not been to
Smatterton. It would be but natural to ask if
he had been there, and quite as natural to ask
why he had not.</p>
<p>The answer to these enquiries would involve
the young gentleman in a dilemma, to extricate
himself from which would require the talents of
a Muggins, or a Spoonbill. But Robert Darnley
was not cut out for shuffling and equivocating.
His only consideration was, how far it might be
prudent to inform his father of the receipt of
the anonymous letter.</p>
<p>For the purpose of giving himself time for uninterrupted
meditation, he sauntered out from
the house, and, as it were unconsciously, turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
his steps towards the village of Smatterton.
And he thought, as he walked along, that it
would take several days at least, if not some
weeks, to ascertain the truth or falsehood of the
insinuations. He knew not where to seek for
information, or how to gain evidence either on
one side or the other. If he should not very
soon make a visit to Mr Primrose, it would seem
manifest that his intention was not to renew the
acquaintance with Penelope; and very mortifying
indeed would it be to him, if, after making
enquiries and finding that the insinuations of the
anonymous letter were unfounded, malicious and
mischievous, he should, by his tardiness or mean
suspicions, have forfeited the good will of the
young lady.</p>
<p>Fortunate for him was it, that while he was
thinking on the subject of this anonymous communication,
and putting the case that it might
be the work of some malicious and ill-designing
one, there occurred also to his recollection the
lost letter which had been picked up by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
stranger. With the recollection of that came
also again to his mind the image and tone and
look of the crafty letter-carrier, and the shuffling
evasive answers which the cunning dog had
given to his interrogatories.</p>
<p>Wise and penetrating reader, who can’st dive
most deeply into human motives, and read the
movements of the human heart, we beseech thee
not to impute it to stupidity or obtuseness in
our friend Robert Darnley, that he could not
sooner see the probability of the existence in
some quarter or other of a spirit of treachery at
work against him. His own mind was of a very
unsuspicious cast, and he was not in the habit
of looking for deeply-laid schemes, but he gave
general credit to appearances and ordinary assertions.
He was not unaware of the existence of
roguery, or of the circulation of unfounded
reports, but he did not look very commonly and
cunningly for tricks and falsehood in the everyday
movements of human life. But when he
once had ground for suspicion, he had sagacity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
enough to pursue the investigation, and prudence
enough not to be deceived when once put
on his guard.</p>
<p>He thought again of the anonymous letter, and
he knew that there was no individual residing
in London sufficiently acquainted with him to
have written this letter for his sake. He thought
of the intercepted letters, and of the allusion
to Lord Spoonbill, and he thought of none so
likely to have intercepted those letters as
Lord Spoonbill himself. An apprehension of
something near the truth now came firmly and
distinctly upon his mind.</p>
<p>Under the impression of this thought, he moved
somewhat more rapidly and decidedly towards
Smatterton, almost resolving that he would actually
call at once on Mr Primrose, and renew
his acquaintance with Penelope. He thought
that he possessed penetration enough to discover
if there were in the young lady’s deportment
and carriage any symptoms of a diminished or
impaired moral feeling.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p>
<p>It would not be much out of his way to go
through the park, and as there was a footpath
passing very closely by the castle, he designed
to take that route, that, if meeting any one of
the domestics, he might be able to ascertain
whether or not Lord Spoonbill was expected at
Smatterton.</p>
<p>Not many steps had he taken with this intention
before he had the satisfaction of meeting
the unfaithful Nick Muggins, shuffling back
from having delivered up his charge. Nick saw
the young gentleman, and would gladly have
avoided the meeting; but there was no way of
escape, except by going back again to Smatterton,
and that was quite out of the question, for
at the public-house of that village he had spent
his last allowable minute. Finding that the
encounter must take place, Nick whistled himself
up to his highest pitch of moral fortitude,
and put spurs to his beast. He might as well
have struck his spurs against a brick wall. The
rough-coated quadruped had been too long in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
the service of government to be put out of his
usual pace by Nick’s spurs, and these said
spurs had been long enough in the service of
Muggins to have lost their virtue.</p>
<p>Nick’s next resource was to give Mr Robert
Darnley the cut indirect, and to ride on without
seeing him. But that was no easy matter
in a narrow unfrequented road. Before the
rogue could resolve what to do, the parties were
together, and Robert Darnley, advancing into
the middle of the road, gave command to the
lad to stop. Disobedience of course was not to
be thought of; and though the consciousness of
guilt and the suspicion of accusation made
him tremble, yet the necessity of concealment
rendered him very cautious of betraying any
emotion.</p>
<p>The appearance of Robert Darnley’s countenance
was at this interview very different from
what it had been an hour or two ago. For, in
the first instance, he had been merely making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
an unsuspicious enquiry, and his interrogations
had been more for the purpose of gaining information
than for fixing an accusation. Now, he
felt as if he were examining a criminal, and he
directed a stern enquiring look towards the uncouth
varlet, who blinked like an owl in the
sunshine and seemed to be looking about for
something to look at; for he was ashamed to
look at Robert Darnley, and afraid to fix his
eyes elsewhere.</p>
<p>“Muggins, have the goodness to dismount,”
said the young gentleman; “I wish to have a
little talk with you.”</p>
<p>That was a movement by no means agreeable
to Mr Muggins, who would thereby be brought
into closer and more perilous contact with an
ugly ill-looking elastic knotted cane, which was
bending under the pressure of Mr Darnley’s
hand. Muggins therefore, in answer to this
command, said with all the coolness he could
muster:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p>
<p>“Please, sir, I maan’t stay long.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” replied Darnley; “dismount, I
tell you.”</p>
<p>Now Muggins thought that if he was destined
to receive a caning for a violation of his trust,
he need not add to his troubles by provoking
Mr Darnley to administer an extra application
to him for refusing to dismount. Down therefore
came Nick, and at the word of command
fastened his horse to a gate-post.</p>
<p>“Now, Muggins,” said Robert Darnley, “if
you don’t tell me the truth, I will cane you as
long as I can stand.”</p>
<p>“Sir?” said Muggins, in a tone of well-feigned
astonishment, and with the accent of
interrogation.</p>
<p>“Will you tell me the truth, sir?” repeated the
interrogator.</p>
<p>“What about, sir?” asked Muggins.</p>
<p>That question does by no means redound to
the credit of Muggins; for had he been a truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
honest lad, he would have been ready to tell the
truth on any subject.</p>
<p>“What about!” echoed Darnley; “about
those letters, to be sure, which you ought to have
delivered at the rectory at Smatterton. Tell me
what you did with them, this moment.”</p>
<p>A threatening aspect accompanied, and a
threatening attitude followed this speech. Muggins
gave himself up for lost. If he called
out “murder,” there was none to assist him;
running away was an absolute impossibility;
resistance would be vain; and shuffling would
no longer answer the purpose. It is astonishing
how powerfully present considerations overwhelm
and command the mind. If Muggins could have
mustered up sufficient energy of purpose to
resist the threats of the son of the rector of Neverden,
he might afterwards have laid his case
before the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill, by
whose interest he might have gained promotion,
or by whose liberality he might have been hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>somely
rewarded. But all other thoughts and
considerations were lost and absorbed in the
elastic cane, which seemed vibrating with anxious
eagerness for a close acquaintance with his
shoulders.</p>
<p>Cowering and trembling, the guilty one, whose
craftiness would no longer avail him, dropped
abjectly upon his knees and blubberingly implored
for mercy, on consideration of revealing
the whole truth. Darnley, who thought more of
the happiness of renewing his acquaintance with
Penelope than of the pleasure of caning a graceless
varlet, readily promised mercy upon confession.
And so great was Nick’s gratitude for
the mercy promised, that he told the whole
truth, and gave up the character of Lord Spoonbill
to contempt.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">When</span> the interview recorded in the last chapter
had concluded, both parties were pleased;
but the pleasure of the one was far more durable
than that of the other. Nick Muggins enjoyed
but a negative delight in having escaped an
imminent and threatening peril. But afterwards
he began to reflect; for he could think, seeing
that he had nothing else to do.</p>
<p>It is worth notice, that many apparently
stupid, ignorant and obtuse cubs, whose employment
is monotonous and mechanical, possess
a certain degree of shrewdness, and exhibit
occasionally symptoms of reflection and observation
to which more cultivated and educated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
minds are strangers. Curious it is also to see
the gaping wonderment with which those, whose
wisdom is from books, regard those who happen
to have any power or capacity of thought without
the assistance of books. Gentle reader,
when you are next requested to write some wise
sentence in a lady’s album, write the following:
“books are more indebted to wisdom, than wisdom
is to books.”</p>
<p>Nick, we have said, began to think; and the
farther he was removed from Robert Darnley’s
cane with the less delight did he contemplate
his escape. It came also into his mind that,
although this young gentleman had withheld
the threatened infliction, yet there were other
troubles awaiting him, and other dangers threatening
him. Drowning mariners, it has been said,
seldom calculate upon the consequence of their
vows. Nor did Muggins calculate upon the
probable consequences of the confession which
he had made to escape an impending castigation.</p>
<p>He had escaped the cane of Robert Darnley,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
but he had thereby exposed himself to the danger
of a similar visitation from the hand of Lord
Spoonbill. There was also some probability, and
no slight one, that he might in addition to other
calamities suffer the loss of his place. People
in office do not like to lose their places, for it
makes them very ill-humoured and provokes
them to all manner of absurdities. Nick also
thought that if his place should be taken from
him in consequence of this his unfaithfulness,
Lord Spoonbill would be also exposed, and Lord
Spoonbill being exposed would be mightily
angry with Nick, and, being angry with him,
would not make him any remuneration for his
loss. Moreover Nick thought that Lord Spoonbill
would call him a fool for having divulged
the secret, and Nick did not like to be called a
fool. Who does? So, in order to avoid being
called a fool, Nick meditated playing the rogue.</p>
<p>We by no means approve of this conduct, and
we record it not as an example, but as a caution;
and we would seriously recommend all persons in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
public offices to be as honest as they possibly
can; or if this political morality appears too
rigid and savours of puritanical strictness, we
would advise them to be as honest as they conveniently
can.</p>
<p>The scheme of roguery which the letter-carrier
devised, was destined to be effected by means of
epistolary correspondence with the Right Honorable
Lord Spoonbill; but fortunately for the
rogue, as even rogues are sometimes fortunate,
the trouble of writing was saved him by the personal
appearance of Lord Spoonbill himself at
the town of M——, where Nick Muggins dwelt,
and from which he carried the letters to Smatterton
and Neverden. It was a great pleasure to
Muggins to be saved the trouble of writing, for
that operation was attended with much labour
and difficulty to him, seeing that he had many
doubts as to the shapes of letters and the meaning
of words.</p>
<p>Muggins had not been at home many minutes
before Lord Spoonbill presented himself to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
astonished eyes of the unfaithful letter-carrier.
His lordship was wonderfully condescending to
honor so humble a roof by his presence; but it
was not the first time that he had paid a visit to
Mr Muggins in his own house. The object, or
more properly speaking the nature of the object,
of his visit was guessed at, and the spirit of
Nick’s knavery was kindled within him, and he
was prepared to say or do aught that his lordship
might dictate or propose, for the purpose of
furthering the hereditary legislator’s right honorable
pursuit.</p>
<p>Nick’s residence is not indeed a matter of
much importance to the world, nor does its locality
or aspect bear powerfully on the development
of our catastrophe, or greatly assist the progress
of our narrative. But we describe it, because we
may thereby give our readers a more complete
and impressive idea of the great condescension of
Lord Spoonbill in visiting so obscure an abode.</p>
<p>The town of M—— was situated on the banks
of a river. The streets were long and narrow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
and the houses high and dingy. The ground on
which the town was built was uneven, and the
materials with which it was paved were execrable.
This is spoken of the best parts of the
town, of those streets which stood on the higher
ground. The inferior part was not paved at all,
and was approachable only by an almost abrupt
descent through a lane or narrow street, in which
the houses nearly met at the top. The ground
on which a passenger must walk was of a nature
so miscellaneous as almost to defy description,
and quite to puzzle analysis. Black mud, as
everlasting as the perennial snows which rest on
the summits of inaccessible mountains, decayed
vegetables of every season of the year, refuse
fish, unpicked bones of every conceivable variety
of animals, deceased cats and dogs and rats in
every possible degree of decomposition, broken
bricks and tiles, and shreds of earthen vessels of
all variety of domestic application, sticks, stones,
old shoes, tin kettles and superannuated old saucepans,
formed the dead stock of the street. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
the live stock was by no means calculated to
give to the spectator a high idea of the dignity of
human nature. The fair sex in these regions
appeared by no means to any great advantage;
nature had done little for them and art less. In
their voices there was less melody than loudness,
and in their language more energy than elegance.
They expressed their feelings without circumlocution,
and resented indignities with hand as
well as tongue. In the air which they breathed
there might be enough to discompose and irritate,
for the decomposition of sprats is by no
means fragrant; and when an atmosphere is
constantly burdened with the effluvia of soap,
tallow, and train oil, it is not calculated to soothe
the irritated nerves.</p>
<p>To pass through such a region as this could
not have been mightily agreeable to the refined
senses of Lord Spoonbill. But not only did he
pass through it, but he sought out in one of its
meanest habitations the carrier of the Smatterton
and Neverden letter-bags. All this however he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
did patiently undergo for love of Penelope Primrose.</p>
<p>“Muggins,” said his lordship, “have you left
a letter at Neverden within this day or two for
Mr Darnley?”</p>
<p>“Yes, my lord,” replied the carrier.</p>
<p>“And did you see Mr Darnley when you delivered the letter?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, my lord, I see Mr Robert himself.
And please, my lord, I am almost afraid that you
and I will be found out.”</p>
<p>“Found out, you rascal! what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Why, I means, my lord, please your lordship,
that one of them letters as I give your lordship
is been picked up, and Mr Robert Darnley
showed it to me and axed whether I knowed
nothing about it. And he said he’d kill me if I
did not tell him, and so I told him that I didn’t
know nothing where it come from. And so, my
lord, I’m quite afeard to go again to Neverden,
only I don’t know what to do just to get a bit of
bread.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p>
<p>At this information the Right Honorable Lord
Spoonbill was perplexed.</p>
<p>“Why, Muggins, if that is the case,” said his
lordship, “you had better get away.”</p>
<p>“Yes, my lord, but what will become of me if
I give up my place?”</p>
<p>“Oh, leave that to me!” said his lordship,
“and I will take care you shall be no loser.”</p>
<p>This was the point to which the crafty one
wished to bring his right honorable friend. Suffice
it then to say that Lord Spoonbill, fancying
that he should place discovery out of the reach
of probability, made the rogue a very handsome
present, and gave him letters whereby he might
find employment in London, which would more
than compensate for the loss of his place in the
country.</p>
<p>Then did Lord Spoonbill under cover of night’s
darkness find his way to Smatterton castle,
pleasing himself with the thought that his well-formed
scheme was now likely to take effect, and
that Mr Robert Darnley, after the warning of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
anonymous letter, would not be very hasty to
renew his acquaintance with Miss Primrose. It
was of course supposed by our readers, and
intended to be so supposed, that the anonymous
letter above alluded to was sent, if not by Lord
Spoonbill himself, at least by his instigation, and
for the purpose of forwarding his designs. And,
that the merit of the communication may not be
ascribed to a wrong personage, it is right to
inform the world that the writer of the same
letter was Colonel Crop. By this gallant officer
Lord Spoonbill was now accompanied to Smatterton
castle.</p>
<p>Colonel Crop was an excellent travelling companion,
for he never disturbed the train of his
fellow-traveller’s thoughts by any impertinent
prating. The dexterous economy which the
colonel exercised over his words and actions was
quite surprising. He could make a little go a
great way. If for instance any friend, and many
such there were, invited the gallant colonel to
dinner, it would seem that thereby an occupation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
were afforded him for an hour or two previously
for the purpose of dressing. But the ingenious time-consumer
managed to make a whole morning’s
work of it. Equally economical was he of words.
For if his Right Honorable friend Lord Spoonbill
should talk to him for a whole hour together,
the colonel would think it quite sufficient to
reply to the long harangue by simply saying:
“’Pon honor! you don’t say so.”</p>
<p>With this lively companion did Lord Spoonbill
journey towards Smatterton; and as his lordship
wished to be left to his own thoughts, his friend
was not unwilling to indulge him; and thus did
the hereditary legislator enjoy the pleasure of
silently congratulating himself on the dexterity
with which he had managed this affair; and
more especially was he delighted at the fortunate
circumstance of having removed Nick Muggins
far away from the danger of being tempted or
terrified into confession of his unfaithfulness.</p>
<p>It did not enter, nor was it likely to enter into
the mind of Lord Spoonbill, that Nick Muggins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
had already impeached, and that Robert Darnley
was in possession of all the facts of the case.
There was something else also in the transactions
of that day unknown to and unsuspected
by his lordship. That other matter to which we
here allude, was the visit which Robert Darnley
had paid to Mr and Miss Primrose.</p>
<p>At the close of the preceding chapter we
related that Mr Darnley and the letter-carrier
parted after their interview, and we have accompanied
Nick back to his home, and have narrated
what took place there. We may now therefore
return to Robert Darnley, and accompany him
also in his visit to Smatterton.</p>
<p>After he had ascertained from Muggins the
truth of the matter concerning the suppressed
letter, he no longer heeded the anonymous communication
which he had received; and instead
of passing through the park as he had designed,
he proceeded immediately to the rectory.</p>
<p>He was most happy in the thought that now
all doubts and perplexities were removed from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
his mind, and he was much better able and far
more willing to believe that Penelope still remained
pure, honorable, and affectionate, than to
give credence to the foul calumnies which had
been circulated concerning her. There are individuals
in the world of whom it is, ordinarily
speaking, almost impossible to think ill. Such
was the character of Penelope Primrose to those
well acquainted with her. But the elder Mr
Darnley being a mightily pompous and grand
sort of man, looked at almost every one from an
awful distance. Discrimination of character was
by no means his forte. He thought that the
whole mass of mankind was divisible into two
classes, the good and the bad. He considered
that the good must do as he did, and think as he
thought; and that the bad were those that opposed
him. It was his notion that it required only
a simple volition for the good to become bad and
for the bad to become good. And when he heard
that Miss Primrose had transgressed, he forthwith
believed the tale and renounced her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p>
<p>But to say nothing of the affection which the
younger Darnley entertained for the lady, and
the pleasing hopes with which for so long a
period he had been accustomed to think of her,
he could not think it possible for a mind like
hers ever to descend to the meanness with which
she had been charged. He did think it possible
that, in consequence of a supposed neglect on his
part, and by means of ingenious assiduities on
the part of another, that her regards might be
transferred from him; but even that he would
not believe without positive evidence. Many a
faithful heart had been broken, and many an
honest man has been hanged, by circumstantial
evidence.</p>
<p>The meeting of the lovers was silent. They
might have been previously studying speeches;
but these were forgotten on both sides. And in
their silence their looks explained to each other
how much they had respectively suffered from
the villany of him who had interrupted their
correspondence. After a long and silent em<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>brace,
and gazing again and again at those
features which he had so loved to think of at a
mighty distance, Darnley at length was able to
speak, and he said: “And you have not forgotten
me!” How cold these words do look on
paper. But from the living lips which spoke
them, and from the energetic tenderness with
which they were uttered, and from the thought
of that mental suffering and that withering of
heart which had been occasioned by the fear of
forgetfulness, and above all from the circumstance
that these were the first words which
Penelope had heard from those lips for so long,
so very long a period, they came to her ear and
heart with a thrilling power, and awakened her
from her silent trance to the expression of that
feeling which had almost subdued her.</p>
<p>“Forget!” she was attempting to echo her
lover’s words, but emotion was too strong for the
utterance of words, and she finished her answer
by falling on his neck and weeping audibly.</p>
<p>Might it not have done Lord Spoonbill good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
to have witnessed this scene? Surely it might
have taught him how little prospect there was of
the success of his designs; and he might, had he
possessed the ordinary feelings of humanity, have
thought that the coronet must be brilliant indeed
which could tempt Penelope to renounce her
lover.</p>
<p>But Lord Spoonbill saw it not, and suspected
it not; if he had, it certainly would have saved
him a great deal of trouble.</p>
<p>The lovers, when they did recover themselves
sufficiently to speak composedly and collectedly,
had volumes of talk for each other, and Darnley
was interested and moved by the narrative of
Penelope’s excursion to London, and the narrow
escape which she had from a profession so ill
adapted to the character and complexion of her
mind. But in all the conversation Darnley did
not mention to Penelope the anonymous letter
which he had that morning received, nor did he
say a word concerning the confession of the
letter-carrier. As to the anonymous letter, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
would not insult her even by alluding to the
existence of evil reports; and as to the suppressed
letters, he feared lest the impetuosity of
the young lady’s father might be productive of
mischief. He thought it at all events most desirable,
at least so long as they might remain in
the neighbourhood of Smatterton castle, to let
Penelope suppose that the loss of the letters was
accidental.</p>
<p>There may be some persons who think that
under present circumstances it was the duty of
Robert Darnley to send Lord Spoonbill a challenge,
or to bestow upon his lordship that chastisement
with which Nick Muggins had been
threatened. That Lord Spoonbill deserved a
bodily castigation, we will readily concede; but
as to duelling, we conceive it to be a very silly
and useless practice, and we are not sorry that
we are not compelled to relate of the younger
Darnley that his inclination prompted him to
adopt that very equivocal mode of demonstrating
himself to be a gentleman, or man of courage.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p>
<p>Very pleasantly passed the two or three hours
which Robert Darnley allowed himself to spend
at Smatterton parsonage; very awkwardly passed
the dinner hour on his return to Neverden parsonage;
for the Rev. Mr Darnley would not
speak to his son, and poor Mrs Darnley and
the young ladies were afraid to speak when the
rector was silent.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p>
<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
<p class="first"><span class="smcap">At</span> a late hour in the evening Lord Spoonbill,
accompanied by his worthy friend Colonel Crop,
arrived at Smatterton castle. The domestics
were instructed not to make the arrival public,
for his lordship was not desirous of being interrupted
by any invasions of callers. His object
professed to be the making some arrangements,
and laying down some plans for alterations and
improvements.</p>
<p>Colonel Crop was an excellent counsellor. He
was one of those admirable advisers, whose suggestions
are always taken, and whose advice is
always welcome, for he never gave any advice
except that which was dictated to him by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
person whose counsellor he was. He would have
made an excellent prime minister for any sovereign
who might not like to be contradicted.
His reverence for lords was very great, and far
greater of course would have been his reverence
for kings. He would no more think of reasoning
with or contradicting a lord, than a common
soldier would think of refusing to march or halt
at the word of his commander.</p>
<p>Now when this worthy couple had finished a
late dinner, and Colonel Crop had assented to
and echoed all that Lord Spoonbill had been
pleased to affirm as touching the excellence or
the reverse of the various meats and drinks composing
their dinner, the hereditary legislator
began the work of consultation.</p>
<p>“Well, Crop, it is a good thing that I have
sent that rascally letter-carrier away.”</p>
<p>“Very,” replied the colonel.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p>
<p>“It would have been quite shocking if he had
been terrified or bribed out of his secret.”</p>
<p>“Quite,” replied the colonel.</p>
<p>“Now I have been thinking,” continued his
lordship, “that you may be of great service to
me in this affair.”</p>
<p>“You may command me,” replied the colonel.</p>
<p>That was true enough, and so might any one
who would feed him. Young men of weak minds
and vicious habits are very much to be pitied
when they have such friends and companions as
Colonel Crop.</p>
<p>“You know Miss Primrose by sight, colonel?”
said his lordship.</p>
<p>“Can’t say I do,” replied the colonel; “I have
seen her once, but I took very little notice.”</p>
<p>“I must introduce you then. Now you remember
the trouble I had with the old ones
about this affair, and you know that I was fool
enough, as I told you, to go so far as actually to
make Miss Primrose an offer of marriage.”</p>
<p>The colonel gave his assent to this proposition
also; for he seemed to think it an act of rude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>ness
to contradict a lord, even when he called
himself a fool. And so perhaps it really is; for
a lord ought to know whether he is a fool or not,
and he would not say it if he did not believe it;
and there is also a degree of wisdom in the discovery
that one has been a fool, for thereby it is
intimated that the season of folly is over. Whosoever
therefore actually says that he was a fool
formerly, virtually says that he is not a fool now.
So no doubt did the colonel interpret the assertion
of Lord Spoonbill, and with this interpretation
he said, “Exactly so.”</p>
<p>“But I think now,” proceeded his lordship,
“I may have the young lady on my own terms.
But the difficulty is how to manage the business
without alarming her, and perhaps bringing down
some deadly vengeance from that father of her’s,
for he is as fierce as a tiger.”</p>
<p>That which is a difficulty to an hereditary
legislator and heir to a title and large estate,
must of course be a difficulty also to a half-pay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
colonel, who loves to depend upon occasional
dinners, and, like a hospital, to be supported by
voluntary contributions. Therefore the colonel
said:</p>
<p>“Ay, that is the difficulty.”</p>
<p>“If by any means we could contrive to get
the father out of the way, we might perhaps
get rid of some obstacle. Crop, can you hit
upon any scheme to separate them?”</p>
<p>“Can’t, ’pon honor,” replied the colonel, who
probably thought that it was not becoming in
him to be more ingenious than his feeder. The
colonel indeed was willing to do whatever he
might be bid, to say whatever might be put into
his mouth, to write whatever might be dictated
to him, and to go wherever he might be sent.
But he was by no means a self-acting machine.
He would do anything for any body, but he
required to be told explicitly what to do.</p>
<p>After a pause of some minutes, Lord Spoonbill
observed; “Perhaps some use might be made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
of the stoppage of Mr Primrose’s banker. I
forget the name; have you any recollection
of it?”</p>
<p>“Can’t say I have, ’pon honor;” replied the
colonel.</p>
<p>To proceed much farther in narrating this
lively dialogue which took place between the
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill and Colonel
Crop, as to the most likely means of forwarding
the designs which his lordship meditated against
Miss Primrose, would contribute more to the
reader’s weariness than to his amusement or
edification. It will be enough in the present
state of affairs to say, that this notable colloquy
terminated in the determination on the part of
his lordship to take no immediate steps in the
affair till he had ascertained what effect the
anonymous letter had produced upon Robert
Darnley. For this purpose, Colonel Crop might
render himself useful. Instructions were therefore
given him accordingly, and he was ordered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
to ride over to Neverden Hall, where he might
be most likely to gain some information.</p>
<p>Early therefore, on the following morning, the
gallant colonel found his way to the mansion
of the worthy baronet and able magistrate, Sir
George Aimwell. The unpaid one was mightily
well pleased at the visit, and he shook the hand
of the half-paid one till his fingers ached.</p>
<p>“Well, Colonel, I am glad to see you. So
you are tired of the gaieties of London already,
and you are coming to relieve our dullness in
the country. How are our noble neighbours?”</p>
<p>“Quite well, I thank you,” replied the
colonel, who felt himself one of great importance
in being able to speak so readily and assuredly
concerning nobility.</p>
<p>And here we will take the opportunity, and a
very fit one it is, of observing on a very curious
fact, namely, that the reverence for nobility and
high rank is not felt so acutely and powerfully
by simple and unmixed plebeians, as it is by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
those who have some remote affinity to nobility,
or who fancy themselves to be a shadow or two
of a caste above the mere plebeian. Colonel
Crop was not of noble family, but he was the
last of a mighty puissant race of insignificant
attenuated gentry in a country town; and as
nobility was a scarce article in the neighbourhood
where he was born and brought up, he
was mightily proud of his intimacy with the
noble family of the Spoonbills. But to proceed.</p>
<p>“Now, colonel, as you are here,” said the
worthy baronet, “I hope you will stay and
spend the day with me.”</p>
<p>We are always popping in our remarks upon
everything that is done and said; and here again
we cannot help remarking that Sir George Aimwell
might have had the grace to say “with us,”
as well as “with me;” but he thought so much
of his own magisterial self, that he had no consideration
of any one else.</p>
<p>To the invitation thus given the gallant
colonel scarcely knew what to say, for his com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>mission,
though very definite as to purpose, was
not definite as to time. Now the colonel, though
a man of family, was somewhat obtuse, and by
some people would have been called stupid;
and he scarcely knew whether or not he should
communicate to the amiable magistrate at
Neverden Hall, the fact of Lord Spoonbill’s
incognito presence at Smatterton castle. And as
it was not possible for him to send back to the
castle for further orders, he thought that the
most prudent step that he could take would be
to leave the matter of dining undecided, and go
back in person to Smatterton for full directions.</p>
<p>He gave therefore an undecided answer to
the baronet’s invitation, saying that he had some
“little matters” to attend to at Smatterton, and
that, if he possibly could return to Neverden in
the evening, he should be most happy to take his
dinner with the worthy baronet.</p>
<p>Back therefore to Smatterton trotted the convenient
colonel, in order to report progress and
ask leave to sit at the baronet’s table. Now we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
“guess” that some of our readers are sneering
most contemptuously at this convenient colonel,
and admiring the placid facility with which
he is moved about from place to place at
the nod of an hereditary legislator, and obeying
all the commands of a tadpole senator. Yet
why should any one think that he is unworthily
or degradingly employed. Only let us
imagine for a moment that the Right Honorable
Lord Spoonbill is a most gracious, or a
most Christian majesty, and that his negociations
are for precisely the same purpose as they
are at present; or that from negociations of this
nature there may have arisen between two
mighty and puissant nations a just and necessary
war—such things have been—then would the
said Colonel Crop, in his capacity of negociator,
be regarded with profound admiration by all his
majesty’s most faithful and loyal subjects; and
morning and evening papers would be proud of
putting forth second editions to immortalize his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
diplomatic movements. But, as it is, ours is the
only record of these matters.</p>
<p>When Colonel Crop therefore returned to
Smatterton castle, and informed his right honorable
employer of what had passed at Neverden,
Lord Spoonbill thought, though he did not say,
that Colonel Crop was a great booby.</p>
<p>“Why, colonel,” said his lordship, “by all
means go back and take your dinner with Sir
George; you may find out something about
Darnley; I am in no hurry for your return, only
let me know all that you can collect concerning
this young lady; and above all endeavour to
find out whether Mr Robert Darnley is spoken
of as her future husband, or whether the acquaintance
between them is broken off. That
is all I wish to ascertain at present. I shall
then know how to act. For don’t you see that,
if Darnley keeps at a distance in consequence
of the present reports, I am more likely to have
her on my own terms. There is no heart so easy
to win as that of a disappointed lover.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p>
<p>With his instructions back went the colonel
to Neverden. And as we have not the opportunity
of giving verbal or senatorial advice to
mighty and puissant princes, we will here do all
we can for the good of our country, and of all
countries into the language of which this history
may be translated, by advising and most earnestly
recommending that blockheads, however
valorous or gallant, like our friend Colonel Crop,
be not employed in diplomatic offices. There is
a very great difference between the vigorous arm
that can break a man’s head, and the ingenious
dexterity which can bend a man’s heart. And,
generally speaking, those people can have but
little regard for brains, whose business it is to
knock them out.</p>
<p>For want of a dexterous diplomatist, Lord
Spoonbill, as we shall see hereafter, was exposed
to great inconvenience, and suffered mighty and
serious disappointment.</p>
<p>Colonel Crop was not sorry that leave was
granted him to dine at Sir George Aimwell’s.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
For the baronet had an excellent cook, and the
cook had an excellent place, and few are the
instances in which there exists so good an understanding
between master and servant, as in
the present case there did between the worthy
magistrate and his as worthy cook.</p>
<p>Whether Colonel Crop did or did not possess
the organ of hope strongly developed in his
skull, we cannot tell, for the gallant colonel has
not yet been hanged; if he had, we might have
found any organs we pleased; but we may suppose
that he had the organ of anticipativeness,
for his thoughts dwelt so seriously and intently
upon the good dinner that he was likely to
enjoy at Sir George Aimwell’s table, that he did
actually and truly forget a great part of his
errand. Oh, how selfish is mortal man!</p>
<p>The colonel, however, with all his propensity
to oblivion, had sufficient memory to recollect
that his business was to ascertain whether Mr
Darnley, son of the rector of Neverden, still continued
his acquaintance with a young lady or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
not. At the table of Sir George Aimwell there
was introduced a young lady, Miss Glossop.
The name of Glossop bears no very marked
affinity to that of Primrose, but by some strange
fatality or fatuity, the gallant colonel confounded
them. The young lady, by a certain dashing
style of behaviour, passed off with the colonel
as a remarkably fine young woman; and when
Sir George Aimwell spoke banteringly to her
concerning Robert Darnley, then the gallant
negociator was sure that this was the lady in
question.</p>
<p>There was a still farther corroboration in the
circumstance that this lady was gifted with
remarkable vocal powers. The colonel was no
great judge of music, but he could see that she
played very rapidly, and he could hear that she
sung very loud; and therefore he entertained the
same notion of her musical talents which she
herself did.</p>
<p>The musical exhibition took place after tea.
Lady Aimwell cared little about music or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
anything else, and in the presence of her husband’s
visitors she generally shewed her dignity
by looking sulky. But Colonel Crop was
so vastly polite, that her ladyship was generally
more civil and courteous to him than to any
other guests who were attracted to Neverden
Hall by the fame of the baronet’s cook.</p>
<p>And while Miss Glossop was amusing herself
with melodious vociferations, and singing and
playing so loud that the poor magistrate could
hardly keep his eyes shut, Colonel Crop and
Lady Aimwell were engaged in a whispering or
muttering conversation, all about nothing at all.
They both agreed that it was remarkable weather,
neither of them had remembered it so mild
for many years. Lady Aimwell was very well
pleased to hear Colonel Crop’s common-place
nothings which he had brought from London,
and her ladyship related all that had taken place
at Neverden since the colonel was there last.</p>
<p>Her ladyship was not especially partial to
Miss Glossop. There was some little jealousy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>
in the heart of Lady Aimwell that this stranger,
as it were, should occupy so much of the baronet’s
attention. Disagreeable people are generally
the most jealous. Her ladyship noticed the
music.</p>
<p>“I wonder,” muttered the fretful one to
Colonel Crop, “that Sir George can bear to hear
such a constant noise. I am sure he knows
nothing of music. There is a great deal of talk
about her fine voice and her rapid execution;
her voice sounds to my ear very much like the
voice of a peacock.”</p>
<p>Saying this her ladyship smiled, because it
was almost witty, and the colonel also smiled,
for he too thought it was witty.</p>
<p>“But I beg your pardon, colonel,” said her
ladyship; “perhaps you may be partial to
music?”</p>
<p>“By no means,” replied the colonel, “and I
was not aware that Sir George was partial to it.
Our friends at the castle are very musical.”</p>
<p>It was pleasant for the colonel to be able to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
talk about our friends at the castle; but Lady
Aimwell, though not very ambitious of publicity
in the gay world, was rather jealous of the
Smatterton great ones, and thought herself
treated with too much haughtiness and distance
by the Earl and Countess.</p>
<p>“I wish that all that noise and affectation
were at the castle, instead of tormenting me.”</p>
<p>Thus spoke Lady Aimwell. Now, thought
Colonel Crop, there was a fine opportunity for
introducing his diplomacy; and for that purpose
the gallant negociator said, in a very knowing
accent:</p>
<p>“But I think I have heard that this young
lady is likely to give her hand to a Mr ——
Mr —— bless me, I forget names.”</p>
<p>“Do you mean Mr Darnley,” said her ladyship,
“the son of our rector?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” replied the colonel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> “I believe
that is the name; Darnley, Darnley, ay, ay,
that is the name. This lady is going to be married
to Mr Darnley, I have heard.”</p>
<p>“Oh no!” replied her ladyship, “I don’t
believe it. I can hardly think it probable. Indeed—but
I hope it will go no further”—</p>
<p>Here her ladyship spoke in a still lower key
and more subdued tone, and the gallant colonel
listened with profound attention, and with great
delight did he hear her ladyship thus speak:</p>
<p>“There has, I believe, been some talk about
such an affair, and Robert Darnley has met her
here once or twice. But the truth is, he seems
to know her character and disposition too well.
And if there were any such thoughts on his part,
I am sure he has given up all such idea by this
time. Indeed, I do not think that there ever was
much regard on either side.”</p>
<p>This was grand intelligence for the colonel.
He felt himself mightily important. He soon
ceased the conversation, and took his leave of
the family at Neverden Hall, and he reported
all that he had heard and seen according to the
best of his ability.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, my lord, I have seen your Arabella.”</p>
<p>“Penelope, you mean;” interrupted his lordship.</p>
<p>“Ay, ay, Penelope; bless me, how soon I
forget names. So I have seen her and heard
her.”</p>
<p>“She plays and sings delightfully,” said Lord
Spoonbill.</p>
<p>“Wonderfully,” replied the colonel, who was
more than usually eloquent in consequence of
the good success of his diplomacy: “to be sure
I do not understand music, but I never saw so
rapid an execution in my life.”</p>
<p>“But,” interrupted his impatient lordship,
“did you hear anything about that Darnley?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied the colonel, with mighty pomp
and energy of manner. “Lady Aimwell told me,
in confidence, that Darnley knew her character
too well to think of marrying her. These were
her ladyship’s own words.”</p>
<p>“Now, Crop, you have done me a service
indeed. Now I think the day is our own.”</p>
<p>When the good friends parted for the night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>
his delighted lordship was so occupied with his
own sweet thoughts that he was quite intoxicated
with joy. He would, had he been able, have
sung a <i>Te Deum</i>; and it would be very well if
<i>Te Deum</i> had never been sung on occasions quite
as unworthy as, if not infinitely more so than
the present.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="frontispiece p6">END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</p>
<p class="frontispiece p6 b4">
LONDON:<br />
<span class="small">PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.</span><br />
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="tnote"><p class="center">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.</p>
<p class="center">Original spelling has been retained, unless it’s clearly a printer’s error.</p>
<p class="center">The following corrections have been made in the text:</p>
<div class="left">
<table summary="Corrections">
<tr><th><b>Page</b></th><th><b>Original text</b></th><th><b>Corrected text</b></th></tr>
<tr><td class="w20"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td><td class="w40">Smattertno</td><td class="w40">Smatterton</td></tr>
<tr><td class="w20"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td><td class="w40">too verturn</td><td class="w40">to overturn</td></tr>
<tr><td class="w20"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td><td class="w40">gird</td><td class="w40">girl</td></tr>
<tr><td class="w20"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td><td class="w40">enoug</td><td class="w40">enough</td></tr>
</table></div></div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44159 ***</div>
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