Penelope

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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 of propriety and delicacy therefore, which he could readily assume when it suited his purpose, he concluded his visit by saying:

“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.”

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.

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.

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 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.

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 followed by the question—“What else can be done?”

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.

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 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.

CHAPTER X.

Another 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 gradually 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.

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.

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 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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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 strange place without occupation, and with nothing to think upon but painful recollections and fearful anticipations.

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.

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 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.

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 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.

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 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.

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.

It is a great evil that virtuous men should ever make themselves disagreeable, and it is also 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 most honourable intention in making a profession of attachment.

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.

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 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.

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 resolution would contribute very essentially to increase the attractions of Lady Smatterton’s parties.

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.

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 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 if no condition of being could render the affliction greater.

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.

“But how is that possible?” inquired Penelope in the simplicity of her heart.

In explaining that possibility his lordship also 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:

“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.”

The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill began 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.

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 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.

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.

As for Mr Primrose, no brighter prospect seemed to shine before him; for he had gained no intelligence. He had found, as he might 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.”

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 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.

CHAPTER XI.

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.”

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 consulting her for whose benefit such step was to be taken. At breakfast he said to Penelope:

“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.”

“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 disposed 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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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; “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.”

“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.”

“Upon my word, child,” said Mr Primrose, “I really do not think you have any regard for Mr Darnley. You are certainly captivated by this Lord Spoonbill.”

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.

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 tray. The servant who brought them swelled with importance, and even the silver tray shone with unusual brightness beneath its important burden.

“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.”

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.

“Oh! here are two from Smatterton,” exclaimed his lordship: “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.”

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 did not know the gentleman’s address, and because he also understood that Mr Primrose’s daughter was under his lordship’s roof.

“And how am I to know the gentleman’s address?” exclaimed his lordship with a most magnificent air.

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.

“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.”

When Lord Spoonbill had possession of this letter he forthwith began to think how he should 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.

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 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.

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 a suspicion of the real fact. Perplexed and undecided, he thrust the letter into his pocket and walked out.

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 life; it influences the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the learned and the unlearned;

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.

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 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?

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 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.

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.

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 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.

CHAPTER XII.

There also occurred to his mind the thought that it was possible for Mr Darnley to make a 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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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 magnificent 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.

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 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.

“Spoonbill, are you unwell?” said Lord Smatterton.

“No,” replied Spoonbill in a style of sulky abruptness, which Tony Lumpkin himself might have envied.

“You seem to be quite out of spirits to-day:” said the Countess, in one of her most agreeable and winning tones.

“One cannot be always laughing and talking,” was the uncourteous and ungrateful reply.

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.

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?”

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 contrive, 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.

“You are silent,” said the Earl of Smatterton. Lord Spoonbill knew that without requiring to be told of it. The Earl then continued:

“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.”

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 rather too old to be treated like a boy. His lordship would not be snubbed; but he could not always escape a lecturing.

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.

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 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.

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 else could have immortalized that magnificent sigh.

At this movement the Earl started, and exclaimed: “Are you in love, Spoonbill?”

“Suppose I am, sir;” replied the son of the patrician, “and what then?”

“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.”

“But, perhaps, what may appear a suitable connexion to me may not appear in the same light to you.”

“Of course you will not think of marrying a woman of no understanding.”

“Certainly not,” replied Lord Spoonbill cheerfully and confidently; “I could not bear to live with a wife who was not a person of intellect.”

Some of our readers might not have expected this remark from Lord Smatterton, or this reply from Lord Spoonbill; but let those readers look 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.

“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.”

Lord Spoonbill bit his lips; and said, “I would never marry a woman of vulgar manners, whatever might be her birth.”

“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?”

Here the young man hesitated and demurred, and endeavoured to say something that should amount to nothing. But the Earl was not content 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;

“Oh, Spoonbill! Spoonbill! That you should ever have come to this! And have you made the young woman an offer of your hand?”

“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.

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 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.

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 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.”

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.

“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.”

Had circumstances been otherwise than they 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.”

“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.”

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 father went on prosing, for a considerable length of time, and that they did not arrive at any satisfactory conclusion.

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.

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, notwithstanding 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.

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 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.

All that Lord Spoonbill could gain from his inexorable and right honorable parents, was a promise that they would think about it.

CHAPTER XIII.

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 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.

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.

Now it so happened, that on the very day on which the letter of Robert Darnley was intercepted 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.

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 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.

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 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.

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.

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 grumbling about his right to marry whomsoever he pleased, Mr Primrose was making arrangements to leave London.

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 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.

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 detention as much like a lie as anything that a lord could write.

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.

For the present we must leave his loving lordship in London, enjoying all the luxuries and splendors which gas, fog, smoke, foolery, wax 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.

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.

Their reception at Smatterton parsonage was most cordial and highly courteous. Nothing 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.

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 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.

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 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.