Penelope

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 enough to pursue the investigation, and prudence enough not to be deceived when once put on his guard.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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 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.

“Muggins, have the goodness to dismount,” said the young gentleman; “I wish to have a little talk with you.”

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:

“Please, sir, I maan’t stay long.”

“Nonsense,” replied Darnley; “dismount, I tell you.”

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.

“Now, Muggins,” said Robert Darnley, “if you don’t tell me the truth, I will cane you as long as I can stand.”

“Sir?” said Muggins, in a tone of well-feigned astonishment, and with the accent of interrogation.

“Will you tell me the truth, sir?” repeated the interrogator.

“What about, sir?” asked Muggins.

That question does by no means redound to the credit of Muggins; for had he been a truly honest lad, he would have been ready to tell the truth on any subject.

“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.”

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 handsomely 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.

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.

CHAPTER XVIII.

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 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.”

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.

He had escaped the cane of Robert Darnley, 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.

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 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.

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.

Muggins had not been at home many minutes before Lord Spoonbill presented himself to the 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.

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.

The town of M—— was situated on the banks of a river. The streets were long and narrow, 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 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.

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 did patiently undergo for love of Penelope Primrose.

“Muggins,” said his lordship, “have you left a letter at Neverden within this day or two for Mr Darnley?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the carrier.

“And did you see Mr Darnley when you delivered the letter?”

“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.”

“Found out, you rascal! what do you mean?”

“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.”

At this information the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill was perplexed.

“Why, Muggins, if that is the case,” said his lordship, “you had better get away.”

“Yes, my lord, but what will become of me if I give up my place?”

“Oh, leave that to me!” said his lordship, “and I will take care you shall be no loser.”

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.

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 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.

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 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.”

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.

It did not enter, nor was it likely to enter into the mind of Lord Spoonbill, that Nick Muggins 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.

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.

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.

He was most happy in the thought that now all doubts and perplexities were removed from 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.

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.

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 embrace, 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.

“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.

Might it not have done Lord Spoonbill good 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.

But Lord Spoonbill saw it not, and suspected it not; if he had, it certainly would have saved him a great deal of trouble.

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 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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER XIX.

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 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.

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.

“Well, Crop, it is a good thing that I have sent that rascally letter-carrier away.”

“Very,” replied the colonel.

“It would have been quite shocking if he had been terrified or bribed out of his secret.”

“Quite,” replied the colonel.

“Now I have been thinking,” continued his lordship, “that you may be of great service to me in this affair.”

“You may command me,” replied the colonel.

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.

“You know Miss Primrose by sight, colonel?” said his lordship.

“Can’t say I do,” replied the colonel; “I have seen her once, but I took very little notice.”

“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.”

The colonel gave his assent to this proposition also; for he seemed to think it an act of rudeness 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.”

“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.”

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 colonel, who loves to depend upon occasional dinners, and, like a hospital, to be supported by voluntary contributions. Therefore the colonel said:

“Ay, that is the difficulty.”

“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?”

“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.

After a pause of some minutes, Lord Spoonbill observed; “Perhaps some use might be made of the stoppage of Mr Primrose’s banker. I forget the name; have you any recollection of it?”

“Can’t say I have, ’pon honor;” replied the colonel.

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 to ride over to Neverden Hall, where he might be most likely to gain some information.

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.

“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?”

“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.

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 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.

“Now, colonel, as you are here,” said the worthy baronet, “I hope you will stay and spend the day with me.”

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.

To the invitation thus given the gallant colonel scarcely knew what to say, for his commission, 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.

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.

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 “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 diplomatic movements. But, as it is, ours is the only record of these matters.

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.

“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.”

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.

For want of a dexterous diplomatist, Lord Spoonbill, as we shall see hereafter, was exposed to great inconvenience, and suffered mighty and serious disappointment.

Colonel Crop was not sorry that leave was granted him to dine at Sir George Aimwell’s. 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.

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!

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 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.

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.

The musical exhibition took place after tea. Lady Aimwell cared little about music or 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.

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.

Her ladyship was not especially partial to Miss Glossop. There was some little jealousy 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.

“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.”

Saying this her ladyship smiled, because it was almost witty, and the colonel also smiled, for he too thought it was witty.

“But I beg your pardon, colonel,” said her ladyship; “perhaps you may be partial to music?”

“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.”

It was pleasant for the colonel to be able to 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.

“I wish that all that noise and affectation were at the castle, instead of tormenting me.”

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:

“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.”

“Do you mean Mr Darnley,” said her ladyship, “the son of our rector?”

“Yes, yes,” replied the colonel, “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.”

“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”—

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:

“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.”

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.

“Well, my lord, I have seen your Arabella.”

“Penelope, you mean;” interrupted his lordship.

“Ay, ay, Penelope; bless me, how soon I forget names. So I have seen her and heard her.”

“She plays and sings delightfully,” said Lord Spoonbill.

“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.”

“But,” interrupted his impatient lordship, “did you hear anything about that Darnley?”

“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.”

“Now, Crop, you have done me a service indeed. Now I think the day is our own.”

When the good friends parted for the night, 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 Te Deum; and it would be very well if Te Deum had never been sung on occasions quite as unworthy as, if not infinitely more so than the present.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.