"Lo! our opinion is a child so dear,
We love its prattle, though a simple note."
PETER PINDAR.
From the conversation which was mentioned as having taken place
between Mr. John Martindale and his young relative in the last chapter,
Mr. Philip derived a very considerable degree of satisfaction. He
felt very confident that there was no danger that he should lose the
property which was destined conditionally to devolve to him. He was
most happy in being relieved from the claims of the money-lenders,
and being able to call the property which he should receive with Miss
Sampson his own.
There was still, however, some little alloy in the pleasure that he
enjoyed in these thoughts. He was by his circumstances almost excluded
from all notoriety, and deprived of those very pleasures for which
wealth and rank were in his estimation desirable. The constitution
too of Miss Sampson's mind was not such as could render retirement
delightful and desirable; and even had her mind been ever so well
informed, or her disposition ever so reflective and intellectual,
those things would not have afforded much interest to the Hon. Philip
Martindale. At the first moment, when Mr. Martindale the elder
announced his designs of liberality towards the young gentleman,
Philip felt much delighted; and it was indeed a great pleasure to be
relieved from the demands of his creditors. All these matters Philip
thought it desirable to state to Lord Martindale, knowing that they
must reach his ear by some channel, and thinking it most desirable that
the information should come from himself. Lord Martindale, it seemed,
was not ignorant of these circumstances, so far at least as concerned
his son's transactions with money-lenders, and the occasion which
rendered these transactions necessary. Here was another mortification;
for Philip had a feeling of regard for his parents, and was concerned
at what gave them pain. Lady Martindale had long and deeply felt
the unpleasantness of dependence on the caprices and whims of Mr.
John Martindale; and the more frequently the subject recurred to her
thoughts, the more did she regret the vanity which induced them to
aspire after nobility.
In due time, the Hon. Philip Martindale led to the altar Celestina,
only child of Sir Gilbert Sampson. The happy couple immediately
after the marriage-ceremony set out on a tour, in which we have no
intention of accompanying them. Lord Martindale, after he found that
the circumstances of his son were so essentially improved, partially
recovered his health and spirits; but there was yet a feeling of
mortification in his lordship's mind, at the necessity which had
compelled his son to avail himself of mercantile wealth to keep up his
dignity: still, however, his lordship had the consolation of thinking
that it was not quite so great a mortification, as if the young
gentleman had been compelled to have recourse to his own talents at
the bar. Wealth, it appears, is always honorable, and always honored;
but there are various degrees in which it is honorable. That wealth is
most honorable which has been handed down through many generations,
and which has been acquired nobody knows how, and nobody knows when:
that wealth is less honorable which is the obvious result of commercial
diligence, skill, and activity; but in process of time, as the
inheritors of that wealth grow more ignorant of the means by which it
was acquired, it becomes more honorable. There is some degree of honor
in possessing wealth by means of marriage with an heiress, even if that
heiress inherit mercantile wealth, provided that the person marrying
the said heiress never did, or attempted to do, or was capable, of
doing any thing to provide for himself. There is honor also in wealth
acquired by commercial skill, but that honor is of a very equivocal
kind; and those more highly-favored persons who have descended from a
long line of ancestors who never disgraced themselves by obtaining a
livelihood for themselves, ought to look down with a proper degree of
contempt on such individuals as have, by using their understandings
and employing their skill, acquired property for themselves. This
is exceedingly appropriate and decent in a country which depends on
commerce; and this feeling the Right Hon. Lord Martindale possessed, or
rather was possessed by most strongly. The young gentleman also felt
his share of the mortification. To such a degree was he annoyed by the
thought of the origin of his wealth, that he could not bear to hear any
mention of soap. We pity the young gentleman very much--we pity Lord
Martindale too, and we pity all who are similarly circumstanced; and
we should be very happy to suggest a plan to keep the superfine people
more distinct from the common people, but it is not in our power. So
we must let the world go on as it has done, and as it will do in spite
of our teeth; and we take to ourselves some credit for our modesty
in that, while we are putting forth a book full of wisdom and of the
fruits of wise observation, we do not anticipate that we shall thereby
produce any great change in the aspect of society or the manners of
mankind.
Seeing that the Hon. Philip Martindale, in whom our readers are so much
interested, is now most happily married, and is set out on a tour, we
may very safely dismiss him for the present; assuring the public that
they need not entertain any hopes or fears that the honorable gentleman
should on his return present them with a volume of travels. We warrant
him quarto-proof.
There was mention made in a former part of this history of an
amiable and worthy widow, Lady Woodstock, concerning whom it was
reported that Mr. John Martindale would in all probability make her
an offer of his hand. There was no other ground for the report than
that Mr. Martindale, thinking her the most intelligent woman among
his acquaintance, paid very especial attention to her, listened very
patiently when she spoke, and seemed always pleased when in her
company. The reports concerning Mr. John Martindale's attachment to
the intelligent and amiable widow revived again, and circulated with
renewed activity; when immediately, on Mr. Philip's marriage and his
departure on his tour, Lady Woodstock made her appearance in town. For
the most part, this worthy lady spent summer and winter, and spring
and autumn, at Hollywick Priory; but by some unaccountable movement
or other, it so happened that the good lady and her four daughters
made their appearance in London within a week of the time when Philip
set out on his tour. Lady Woodstock's acquaintance was by no means
extensive; and in all probability very few of the world would ever
have known any thing about her, had it not been that the very rich and
eccentric old John Martindale was supposed to be paying his addresses
to her. It is a certain and undeniable fact, that the old gentleman
waited on the Woodstocks as soon as they arrived in town; that they
were scarcely noticed by any one else, and that they only visited
Mr. Martindale, and that they were almost the only company which Mr.
Martindale entertained at his house. We are relating facts and not
making romances, therefore we will plainly and straight-forwardly
tell our readers, that as Mr. Martindale was a very great oddity and
had very singular notions, he thought that no one but Lady Woodstock
was a fit companion for Signora Rivolta. He had, therefore, solicited
and implored her ladyship to bring her family up to London, and to
remain there during the rest of the season. Mr. Martindale the elder
is not the only man in the world who has a habit of fancying some one
individual to be the wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best creature
that ever lived or could live. On this ground, and on this only, did he
seek for the society of Lady Woodstock, when and wherever it was to be
had; and he had no more thoughts of marrying her than you have, gentle
reader.
Now it came to pass that, soon after the arrival in London of
Lady Woodstock and her family, and soon as the report was spread
abroad that Mr. John Martindale was likely to marry the widow, that
the charms of Lady Woodstock's daughters were most loudly blazoned
forth, and multitudes began to see beauties of person and mind in these
young ladies which they had never seen before. When there appeared
a probability that Lady Woodstock was about to become the wife of a
very opulent man, and when it was thought as a necessary and natural
consequence that her daughters would be handsomely portioned, then,
and not till then, was it found out that Lady Woodstock had as choice
an assortment of ancestors as any body else; then it was discerned
that her daughters were remarkably intelligent and unaffected young
women; and then many of her ladyship's old acquaintance who had for
some years nearly or totally forgotten her, began to wonder that she
never had come up to town before during the season. As yet, however, it
was not thought safe for any young gentleman to make formal proposals
to any one of the daughters; but the young ladies were by no means
neglected. They were not cut either by new or old acquaintance; they
never made their appearance without most courteous recognition; and
as the younger of the four had scarcely finished her education, but
was even in town attended by a music-master at the special appointment
of old John Martindale, some songs and some sonatas were dedicated to
the young ladies. By degrees, the Woodstocks rose into a species of
celebrity. The young ladies did not much affect to set themselves up as
literary ladies, but they were perhaps a little proud of being thought
not quite so frivolous as the generality of young ladies of the present
day. Our readers, we suppose, do not need to be informed that young
ladies of the present day are very frivolous; and that they have been
so for centuries past, and will be for centuries to come. The times
are sadly altered, and so they always will be to the end of time. The
daughters of Lady Woodstock were not absolutely blue-stockings. The two
eldest had read Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, and thought
it was a book which every body should read. They had also read Paley's
Works and Cowper's Poems. The eldest had the reputation of having read
Cowper's translation of Homer, though but few gave her credit for that
accomplishment. The mother and her four daughters very simultaneously
and loudly rebuked the flippancy of the present generation of books.
This is also an important and interesting fact which we wish to impress
on the minds of our readers, that the modern publications are of a
very frivolous and flimsy nature: none of them are worth reading. It
is a self-evident maxim--it does not require proof; and if we were
to attempt illustration, we should be absolutely overwhelmed with
superabundance of materials. Modern publications always have been and
always will be worthless. The very words modern and newfangled are
in themselves expressions of condemnation. The modern writers merely
string together a multitude of words; they have no ideas at all, or
if they have by accident any thing like an idea or thought, they
overwhelm it with a host of unmeaning words. If Milton's Paradise
Lost, or Spenser's Fairy Queen, or Young's Night Thoughts, had been
written by any of the writers of the present day, they would have spun
the same materials out to a most immoderate and unreasonable length;
and if Lord Byron had been the author of the Iliad, he would have
made of it a poem as long as Childe Harold; or if any of our modern
novel-writers had taken the subject of Clarissa Harlowe, there is every
reason to suppose that they would have extended it to the dimensions
of Rees's Cyclopedia. The taste of the daughters of Lady Woodstock did
not much approve modern literature; and no wonder, when we consider
the emptiness and wordiness of the present race of writers; and as to
modern periodicals, where is there one that can for a moment compete
with what the Lady's Magazine was sixty years ago? But the young ladies
were not altogether ignorant of modern literature. They were generally
acquainted with the names and titles of new books, and could speak very
fluently concerning them at their first appearance, but afterwards they
made it a rule to forget them.
Lady Woodstock and her daughters were very religious, according
to the present fashion. They were not religious purely for fashion's
sake, but merely according to the fashion. They certainly believed
themselves to be religious, and so far they certainly were. One of
the first thoughts that entered their minds on arriving in town was
to engage a pew at church. Lady Woodstock herself would have been as
religious, let the fashion be as it might; but we believe that the
young ladies admired the popular preacher as much for his popularity as
for his piety. There was to the west of Temple Bar, but how far to the
west and in what street our informant has not been careful enough to
inform us, a very handsome chapel of ease, answering by its comfortable
internal accommodations most completely to its name; at which chapel
there officiated a preacher whose discourses were as soft and beautiful
as the velvet cushion on which his elbows reclined, and light as the
feathers wherewith that cushion was stuffed. Lady Woodstock was so far
religious as to regard the church-prayers as a matter of devotion, but
the young ladies rather considered the sermon as a matter of diversion.
They were most skilful sermon critics, very loudly praising zeal and
seriousness, and very acute in detecting grammatical errors. It was
very amusing to hear the young ladies on Sunday morning tumultuously
and in concert gabbling forth the praises or dispraises of the sermon
of the day, and criticising the air, tone, aspect and manner of
the reverend officiating divine. "What a delightful sermon we have
had this morning."--"Did you notice how solemnly he gave out the
text?"--"I like to hear the words of Scripture uttered solemnly and
seriously."--"But did not you very much admire that beautiful simile
of the gilded bark and the rippling wavelets, there is something so
very pretty in the word wavelets?"--"Yes, it is a very pretty word,
but I do not think it is in Johnson."--"I should like to read that
sermon, it was so accurately composed; I am sure it would read well."
Such talk as this, but extended to a length which it would be tedious
to narrate, established for the young ladies in their own thoughts and
in the thoughts of their neighbours that they were very religious. So
pleased and well satisfied were they with that kind of discourse, that
they were not unfrequently led to think very lightly of the religion
of such as could not or would not join them in the discussion. Old
Mr. Martindale would sometimes in his peculiar way laugh at the zeal
of the young ladies in discussing these matters, and they had long
ago very deliberately set him down as a man of no religion. With all
this, however, they were very good and amiable young women. They were
benevolent,--they were affectionate--they were diligent--they were
cheerful--they were decidedly decorous in their conduct and manners;
and their whole character was truly respectable. They were rather
confined in their notions, but that was the accident of education; and
Mr. Martindale thought that they would be better companions for his
grand-daughter than many others with whom an acquaintance might have
been formed, and who were more extensively acquainted with that sort of
stuff which people call the world.