"Rich in these gifts, why should I wish for more?"
P. WHITEHEAD.
Our readers have received an intimation that Horatio Markham, of
whom we think highly and deservedly so, had ere this time returned to
England, after a very short stay in that situation to which he had
been recommended solely by the respectability of his character and the
high reputation which he had so early acquired in his profession. The
climate did not agree with him; and foreign climates seldom do agree
with those who like better to be at home than abroad. A representation
to that effect was made to the authorities at home, and he was
recalled. As soon as he came to England he waited on the worthy and
kind-hearted nobleman to whom he had been indebted for the situation,
and whose patronage had come to him spontaneously and unsolicited.
Whether or not there appeared in Markham any very strong symptoms of
a constitution injured by foreign climes we know not; this only do
we know, that his lordship expressed great concern that Mr. Markham
should have suffered so much, and great hopes that his native air would
restore and confirm his health.
Lords are generally gracious to those whom they patronise. The
nobleman in question was particularly and especially so to such as
he patronised voluntarily, and on the pure ground of good desert
or good promise. He was compelled, as all men high in office must
be, occasionally to give his countenance and patronage to those who
deserved it not; but whenever the choice was purely his own, it was
from the best of motives and with the kindest spirit. Doubly happy
did he feel himself in such patronage as this; he was pleased that he
could countenance merit, and he was pleased that the state should be
well and honestly served. We cannot withhold such a slight tribute as
this from public merit; and at the same time there is another tribute
of respect to private merit which we cannot withhold from Horatio
Markham. We commend him most cordially and sincerely, that being a man
of considerable talent and real independence of mind, he did not affect
the absurd priggery and puppyism of refusing a situation, in which he
might make himself useful, on the ground of being above patronage, or
of despising place. Merit there might be and merit there was under the
profligate sway of the later Stuarts in refusing bribes to betray the
nation into slavery; ingenious however must be the skill of him who can
make the parallel hold good in the present day.
To return to our narrative. The worthy nobleman who had thus taken
Markham by the hand, having expressed his regret that circumstances did
not allow his young friend to continue in that situation to which he
had been appointed, added,
"And I am more especially concerned to think, that in all probability
your professional practice has been injured by your absence from
England, as your stay has not been long enough to justify any public
remuneration. Over the public purse I have not an unlimited command;
over my own I have, and if you will suffer me to defray the expenses
into which I have led you by sending you out of the country you will
make me your debtor."
Markham was perplexed. He was absolutely and decidedly against
accepting the offer, but he was not ready with the proper language in
which to decline it. After the hesitation of a few seconds, he replied,
"Your lordship will pardon me, if I know not how to reply to your
very kind offer; and your lordship will be pleased to hear that under
present circumstances it is superfluous. I had but little professional
practice to lose, and that I trust is not altogether lost; besides,
if I begin again it will be under better auspices, with a little more
experience and a little more knowledge."
The nobleman was not offended at the young man's proper feeling
of independence. Markham's confusion and hesitation arose from not
considering the immense difference in station between himself and his
patron; his patron was aware of the feeling, and instead of resenting
it, regarded it with complacency as a good symptom of a sound and an
honest ambition. There are indeed arts by which a man may rise to
almost any eminence in political station, but many of them are low
creeping arts. It has been pointedly said, that the highest stations
in society are like the summits of the Pyramids, accessible only to
eagles and reptiles. Markham's aspiring was more of the eagle than
the reptile cast. The nobleman with whom he was conversing was aware
of this, and glad for the sake of human nature to see it. He had had
much intercourse with aspirants, but he had found them for the most
part of the creeping sycophantic character, stooping to any body and
to any thing which might seem to favor their schemes. It was not so
with Markham. The spirit of high station was in his mind long before
he reached it; and that kept him in the true feeling of independence
and self-esteem. Independence quite free from affectation and conceit,
is too uncommon to pass unnoticed. To be at once independent of the
great and also independent of the noisy multitude is an acquirement of
great value, only to be attained by self converse and reflection. True
independence is in and from the mind.
After Markham's interview with his patron, he went down into the
country to spend a few weeks with his parents, and in his native
air he soon regained what he had lost in point of health. It is
not to be supposed that all this time no thought of Clara should
have entered his mind. But if our readers imagine that he came home
as love-sick as he went abroad, they greatly mistake. Love is not
the most rational and reasonable thing in the world, but still it
must in ordinarily-constructed minds have some little ground of
hope and probability to rest upon. If there had been at parting any
expressions on the part of Markham and of Clara that there was a mutual
understanding between them, however faint and few those expressions
might have been, something would have been afforded for their love to
build upon. But they were mutually ignorant of each other's feelings;
and though in their separation they thought one of the other, yet those
thoughts were rather a species of aerial castle-building, than any
regular, calm, deliberate anticipation of probability. Clara thought
much of Markham, but knew not that he thought any thing of her; Markham
thought much of Clara, but knew not that she had any thoughts to
spare for him. They merely thought how delightful, if it should prove
eventually that the regard was mutual; but on that point they were
ignorant.
Markham had in his situation much business to attend to. New
scenes were around him, and new faces were presented to him, and new
acquaintances were forming around him. And when his health failed him,
and he had thoughts that life might soon be sacrificed to his change
of climate, there came into his mind thoughts of real and actual
interests which supplanted his consideration of imaginary and possible
interests. His mind looked towards the place of his birth, and towards
his kind and revered parents; and he thought of their sorrows, and
of the bitterness of their bereavement, should he be removed from
them. He had not formed such an acquaintance as Clara had with Miss
Henderson. He had not met with any thing to keep alive in his mind
a romantic or passionate feeling; but, on the contrary, every thing
contributed to sober down his thoughts to the level of literal truth
and solidity of real life. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at
that when he returned to England his romantic tenderness should be
a little abated, and that he should think rather more of the actual
than the possible. We are sorry for the romantically-disposed that
it did so happen. It would have been far more agreeable for them to
read, and far more pleasant for us to write, a very tender pathetic
scene of the meeting of Clara and Horatio. We should have been very
glad of an opportunity to display our eloquence in describing the
emotion of Markham as soon as he arrived in England, at the thought
that now he was breathing the same air as his beloved and beautiful
Clara Rivolta. It would have gratified us mightily to have described
the eagerness with which, forgetting every relative, friend, duty, or
other consideration, he hurried to pay his respects to his good friend
Mr. Martindale, that he might have an opportunity of throwing himself
at Clara's feet. It would also have gratified us to have described the
emotions, feelings, doubts, tremblings, and fears, at the supposition,
the dreaded supposition, that Clara might in his absence have given her
heart to another. All this would have been very pretty, but nothing of
this kind occurred. Markham soon after he had left England, or at least
in a very short time after he had settled down soberly to the duties of
his situation, had, comparatively speaking, forgotten Clara. Not that
her image was quite erased from the tablet of his memory, or that the
lineaments of her pleasant countenance could no more be recollected;
but the recollection was more placid, and the memory of her as an
ordinary acquaintance supplanted the thought of her as a beloved one:
and when, therefore, he returned to England, though he had not quite
forgotten that such a person existed, yet his most powerful thoughts
were certainly not at that moment with her. After first paying his
respects, as in duty bound, to his patron, he next sought the roof of
his parents, and gladdened their eyes with the sight of their beloved
son in far better health than their fears had anticipated. It may
be very well supposed that the good people were proud of their son.
Parents mostly are proud of their children, and especially if they
hear any thing of a respectable character for moral and intellectual
eminence. That certainly was the case with Horatio Markham. He had
always borne a high character for integrity and good principle and
good understanding. And there was one peculiar satisfaction that the
good people enjoyed; namely, that they had absolutely been favored
with a letter from Markham's kind friend and patron, the nobleman
above alluded to, in which he expressed his approbation of their son's
conduct and character, and gave them hopes that he would certainly rise
in his profession. And as Markham's parents were vain beyond measure
of all this high flattery, they were considerate enough for a length
of time to withhold from their son all knowledge of this letter, lest
they might fill his mind with too great a conceit of himself. But
the gratification of communicating it was too great to be resisted;
fortunately, however, for the young man, no very great harm came of
it: perhaps it acted as a stimulus, morally as well as intellectually.
To be praised for mental powers by a man of talent only, may excite
vanity in the heart of a young man; but to be praised and commended
morally by a man of high moral character and pure principle, is also a
stimulus and excitement to moral diligence. We will not stop to enter
very minutely into the inquiry, how far pride may be a component part
or prompting motive to high moral principle and dignified integrity
of conduct; nor, supposing such to be the case, will we minutely and
scrupulously weigh the value of that quality thus supported. It is very
well that there is in the world such a virtue as high principle; that
there exists in many minds that firm, obstinate, haughty independence,
which disdains aught that is morally base and mean. The existence
of such a principle is good; and we will not cavil at it, if it be
accompanied with a little pride, or even with a great deal. We are
indeed very much of opinion that a lack of pride is in many cases an
injury, or the cause of injury. But to proceed with our history.
Our observant readers will observe, that we have not said that Markham
had absolutely forgotten Clara, but only that he had not preserved a
romantic and passionate remembrance of her. As soon, however, as the
more important demands on his first thoughts and attentions had been
complied with, there came into his mind a recollection of Brigland and
its magnificent Abbey, and of the whimsical old John Martindale. A few
days, therefore, after his arrival home, he rode over to Brigland to
see his old friend, the rich cousin of the Earl of Trimmerstone.
When he came to Brigland, he found the magnificent building still
shining in all its splendor, and the broad expanse of water spreading
its smooth mirror to the fields and to the sky; but when he came to the
old gentleman's cottage, he found it desolate and deserted. There was
in it only one elderly female domestic, who had been left to take care
of it till she was quite tired of her task. Markham was hardly able to
gain admittance at all, but after much knocking and ringing this old
lady made her appearance. To the inquiry, whether Mr. Martindale was at
home, she only returned a short pettish answer, saying,
"At home! no; and never will be, I think. He is running about all over
the country, nobody knows where."
"Then you can't tell me," said Markham again, "where I can find him?"
"No, that I can't; but perhaps they can tell you at the Abbey: that
fellow Oliver knows all their movements, but they never condescend to
honor me with any information."
Markham thanked the domestic for her answer to his inquiries, and
proceeded to the Abbey. When he came near to that fine building, his
attention was drawn to symptoms of neglect which he had not observed
at a distance. He did not find any difficulty in gaining admittance
here: for the trusty Oliver, who had nothing else to do, was constantly
on the look-out for strangers who might be attracted by curiosity to
visit this splendid mansion during the absence of its occupier. It
was a very good source of profit to Oliver; and whenever he saw any
one approaching the house, he always stepped officiously forward to
introduce the visitor. He presently recognised Markham, and greeted far
more courteously than the crabbed old lady at the cottage had done; and
when Markham made inquiries concerning the family, then was the tongue
of the trusty Oliver set in rapid motion, and his powers of utterance
were indeed prodigious. His memory also was remarkably tenacious; for
it seemed astonishing to Markham that he should recollect so many
various and minute circumstances. He entered into a very particular,
full, free and copious narrative of all that had taken place in and
out of Brigland, so far as concerned the family of the Martindales.
There might be, it is possible, some little invention; for with such
gentlemen as Oliver the imagination is somewhat prompt to supply the
defects of memory. Among other matters of information which Oliver gave
to Markham, he said,
"And fine doings there have been, sir, about Miss Clara; for the
poor young lady has been dying for love of a Mr. Skippetson, a very
fine young gentleman indeed, such a dandy, sir, as you never heard of.
It is said he spends enough in perfumery to keep half a dozen poor
families; and when he was down at the sea-side and would have a warm
bath, he insisted upon having six bottles of Eau de Cologne put into
the water to make it sweet. Well, sir, as I was saying, this gentleman
is paying his addresses to Miss Clara; and Miss Clara's mamma declares
it shall not be a match, for she does not like the young man; and Mr.
Martindale declares it shall; and says that if Clara does not marry Mr.
Skippetson, she shall not have a farthing of his money; and Miss Clara
has been so ill, that she has been quite at death's-door: indeed, sir,
the last accounts I received from the servants that are with them say,
that it is very likely that the poor young lady will die of a broken
heart. But they say that Madam Rivolta is so proud, she thinks nothing
under a lord good enough for her daughter; and the father of the young
lady does not seem to care any thing about the matter, he only smokes
cigars and lounges about. It is a great pity that Mr. Martindale ever
happened of that family, they have done him more harm than good; they
have so unsettled him that he hardly knows what he is about, or where
he is going to next: he has taken a fine house in town, and is going
about from one watering-place to another; and Madam Rivolta rules him
as she pleases, only he is quite resolved that he will not give up Mr.
Skippetson. That is the only point they disagree about, except the
religion; for the family are all the most obstinate papists that ever
lived. Then, sir, I suppose you have heard that Mr. Philip is become
my lord; he has been made Earl of Trimmerstone, and he has married
the daughter of Sir Gilbert Sampson, but the servants say that they
don't live happily; for my lord has been a little disappointed about
money matters. He did not find Sir Gilbert quite so rich or quite so
free as he expected. The servants say, too, that my lord is a most
decided gambler; and that since he has been married, he has lost many
very heavy sums. Then, sir, they also say that my lord is very jealous
of Mr. Skippetson, but there is not the least foundation for his
suspicions. Nothing but misfortunes have happened to the family since
the discovery of these Italians; I am sure I wish they had all remained
in Italy till doomsday. And I suppose, sir, you have heard that this
house is to be sold: for Mr. Martindale has paid so many gambling-debts
for his lordship, that he will be glad of the money that the house will
fetch; but it is said that there are not ten persons in the kingdom who
can afford to buy the Abbey at Mr. Martindale's price, and that after
all it must be pulled down, and the materials be sold for any thing
that they will fetch. For I am told that Mr. Martindale is so tired
of Brigland, that he is determined never to live here any more; and
I don't wonder at it, I am sure, for I never knew such a censorious,
tattling, gossiping set of people any where as there is in Brigland.
There's that Mrs. Price, and then there's Mrs. Flint, and Mrs. Denver
the parson's wife, those women get together and talk over all the
affairs of the parish, and the next parish too. And if this house is
sold, I shall lose my place."
Here Mr. Oliver paused to take breath. Markham thanked him for his
information; part of which was not new to him, and part of which he
hardly believed. He found it very difficult to believe that Clara
should ever be attached to such a ridiculous coxcomb as that described
by Mr. Oliver. One of the parties he felt assured must have been
misrepresented. Either the young gentleman was not such a rank coxcomb
as had been described, or the young lady was not really and sincerely
in love with him. Markham, for the sake of his own reputation and that
he might have a good opinion of himself, was absolutely compelled to
this conclusion, for he could not admit that he himself could ever have
been so weak and undiscerning as to be attached for a moment to a young
lady who was capable of admiring such a ridiculous coxcomb. In order,
however, to gain information from as many sources as possible, Markham
went into the notoriously gossiping and censorious town of Brigland,
and called upon Mr. Denver, from whom he hoped to extract a more
agreeable account than had been given to him by Oliver: for if Clara
was to be another's, he hoped at least that that other would be a man
of some respectability and solidity of character, and not an absolute
blockhead or an egregious coxcomb.
From Mr. Denver he received, alas! no consolation. The same tale
that he had heard at the Abbey was repeated at the parsonage, and
with additional particulars and more mortifying aggravations. For
the truth is, that Mr. Denver had received his information from Mrs.
Denver, who was indebted for her knowledge of those interesting facts
to Mrs. Price, who acknowledged with much gratitude Mrs. Flint as her
authority, and it was from Oliver's own self that Mrs. Flint derived
her information. Thereupon, Horatio Markham, who thought that what
all the world said must be true, began to be very much mortified and
sadly perplexed. Notwithstanding the cool temperate manner in which
he had borne the recollection of Clara, still, when he revisited the
place where he had first seen her, and recollected the readings and
quotations with which they had entertained each other, he could not
avoid feeling a revival of old emotions and hopes.