Another day dawned upon the multitudinous interests and emotions of
humanity. To the mind which can spare time from the intensity of its
own feelings, and the selfishness of its own concerns, to think of
others--to think, not merely to talk morality and sentiment about them,
but to realise the emotions and agitations of thoughts which harass the
human breast, there is in the thought of a day dawning in a great city
a deep and serious fulness of interest. The sun’s first blush upon the
mountains and woods and streams and spangled meadows, is poetical and
pretty enough, but the same light beaming on the condensed and crowded
habitations of men, brings to the mind far other thoughts, and excites
widely different emotions. It awakens misery from its dreams of bliss,
and guilt from its dreams of innocence, poverty from its dreams of
wealth, and despair from its dreams of hope. Anxiety begins anew its
busy work in the breast of the needy parent, and gnawing hunger oft
reminds the sufferer of the opening of another day. Bitter are the
feelings which morning ofttimes brings to the sons and daughters of
poverty; but not to them alone are confined the agonizing throbs of the
heart. There is among the inmates of those proud mansions which seemed
built for festivity alone, and tenanted by luxury and repose, many,
many a bitter pang. There is the thought of keener anguish than any
mere physical privation or suffering can inflict, there are pangs of
heart for which language has no words, and fancy no figures, there are
fears and dreads of which the humbler sufferers of life’s ills have no
conception. Not enviable were the feelings of our heroine on the first
morning in which she woke in the great city.
Then did she feel her truly desolate and destitute condition. She had
been as a beauteous flower hanging on a slender film over the current
of a river, that film had broken, and the flower had dropped upon the
stream at the mercy of its waves. With the opening day there had been
accustomed to enter into her mind thoughts of devotion and gratitude.
These thoughts came, but not as usual. It seemed to her as though she
had not been sufficiently thankful to her Creator for his blessings,
and that they had been withheld. She would have prayed but she dared
not, she would have wept but she could not. Her bodily fatigue was
gone, but the weariness of mind was felt more strongly. She endeavoured
to compose her scattered thoughts, but that was a task of no small
difficulty. One of the greatest concerns of all, however, was, that by
this new arrangement she was placed out of all communication with her
father; for the late Dr Greendale was the only person in England with
whom Mr Primrose had any correspondence. It was even doubtful whether
Mrs Greendale herself knew his address. These circumstances, therefore,
though they might not break off his communication with England, would
naturally produce a long and serious interruption to it. For her own
part, it was out of her power to convey to her father any knowledge
of her situation, so as to be able by his intervention to avoid that
publicity which she so much dreaded.
Not long had her mind been thus painfully occupied, before she received
a visit in her apartment from her friend Lady Smatterton: and as
she was now totally dependent on her ladyship, she was desirous of
conciliating her regards as much as possible; nor indeed was that
a very difficult task. A little sense of humility and feeling of
obligation and submission to her ladyship’s superior wisdom, would
always ensure the Countess of Smatterton’s good will. When, therefore,
Penelope with great humility, and a look of gratification, expressed
her thanks to her ladyship for her very kind attentions, the Countess
being pleased to see that her condescension had made its impression,
was in very high spirits, and became more gracious and condescending
still.
“My dear Miss Primrose, you look quite charmingly this morning. I am
delighted to find that you have not experienced any inconvenience from
the fatigue of your journey. I think you will be in most excellent
voice this evening. Now, I expect a few select friends to-night; and
some of them are amateurs, and I assure you I have promised them a
treat, in which I know they will not be disappointed. I have all your
favourite songs and duets, so you may make your selection in the
course of the morning; and I have a new harp which I wish you to try. I
think you will like it.”
With a very great effort to suppress a very deep sigh, Penelope
replied: “I shall be most happy to use my best exertions to gratify
your ladyship, but I fear that before so many persons who are total
strangers to me, and without any previous scientific instruction, I may
disappoint the expectations which your ladyship’s kindness has excited.”
“Oh dear no, my dear, I beg you will not entertain any such notion;
we shall have a very small party indeed, and of the amateurs, I can
assure you that there is not one that is half so well acquainted with
the science of music as you are. It will be time enough for you to take
lessons previously to your performance in public, and that not because
you need musical instruction, but there are certain peculiarities which
it is necessary that public performers should know.”
Miss Primrose, knowing how much the Countess disliked objections to
any of her own arrangements, submitted as resignedly as she could; but
with a feeling that neither her bodily nor mental strength were equal
to the task which awaited her. The visit of the Countess concluded
with requesting Penelope to take her breakfast with the family, unless
she preferred being quite alone. But Penelope found little pleasure
in solitude, and therefore very readily accepted the invitation to
take breakfast at the family table, where she very soon after made her
appearance.
At this table there sat down the Earl and Countess of Smatterton and
Lord Spoonbill. This was the usual party, and Penelope was received
by them all three with so much kindness, and such genuine politeness
of manner, that she felt herself no stranger. And they all asked very
kindly after Mrs Greendale, and they all hoped that Miss Primrose
had not suffered from the fatigue of the journey; and when Lord
Spoonbill asked how Miss Primrose had travelled, and when he heard that
she had travelled by the stage-coach in company with Mr Kipperson,
he was astonished and grieved; and he thought it a great pity that
arrangements had not been previously made for accommodating the young
lady in one of their carriages. The Earl also expressed himself much
concerned at the same neglect. Alas, thought Penelope, what a multitude
of words on trifles. How she had travelled was now nothing to her, but
it was something to her when she thought for what purpose that journey
had been made.
Lord Spoonbill, after a proper interval, and with a very becoming
seriousness of manner, gently adverted to the death of Dr Greendale,
and perceiving that it was a subject on which Penelope loved to dwell,
notwithstanding the melancholy and painful associations connected
with it, he proceeded to extol the virtues of her deceased relative,
and to express his own great obligations to the good man for the
many valuable pieces of advice he had received from the late rector
of Smatterton; he thought that it was a great pity that some of the
doctor’s sermons should not be given to the public, for they would
undoubtedly be productive of good. Penelope was very well pleased,
and indeed quite interested by the manner in which Lord Spoonbill
condescended to speak of her departed relative; and she began to think
that his lordship was not quite so great a coxcomb as she had once
taken him to be. Gradually her mind recovered a little of its natural
vivacity, and her looks resumed part of their wonted cheerfulness.
She was comparatively easy and composed. Then did the young nobleman
ingeniously, and without forced transition, turn the conversation
to other topics, and he spoke much of the metropolis and its many
magnificences; but with peculiar delicacy avoided saying anything of
public concerts. Penelope felt grateful for such kind and considerate
attentions, and began to think that in the manners of the higher ranks
there was something peculiarly fascinating which could render such a
man as Lord Spoonbill not only tolerable but really agreeable. The Earl
of Smatterton was also very courteous and kind to his guest, though
he could not well avoid majestic manifestations of his kindness. He
condescended to hope that Miss Primrose would find herself happy in
the metropolis, and dwelt with much complacency on the opportunity
she would enjoy of introduction to society; and he spake largely of
the patronizing propensities of the Countess; he also mentioned other
titled ladies, to whose saloons the young dependent might be admitted;
and concluded a long harangue by saying, that on proper occasions she
would be a welcome guest at his own house.
Now it happened that on the breakfast table there was lying a
newspaper, which was occasionally taken up and laid down by one
or other of the noble family of Smatterton. Penelope was not a
politician, but seeing the words “Ship News” printed in distinct and
distantly visible characters, she felt some curiosity to read that same
news, for she thought it possible that there might be in that article
something deeply interesting to herself. It appeared however to her
that it would be making herself rather too much at home to take up the
paper; she endeavoured therefore as it lay to catch a glimpse of the
intelligence. Lord Spoonbill observed the direction of her eyes, and
very politely offered her the paper, which she thankfully accepted.
Just as she was in the act of directing her eyes towards that part
of the paper which contained the intelligence most important to her,
something addressed to her by Lord Smatterton called her away from
the page almost in the very moment that the name of Primrose caught
her eye. And as Penelope laid down the paper on being spoken to by
his lordship, Lord Spoonbill took it up again, and by some means or
other it was no longer visible. What she had seen was enough to
excite strong feelings and to raise her hopes. She had a recollection
of the word “arrived,” and the name of “Primrose” among the list of
passengers; at least so it seemed to her from the hasty glance which
she had taken of the paper. This of course was quite sufficient to
fill her mind with the most pleasing visions for the rest of the day:
and hearing that Mr Kipperson might very probably be one of the party
in the evening, and knowing that this gentleman was deeply versed in
matters of business, it occurred to her that he might bring her some
pleasing intelligence from the city touching the arrival of vessels
from the East Indies, and the names of passengers. It is true, there
might be one of the name of Primrose and still no relation of hers. But
she might at least enjoy the hope as long as possible; and it would
cheer her spirit amidst the darkness of reality.
The evening came, and with it the few select friends of the Countess of
Smatterton, who were to compose her party. There were not many persons
in town at this time; but Penelope had never before seen anything
bearing the slightest resemblance to a fashionable party, for she had
never been at the Easter ball at the Mansion house, or at Bartholomew
fair; to her therefore this very small select party looked like a very
tumultuous and promiscuous multitude. Every face was strange to her,
and as the apartments were splendidly lighted up, the drawing and music
rooms opening into each other, and displaying by means of mirrors a
deceiving appearance as to their real dimensions. Thus magnified and
multiplied, they looked to her unpractised eye as awfully public as a
great theatre. Part of the company was assembled before Penelope made
her appearance. When therefore she entered the middle drawing-room,
which was the apartment most usually occupied by the family, she was
surprised at the sight of lighted apartments on both sides of this,
and these apartments to her eye filled with elegant company. She was
still more surprised at entering the room to find that no one took the
slightest notice of her in the way of courtesy, but that three or four
young gentlemen who were standing together near a fire-place absolutely
and immovably stared at her: and then, as soon as she caught sight of
the Countess of Smatterton, she observed that her ladyship was engaged
in conversation with a great, broad, coarse, overdressed female, who
was talking very loud and looking very majestically. This stranger
appeared like a very vulgar woman to our unfashionable heroine, but was
in reality no less a personage than the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead.
Her Grace put her glass to her eye, and contemplated by its means the
face and figure of Penelope. The poor girl felt very uncomfortable and
ill at ease being thus gazed at so unmercifully. As soon as her Grace
had satisfied her curiosity she dropt her glass, and wheeled round
and sailed away in another direction. The Countess of Smatterton then
approached the confused and embarrassed dependent, and after giving her
a good-humoured rebuke for making her appearance in such very sable
attire, told her that the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead was very desirous
of hearing her sing.
Penelope saw by the nearest mirror that the aspect of her attire was
dark indeed, but dark as it was it could not express the mourning which
she felt for her great loss. She was by no means in a proper frame of
mind for the enjoyment of society, or at all fit for anything that
wore the aspect of festivity. She suffered herself to be led into the
music-room by the Countess, and she made a most respectful curtesy
to the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead, when she had the honor of being
introduced to a personage of such elevated rank. But still Penelope
could not help thinking that fashionable manners were not agreeable:
for she recollected that her late uncle used to define politeness as
being that kind of behaviour which was least calculated to give pain
to others; and yet Penelope felt more pain from the behaviour of the
Duchess of Steeple Bumstead, and that of some of the whiskered boys in
Lady Smatterton’s drawing room, than she would have felt from persons
not so high in rank and so fashionable in manners. All that arose from
her ignorance of ways of the world. Why did she take the opinion of
her uncle as oracular in those matters of which he could not possibly
know anything at all? A country clergyman, who studies books all his
life-time, can know nothing of the world.
The Duchess was pleased to question Penelope on the subject of music,
and was pleased to express her approbation of the good taste which the
young lady displayed. By degrees the manners of her Grace appeared
less repulsive, and Penelope felt herself more at her ease. There
was standing by the pianoforte a young lady of mild, pleasing, and
prepossessing countenance, to whom the Duchess addressed herself:
“My dear Jemima, you will perhaps have the goodness to accompany Miss
Primrose on the pianoforte to some song, if there be one there that our
friend would like to sing.”
The young lady expressed great readiness to oblige the Duchess--and the
leaves of many books were turned over. It was not difficult to find a
song that Penelope was familiar with, but it was difficult to find one
which did not bring by its language or its expression some association
painful and distressing to her mind. The Duchess was very patient
during the search, and at length a piece was selected. Miss Primrose
had a style of singing peculiarly her own. It was not marked by any
very strong singularity, but its decided character was expression: and
she shone most in those songs which admit of what may be called the
rhetoric of music. There was also a very considerable degree of emotion
in her musical expression, and it required a skilful hand to accompany
her. That requisite she now had. As her voice was full and deep, it was
also searching, and those who were within its reach felt themselves
as it were addressed by the singer. This style was truly commanding
and attractive. The company gradually surrounded the performer, and
well for her she knew not till the song was finished, that any one
was attending to her besides the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead and the
Countess of Smatterton.
Very abundant and very sincere applause followed the music’s close. But
the music or the applause was too much for our heroine, and she nearly
fainted; kind and prompt assistance soon recovered her, and thus she
was saved from an immediate repetition of that which her hearers would
gladly have heard again. There was much talk in the room as to, who is
she? But few could answer the question. One impertinent coxcomb said
“She looks too modest to be a woman of great fashion.”
Just at this moment who should enter the room but Peter Kipperson,
Esq.! Peter was in all his glory. He had been occupied during the whole
of the day in business of the utmost importance. He had been consulted
and had given his advice, and his advice had been taken. He now
presented himself to Lady Smatterton’s party, in which were several
members of parliament, and as these were mostly men of business, Peter
was personally known to most of them, and he received and returned
their salutations with great self-satisfaction. Peter was an active
little man, and he was nimbly moving about the apartments in search of
Miss Primrose; but before he could meet with her he encountered the
Earl of Smatterton.
“Mr Kipperson,” said his lordship, “I am most happy to see you. Have
you met your committee to-day in the city? Have you taken any farther
steps in that business, of which you were speaking to me the other
day at Smatterton? Really, Mr Kipperson, something must be done, it
is becoming a very serious affair. Those merchants are very crafty,
selfish people. We must put a stop to their encroachments before it is
too late.”
“My lord,” replied Mr Kipperson, “I am very happy to have it in my
power to assure you that the resolution which I suggested is adopted.
I was forced to use all my powers of persuasion. I said to them in so
many words, ‘Gentlemen,’ says I, ‘Gentlemen, if you do not adopt this
resolution, the nation is ruined, we shall have the country deluged
with corn, and we shall of course be all starved.’”
“That was excellent, Mr Kipperson; you have saved the nation. I see you
have right views of the matter.”
Several members also of the lower house, who were present, expressed
themselves to the same effect; and it was very satisfactory to Mr
Kipperson to think that he had so timely and wisely interfered with his
prodigious wisdom to save the nation from being starved.
After many interruptions, the wise and learned agriculturist found
his way to Penelope Primrose; and in answer to her interrogations
concerning what she thought she had seen in the papers of the morning,
informed her that two or three of the Company’s ships had arrived,
that in one of them there certainly was a passenger named Primrose.
By Mr Kipperson’s answer to a few more interrogations, Penelope was
nearly certain that this could be no other than her long lost father.
The very possibility of such an event was agitating to her mind, and
the increasing probability of it was too great for her weak spirits
to bear. A thousand thoughts at once confusedly rushed into her mind.
She knew not how to inform her father of her present situation. She
was doubtful whether he was returning home dependent or independent.
She supposed that he would in the first instance find his way to
Smatterton, and then it must be some days before she could see him.
These and many more like considerations entered into her mind, and
their united influence was such as to harass and perplex her beyond
measure. She was most happy when the evening party of the Countess had
dispersed, and when she was left alone to meditation and to hope. Then
she endeavoured to conjecture on the probability of being rescued from
the publicity which so awfully and imminently threatened her, and with
these thoughts others also entered the mind, and none of them were of a
nature to soothe or compose.
Suffice it to say, that these various agitating feelings, and this new
life into which Penelope was so unexpectedly and so painfully thrown,
conspired together to produce a serious illness.