Without the assistance of a composing draught Mr Primrose slept soundly
and woke calmly. But, being naturally impetuous and hasty, he could not
help uttering a few monosyllables of impatience at the thought that he
had travelled two hundred miles from his daughter, and had incurred the
risk of breaking his neck in making a journey to the place where his
daughter was not.
As, however, he was so near Smatterton, he would not of course return
to London without seeing Mrs Greendale, and thanking her for the kind
attention which she had paid to Penelope. He was not aware that the
good lady had plagued and worried the poor girl almost out of her
life. Dr Greendale had never, in his communications to Mr Primrose,
said anything about the annoying fidgettiness of Mrs Greendale; and he
himself, by virtue of his close and constant application to study, had
not felt much inconvenience from her temper, excepting so far as an
occasional interruption, which was soon forgotten. But poor Penelope
did not study controversial theology, and therefore she had felt all
the inconvenience of Mrs Greendale’s humours and caprices. Of all this
Mr Primrose knew nothing; he therefore resolved to call and pay his
respects to the widow.
Having learned a lesson of forethought from his long fruitless journey,
he did not proceed to Smatterton before he had enquired of Mr Darnley
if Mrs Greendale yet resided there. By this enquiry he learned that the
living had been disposed of, and that as the new rector was a young and
single man, and though he had taken possession of the rectory-house,
he had been kind enough to accommodate Mrs Greendale with a residence
there till it might suit her to change the place of her abode. “That is
very kind of the young man,” said Mr Primrose; “I like him for it: and
pray what is his name and where does he come from?”
Mr Darnley at these questions put on one of his stately professional
looks, and said: “His name, sir, is Pringle, he comes from the
university of Oxford, he is a son of Lord Smatterton’s steward. At
present I have but little acquaintance with him.”
There seemed, from Mr Darnley’s manner of speaking, to be on his part
no great desire to increase the acquaintance. Of this, however, Mr
Primrose took no notice; in fact, he hardly understood it, for his own
manner was straitforward and downright, he did not accustom himself to
innuendos and insinuations. Thanking the rector of Neverden for his
attention and hospitality, Mr Primrose proceeded immediately after
breakfast to the village of Smatterton. Mrs Greendale was within, and
she received Mr Primrose with the utmost cordiality and cheerfulness:
but when she began to allude to her poor dear husband then the tears
came into her eyes. Mr Primrose sympathized with her, and they both
talked of old times; and as the subject was changed the tears were
dried up. It was very right that Mrs Greendale should most cordially
receive Mr Primrose, for all persons who come home from the East
Indies in good spirits are supposed to come home rich, and there is to
some minds something very agreeable in the sight of a rich man. Let
sentimentality-people prose as much as they please about the homage
that is paid to wealth; it would be much worse if that homage were paid
to poverty. The conversation then turned to Penelope, and many and
sincere were the thanks that Mr Primrose returned to Mrs Greendale for
her very kind attentions to the poor girl; and then Mrs Greendale, in
spite of all the severe and sneering rebukes, which in former days she
had lavished upon her niece, began to launch out into commendations of
the young lady’s beauty, wit, and accomplishments.
“But what a pity it is, Mr Primrose, that you did not know that
Penelope was in London. Well, you will have such a treat in seeing
her again, she is so grown and so improved. She is a favorite with
everybody. A day or two before my poor dear husband died, we had a
party, and Lord Spoonbill, and Colonel Crop, and Miss Spoonbill were
all here; and Lord Spoonbill was so attentive, you can’t think. Then my
Lady Smatterton has taken such a fancy to her, that she insists upon
having her in London.”
“Ay, but Mrs Greendale, I don’t understand the condition on which my
child is thus taken up to London; and to tell you the truth, I do
not altogether approve the plan which Mr Darnley informed me was in
contemplation. It is not very agreeable to my feelings that my daughter
should be made a public performer.”
“Oh dear no, certainly; but I dare say the Countess of Smatterton would
not recommend anything improper.”
“I don’t know what may be Lady Smatterton’s notions of propriety, but
I shall take care that my daughter does not adopt that or any other
profession.”
While they were talking, the arrival of Nick Muggins with the
letter-bag reminded Mr Primrose that it might be desirable to apprize
Penelope of his being in England and of his intention of immediately
seeing her. He therefore dispatched a note to his daughter, under cover
to the Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton, and thus he made wise
provision against further accidents preventing their meeting.
As Mr Primrose had experienced the inconvenience of one overturn by the
stage-coach, he determined not to trust himself again so soon to the
same mode of conveyance; and as he intended to travel post, and as he
was not about to set out immediately, he amused himself with strolling
about the village to admire its beauties; for everybody said that
Smatterton was a very pretty village. In the month of December English
scenery seldom appears to great advantage; and while Mr Primrose was
looking for, rather than at, the beauties of Smatterton, who should he
meet but the very identical Mr Kipperson with whom he had travelled
in the stage-coach? The parties recognized each other immediately,
and they presently entered into chat. Mr Kipperson expressed great
concern for the accident, but was exceedingly rejoiced to find that his
fellow-traveller was not seriously hurt. “For indeed, sir,” said he, “I
almost thought that you were killed.”
“So did I,” replied Mr Primrose: “but what can be the use of travelling
at that unreasonably rapid rate? When I was in England, sixteen years
ago, the stage-coaches used to go at a very reasonable and moderate
pace.”
“Yes, yes, I remember it,” said Mr Kipperson; “but we should never be
able to get on with business were it not for this quick travelling.
I will tell you, sir, an instance of its utility: the other day I
received a letter from my friend the Earl of Smatterton, informing me
of an important debate which was just coming on, and it was a matter
of infinite moment that I should be in town in order to attend some
meetings that were to be held, and to give my opinion concerning some
clauses which were likely to be introduced greatly affecting the
agricultural interest. I received the letter just in time to take
advantage of the coach, and, by means of quick travelling, I arrived in
town time enough to give my views of the subject, and to prevent the
passing of some most destructive measures.”
“You are a member of parliament, I presume?” said Mr Primrose.
“No, sir,” said Mr Kipperson, with that sort of air that seemed to
indicate that he did not at all desire that honor, and that he was a
person of greater importance; “but now and then parliament is pleased
to do me the honor of consulting me on some topics connected with the
interests of agriculture.”
Though Mr Primrose was what in ordinary language is called an
independent man, yet he could not but feel reverence for greatness; and
finding that the gentleman with whom he was conversing was a person
of some consequence, he was desirous of knowing who it was. This
desire was but slightly hinted, and immediately the great agricultural
luminary gratified Mr Primrose’s laudable thirst after knowledge by
saying: “My name, sir, is Kipperson. Kipperson, sir, of Smatterton.”
It was very excusable that Mr Primrose, who had been so many years out
of England, should not be familiar with the name, and should not be
aware that he was addressing the celebrated agriculturist, Kipperson of
Smatterton. Mr Kipperson himself was so modest a man that he did not
choose to say that he was the celebrated one of that name, but he took
especial care to let it be understood indirectly and circuitously that
he was a person of some importance in the world.
And now it was very natural that the great agriculturist should be
desirous of knowing the name and designation of his fellow traveller,
and to ascertain that was also no great difficulty. As soon as he
found that he was conversing with the father of Penelope Primrose, he
broke out into the most eloquent panegyrics on the character, moral,
intellectual, and professional, of the late rector of the parish, and
congratulated Mr Primrose in having had the good fortune to confide his
daughter to the care of so superlatively excellent a man. “But, sir,”
as suddenly recollecting himself, “perhaps you will do me the honor
to walk in and sit down under my humble roof; for I can give you the
latest information concerning Miss Primrose. It is very singular that
I should have travelled up to London with the daughter and down from
London with the father.”
At that singularity, or at his own penetration in discovering the
curious coincidence, Mr Kipperson smiled. Mr Primrose accepted the
invitation and walked into Mr Kipperson’s house, which was near
the place where they had met. It was a piece of affectation in Mr
Kipperson to call his place of abode a humble roof. True, it was not so
magnificent as Smatterton castle, but its owner had been at great pains
and expense to make it look quite the reverse of humble. That which had
been a productive little garden was converted into a lawn. Those barns,
piggeries, and outhouses, in which was deposited no small part of the
owner’s wealth, had been gracefully, but ungratefully, planted out.
French windows supplied the place of old-fashioned casements, and green
verandahs gave Peter Kipperson’s farm-house as much as possible the air
of an Oriental palace.
Mr Primrose was surprised, as Peter hoped and designed, at the very
learned air of the library, to say nothing of the numerous busts and
casts which in the narrow entrance occupied that room which would have
been much more usefully devoted to cloak-pegs. When they were seated in
the library Mr Kipperson commenced his narrative, telling Mr Primrose
what the reader is already acquainted with. But still the father of
Penelope was not reconciled even to the attempt or proposal to make
his daughter a public singer. Mr Kipperson however assured him, that
nothing could be more respectable than the manner in which the Countess
of Smatterton designed to bring out Miss Primrose.
“I was present at an evening party,” said the agriculturist, “given
by my friend the Countess of Smatterton, for the express purpose of
introducing Miss Primrose to some of the best society in town. There
were several persons of rank there, and among the rest the celebrated
Duchess of Steeple Bumstead; and her Grace was quite enraptured with
Miss Primrose.”
“Well,” said the father of Penelope with some shortness and dryness
of manner, “I don’t understand these matters. I have been so long out
of England that I almost forget the customs of my native land; but I
do not approve of this kind of association with persons of so much
higher rank and fortune. The Countess of Smatterton cannot consider my
daughter as an equal, and therefore she is tolerated for the amusement
she can afford. I don’t like it, sir, I don’t like it. But, Mr
Kipperson, can you tell me what kind of a man is Lord Spoonbill?”
Mr Kipperson promptly replied: “A man of no intellect whatever.”
“A fig for intellect,” replied Mr Primrose; “but is he a man of good
character?”
“Indeed sir,” responded the great agriculturist of Smatterton, “I am
sorry to say he is not. The Earl himself is a very respectable man, so
far as moral conduct is concerned, though he is a man of no mind; and
he is a proud man, very distant and pompous, and quite an exclusive.”
“An exclusive!” echoed Mr Primrose; “what is meant by an exclusive?”
“By exclusive, sir, I mean that the Earl is not easily led to associate
with those whom he considers of an inferior rank to himself; he is one
of a set, as it were.”
“Oh, is that all!” exclaimed Mr Primrose; “why at that rate all the
world is exclusive. This is no new character though it may be a new
name.”
“Very true, indeed, very true, there has always been too much pride
among persons of high rank.”
“And not too little among persons of low rank, I presume,” replied Mr
Primrose; “and I suppose as you have a set of people in England, called
exclusives, you have most likely another set called intrusives. For my
part I like a little pride, or at least what the world calls pride; I
have so much myself, that I dislike the situation in which I find my
daughter is placed, and I shall make all haste to remove her from it. I
am most happy that I have arrived in England time enough to prevent her
from making a public display of her musical talents.”
The wise and scientific Mr Kipperson was not sorry to hear that the
father of Penelope Primrose could talk thus boldly and definitely
concerning his daughter’s independence. It was also not unpleasant to
him to hear that it was the intention of the young lady’s father to
remove her from the house and patronage of the Earl of Smatterton. It
has been already hinted that Mr Kipperson was an admirer of the young
lady, and it was not likely that his admiration should be less when
he found that her father had returned to England in possession, most
probably, of ample means of securing his daughter’s independence. This
consideration inspired the agriculturist with an earnest desire of
making himself more agreeable than usual; and as there was a great
deal of freedom of manner and candour of feeling about Mr Primrose, he
very readily and sociably conversed with Mr Kipperson on any and every
topic that could be started. In the fullness of his heart the admirer
of Penelope urged the young lady’s father to partake of a humble
dinner, quite in a social friendly way. This invitation however was of
necessity declined, it being the intention of Mr Primrose to pass the
remainder of the day at the rectory.
The mention of the rectory led Mr Kipperson to speak of the new rector,
the Rev. Charles Pringle. “You will of course meet this gentleman at
dinner. He is a very different man from our late rector; as yet we know
little of him. I have conversed with him occasionally; he seems to have
very just notions on the subject of the interests of agriculture; but
his mind does not appear to be comprehensive and philosophical; he does
not read much, I think; indeed, he has scarcely any books of his own,
and though I have offered him the use of my library he does not avail
himself of it. But you will see him at the rectory at dinner, and then
you may form your own opinion of him.”
It was very kind and liberal of Mr Kipperson to give Mr Primrose leave
to form his own opinion of the new rector. What opinion Mr Primrose
did form of the new rector we cannot say, for he was not very free in
expressing his opinion of those with whom he had no common interest
or sympathies, nor was he particularly and curiously observant to
ascertain whether those with whom he conversed occasionally were
persons of comprehensive and philosophical minds or not. He was not
quite sure that he knew what was meant by the term _comprehensive_, as
applied to the mind; and as to _philosophical_, if that meant loving
wisdom, he himself was philosophical enough in all conscience, for
he liked wise men much better than fools. In a word, the father of
Penelope had quite as good an understanding as multitudes who make a
great deal of prating about intellect, but he was not a man of much
reading, and did not value pedantry of any kind, whether literary,
scientific, fashionable or philosophical.