The day fixed for one of the stated visits of Mr. Benfield had now
arrived, and John, with Emily, who was the old bachelor's favorite
niece, went in the baronet's post-chaise to the town of F----, a
distance of twenty miles, to meet him, in order to accompany him in the
remainder of his journey to the Hall, it being a settled rule with the
old man, that his carriage horses should return to their own stables
every night, where he imagined they could alone find that comfort and
care to which their age and services gave them a claim. The day was
uncommonly pleasant, and the young people were in high spirits with the
expectation of meeting their respected relative, whose absence had been
prolonged a few days by a severe fit of the gout.
"Now, Emily," cried John, as he settled himself comfortably by the side
of his sister in the chaise, "let me know honestly how you like the
Jarvis's, and particularly how you like the handsome colonel."
"Then, John, honestly, I neither like nor dislike the Jarvis's or the
handsome colonel."
"Well, then, there is no great diversity in our sentiments, as Jane
would say."
"John!"
"Emily!"
"I do not like to hear you speak so disrespectfully of out sister, whom
I am sure you love as tenderly as I do myself."
"I acknowledge my error," said the brother, taking her hand and
affectionately kissing it, "and will endeavor to offend no more; but
this Colonel Egerton, sister, is certainly a gentleman, both by blood
and in manners, as Jane"--Emily interrupted him with a laugh, which John
took very good-naturedly, repeating his remark without alluding to their
sister.
"Yes," said Emily, "he is genteel in his deportment, if that be what you
mean; I know nothing of his family."
"Oh, I have taken a peep into Jane's Baronetage, where find him set down
as Sir Edgar's heir."
"There is something about him," said Emily, musing, "that I do not much
admire; he is too easy--there is no nature; I always feel afraid such
people will laugh at me as soon as my back is turned, and for those very
things they seem most to admire to my face. If I might be allowed to
judge, I should say his manner wants one thing, without which no one can
be truly agreeable."
"What's that?"
"Sincerity."
"Ah! that's my great recommendation; but I am afraid I shall have to
take the poacher up, with his quails and his pheasants, indeed."
"You know the colonel explained that to be a mistake."
"What they call explaining away; but unluckily I saw the gentleman
returning with his gun on his shoulder, and followed by a brace of
pointers."
"There's a specimen of the colonel's manners then," said Emily, smiling;
"it will do until the truth be known."
"And Jane, when she saw him also, praised his good nature and
consideration, in what she was pleased to call relieving the awkwardness
of my remark."
Emily finding her brother disposed to dwell on the foibles of Jane, a
thing he was rather addicted to at times, was silent. They rode some
distance before John, who was ever as ready to atone as he was to
offend, again apologized, again promised reformation, and during the
remainder of the ride only forgot himself twice more in the same way.
They reached F---- two hours before the lumbering coach of their uncle
drove into the yard of the inn, and had sufficient time to refresh their
own horses for the journey homewards.
Mr. Benfield was a bachelor of eighty, but retained the personal
activity of a man of sixty. He was strongly attached to all the fashions
and opinions of his youth, during which he had sat one term in
parliament, having been a great beau and courtier in the commencement of
the reign. A disappointment in an affair of the heart drove him into
retirement; and for the last fifty years he had dwelt exclusively at a
seat he owned within forty miles of Moseley Hall, the mistress of which
was the only child of his only brother. In figure, he was tall and
spare, very erect for his years, and he faithfully preserved in his
attire, servants, carriages, and indeed everything around him, as much
of the fashions of his youth as circumstances would allow: such then was
a faint outline of the character and appearance of the old man, who,
dressed in a cocked hat, bag wig, and sword, took the offered arm of
John Moseley to alight from his coach.
"So," cried the old gentleman, having made good his footing on the
ground, as he stopped short and stared John in the face, "you have made
out to come twenty miles to meet an old cynic, have you, sir? but I
thought I bid thee bring Emmy with thee."
John pointed to the window, where his sister stood anxiously watching
her uncle's movements. On catching her eye, he smiled kindly, and
pursued his way into the house, talking to himself.
"Aye, there she is indeed; I remember now, when I was a youngster, of
going with my kinsman, old Lord Gosford, to meet his sister, the Lady
Juliana, when she first came from school (this was the lady whose
infidelity had driven him from the world); and a beauty she was indeed,
something like Emmy there; only she was taller, and her eyes were black,
and her hair too, that was black; and she was not so fair as Emmy, and
she was fatter, and she stooped a little--very little; oh! they are
wonderfully alike though; don't you think they were, nephew?" he stopped
at the door of the room; while John, who in this description could not
see a resemblance, which existed nowhere but in the old man's
affections, was fain to say, "yes; but they were related, you know,
uncle, and that explains the likeness."
"True, boy, true," said his uncle, pleased at a reason for a thing he
wished, and which flattered his propensities. He had once before told
Emily she put him in mind of his housekeeper, a woman as old as himself,
and without a tooth in her head.
On meeting his niece, Mr. Benfield (who, like many others that feel
strongly, wore in common the affectation of indifference and
displeasure) yielded to his fondness, and folding her in his arms,
kissed her affectionately, while a tear glistened in his eye; and then
pushing her gently from him, he exclaimed, "Come, come, Emmy, don't
strangle me, don't strangle me, girl; let me live in peace the little
while I have to remain here--so," seating himself composedly in an arm
chair his niece had placed for him with a cushion, "so Anne writes me,
Sir William Harris has let the deanery."
"Oh, yes, uncle," cried John.
"I'll thank you, young gentleman," said Mr. Benfield, sternly, "not to
interrupt me when I am speaking to a lady that is, if you please, sir.
Then Sir William has let the deanery to a London merchant, a Mr. Jarvis.
Now I knew three people of that name; one was a hackney coachman, when I
was a member of the parliament of this realm, and drove me often to the
house; the other was valet-de-chambre to my Lord Gosford; and the third,
I take it, is the very man who has become your neighbor. If it be the
person I mean, Emmy dear, he is like--like--aye, very like old Peter, my
steward."
John, unable to contain his mirth at this discovery of a likeness
between the prototype of Mr. Benfield himself in leanness of figure, and
the jolly rotundity of the merchant, was obliged to leave the room;
Emily, though she could not forbear smiling at the comparison, quietly
said, "You will meet him to-morrow, dear uncle, and then you will be
able to judge for yourself."
"Yes, yes," muttered the old man, "very like old Peter, my steward; as
like as two peas." The parallel was by no means as ridiculous as might
be supposed; its history being as follows:
Mr. Benfield had placed twenty thousand pounds in the hands of a broker,
with positive orders for him to pay it away immediately for government
stock, bought by the former on his account; but disregarding this
injunction, the broker had managed the transaction in such a way as to
postpone the payment, until, on his failure, he had given up that and a
much larger sum to Mr. Jarvis, to satisfy what he called an honorary
debt. In elucidating the transaction Mr. Jarvis paid Benfield Lodge a
visit, and honestly restored the bachelor his property. This act, and
the high opinion he entertained of Mrs. Wilson, with his unbounded love
for Emily, were the few things which prevented his believing some
dreadful judgment was about to visit this world, for its increasing
wickedness and follies. As his own steward was one of the honestest
fellows living, he had ever after fancied that there was a personal
resemblance between him and the conscientious merchant.
The horses being ready, the old bachelor was placed carefully between
his nephew and niece, and in that manner they rode on quietly to the
Hall, the dread of accident keeping Mr. Benfield silent most of the way.
On passing, however a stately castle, about ten miles from the
termination of their ride, he began one of his speeches with,
"Emmy, dear, does Lord Bolton come often to see you?"
"Very seldom, sir; his employment keeps him much of his time at St.
James's, and then he has an estate in Ireland."
"I knew his father well--he was distantly connected by marriage with my
friend Lord Gosford; you could not remember him, I suspect" (John rolled
his eyes at this suggestion of his sister's recollection of a man who
had been forty years dead); "he always voted with me in the parliament
of this realm; he was a thoroughly honest man; very much such a man to
look at as Peter Johnson, my steward: but I am told his son likes the
good things of the ministry; well, well, William Pitt was the only
minister to my mind. There was the Scotchman of whom they made a
Marquis; I never could endure him--always voted against him."
"Right or wrong, uncle," cried John, who loved a little mischief in his
heart.
"No, sir--right, but never wrong. Lord Gosford always voted against him
too; and do you think, jackanapes, that my friend the Earl of Gosford
and--and--myself were ever wrong? No, sir, men in my day were different
creatures from what they are now: we were never wrong, sir; we loved our
country, and had no motive for being in the wrong."
"How was it with Lord Bute, uncle?"
"Lord Bute, sir," cried the old man with great warmth, "was the
minister, sir--he was the minister; aye, he was the minister, sir, and
was paid for what he did."
"But Lord Chatham, was he not the minister too?"
Now, nothing vexed the old gentleman more than to hear William Pitt
called by his tardy honors; and yet, unwilling to give up what he
thought his political opinions, he exclaimed, with an unanswerable
positiveness of argument,
"Billy Pitt, sir, was the minister, sir; but--but--but--he was our
minister, sir."
Emily, unable to see her uncle agitated by such useless disputes, threw
a reproachful glance on her brother, as she observed timidly,
"That was a glorious administration, sir, I believe."
"Glorious indeed! Emmy dear," said the bachelor, softening with the
sound of her voice, and the recollections of his younger days, "we beat
the French everywhere--in America--in Germany;--we took--(counting on
his fingers)--we took Quebec--yes, Lord Gosford lost a cousin there; and
we took all the Canadas; and we took their fleets: there was a young man
killed in the battle between Hawke and Conflans, who was much attached
to Lady Juliana--poor soul! how much she regretted him when dead, though
she never could abide him when living--ah! she was a tender-hearted
creature!"
Mr. Benfield, like many others, continued to love imaginary qualities in
his mistress, long after her heartless coquetry had disgusted him with
her person: a kind of feeling which springs from self-love, which finds
it necessary to seek consolation in creating beauties, that may justify
our follies to ourselves; and which often keeps alive the semblance of
the passion, when even hope, or real admiration, is extinct.
On reaching the Hall, every one was rejoiced to see their really
affectionate and worthy relative, and the evening passed in the tranquil
enjoyment of the blessings which Providence had profusely scattered
around the family of the baronet, but which are too often hazarded by a
neglect of duty that springs from too great security, or an indolence
which renders us averse to the precaution necessary to insure their
continuance.