The morning after the events just recorded, as Mr. Montagu, the brother
of Sir Ambrose, was sitting at the breakfast-table with his wife and
daughter, they were all startled by the unexpected arrival of a letter
from Sir Ambrose. "Bless me!" cried Mr. Montagu, moved for once to
forget his usual habits of indifference--"I do believe it is a letter
from my brother."
"Your brother!" screamed Mrs. Montagu, starting up to examine it, and
in her agitation overturning a patent steam coffee-machine, by which
coffee was roasted, ground, made, and poured out with an _ad libitum_
of boiling milk and sugar, all in the short space of five minutes.
"Oh!" continued she--"I am scalded to death!"
"I hope not, my dear," said Mr. Montagu, calmly taking up his letter,
and carefully examining it on all sides without opening it. "Yes,"
continued he, "it is indeed from my brother, and I hope it contains no
ill news, for I do not perceive any signs of mourning about it." And so
saying, he very tranquilly laid his letter again upon the table, and
recommenced sipping his coffee.
"La! papa, hadn't you better open your letter and read it?" asked
Clara, who was busily employed in assisting her mother.
"Ah!" resumed Mr. Montagu. "True! I never thought of that--I think I
had." Then again taking the letter in his hand, he broke the seal and
gave it to Clara to read.
"And do you think my daughter is to leave me when I am in this
miserable condition, Mr. Montagu, to read letters from your brother,
Mr. Montagu--a man who has always treated me with such disrespect, Mr.
Montagu,--and I half scalded to death!"
"I am sure I'm very sorry, my dear," began Mr. Montagu.
"Oh, spare your sorrow," exclaimed his wife--"for I'm sure you don't
care one single straw about me. You're a cruel man--"
"Hadn't I better read the letter?" asked Clara, trembling at the
thought of the domestic sparring she saw about to ensue.
"Yes, yes! read, my dear," said her father, glad of any pretext to
avert the coming storm: for though he seldom disturbed himself about
any thing, provided his study was not swept oftener than once a month,
and he was not obliged to submit to the insupportable fatigue of
arranging his ideas in the tense form, necessary for conversation; he
had yet a most inconceivable horror of his wife's fluency of tongue,
thus affording a striking proof of the ingratitude of mortals, who
often ungraciously find fault with the very things for which they have
most occasion to be thankful; as it must be allowed that nothing could
really be more convenient for a man of a taciturn disposition, than to
have a wife who could manage to talk at once for him and herself too.
Notwithstanding the encouragement of her father, Clara, however, still
paused, looking with a timid eye towards her mother, for that lady's
permission to begin. Curiosity struggled powerfully with anger in
the breast of Mrs. Montagu for some minutes; but at last the former
prevailed, and with a nod she permitted Clara to read. She immediately
began as follows:--
"MY DEAR BROTHER."
"Humph," observed Mrs. Montagu, "his last letter began--_Sir_. He's
getting wonderfully civil, I think."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed her husband.
Clara continued,--"I am happy to inform you, that my dear Edmund has
gained a glorious victory."
"And what is that to us, I should like to know?" said Mrs. Montagu:
"for my part, I have too much pride to trouble myself about people, who
don't trouble themselves about me."
Clara went on.--"We are all coming up to London, to be present at a
grand triumph the Queen is going to give him; and thinking it a pity
there should be a misunderstanding----"
"Ah! what's that, child?" exclaimed Mr. Montagu, laying down a problem
which he had been studying ever since she began.--"Read that again,
Clara."
"And thinking it a pity there should be a misunderstanding any longer
existing between you and me, we being both fast approaching to the
grave, I intend, with your and Mrs. Montagu's permission----"
"Mrs. Montagu's permission!" cried the delighted Mrs. Montagu; "are you
quite sure he says that, Clara?" and she pressed over her daughter's
shoulder to ascertain the joyful fact. "Well, well, I do declare he
really does says so. Look, my dear, there it is,--'Mrs. Montagu's
permission.' He never called me Mrs. Montagu before. God bless him! a
nice old gentleman! I am sure I shall be very glad to see him and his
brave son, too. Only think, my dear! what an honour it is to have a
hero in one's family! Read on, Clara; I feel quite interested to know
all the particulars of my nephew's victory. You know, he is my nephew,
Mr. Montagu, as well as yours, as I am your wife, and he is your own
brother's son; so, read on, Clara, and let us know all about him."
Clara obeyed the moment her mother gave her an opportunity. "I intend,
with your and Mrs. Montagu's permission, to take the opportunity of
visiting you. I remain, with kind remembrances to Mrs. Montagu and my
niece, to whom I long to be introduced, your affectionate brother,
"AMBROSE MONTAGU."
"Very well," said Mr. Montagu, "I shall be very glad to see him;
I always loved my brother, and I was quite sorry when we were not
friends."
"Here is a postscript," resumed Clara, and she read:
"I quite forgot to inform you, that the Queen has conferred a title
upon my son, and that I shall have to present him to you as Lord
Edmund."
"I am very glad to hear it," exclaimed the gratified uncle.
"And so am I," reiterated his wife. "My nephew, Lord Edmund Montagu. I
wonder when they will be here: I must set about making preparations for
them immediately. Strike the kitchen automaton, Clara, to summon all
the domestic assistants together, that I may give my orders. Dear me!
what a bustle I am in."
In one corner of the room stood a kind of organ, by playing certain
notes upon which, intimation was given in the lower regions of what was
wanted in the parlour; the organ having long tubes communicating with
the kitchen, through which the sound was conveyed. Clara accordingly
sat down, and by striking a few chords, soon assembled all the
domestics of her father.
"I expect company," said Mrs. Montagu, with an air of excessive
consequence. "My brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose Montagu, and my nephew,
Lord Edmund Montagu, are coming to stay with us during a triumph,
with which her most gracious Majesty the Queen intends to honour Lord
Edmund, my nephew. When did my brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose, say that he
and my nephew, Lord Edmund, intended coming, Mr. Montagu? Clara, look
at Sir Ambrose's letter. 'I intend,' says he, addressing Mr. Montagu,
'with your and Mrs. Montagu's permission, to be with you on such a
day,' but I forget what day he mentions."
"He does not say which day," replied Clara, consulting the letter.
"Well, at any rate, it will be very soon," resumed Mrs. Montagu;
"and we must prepare accordingly. You know, the connexions of my
brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose, are very high, and I do not doubt but
his intimate friend, the Duke of Cornwall, will call to see him--nay,
perhaps, he may dine at my table with the two princesses, his daughter
and niece. Indeed there's no knowing, but, perhaps, even her most
gracious Majesty the Queen may condescend to enter my humble doors.
Do you hear, all of you?--you must all be attentive. You Angelina, as
cook, will have the most upon your hands--remember, nothing can be too
plain for great people. Fricassees and ragouts are only devoured by the
_canaille_."
"I am instructed of that, Ma'am," replied Angelina, a great, fat,
bonny-looking cook,--"but I flatter myself I know how to concoct
dishes----"
"That is the very thing I want to avoid," interrupted her mistress. "It
is the fashion now for great people to have only one dish, and that
as plainly cooked as possible. I have been told by a friend of mine,
who got a peep at the great dinner the Queen gave the other day to
the foreign ambassadors, that there was nothing in the world upon the
table, but a huge round of boiled beef, and a great dish of smoking
potatoes, with their jackets on."
"Well, Ma'am," returned Angelina, "I will rally both my physical
and mental energies to afford you all the satisfaction in my power;
notwithstanding which, I am free to confess, that, in my opinion, the
gastronomic science is now cruelly neglected, and that I do not think
the digestive powers of the stomach can be properly excited from their
dormant state by such unstimulating food as that you mention. Besides,
the muscular force of the stomach must be strained to decompose such
solid viands, and I should think the diaphragm seriously injured--"
"You, Alphonso," continued Mrs. Montagu, addressing the footman, and
cruelly interrupting the learned harangue of the cook, "must have
a new suit of livery. In the mean time, arrange properly the best
drawing-room, and clean the pictures. There is a fine large painting of
one of the old English artists, over the door, the colours of which are
quite faded; I am afraid you have used something improper to clean it."
"Indeed, Madam," returned Alphonso, "I think the fault is in the
picture itself. It did not dry well originally; I don't think the oil
that was used in its composition had the carbon and hydrogen mingled in
proper proportions. You know, Madam, that oil in general has an amazing
affinity for oxygen, and absorbs it rapidly; now, though the oil of
this picture has been exposed for years to the action of the common
atmospheric air, yet it has never thickened properly into a concrete
state."
"Eustace! you, as butler, must take care not to bring any variety of
wines to the table: nothing is drunk now but port and sherry; and even
they are going out of fashion. Have plenty of strong ale, however, and
porter, for they are now reckoned the most elegant liquors for the
ladies."
"I shall do my utmost endeavour to obey your injunctions, Madam," said
Eustace, bowing respectfully, "but I cannot imagine that any species of
corn, even if it have undergone the vinous fermentation, can produce a
liquid so agreeable to the palate, as well as conducive to the sanity
of the body, as the juice of the grape."
"And you, Evelina and Cecilia," continued Mrs. Montagu, addressing her
housemaids, "must superintend the arrangement of the dormitories: let
the air out of the beds and re-inflate them--examine the elastic spring
mattresses--mend the gossamer curtains--sweep the velvet carpets, and
take care the tubes for withdrawing the decomposed air, and admitting
fresh, are in proper order;--also, clean out the baths attached to each
chamber, and take care there is an abundant supply of water."
"I am told that ablution in the common aqueous fluid is becoming more
fashionable than any medicated baths," said Evelina, "and that some
people of rank actually use a composition of alkali and oil to remove
the pulverous particles that may have lodged upon their epidermis in
the course of the day."
"I fear from the commands you have issued, Madam," rejoined Cecilia,
"that you were oblivious of the alteration that has been effected in
the superior dormitory. The air there is no longer changed by means
of tubes--but there is a fan-feather ventilator fixed in the ceiling,
which by its gentle undulations occasions a free circulation of the
aëriform fluid; I do not think, however, that it is quite adequate to
supply the place of the tubes; as upon entering the room the other
morning, I perceived a strong sensation of azote, and I am confident
that the proportion of nitrogen more than trebled that of oxygen in the
air contained in the whole apartment."
"I am sorry for that," said Mrs. Montagu, "as it is the best
sleeping-room: however, as it is too late to change it, we must do
the best we can; and so go all of you and attend to my directions,
for I should be very sorry to have my brother-in-law Sir Ambrose, and
my nephew Lord Edmund, put to any inconvenience, during their sojourn
in my dwelling; to say nothing of the great and noble guests who may
perchance also honour the mansion with their presence."
Whilst this bustle was taking place in the house of Mr. Montagu,
Edric and his tutor were on their way to London. It was with infinite
difficulty, however, the doctor could be persuaded to set off without
alarming the family; for, again and again, he would return to survey
the treasures he was leaving behind, and the moment Edric thought he
had him safe, he would recollect some indispensable requisite for their
journey, and hurry back again to find it. At last they were fairly
started, and a favourable wind blew them rapidly towards London. Edric
had never seen this vast metropolis, and his astonishment and delight,
when its magnificent palaces, its superb streets, its public buildings,
its theatres, and its churches, broke upon him, was quite beyond
description. His transports and exclamations, indeed, at length became
so violent, as quite to annoy the learned doctor.
"If you feel such rapture at the sight of London," said he, peevishly,
"I suppose you will be reluctant to quit it; and I dare say you already
repent having proposed to travel."
"Oh! what is that?" cried Edric, without attending to him, as, lost in
amazement, he saw a house in the suburbs gently slide out of its place,
and glide majestically along the road, a lady at one of the windows
kissing her hand to some one in another house as she passed. "Do my
eyes deceive me, or does that house move?"
"Certainly it does," replied the doctor. "Did you never see a moving
house before? You must have heard of them at any rate, for nothing can
be more common. It certainly is convenient, when one wants to go into
the country for a few weeks, to be able to take one's house with one:
it saves a great deal of trouble in packing, and permits one to have
all one's little conveniences about one. You see there are grooves in
the bottom of the houses that just fit on the iron railways; and as
they are propelled by steam, they slide on without much trouble. It
does not answer, however, with any but small houses, for large ones
can't well be made compact enough. However, you must postpone your
admiration of that, as well as of the other wonders of London, for
here we are at Lord Gustavus's door. What a noble mansion! is it not?
This street, Edric, is called the Strand, and is the most fashionable
in London; because it adjoins the Queen's favourite palace at Somerset
House."
"Is that the palace?" said Edric. "It seems a noble pile of building."
"The gardens are fine," replied the doctor; "but as they are thrown
open to the public, and nothing is paid for admission, it is reckoned
vulgar to walk in them. You English do not like any thing you do not
pay for; but more of this hereafter. We must now prepare to pay our
respects to our noble host."
Lord Gustavus de Montfort received them very kindly, but Edric found
something in his voice and manners excessively forbidding. He had a
pompous disagreeable manner of speaking, with a nasal accent so strong,
that it was absolutely torture to Edric, whose sense of hearing was
uncommonly fine, to listen to him. He had also a conceited dictatorial
way of delivering his opinion, which Edric thought extremely
unpleasant. He generally commenced his speeches with "Thinking as I
think, and as I am positive every one who hears me must think, or at
least ought to think;" and this exordium formed an epitome of his
character; as he was firmly persuaded that every one who differed in
the slightest degree from his opinion, was decidedly wrong, whilst
the possibility of his ever being mistaken himself never entered his
imagination. His father had been one of the counsellors of the late
Queen, and his eldest brother having declined to take the father's
place upon his death, Lord Gustavus had been appointed to it. Thus he
was really a person of some consequence in the state; and though his
being so was quite a matter of chance, arising from the circumstances
above-mentioned and the indolence of the Queen, he affected to regard
it as a matter of personal favour to himself, and endeavoured to
persuade his hearers that the affairs of government could not possibly
go on without him. Knowing his foible of wishing to be thought of
importance in the realm, and feeling the want of a leader of rank, some
of the discontented spirits of the kingdom had endeavoured to gain him
over to their party; and though Lord Gustavus was strictly loyal, and
even particularly fond of talking of her gracious Majesty the Queen,
and boasting of the confidence she placed in him, yet his vanity could
not altogether resist the able attacks made upon it by the rebels.
He wavered, he began to talk of reform, and to mingle boasts of his
popularity amongst the people, with those he had before indulged in, of
enjoying the favour of his sovereign. Thus he hung upon the balance,
ready to incline to either side, according to the circumstances that
time or chance might produce.
"I am extremely happy," said he, as he advanced to meet his guests,
"that my worthy and respected friend Father Morris has procured me
the honour of such illustrious visitors. The holy father has informed
me of the sublime purpose that animates your bosoms and leads you to
traverse realms of air, to explore the hitherto undiscovered secrets of
the grave. His partiality for me has also led him to imagine that my
humble means may perchance prove conducive to so great an end, and he
has requested me to give you all the assistance in my power to promote
the gigantic objects you have in view. Thus you may rest assured, no
efforts shall be wanting on my part to fulfil his wishes, and as,
though insignificant in myself, I am so happy as to be honoured by
the protection and favour of her Majesty the Queen, my most gracious
sovereign; and also as my feeble attempts to promote the public good
have been rewarded by the gratitude of the people; it may perchance
be in my power to serve you; and in the mean time I hope you will do
me the honour to partake of such hospitality as my humble mansion can
afford." So saying, Lord Gustavus led the way through a sumptuous suite
of rooms, to one where an elegant cold collation was laid out, of
which he invited his guests to partake. Nothing could be more splendid
than the furniture and embellishments of this apartment. The rooms
were hung with crimson silk, trimmed with gold; valuable paintings
decorated the walls; statues of inestimable price filled each corner,
and magnificent mirrors increased tenfold the magic of the scene. Lord
Gustavus secretly enjoyed the astonishment and admiration painted upon
the countenances of his guests; and whilst he openly affected to talk
of his "poor house," and his "humble attempts to entertain them,"
&c. his heart covertly exalted in the grandeur around him, and his
eyes sparkled with pleasure at the effect he saw it produced upon the
strangers. Nothing makes one so much disposed to be in a good humour
with the world, as being in a good humour with oneself; and nothing
is so certain to produce that delightful sensation, as to see what we
possess excite the admiration of others. Thus, as the flattery conveyed
by looks far outweighs that expressed by words, and as the looks of
Edric and the doctor unequivocally declared their sentiments, Lord
Gustavus was quite enchanted with his visitors, and spared no pains to
render them equally happy as himself. He ordered a large apartment to
be prepared for the doctor, that he might make his arrangements for
the intended Egyptian expedition quite at his ease; he commanded his
servants to obey his directions implicitly, and he directed tradesmen
to supply every thing that might be wanted at his own expense.
Having thus given the doctor _carte blanche_, he next turned his
attention to Edric, and, finding it was his first visit to London,
volunteered to show him all the wonders of that immense metropolis,
which then, spreading enormously in every direction, seemed like the
fabled monster of the Indians, to stretch its enormous arms on every
side and swallow up all the hapless villages which were so unfortunate
as to fall within its reach.
In the mean time, Sir Ambrose had begun to repent, though secretly, of
the unwarrantable severity with which he had treated his son. It is a
trite though undeniable observation, that we never know the real value
of any possession till we have lost it; and thus Sir Ambrose, though
he had thought nothing of the respectful and dutiful attentions of his
son, whilst he was in the habit of constantly receiving them, now felt
their want, and regretted bitterly the ill-timed harshness that had
deprived him of them for ever. Still, however, he was too obstinate to
own he had been wrong; and though he knew that by recalling his son
he should restore his lost happiness, he, like many other persons in
similar situations, most magnanimously determined to persist in being
miserable.
The Duke of Cornwall was quite astonished, and even indignant, at what
he termed the inconsistency of his friend. "How can you be so weak as
still to regret the loss of that peevish boy?" said he, as, on the
second morning after Edric's departure, he entered the library of Sir
Ambrose, attended by his confessor, Father Murphy. "Depend upon it,
it is bad policy; for patience robs care of its bitterest sting, as
this holy father says. You often preach that doctrine to me, don't
you, Father Murphy?" Father Murphy was an Irishman, and gifted with a
rich brogue, which, aided by his comely figure, round rosy face, and
little laughing black eyes, gave a peculiar raciness to every thing he
said. He had not long filled the office he then held, and though he
had been recommended to it, on the death of the duke's late confessor,
by Father Morris, yet no two human beings could be more different than
he and that reverend personage. Father Murphy, indeed, was a general
favourite, and the whole household of the duke concurred in thinking
him quite a nonpareil of a priest; for, as he was not very fond of
doing penance himself, so he was not very rigid in imposing it upon
others, and consequently he and his penitents were always upon the best
terms imaginable. In short, he seemed especially designed by Nature to
be good friends with all the world; and on his side he certainly did
the utmost not to thwart the beneficent old lady's kind intentions.
He now smiled good-humouredly at the duke's question, and replied,
"Och! and is it me ye're quoting from, yere Grace? And where's the
use of that, pray? when ye know I'm just here and ready to quote for
myself."
"If all your observations are as good as that the duke has just
repeated," said Sir Ambrose, "I don't know any body that might be
quoted from with more advantage."
"Sure! and is it of myself ye're saying that?" asked Father Murphy, "for
if ye are, ye never made a better spach in all your life; only there's
a little mistake if ye think the observation ye're talking of came out
of my own head, for it didn't do any such thing."
"Do not be alarmed," said Father Morris, who now approached, and who
spoke with his usual satirical sneer: "No one who knows you will ever
suspect you of any thing so atrocious."
"Good-nature and integrity are sometimes more than equivalent to
brilliant talents," said Sir Ambrose bitterly.
"True," rejoined Father Morris, in one of his softest, most insinuating
tones; "but they become inestimable when united, as in the example
before us:" bowing to Father Murphy as he spoke. Sir Ambrose turned,
and looked earnestly at the tall thin figure of the monk as he stood
before him, his arms crossed upon his breast, and his head, as usual,
bent towards the ground, but he did not speak. A short pause ensued,
which was broken by the duke's suddenly exclaiming, "Did you not say
Dr. Entwerfen has gone off with Edric?"
"Certainly, I did."
"Then, depend upon it, the whole was a planned thing. They have taken
some wild scheme into their heads, and they are gone to execute it."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Sir Ambrose.
"I see no impossibility in the business," resumed the duke. "I think
the case is clear. They did not know how to get off decently; and so
Edric pretended to quarrel with you and me, to give the thing a face."
"I cannot fancy Edric guilty of such meanness," cried Sir Ambrose
passionately.
"I don't think the matter admits of a single doubt. But what do you
think on the subject, Father Morris?"
"Men devoted to austere professions like myself," replied the priest,
without raising his eyes from the ground, "know but little of what is
passing in the world. Thus, though my body be no longer shrouded in the
gloom of a cloister, my mind remains still too much abstracted from the
busy scenes around me, for me to be a competent judge of the effect of
human passions."
"Och, then, ye are very right to say nothin' about them," cried Father
Murphy; "for though I'm in a passion every day of my life, I nevher
know what to say when I begin to talk of it. And so I jist think it's
the wisest way to holdth my tongue."
Neither Sir Ambrose nor the duke made any reply; and after settling
that they should commence their journey on the following morning, they
separated.