JOHN DE LANCASTER.
VOLUME I.
JOHN DE LANCASTER.
A NOVEL.
BY
_RICHARD CUMBERLAND, ESQ._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR LACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO.
TEMPLE OF THE MUSES,
FINSBURY-SQUARE.
1809.
Harding and Wright, Printers, St. John’s Square.
JOHN DE LANCASTER.
CHAPTER I.
_The Reader is made acquainted with the Family of De Lancaster._
On the first of March 1751, Robert De Lancaster, a native of North
Wales, and grandfather of my hero, had assembled his friends and
neighbours to celebrate, according to custom, the anniversary of their
tutelary saint.
I enter at once upon my story without any introduction, having already
announced this novel in my Memoirs, and I flatter myself, if it is
perused with that candour, to which fair dealing has some claim, it
will serve to entertain the major part of its readers, disappoint not
many and corrupt not one.
Robert de Lancaster was a gentleman of great respectability, and
Kray-castle, the venerable seat of his family through many generations,
lost nothing of its long-established fame for hospitality on this
occasion: the gentry were feasted, and the poor were not forgotten.
The family of this worthy antient Briton consisted of an only son
Philip, married to an heiress of the house of Morgan, and a maiden
daughter, named Cecilia. He was himself a widower. Mrs. Philip De
Lancaster was at this time in that state, which gave speedy hopes of an
heir to the very ancient family, into which she had married: in the
festivities of the day she had taken little share, and in the
superintendence of her father-in-law’s household absolutely none: that
province she had found in much more able hands, and never sought to
interfere with the administration of it: in short she had no ambition
for authority, and very great objection to any thing, that might require
exertion, or occasion trouble.
Cecilia De Lancaster from the death of her mother, through a period of
more than ten years, had patiently and without repining suffered her
youth to pass away, amply repayed by the love and approbation of her
father, whilst she devoted herself to all those duties, which had
devolved upon her, when Kray Castle lost its mistress. Her brother
Philip had quite as little disposition to trouble as his lady, so that
all things were under the unenvied government of Cecilia; and every
guest, that resorted to the house, every domestic, that belonged to it,
bore witness to the excellence of her administration.
A character like hers, though located amidst the recesses of
Merionethshire, could not be totally divested of attraction; for she had
high pretensions on the score of fortune, and a pedigree, that only
stopped where the world began: these might have been enough to satisfy
any reasonable man, though some perhaps would have rated them the higher
for the loveliness of her person, the excellence of her understanding
and the virtues of her mind.
Amongst the many suitors, who in various periods of her celibacy had
been induced to propose themselves to her, none had been so persevering
in his addresses as Sir Owen ap Owen, baronet, a gentleman by no means
of yesterday, and possessed of a very fair and ample landed property,
upon which there were no other encumbrances save only the barren rocks
and unproductive mountains, over which it stretched. He was indeed not
very eminent as a scholar; for although Sir Owen had without doubt been
taught to read, he had almost entirely discontinued the practice of it:
and indeed, considering the nature of Sir Owen’s more immediate
pursuits, reading might very well be dispensed with, as it could only
tend to interrupt his evening nap, and not improve him in the art of
hallooing to his hounds, or pushing round the tankard to a tawdry toast:
he however administered justice to his neighbours, and settled
differences in a summary way after a fashion of his own, by reference
not to any books of law, but to the beer barrels in his cellar; by
which his decisions as a magistrate became extremely popular, and men
quarrelled first, that they might get drunk afterwards, and patch up the
peace in their cups, which they had broken when they were sober. By
these means Sir Owen got a good name in the county, and supported a
considerable interest, which he never failed to employ, as his fathers
had done before him, in opposing and railing at the minister of the day,
whoever that obnoxious animal might chance to be.
This distinguished personage was now in the fifth year of his
suitorship, and verging towards the fiftieth of his age, whilst the
inexorable Cecilia had already endured a siege half as long as that of
Troy, without betraying any symptoms, that might indicate a surrender.
In fact Sir Owen seemed now to content himself with a yearly summons,
like the Moors before Ceuta, as a compliment to his perseverance, and to
keep up appearances and pretensions.
It was now Saint David’s day, when he never failed to be a visitor to
the castle, and he had brushed out the lining of his coach, and put
himself in his best array, to do honour to the festival, at which he
knew Cecilia would preside. His person was not eminently graceful, for
he was a round, red-faced gentleman, neither tall of stature, nor light
of limb; but his apparel bore the faded marks of ancient splendor, and
his huntsman had bestowed uncommon pains in frizzing out a huge white
perriwig, which he had powdered with no sparing hand. Sir Owen was at no
time apt to be an idle looker-on whilst the bottle was in circulation,
and on the present occasion he had charged himself more than usually
high to encounter an opposition, which he had reason to expect would be
more than usually stubborn; for though due consideration had been paid
to his rank, and he had been placed at table close beside the lady, who
presided at it, fortune had not favoured him with any striking
opportunities for displaying his address, or advancing himself in her
good graces. On the contrary he had been rather unlucky in his
assiduities, and in his eagerness to dispute the ladle had overset the
soup, with sundry other little misadventures, incidental to an awkward
operator and an unsteady hand.
It is perfectly well understood, that the worthy baronet had pledged
himself to his privy counsellor the huntsman for vigorous measures;
confessing to him, whilst assisting at his toilette, with the candour
natural to his character, that he was ashamed of hanging so long upon a
cold scent, and protesting, with a due degree of spirit, that he would
that very day either bring the trail to an entapis, or give up the
chace, and draw off; for which manly resolution he had all proper credit
given him by the partaker of his secrets, and the companion of his
sports.
When the gentlemen had sate a reasonable time after the ladies had
retired, it was the custom of the house to adjourn to the drawing room,
where Cecilia administered the ceremonials of the tea-table. It was here
Sir Owen meditated to plant himself once more by her side, and bring his
fortune to a crisis; trusting that wine, which had fortified him with
courage, would not fail to inspire him with eloquence. High in hope,
and eager to acquit himself of his promise to his confidante at home,
upon entering the room he pushed his course directly for the tea-table,
where the cluster of candles and the dazzling gleams reflected from the
polished apparatus, there displayed in glittering splendor, so
confounded his optics, that without discovering the person of Mrs.
Philip De Lancaster, or computing distances so as to bring up in time,
he came foul of the tea-table, and discharged a part of the wreck with a
horrible crash into the lap of the aforesaid lady, whilst his head came
to the floor amidst the fragments of broken cups and sawcers with an
impunity, which no common head would probably have had to boast of in
the like circumstance. Dreadful was the consternation of the company,
most alarmingly critical were the screams and convulsive throes of the
unfortunate lady, whose lap was ill prepared to receive any such
accession to the burden, which it was already doomed to carry. The
consequences in short were so immediate, and their symptoms so decisive,
that had not Mr. Llewellyn been in attendance, and happily not quite so
tipsy as to be incapacitated from affording his assistance, the world
might have lost the pleasure of reading these adventures, and I the fame
of recording them.
A couch being provided, and the lady laid at her length upon it, she was
carried up to her chamber, whilst the castle echoed with her piercing
screams.
It would be treating this serious misadventure much too lightly, were I
only to remark that the love-scene in projectu was of necessity
adjourned by Cecilia’s leaving the company, and attending upon her
sister-in-law, whom a whole bevy of females under the conduct of the
sage Llewellyn followed up the stairs. We may well suppose, where one so
able was present to direct, and so many were assembled, ready either to
obey, or sagaciously to look on and edify, that every thing needful for
a lady in her critical situation was provided and administered. Every
visitor, whose recollection served to remind him that after such a
discomfiture the speediest retreat was the best compliment he could pay
to the master of the house, called for their horses and their carriages
to the great disappointment of their servants, who had not yet paid all
the honours to Saint David, that were by customary right Saint David’s
due.
Sir Owen ap Owen, who had already taken some little time to recover his
legs, found himself still at a loss to recall his recollection. At
length, after contemplating the chaos he had created--By the Lord,
friend De Lancaster, he exclaimed, I have made a terrible wreck of your
crockery; but you should warn your housemaids not to dry rub your
floors, for they are as slippery as glass, and let a man tread ever so
carefully, a false step may throw him off his balance, and then who can
answer for the mischief he may do? I heard a terrible screaming, but I
hope, my good neighbour, nobody is hurt, and if your fair daughter, the
divine Cecilia, (so I always call her) is inconsolable about her china,
and if London can’t repair the loss, the East Indies shall, though I go
all the way to fetch it home for her myself; for though I know well
enough I have had a glass too much, and am but as you may call me a kind
of bear in a ball-room, yet I know what a gentleman ought to do, when he
has done mischief; and on the word of a true ancient Briton you may
believe me, that if I had undesignedly set fire to your house, I am no
such Hanoverian rat as to run away by the light of it: that is not my
principle.
Your principle, my good friend, replied De Lancaster, nobody doubts, and
if your accident shall be productive of no other mischief than what has
happened to Cecilia’s tea-cups, Cecilia thinks no more of them than I
do. The screams you heard did not proceed from her--
No, no, cried Sir Owen, her sweet pipe never uttered such a shrill
veiw-hollah; so if she is safe from hurt and harm, all is well. ’Twas
an accident, as you say, and there’s an end of it.
A servant now announced to the baronet, that his coach was at the door.
De Lancaster entered into no farther explanations, and his awkward guest
surrendered himself to the guidance of a coachman luckily not quite so
tipsey as his master.