The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill we will leave to travel to London
and a hundred miles farther, even down to the newly-purchased borough,
where we will leave him to make his insulting and hypocritical
bows to the poor, mean-spirited, bought and sold, place-hunting,
booby-praising, supple, transferable, soulless dolts, who, being taught
to fetch and carry, to stand on their hind legs, and feed out of a
great man’s trough, and to yelp loyalty or sedition, as the case may
be and their purchasers may dictate, suffer themselves to be called
“free and independent” without having spirit enough to kick the right
honorable cubs that call them so.
Colonel Crop remained at Smatterton, under a strict charge from Lord
Spoonbill to keep an eye on the young lady, and to use his best
endeavours to forward the designs of his lordship. This gallant officer
undertook his commission with great hopes of success, and with perfect
confidence in his own wisdom; and, in pursuance of his precious scheme,
made an early call on Sir George Aimwell on the morning on which Lord
Spoonbill took his departure from town.
Sir George and the colonel were very good friends. They had many points
of sympathy. They were both of them great admirers of good cookery.
They had both a great abhorrence of unnecessary trouble. They both
thought that the only use for a gentleman to make of books was to stick
them on a shelf, or lock them in a closet. They both thought that the
common people were very vulgar, insolent, low-lived creatures, and
almost wondered that nature had not formed them to go on four legs.
With many other sympathies of this nature the gallant colonel and the
worthy magistrate were mightily well pleased with each other.
When therefore the colonel made his second visit to Neverden, the
baronet was delighted with the attention, and anticipated with much
satisfaction sufficient talk to keep him awake till dinner time.
“So, colonel,” said the unpaid one, “you have the compassion to come
and see me now the shooting season is quite over. This I call really
an act of friendship. But did you actually know that yesterday was the
last day of the season?”
“’Pon honor, Sir George,” replied the half-paid one, “I never thought
about it; but if I had it would have made no difference.”
“You are very polite, colonel, and honest withal, and that cannot be
said of every one.”
The baronet having thus spoken laughed, and the colonel, to shew his
politeness, laughed too, but he did not know why, unless it were for
sympathy.
“But, colonel,” continued the gratuitous dispenser of hedge and ditch
and steel-trap and spring-gun justice, “what is the meaning of this
almost flying visit which my Lord Spoonbill has just now paid to
Smatterton? My people told me this morning that the young gentleman was
off by daybreak, posting back again to town.”
Colonel Crop looked wise, or screwed his features into that kind of
expression which he was pleased to think wise; and with that kind of
tone which almost asks for incredulity, and intimates that at least
only part of the truth is told, he replied: “His lordship came down to
give orders about some improvements to be made at the castle.”
This expression answered the purpose, and the curious baronet, being
from the nature of his office accustomed to the interrogative system,
proceeded with a sceptical smile to ask: “Ah, colonel, are you sure
that is all? Is not there some sly amour going on? His lordship is a
wild young dog, I have heard.”
Thereat the baronet chuckled, and the colonel smiled so gently and so
silently that Lord Chesterfield himself would not have pronounced him
vulgar or ill bred. And the two worthy ones looked at each other very
knowingly; and thus the colonel let out the secret without speaking
a word. Some persons may imagine that the mode in which the baronet
spoke of the amatory transgressions of Lord Spoonbill was rather too
flippant for a magistrate; and those persons may perhaps be right; but
let us not omit to tell those persons, that this same magistrate, when
engaged in the discharge of his magisterial duties, and when sitting on
the bench, looked as wise and as grave and as demure as any magistrate
need to look, and gave to transgressors a goodly word of exhortation,
and dwelt with copious and convincing eloquence on the wickedness of
violating our most excellent laws.
Everybody in that neighbourhood remembers the impressive admonition
which he gave to an old man who was convicted at the quarter sessions
of having a bit of string in his pocket, and therefore strongly
suspected of a design of a malicious nature against the game.
“John Carter,” said the worthy baronet, “let me address to you a few
words on the sin of poaching. Poaching, John Carter--is--is a sin of
which too many are guilty, owing to the lenity of our most excellent
laws. I think that if everybody thought, as I think, of the moral
heinousness of this offence, nobody would be guilty of it. Poaching is
not yet made felony; but there is no saying how soon it may be made so,
if the crime be persisted in. It is a moral offence of the greatest
enormity, and is one of those crying, national sins, which may one day
or other bring down the vengeance of heaven on our guilty country. Now,
John Carter, if you go to gaol for six months, I hope the tread-mill
and the chaplain will work a thorough reformation in your morals.”
Much more to the same purpose did the worthy magistrate say to John
Carter; but it did, we fear, very little good, for John Carter and the
baronet’s last pheasant were missing on one and the same morning:
This digression we have made for the purpose of shewing how truly
eloquent and morally impressive the baronet could be when the enormity
of the offence demanded an adequate severity of reprehension. His
worship would have thought the epithet “wild young dog” a designation
by far too lenient for a poacher. But the crime of seduction,
especially in an hereditary legislator, looked in the sight of the
unpaid one as comparatively a slight offence, scarcely an offence at
all.
More than suspecting, from Colonel Crop’s look and manner, that a
pursuit of this nature had brought the heir of Smatterton down to
the venerable seat of his ancestors, the worthy baronet proceeded
to enquire of the young lord’s convenient friend more particularly
concerning the person whose charms had fascinated the young lord. Now
the gallant colonel was not quite certain that it would be proper and
becoming for him to communicate to the worthy magistrate the whole
truth, at least what he thought to be the truth; he therefore hesitated
and looked knowing: but he had no great tact or dexterity in keeping
secrets; so, after a few ineffectual attempts to hold his peace and
keep his counsel, he gave the worthy baronet to understand that the
lady with whom he had the pleasure of dining at Neverden Hall, was the
person on whom the hereditary legislator had cast the eyes of affection.
“What!” exclaimed the astonished baronet, “Do I hear aright? Do
you mean to tell me that Lord Spoonbill has employed you to make
dishonorable proposals to a lady under my roof, a relation too of my
own?”
Colonel Crop was thunderstruck at the mode in which the magistrate
received the information; and was still more astonished to hear that
the lady was related to the baronet. And the colonel himself was
almost angry with Lord Spoonbill, for thinking of proposing such an
arrangement with a lady so respectably connected. But when the colonel
proceeded to state that his commission was to obtain the lady on
any terms, and when the baronet understood that his lordship was so
enamoured as to meditate matrimony, that mightily altered the case.
Then the magistrate gave full and free permission to the colonel
to have access to the lady, and state with as much eloquence as he
pleased, the proposals which he might have to make. It is indeed true,
that Sir George could not help thinking, that if Lord Spoonbill had
been disposed to make an offer of his hand to Miss Glossop, it would
have been rather more respectful to “apply personally, or by letter
post paid,” than to use the intervention of a gentleman whose services
had been employed in negociations of no very reputable nature. The
baronet however conceded, that there might be on the part of Lord
Spoonbill a more than usual degree of want of ceremony allowed, in
consequence of the difference of rank between the parties.
The very possibility of making a relation of his a countess, reconciled
the unpaid one to the negociation of the half-paid one. The end
sanctified the means.
Now occurred again to the baronet’s recollection the visit which Miss
Glossop had paid to Smatterton castle, and he concluded of course that
it was at this visit that the charms of Arabella’s voice and person had
taken captive the heart of Lord Spoonbill. At the contemplation of the
possibility that his high-spirited relative should make a match with so
great a man as the eldest son of an earl, the worthy magistrate felt
mightily gratified.
It is somewhat admirable that Sir George Aimwell should regard with
any great satisfaction a probable marriage commenced by negociations of
so equivocal a nature. But there is something in dignity and in high
rank so fascinating and overwhelming, that what would be insolence
in others is condescension in men of title and rank. And it is also
a truth that Sir George, though himself a baronet or lordling, and
bearing the same relation to nobility as velveteen bears to velvet, yet
looked upon nobility with greater reverence and admiration than persons
more remote from that high rank regard the possessors of titles.
When Colonel Crop had thus commenced his great negociation, by
informing the magistrate of the business for which Lord Spoonbill had
employed him, the gallant officer betook himself to the quiet seclusion
of the great house, and amused himself with looking at fine pictures,
reading the backs of books, lugging up his shirt collar, combing out
his whiskers, listening to the creaking of his boots, picking his
teeth, rattling his watch-chain, looking at himself in the glass,
wondering what was going on in London, together with a multitude of
other pretty little amusements of the same description.
The half-paid hero was not sorry that his negociation received such a
direction as it did, from the discovery that the young lady in question
was related to Sir George Aimwell; and it occurred to the negociator,
that he might very soon write to his honorable employer and inform him
of the progress which had been made in this important and momentous
business. And with the exercise of a little ingenuity, which nobody
knew so well how to use as the gallant colonel, the occupation of
writing a letter might employ a whole morning. But as the colonel’s
present employment is merely meditation seasoned and garnished with
sundries of these little amusements which we have recorded above, we
need not detain our readers for the present at Smatterton castle, but
we will introduce them to another mansion at Smatterton, where they
will meet with the personages mentioned in this narrative, engaged in
the highly honorable and delightful occupation of paying a tea visit to
Honoria Letitia Spoonbill.
Miss Spoonbill kept very little company; she had but one party in the
year, and that was a tea-party, which assembled precisely at six and
departed as precisely at ten; and, we may add, sat still and stared at
each other as precisely for the whole period of their visit.
In this visit to the spinster of noble family most of the distinguished
persons of Smatterton were engaged. And there was something peculiarly
interesting in this visit, seeing that Mr Primrose was at the party
for the first time, and Mr Zephaniah Pringle was paying his last visit
in Smatterton. The lady of the house was particularly active to render
herself agreeable to her party; and, in order to produce as much as
possible of that kind of stuff which the people who write newspapers
call “the feast of reason and the flow of soul,” Miss Spoonbill
directed very much of her conversation to Mr Primrose, that from him
she might gather something concerning the manners, customs, religion,
literature, cookery, and politics of the Hindoos; and to Mr Zephaniah
Pringle the lady was also interrogatively attentive, that from his
exhaustless store of reading and reflection something might be brought
out for the edification and instruction of her guests. So that poor Mr
Kipperson had not any opportunity of putting forth his agricultural
erudition, and was also compelled to be painfully mute on the subject
of science. But he had the happiness of meditation and thought, and
not all the Spoonbills in the universe could deprive him of that. And
he could not help pitying from the bottom of his heart the darkness,
stupidity, grossness, and delusion of all those persons who had no
ambition after pantology. But he consoled himself with the thought,
that truth is great and must prevail; and he knew that pantology was
true, and he was sure it would prevail, and all the world would be
enlightened ultimately, and every man would be his own Encyclopedia,
and instead of seeing here and there inscribed on the monumental
marble of an individual or two, a record of “Here lies the celebrated
and learned,” we should soon have the happiness of seeing in every
church-yard in the kingdom one general inscription of “Here lie ten
thousand pantologists.”
We thought it our duty to mention all this, because, wherever Mr
Kipperson gave the honor of his presence, he always looked important
and felt himself to be so, even if circumstances sentenced him to
silence.
Miss Primrose was also of the party, and happy was it for her that she
was innocent of all suspicion of those idle tales which the people
of Smatterton had amused themselves with concerning herself. Miss
Spoonbill indeed had slightly heard mention of the rumour, but could
not believe it; for she was sure that she must have heard it from
better authority, if it had been true; supposing no doubt that her
right honorable relative Lord Spoonbill would not have kept her in
ignorance on such a matter as this.
As Mr Primrose by his lucid, ready, and intelligent answers to Miss
Spoonbill’s multitudinous questions concerning Oriental affairs gave
great satisfaction to the lady, she felt grateful to the new inhabitant
of Smatterton for the information which had been given; and, in order
to shew her gratitude, was pleased to administer to Mr Primrose a
large quantity of gratuitous advice, touching the destiny and disposal
of his only child.
It was distinctly and strongly in Miss Spoonbill’s recollection that
there had been a time, and that not far back, when it was thought
desirable by the friends of Miss Primrose to seek out for her some
occupation or employment. Now Miss Spoonbill had no knowledge whatever
of the circumstances under which Mr Primrose had returned to England,
nor had she any thought whatever on the subject, but she took it
for granted that the father could not be less anxious to dispose of
the young lady in some situation than the uncle and aunt had been,
therefore with most considerate condescension did Miss Spoonbill
discourse to Mr Primrose on the importance of giving the young lady
an occupation. But this conversation was not audible to the whole
party, and unfortunately the part which Mr Primrose took in it was not
audible even to Miss Spoonbill herself; for the lady’s hearing was not
very good, and Mr Primrose had such an awkward and confused manner of
whispering that he was hardly intelligible. And such was the fertility
of Miss Spoonbill’s imagination, that it supplied all the deficiencies
hearing or apprehension.
“And so, Mr Primrose,” gently and lowly said Miss Spoonbill, “you have
not found a situation for your daughter yet?”
“I thank you, madam,” replied Mr Primrose, “but there is no occasion
for it.”
“Oh yes, certainly,” said Miss Spoonbill, “I think you were perfectly
right. I by no means approve of the profession of a public singer. But
I am sure my cousin Lord Smatterton, or his amiable Countess, might
find some more suitable employment. I will write to them myself. They
are very benevolent people, but they need to be reminded now and then.”
“I beg, madam,” returned Mr Primrose, “that you will not by any means
think of giving yourself that trouble; I have it in my power to provide
for my daughter.”
“Say nothing about the trouble, Mr Primrose,” continued Miss Spoonbill;
“I insist upon writing myself, and I think I have some influence with
the Earl and Countess. I assure you, Mr Primrose, I entertain a very
great regard for your daughter.”
Mr Primrose took all the pains he could to make the lady understand
him, but it was not pleasant for him to speak out loud in the audience
of all the party, and therefore he let the subject drop as quietly
as he could, resolving to take the first opportunity of explaining
himself more distinctly and audibly than he could when within hearing
of his daughter and many others.