THE KINDREDSHIP OF MINDS.
When Thaddeus awoke next morning, he found himself more refreshed,
and freer from the effects of the last night's discovery, than he
could have reasonably hoped. The presence of mind and activity which
the fire called on him to exert, having forced his thoughts into a
different channel, had afforded his nerves an opportunity to regain
some portion of their usual strength. He could now reflect on what he
had heard without suffering the crimes of another to lay him on the
rack. The reins were again restored to his hand, and neither
agitation nor anxiety showed themselves in his face or manner.
Though the count's sensibility was very irritable, and when suddenly
excited he could not always conceal his emotion, yet he possessed a
power of look which immediately repressed the impertinence of
curiosity or insolence. Indeed, this mantle of repulsion proved to be
his best shield; for never had man more demands on the dignity of his
soul to shine out about his person.
Not unfrequently has his sudden appearance in the study-room at Lady
Dundas's at once called a natural glow through the ladies' rouge, and
silenced the gentlemen, when he has happened to enter while Miss
Dundas and half-a-dozen other beaux and belles have been ridiculing
Euphemia on the absurd civilities she paid to her language-master.
The morning after the fire, a little bevy of these fashionable
butterflies were collected in this way at one corner of Miss Dundas's
Hercules table, when, during a moment's pause, "I hope, Miss
Beaufort," cried the Honorable Mr. Lascelles, "I hope you don't intend
to consume the brightness of your eyes over this stupid language?"
"What language, Mr. Lascelles?" inquired she; "I have this moment
entered the room, and I don't know what you are talking about."
"Good Lud! that is very true," cried he; "I mean a shocking jargon,
which a shocking penseroso man teaches to these ladies. We want to
persuade Miss Euphemia that it spoils her mouth."
"You are always misconceiving me, Mr. Lascelles," interrupted Miss
Dundus, impatiently; "I did not advance one word against the
language; I merely remonstrated with Phemy against her preposterous
attentions to the man we hire to teach it."
"That was what I meant, madam," resumed he, with a low bow.
"You meant what, sir?" demanded the little beauty, contemptuously;
"but I need not ask. You are like a bad mirror, which from radical
defect always gives false reflections."
"Very good, faith, Miss Euphemia! I declare, sterling wit! It would
honor Sheridan, or your sister."
"Mr. Lascelles," cried Euphemia, more vexed than before, "let me tell
you such impertinence is very unbecoming a gentleman."
"Upon my soul, Miss Euphemia!"
"Pray allow the petulant young lady to get out of her airs, as she
has, I believe, got out of her senses, without our help!" exclaimed
Miss Dundas; "for I declare I know not where she picked up these vile
democratic ideas."
"I am not a democrat, Diana," answered Euphemia, rising from her
seat; "and I won't stay to be abused, when I know it is all envy,
because Mr. Constantine happened to say that I have a quicker memory
than you have."
She left the room as she ended. Miss Dundas, ready to storm with
passion, but striving to conceal it, burst into a violent laugh, and
turning to Miss Beaufort, said: "You now see, my dear Mary, a sad
specimen of Euphemia's temper; yet I hope you won't think too
severely of her, for, poor thing, she has been spoilt by us all."
"Pray, do not apologize to me in particular!" replied Miss Beaufort;
"but, to be frank, I think it probable she would have shown her
temper less had that little admonition been given in private. I doubt
not she has committed something wrong, yet----"
"Yes, something very wrong," interrupted Miss Dundas, reddening at
this rebuke; "both Mr. Lascelles and Lord Berington there----"
"Don't bring in my name, I pray, Miss Dundas," cried the viscount,
who was looking over an old edition of Massinger's plays; "you know I
hate being squeezed into squabbles."
Miss Dundas dropped the corners of her mouth in contempt, and went
on.
"Well, then, Mr. Lascelles, and Miss Poyntz, here, have both at
different times been present when Phemy has conducted herself in a
very ridiculous way towards a young man Lady Tinemouth sent here to
teach us German. Can you believe it possible that a girl of her
fashion could behave in this style without having first imbibed some
very dangerous notions? I am sure I am right, for she could not be
more civil to him if he were a gentleman." Miss Dundas supposed she
had now set the affair beyond controversy, and stopped with an air of
triumph. Miss Beaufort perceived that her answer was expected.
"I really cannot discover anything in the matter so very
reprehensible," replied she. "Perhaps the person you speak of may
have the qualifications of a gentleman; he may be above his
situation." "Ah! above it, sure enough!" cried Lascelles, laughing
boisterously at his own folly. He is tall enough to be above
everything, even good manners; for notwithstanding his plebeian
calling, I find he doesn't know how to keep his distance."
"I am sorry for that, Lascelles," cried Berrington, measuring the
puppy with his good-natured eye; "for these Magog men are terrible
objects to us of meaner dimensions! 'A substitute shines brightly as
a king until a king be by,'"
"Why, my lord, you do not mean to compare me with such a low fellow
as this? I don't understand Lord Berrington----"
"Bless me, gentlemen!" cried Miss Dundas, frightened at the angry
looks of the little honorable; "why, my lord, I thought you hated
squabbles?"
"So I do, Miss Dundas," replied he, laying down his book and coming
forward; "and upon my honor, Mr. Lascelles," added he, smiling, and
turning towards the coxcomb, who stood nidging his head with anger by
Miss Beaufort's chair,--"upon my honor, Mr. Lascelles, I did not mean
to draw any parallel between your person and talents and those of
this Mr,----, I forget his name, for truly I never saw him in my
life; but I dare swear no comparison can exist between you."
Lascelles took the surface of this speech, and bowed, whilst his
lordship, turning to Miss Beaufort, began to compliment himself on
possessing so fair an ally in defence of an absent person.
"I never have seen him," replied she; "and what is more, I never
heard of him, till on entering the room Mr. Lascelles arrested me for
my opinion about him. I only arrived from the country last night, and
can have no guess at the real grounds of this ill-judged bustle of
Miss Dundas's regarding a man she styles despicable. If he be so, why
retain him in her service? and, what is more absurd, why make a
person in that subordinate situation the subject of debate amongst
her friends?"
"You are right, Miss Beaufort, returned Lord Berrington; but the
eloquent Miss Dundas is so condescending to her friends, she lets no
opportunity slip of displaying her sceptre, both over the republic of
words and the empire of her mother's family."
"Are not you severe now, Lord Berrington? I thought you generous to
the poor tutor!"
"No; I hope I am just on both subjects. I know the lady, and it is
true that I have seen nothing of the tutor; but it is natural to
wield the sword in favor of the defenceless, and I always consider
the absent in that light."
Whilst these two conversed at one end of the room, the other group
were arraigning the presumption of the vulgar, and the folly of those
who gave it encouragement.
At a fresh burst of laughter from Miss Dundas, Miss Beaufort
mechanically turned her head; her eye was arrested by the appearance
of a gentleman in black, who was standing a few paces within the
door. He was regarding the party before him with that lofty
tranquillity which is inseparable from high rank, when accompanied by
a consciousness of as high inward qualities. His figure, his face,
and his air contained that pure simplicity of contour which portrays
all the graces of youth with the dignity of manhood.
Miss Beaufort in a moment perceived that he was unobserved; rising
from her seat, she said, "Miss Dundas, here is a gentleman." Miss
Dundas looked round carelessly.
"You may sit down, Mr. Constantine."
"Is it possible!" thought Miss Beaufort, as he approached, and the
ingenuous expression of his fine countenance was directed towards
her; "can this noble creature have been the subject of such
impertinence!"
"I commend little Phemy's taste!" whispered Lord Berrington, leaving
his seat. "Ha! Miss Beaufort, a young Apollo?"
"And not in disguise!" replied she in the same manner, just as
Thaddeus had bowed to her; and, with "veiled lids," was taking up a
book from the table: not to read, but literally to have an object to
look on which could not insult him.
"What did Miss Dundas say was his name?" whispered the viscount.
"Constantine, I think."
"Mr. Constantine," said the benevolent Berrington, "will you accept
this chair?"
Thaddeus declined it. But the viscount read in the "proud humility"
of his bow that he had not always waited, a dependent, on the nods of
insolent men and ladies of fashion; and, with a good-humored
compulsion, he added, "pray oblige me for by that means I shall have
an excuse to squeeze into the _Sultane_, which is so 'happy as
to bear the weight of Beaufort!'"
Though Miss Beaufort was almost a stranger to his lordship, having
seen him only once before, with her cousin in Leicestershire, she
smiled at this unexpected gallantry, and in consideration of the
motive, made room for him on the sofa.
Offence was not swifter than kindness in its passage to the heart of
Thaddeus, who, whilst he received the viscount's chair, raised his
face towards him with a look beaming such graciousness and
obligation, that Miss Beaufort turned with a renewed glance of
contempt on the party. The next instant they left the study.
The instant Miss Dundas closed the door after her, Lord Berrington
exclaimed, "Upon my honor, Mr. Constantine, I have a good mind to put
that terrible pupil of yours into my next comedy! Don't you think she
would beat Katharine and Petruchio all to nothing? I declare I will
have her."
"In _propria persona_, I hope?" asked Miss Beaufort, with a
playful smile. Lord Berrington answered with a gay sally from
Shakspeare.
The count remained silent during these remarks, though he fully
appreciated the first civil treatment which had greeted him since his
admission within the doors of Lady Dundas Miss Euphemia's attentions
owned any other source than benevolence.
Miss Beaufort wished to relieve his embarrassment by addressing him;
but the more she thought, the less she knew what to say; and she had
just abandoned it as a vain attempt, when Euphemia entered the room
alone. She curtseyed to Thaddeus and took her place at the table.
Lord Berrington rose.
"I must say good-by, Miss Euphemia; I will not disturb your studies.
Farewell, Miss Beaufort!" added he, addressing her, and bending his
lips to her hand. "Adieu! I shall look in upon you to-morrow. Good-
morning, Mr. Constantine!"
Thaddeus bowed to him, and the viscount disappeared.
"I am surprised. Miss Beaufort," observed Euphemia, pettishly (her
temper not having subsided since her sister's lecture), "how you can
endure that coxcomb!"
"Pardon me, Euphemia," replied she; "though I did not exactly expect
the ceremony his lordship adopts in taking leave, yet I think there
is a generosity in his sentiments which deserves a better title."
"I know nothing about his sentiments, for I always run away from his
conversation. A better title! I declare you make me laugh. Did you
ever see such fantastical dressing? I vow I never meet him without
thinking of Jemmy Jessamy, and the rest of the gossamer beaux who
squired our grandmothers!"
"My acquaintance with Lord Berrington is trifling," returned Miss
Beaufort, withdrawing her eyes from the pensive features of the
count, who was sorting the lessons; "yet I am so far prepossessed in
his favor, that I see little in his appearance to reprehend. However,
I will not contest that point, as perhaps the philanthropy I this
morning discovered in his heart, the honest warmth with which he
defended an absent character, after you left the room, might render
his person as charming in my eyes as I certainly found his mind."
Thaddeus had not for a long time heard such sentiments out of Lady
Tinemouth's circle; and he now looked up to take a distinct view of
the speaker.
In consequence of the established mode, that the presiding lady of
the house is to give the tone to her guests, many were the visitors
of Miss Dundas whose faces Thaddeus was as ignorant of when they went
out of the library as when they came in. They took little notice of
him; and he, regarding them much less, pursued his occupation without
evincing a greater consciousness of their presence than what mere
ceremony demanded.
Accordingly, when in compliance with Lord Berrington's politeness he
received his chair, and saw him remove to a sofa beside a very
beautiful woman, in the bloom of youth, Thaddeus supposed her manner
might resemble the rest of Miss Dundas's friends, and never directed
his glance a second time to her figure. But when he heard her (in a
voice that was melody itself) defend his lordship's character, on
principles which bore the most honorable testimony to her own, his
eyes were riveted on her face.
Though a large Turkish shawl involved her fine person, a modest grace
was observable in its every turn. Her exquisitely moulded arm, rather
veiled than concealed by the muslin sleeve that covered it, was
extended in the gentle energy of her vindication. Her lucid eyes
shone with a sincere benevolence, and her lips seemed to breathe balm
while she spoke. His soul startled within itself as if by some
strange recognition that agitated him, and drew him inexplicably
towards its object. It was not the beauty he beheld, nor the words
she uttered, but he did not withdraw his fixed gaze until it
encountered an accidental turn of her eyes, which instantly retreated
with a deep blush mantling her face and neck. She had never met such
a look before, except in an occasional penetrating glance from an
only cousin, who had long watched the movements of her heart with a
brother's care.
But little did Thaddeus think at that time who she was, and how
nearly connected with that friend whose neglect has been a venomed
shaft unto his soul!
Mary Beaufort was the orphan heiress of Admiral Beaufort, one of the
most distinguished officers in the British navy. He was the only
brother of the now lamented Lady Somerset, the beloved mother of
Pembroke Somerset, so often the eloquent subject of his discourse in
the sympathizing ear of Thaddeus Sobieski! The admiral and his wife,
a person also of high quality, died within a few months after the
birth of their only child, a daughter, having bequeathed her to the
care of her paternal aunt; and to the sole guardianship of that
exemplary lady's universally-honored husband, Sir Robert Somerset,
baronet, and M. P. for the county. When Lady Somerset's death spread
mourning throughout his, till then, happy home, (which unforeseen
event occurred hardly a week before her devoted son returned from the
shores of the Baltic,) a double portion of Sir Robert's tenderness
fell upon her cherished niece. In her society alone he found any
consolation for his loss. And soon after Pembroke's arrival, his
widowed father, relinquishing the splendid scenes of his former life
in London, retired into the country, sometimes residing at one family
seat, sometimes at another, hoping by change of place to obtain some
alleviating diversion from his ever sorrow-centred thoughts.
Sir Robert Somerset, from the time of his marriage with the
accomplished sister of Admiral Beaufort to the hour in which he
followed her to the grave, was regarded as the most admired man in
every circle, and yet more publicly respected as being the
magnificent host and most munificent patron of talent, particularly
of British growth, in the whole land. Besides, by his own genius as a
statesman, he often stood a tower of strength in the senate of his
country; and his general probity was of such a stamp, that his
private friends were all solicitous to acquire the protection of his
name over any important trusted interests for their families. For
instance, the excellent Lord Avon consigned his only child to his
guardianship, and his wealthy neighbor, Sir Hector Dundas, made him
sole trusted over the immense fortunes of his daughters.
This latter circumstance explains the intimacy between two families,
the female parts of which might otherwise have probably seldom met.
On Sir Robert Somerset's last transient visit to London, (which had
been only on a call of business, on account of his minor charge, Lord
Avon,) Lady Dundas became so urgent in requesting him to permit Miss
Beaufort to pass the ensuing season with her in town, that he could
not, without rudeness, refuse. In compliance with this arrangement,
the gentle Mary, accompanied by Miss Dorothy Somerset, a maiden
sister of the baronet's, quitted Deerhurst to settle themselves with
her importunate ladyship in Harley Street for the remainder of the
winter--at least the winter of fashion! which, by a strange effect of
her magic wand, in defiance of grassy meadows, leafy trees, and
sweetly-scented flowers, extends its nominal sceptre over the vernal
months of April, May, and even the rich treasures of "resplendent
June."
The summer part of this winter Miss Beaufort reluctantly consented
should be sacrificed to ceremony, in the dust and heat of a great
city; and if the melancholy which daily increased upon Sir Robert
since the death of his wife had not rendered her averse to oppose his
wishes, she certainly would have made objections to the visit.
During the journey, she could not refrain from drawing a comparison
to Miss Dorothy between the dissipated insipidity of Lady Dundas's
way of life and the rationality as well as splendor of her late
lamented aunt's.
Lady Somerset's monthly assemblies were not the most elegant and
brilliant parties in town, but her weekly _conversaziones_
surpassed everything of the kind in the kingdom. On these nights her
ladyship's rooms used to be filled with the most eminent characters
which England could produce. There the young Mary Beaufort listened
to pious divines of every Christian persuasion. There she gathered
wisdom from real philosophers; and in the society of our best living
poets, amongst whom were those leaders of our classic song, Rogers
and William Southey, and the amiable Jerningham, cherished an
enthusiasm for all that is great and good. On these evenings Sir
Robert Somerset's house reminded the visitor of what he had read or
imagined of the school of Athens. He beheld not only sages, soldiers,
statesmen, and poets, but intelligent and amiable women. And in this
rare assembly did the beautiful Mary imbibe that steady reverence for
virtue and talent which no intermixture with the ephemera of the clay
could ever after either displace or impair.
Notwithstanding this rare freedom from the chains with which her
merely fashionable friends would have shackled her mind, Miss
Beaufort possessed too much judgment and delicacy to flash her
liberty in their eyes. Enjoying her independence with meekness, she
held it more secure. Mary was no declaimer, not even in the cause of
oppressed goodness or injured genius. Aware that direct opposition
often incenses malice, she directed the shaft from its aim, if it
were in her power, and when the attempt failed, strove by respect or
sympathy to heal the wound she could not avert. Thus, whatever she
said or did bore the stamp of her soul, whose leading attribute was
modesty. By having learned much, and thought more, she proved in her
conduct that reflection is the alchemy which turns knowledge into
wisdom.
Never did she feel so much regret at the shrinking of her powers from
coming forth by some word or deed in aid of offended worth, as when
she beheld the foreign stranger, so noble in aspect, standing under
the overbearing insolence of Miss Dundas's parasites. But she
perceived that his dignified composure rebounded their darts upon his
insulters, and respect took the place of pity. The situation was new
to her; and when she dropped her confused eyes beneath his unexpected
gaze, she marvelled within herself at the ease with which she had
just taken up the cause of Lord Berrington, and the difficulty she
had found to summon one word as a repellant to the unmerited attack
on the man before her.
Euphemia cared nothing about Lord Berrington; to her his faults or
his virtues were alike indifferent; and forgetting that civility
demanded some reply to Miss Beaufort's last observation, or rather
taking advantage of the tolerated privilege usurped by many high-bred
people of being ill-bred, when and how they pleased, she returned to
Thaddeus, and said with a forced smile--
"Mr. Constantine, I don't like your opinion upon the ode I showed to
you; I think it a very absurd opinion; or perhaps you did not
understand me rightly?"
Miss Beaufort took up a book, that her unoccupied attention might not
disturb their studies.
Euphemia resumed, with a more natural dimple, and touching his glove
with the rosy points of her fingers, said,
"You are stupid at translation."
Thaddeus colored, and sat uneasily; he knew not how to evade this
direct though covert attack.
"I am a bad poet, madam. Indeed, it would be dangerous even for a
good one to attempt the same path with Sappho and Phillips."
Euphemia now blushed as deeply as the count, but from another motive.
Opening her grammar, she whispered, "You are either a very dull or a
very modest man!" and, sighing, began to repeat her lesson.
While he bent his head over the sheet he was correcting; she suddenly
exclaimed, "Bless me, Mr. Constantine, what have you been doing? I
hope you don't read in bed! The top of your hair is burnt to a
cinder! Why, you look much more like one who has been in a fire than
Miss Beaufort does."
Thaddeus put his hand to his head.
"I thought I had brushed away all marks of a fire, in which I really
was last night."
"A fire!" interrupted Miss Beaufort, closing her book; "was it near
Tottenham Court Road?"
"It was, madam," answered he, in a tone almost as surprised as her
own.
"Good gracious!" cried Euphemia, exerting her little voice, that she
might be heard before Miss Beaufort could have time to reply; "then I
vow you are the gentleman who Miss Beaufort said ran into the burning
house, and, covered with flames, saved two children from perishing!"
"And I am so happy as to meet one of the ladies," replied he, turning
with an animated air to Miss Beaufort, "in you, madam, who so
humanely assisted the poor sufferers, and received the child from my
arms?"
"It was indeed myself, Mr. Constantine," returned she, a tear
swimming over her eye, which in a moment gave the cue to the tender
Euphemia. She drew out her handkerchief; and whilst her pretty cheeks
overflowed, and her sweet voice was rendered sweeter by an emotion
raised by ten thousand delightful fancies, she took hold of Miss
Beaufort's hand.
"Oh! my lovely friend, wonder not that I esteem this brave
Constantine far beyond his present station!"
Thaddeus drew back. Miss Beaufort looked amazed; but Euphemia had
mounted her romantic Pegasus, and the scene was too sentimental to
close.
"Come here, Mr. Constantine," cried she, extending her other hand to
his. Wondering where this folly would terminate, he gave it to her,
when, instantly joining it with that of Miss Beaufort, she pressed
them together, and said, "Sweet Mary! heroic Constantine! I thus
elect you the two dearest friends of my heart. So charmingly
associated in the delightful task of compassion, you shall ever be
commingled in my faithful bosom."
Then putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walked out of the
room, leaving Miss Beaufort and the count, confused and confounded,
by the side of each other. Miss Beaufort, suspecting that some
extravagant fancy had taken possession of the susceptible Euphemia
towards her young tutor, declined speaking first. Thaddeus, fixing
his gaze on her downcast and revolving countenance, perceived nothing
like offended pride at his undesigned presumption. He saw that she
was only embarrassed, and after a minute's hesitation, broke the
silence.
"I hope that Miss Beaufort is sufficiently acquainted with the
romance of Miss Euphemia's character to pardon the action,
unintentional on my part, of having touched her hand? I declare I had
no expectation of Miss Euphemia's design."
"Do not make any apology to me, Mr. Constantine," returned she,
resuming her seat; "to be sure I was a little electrified by the
strange situation in which her vivid feelings have just made us
actors. But I shall not forego my claim on what she promised--your
acquaintance."
Thaddeus expressed his high sense of her condescension.
"I am not fond of fine terms," continued she, smiling; "but I know
that time and merit must purchase esteem. I can engage for the first,
as I am to remain in town at least three months; but for the last, I
fear I shall never have the opportunity of giving such an earnest of
my desert as you did last night of yours."
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Thaddeus took up his hat, and
bowing, replied to her compliment with such a modest yet noble grace,
that she gazed after him with wonder and concern. Before he closed
the door he again bowed. Pleased with the transient look of a soft
pleasure which beamed from his eyes, through whose ingenuous mirrors
every thought of his soul might be read, she smiled a second adieu,
and as he disappeared, left the room by another passage.
* * * * * * *