A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream
Of rank and youth, though purer than the rest.
BYRON.
Great things were now to be achieved at table.
* * *
But oh, the scenes mid which they met and parted--
The thoughts, the recollections, sweet and bitter--
Th’ Elysian dreams of lovers when they loved--
Who shall restore them?
* * *
In the mean time, Mr. Spencer, whose general _toadying_ turn was
regulated in its particular application by the accidental propinquity
of the moment, now drawled out, making as usual a prolonged note of
each vowel, or a sort of appogiatura between it and its succeeding
consonant,
“D--_o_--_o_ pray t--_o_rture him a l--_ee_tle. There’s nothing so
del--_i_ghtful as your persifl_a_--_a_--_ge_.”
“But I’m not so sanguinary an amazon as to declare unprovoked war,”
replied she, “still, ‘sotto voce,’ his silence leaves me no pretence:
he is determined to avail himself of the most literal application of
the Italian proverb,
‘In bocca chiusa non entran’ mosche.’”
But even whilst she was thus declining any wanton act of hostility,
a subject was fixed upon Lord Stayinmore, by one of his satellites,
which was almost the only one on which he could then have been
provoked so far to commit his opinion as to risk a contradiction.
The topic introduced was the conduct which ought to be pursued by
the government of that day, upon one of those “bit by bit” measures
of reform which then excited curiosity, and, if not interest in
itself, had, at least, divided opinion as to the effect the treatment
of it might have upon the constantly recurring cry for parliamentary
reform. Lord Stayinmore felt more deeply than he thought on this
subject, and always expressed himself strongly upon it.
“It is the bounden duty,” said he, “of every man who has been bred
up in due estimation of the unparalleled blessings of our invaluable
constitution, to make his immovable stand at once, arresting these
erratic changes on the very threshold of their progress, nipping in
the bud these flowery projects of alteration, choking and damming up,
as I may say, this mischievous current of public opinion, even at its
fountain head.”
Lady Gayland, for the sake of herself as well as her hearers, had
much rather have met her antagonist on some field where her wit
might have given her more vantage ground of position, than on the
wide and level plains of political discussion, and here she was,
therefore, determined not to be forced into a general action; but as
she retired, she could not avoid a skirmishing diversion; and taking
up his last words, “Stop, indeed, the current of public opinion
at its fountain head!” she continued. “That puts me in mind of an
incident I remember hearing last year amongst the _Yuoddling_ hills
of Switzerland. Shall I begin, ‘Once upon a time----’”
“Oh, pray do,” exclaimed simultaneously half the breakfast-table.
“You have, most of you, seen those German _Stu_--dents in the
_U_--_niversities_ who are sedentary in the winter, but peripatetic
all the summer, with waists like wasps, and faces like sheep, all
lank locks and learning. One of these was taken to see the source of
the Danube, when, whilst he pressed his palm against the bubbling
spring as it oozed through the cleft of the rock, he exclaimed, in a
fit of geographical grandiloquence, ‘I wonder what they’ll think of
that at Vienna?’ What do you think they did think of that at Vienna,
Lord Stayinmore?”
“Amusing! but how applicable?” condescendingly notified Lord
Stayinmore, avoiding the question himself by interposing another.
“Oh, my dear Lord,” replied Lady Gayland, “if it is mine to adorn the
tale, it is not mine to point the moral; but, however, if you will
make a Cassandra of me in spite of myself, and insist upon my ‘laying
bare my prophetic soul,’ I should say that, if whilst you think you
have the power, you attempt to impede the natural flow of popular
feeling with those political bungs, Singlecot and Bankcumwall, which
you now have at your fingers’ ends, they will only be the more
inevitably borne down with its headlong career; and that the majestic
stream of public opinion, swollen on all sides by tributary springs,
will flow resistlessly onward, bearing on its triumphant waves the
united wishes of a liberal government and a grateful people; and any
such opposition as you now threaten, will then no more be felt, than
was the impression of the pigmy fingers of the German student in the
diminished waters of the Danube at Vienna!”
Lady Gayland had warmed with her subject, and had rattled on more
than she had intended; but she had tact enough, in the midst of
her rhapsody, to perceive evident intimations on the part of
Lord Stayinmore, that the impression she was making was far from
agreeable. He made, first, a nondescript sort of a noise, between a
short cough and a long groan; his chin sunk within the loose folds
of his ample neckcloth, and his broad chest swelled against the
closely-buttoned breast of his well-padded coat. Suddenly checking
herself, she therefore added, in a more playful tone, “But, as
Beatrice says, _I pray your Grace, pardon me, I was born to speak all
mirth, and no matter_.”
“No matter, indeed, Ma’am,” said Lord Stayinmore, with a forced
effort to maintain his courtesy--“I can sincerely affirm that it is
no matter. Could any one oblige me with the evening paper?” he added,
anxious to escape.
“Here it is,” said she, handing it over to him with equal
_empressement_; then turning to Mr. Spencer, “‘A nemico che fugge fa
un ponte d’oro,’ as the prudent Italians say; and in default of gold,
I pay in paper currency.”
“How little they can have to fill the papers with,” said his
Lordship, “when they are reduced to such extracts from the country
journals as this. ‘Lord Castleton has been some time expected at his
seat, Somersby Park, in this neighbourhood, but has not yet arrived.
Report says, that being in a delicate state of health, he still
lingers amongst the sea-breezes at Brighton, but none of the late
notices from that fashionable watering-place mention his Lordship as
amongst its distinguished visitants.’ Who cares?”
“Indeed, I never knew any body care at all about Lord Castleton’s
movements; he is one of those persons in whose case universal
popularity is synonymous with general indifference,” drawled out Mrs.
MacAngle, who had, in former days, made as much of an effort as was
consistent with her listless nature to detach him from his allegiance
to Lady Madelina Manfred.
“Castleton will never make any figure in public life. He cannot keep
his object in view with the proper uniformity of purpose,” ejaculated
Lord Stayinmore. “He has no steady political consistency, still
harping on the threatened dangers of Bankcumwall, Singlecot, and
Summertemple.”
“For my part, I reckon him an intolerable _bore_,” said Mr. Spencer,
to whom he never addressed half-a-dozen words in his life; “and
it’s quite a mistake to _ca-al_ him ha-andsome: a fair man a-always
wants expression,” added he, casting, as he rose from the table, an
approving glance at his own enormous black head, which, being stuck
upon the shortest of persons’ was only just seen trunkless in the
mirror above the sideboard.
“You have, some of you,” said Lady Gayland, “hit upon the greatest
of all possible faults under which he at present labours, if not in
all your eyes, on all your tongues; he is the absent one. How lucky
it is that all the sins which absence from such a society as this
comprehends, all its atrocities, imperfections, ridicules, (that is
not in this case so much an anti-climax as you think,) can never be
perpetuated on one devoted head; that we are all in turn subject
to its influence, and that, if _la moitié du monde prend plaisir à
médire, et l’autre moitié à croire les médisances_, in our turn _we_
must all be comprised in one or other of these two divisions.”
“Dear Lady Gayland, what a tirade!” said Mrs. MacAngle; “I was
not aware, when I ventured to assert that nobody cared about Lord
Castleton, that you were prepared to give me so immediate and
convincing a contradiction of my assertion.”
How many distant and scattered images will the reference but of a
moment collect, when the heart points the index of the memory. Even
whilst Mrs. MacAngle was drawling forth her half-hinted insinuation,
there passed over in the mirror of Lady Gayland’s mind the reflection
of many a brilliant fête, and many a meeting in sculptured hall, and
the softer shade of many a social promenade, beneath the soothing
influence of an Italian summer. But whatever she felt, she hesitated
not to reply, “You are now quite mistaken!” blushing slightly,
perhaps, at her generous warmth being so misinterpreted, and
speaking, consequently, in a more hurried manner. “You are now quite
mistaken! my observations were merely general. It is true, I did know
Lord Castleton well in Italy; but our exotic acquaintance, which the
warm south had ripened into intimacy, has not borne transplanting
into this northern clime, and I have seen but little of him since
my return. Certainly, I will acknowledge that my recollection of
him does not confirm the opinions of this meeting, that he is all
these,--ill-looking--dull--weak, and uninteresting, but _n’importe_.
Do I think the worse of him for all this? or, in point of fact, do
any of you? And which of you would not say as much of his present
neighbour, if afflicted with that first of faults, absence? The
only cure would be, if B. instead of C. could some day hear what A.
meant C. should hear of B. how much less agreeable a companion that
first of wits A. would be thought by his butt B. I have often longed
that there could be cross-hearings as well as cross-readings; but
the misfortune is, that though libellous letters might be mis-sent,
mis-directed, a social sarcasm never miscarries, but goes straight to
its mark.”
“But really, for you of all people,” said Mrs. Mac Angle, “to
complain of one’s occasionally saying a severe thing!”
“I am as aware as any one can be, how much too freely I often speak
my mind to those that are present, for which, of those _here_ whom
I have thus offended, I humbly sue for pardon,” clasping her hands
together, and looking at Lord Stayinmore with an expression of
contrition, which, though slightly burlesqued, it was impossible
to resent, and difficult to resist. “But, _en revanche_, I never do
speak ill of the absent; perhaps, for no better reason than that my
soul pants for nobler game. Had my friend Peter the Great there,”
pointing to Mr. Spencer, who was seen equipped for sport starting
from the front-door; “had he, like his northern namesake, ever known
other fields than those of stubble, and popped at what could pop at
him again, he would not be so keen after the partridges.”
Above a quarter of an hour had elapsed after this conversation, and
the last lingering sipper of tea and crumbler of roll had brought
to conclusion his most carefully elongated meal, when at length Sir
North made his appearance, and, with a jerking bow, to be divided
amongst all present, began, in that sort of disjointed colloquy and
string of clipped sentences for which, it was before mentioned, he
was famous:--“I beg a thousand pardons--quite shocked; but the fact
is--a most unpleasant occurrence that--Lady Gayland, I need not ask
how your Ladyship has rested--evident--Aurora--rather Hebe;--but as
breakfast’s over--somewhat late for that simile--Jupiter’s jug, and
all that--I am never late, only the fact is, this morning--a most
unpleasant occurrence that--Lord Stayinmore, it has prevented my
reading the papers,--only looked at the Gazette--Delighted to see the
judicious use your Lordship has made of the vacancy caused by the
death of our late excellent friend. You could not have chosen better;
no steadier voter than Montague Mumchance;--won’t speak often,--so
much the better. Talk of rising young men, indeed; we don’t care for
their rising, so long as they are good sitters. Apropos to rising,
though you will not think that that is my forte--but the fact is, a
most unpleasant occurrence, involving a little legal business--only
just come down, not got into Burn yet--as fresh at it as my friend
Peter Spencer. By the bye, where is he?--just the game for him to
smell out--like a young pointer--break him in--”
“But Peter Spencer is just now smelling out game by the means of his
proxy pointer,” said his friend Mr. Middleman, “and he’s applying his
own nose to the stock of his gun in a turnip field.”
“Peter the Great,” added Lady Gayland, “is probably, like his
imperial namesake, by this time, if not _overthrown_, fairly _beat_
by the _Swedes_. But, my dear Sir North, now you have sufficiently
informed us both that the fact is an unpleasant occurrence, and
that the unpleasant occurrence is a fact, do let us judge of their
reciprocal qualities ourselves, and tell us what has happened?”
Sir North then informed his hearers, as clearly as the confused and
contradictory notions he had as yet imbibed on the subject enabled
him, of some of the occurrences of the preceding night; how a daring
gang of smugglers had been captured by a revenue cutter, after
having landed and concealed somewhere a valuable cargo, and how it
was found on this occasion a barbarous murder had been added to
their former misdeeds. All the information they had as yet collected
was vague, and amounted merely to inference. It was principally
derived from the captain of the revenue cutter, whom even Sir North
had had penetration enough to discover to be a shrewd and sensible
man; though this opinion, which he had correctly formed, he did
not himself confirm to his present hearers in its full extent, by
the more confused and interpolated version which he gave of the
information he had thus obtained.
No one of the smugglers had as yet seemed the least inclined to turn
King’s evidence; no corpse had been found on board the vessel; but
the open boat or coble belonging to the lugger had several stains of
blood at the bottom, and on its gunnel the stamp of a bloody hand was
distinctly traced, the ends of the finger marks being inside, and as
if they had been strongly pressed against the inward ledge, seeming
to indicate that a person mortally hurt had been thrown overboard,
and had struggled for life to the last by clinging to the side of the
boat.
The part which was quite unintelligible to them to whom Sir North
endeavoured to explain it, and which had rather puzzled the captain
of the cutter himself, was how to connect these appearances with the
exclamations, when first found, of the girl, who had been discovered
on the beach; and who appeared to have some connection with, or
at least, previous knowledge of the transactions of the gang, as
involved in the last night’s adventure. Her first wild inquiry had
been, “Where is the body?” which would lead one to conclude, that the
act of violence had been committed ashore, and under her observation;
and yet the appearances in the boat would seem to indicate that the
mortal struggle had been after they had put out to sea.
“As it is,” said Sir North, “it is impossible, at present, to extract
any coherent account from her; she is either decidedly _non compos_,
or, though far be it from me to suspect any thing harsh of one so
young, who ought not yet to be hardened, and who, I am bound to
add, is of rather an interesting appearance; yet I fear all this
unwillingness to give any account arises from wilful stubbornness.”
“Poor wretch! stubbornness!” exclaimed Lady Gayland,
compassionately; “is there no more charitable way to account for such
unwillingness? She would not, probably, young as you describe her,
have been even casually involved in such a transaction, unless under
circumstances which would lead one to believe her at this moment
labouring under the overwhelming affliction of either the untimely
loss, or impending shame, of some one she loves. Where is she?”
“Why, I saw I could make nothing of her at present,” answered Sir
North, “so I turned her over to Jones, telling her to keep her apart
from her companions, and lock her up a bit by herself, in a darkish,
lonely room, where, I’ll warrant, reflection will bring her about,
and she will understand her duty, and learn how to make her peace
with the offended majesty of injured justice.”
Sir North attempted to look grand, under the consciousness that he
was himself to personify his own peroration. Lady Gayland made no
reply, but shortly after left the room.
Sir North, with all his vanity, did not feel himself quite up to
understanding, much less expounding and administering, the most
complicated section of the most intricate portion of our penal code,
which comprises the revenue laws; with which, in this instance, there
was but too much reason to fear an accusation of murder would be
involved. He therefore postponed the examination till late in the
day, when he hoped for the arrival of an able solicitor from Mayton;
one whose well-tried merits had prevented our poor friend Pounce, in
his probationary lifetime, from dividing any business with him: and
this Mr. Asklaw, Sir North meant on this occasion should act as his
clerk: his butler, who usually doubled that part, being, in point of
fact, not up to much more besides executing warrants himself to take
up the oldest offenders from the cellar, and making out “permits” to
transfer poachers to the House of Correction.
By thus postponing the examination, Sir North calculated that, even
should Mr. Asklaw not come upon his summons, Peter Spencer would then
be returned with his bagfull, not of briefs, but of birds, and ready
to act as his assessor.