While the brilliant success of Tittlebat Titmouse was exciting so great
a sensation among the inmates of Satin Lodge and Alibi House, there were
also certain quarters in the upper regions of society, in which it
produced a considerable commotion, and where it was contemplated with
feelings of intense interest; nor without reason. For indeed to you,
reflecting reader, much pondering men and manners, and observing the
influence of great wealth, especially when suddenly and unexpectedly
acquired, upon all classes of mankind--it would appear passing strange
that so prodigious an event as that of an accession to a fortune of ten
thousand a-year, and a large accumulation of money besides, could be
looked on with indifference in those regions where MONEY
"Is like the air they breathe--if they have it not they die;"
in whose absence, all their "honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,"
disappear like snow under sunshine; the edifice of pomp, luxury, and
magnificence that "rose like an exhalation," so disappears--
"And, like an insubstantial pageant faded,
Leaves not a rack behind."
_Take away money_, and that which raised its delicate and pampered
possessors above the common condition of mankind--that of privation and
incessant labor and anxiety--into one entirely artificial, engendering
totally new wants and desires, is gone, all gone; and its occupants
suddenly fall, as it were, through a highly rarefied atmosphere,
breathless and dismayed, into contact with the chilling exigencies of
life, of which till then they had only heard and read, sometimes with a
kind of morbid sympathy; as we hear and read of a foreign country, not
stirring the while from our snug homes, by whose comfortable and
luxurious firesides we read of the frightful palsying cold of the polar
regions, and for a moment sigh over and shudder at the condition of
their miserable inhabitants, as vividly pictured to us by adventurous
travellers.
If the reader had reverently cast his eye over the pages of that
glittering centre of aristocratic literature, and inexhaustible solace
against the _ennui_ of a wet day--I mean _Debrett's Peerage_, his
attention could not have failed to be riveted, among a galaxy of
brilliant but minor stars, by the radiance of one transcendent
constellation.
Behold; hush; tremble!
"AUGUSTUS MORTIMER PLANTAGENET FITZ-URSE, EARL OF DREDDLINGTON,
VISCOUNT FITZ-URSE, AND BARON DRELINCOURT; KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN
FLEECE; G. C. B., D. C. L., F. C. S., F. P. S., &c., &c., &c.;
Lieutenant-General in the army, Colonel of the 37th regiment of
light dragoons; Lord Lieutenant of ----shire; elder brother of the
Trinity House; formerly Lord Steward of the Household; born the
31st of March, 17--; succeeded his father, PERCY CONSTANTINE
FITZ-URSE, as fifth Earl, and twentieth in the Barony, January
10th, 17--; married, April 1, 17--, the Right Hon. Lady Philippa
Emmeline Blanche Macspleuchan, daughter of Archibald, ninth Duke of
Tantallan, K. T., and has issue an only child,
"CECILIA PHILIPPA LEOPOLDINA PLANTAGENET, born June 10, 17--.
"Town residence, Grosvenor Square.
"Seats, Gruneaghoolaghan Castle, Galway; Tre-ardevoraeor Manor,
Cornwall; Llmryllwcrwpllglly Abbey, N. Wales; Tully-clachanach
Palace, N. Britain; Poppleton Hall, Hertfordshire.
"Earldom, by patent, 1667; ---- Barony, by writ of summons,
12th Hen. II."
Now, as to the above tremendous list of seats and residences, be it
observed that the existence of two of them, viz. Grosvenor Square and
Poppleton Hall, was tolerably well ascertained by the residence of the
august proprietor of them, and the expenditure therein of his princely
revenue of £5,000 a-year. The existence of the remaining ones, however,
the names of which the diligent chronicler has preserved with such
scrupulous accuracy, had become somewhat problematical since the era of
the civil wars, and the physical derangement of the surface of the earth
in those parts, which one may conceive to have taken place[11]
consequent upon those events; those imposing feudal residences having
been originally erected in positions so carefully selected with a view
to their security against aggression, as to have become totally
inaccessible--and indeed unknown, to the present inglorious and
degenerate race, no longer animated by the spirit of chivalry and
adventure.
[I have now recovered my breath, after my bold flight into the
resplendent regions of aristocracy; but my eyes are still dazzled.]
The reader may by this time have got an intimation that Tittlebat
Titmouse, in a madder freak of Fortune than any which her
incomprehensible Ladyship hath hitherto exhibited in the pages of this
history, is far on his way towards a dizzy pitch of elevation,--viz.
that he has now, owing to the verdict of the Yorkshire jury, taken the
place of Mr. Aubrey, and become heir-expectant to the oldest barony in
the kingdom--between it and him only one old peer, and his sole child,
an unmarried daughter, intervening. Behold the thing demonstrated to
your very eye, in the Pedigree on the next page, which is only our
former one[12] a little extended.
Geoffrey de Drelincourt
Summoned as Baron, _by writ_, 12 Hen. II.
.
From him . descend
.
Henry Dreddlington, sixteenth Baron by writ,
created Earl of Dreddlington, 1667.
|
_______________________________|
| |
| |
Charles Percy Dreddlington,
(17th Baron _of Yatton_,
and 2d Earl) (younger brother of Charles)
| |
| ____________|____________
Geoffrey | |
(18th Baron | |
and 3d Earl) Harry Charles
| Dreddlington Dreddlington
| |
Percy |
(19th Baron ___________|______________
and 4th Earl) | |
| | |
| Stephen Geoffrey
AUGUSTUS Dreddlington Dreddlington
(20th Baron and (eldest brother)== (2d brother)
5th Earl) | |
| | |
| _Gabriel Tittlebat Titmouse_==d^r _Aubrey_==d^r
|____ and sole heiress and sole heiress
| | |
| | |
LADY CECILIA Gabriel T. Titmouse Charles Aubrey
(only child) | |
| |
TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE CHARLES AUBREY
(only child) (eldest son and
heir-at-law)
From this I think it will appear, that on the death of Augustus, fifth
earl and twentieth baron, with no other issue than Lady Cecilia, the
earldom being then extinct, the barony would descend upon the Lady
Cecilia; and that, in the event of her dying without issue in the
lifetime of her father, Tittlebat Titmouse would, on the earl's death
without other lawful issue, become LORD DRELINCOURT, twenty-_first_ in
the barony! and in the event of her dying without issue, after her
father's death, TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE would become the twenty-_second_ LORD
DRELINCOURT; one or other of which two splendid positions, but for the
enterprising agency of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, would have been
occupied by CHARLES AUBREY, ESQ.;--on considering all which, one cannot
but remember a saying of an ancient poet, who seems to have kept as keen
an eye upon the unaccountable frolics of the goddess Fortune, as this
history shows that I have. 'Tis a passage which any little schoolboy
will translate to his mother or his sisters--
----"Hinc apicem rapax
Fortuna cum stridore acuto
Sustulit, hic posuisse gaudet."[13]
At the time of which I am writing, the Earl of Dreddlington was about
sixty-seven years old; and he would have realized the idea of an
incarnation of the sublimest PRIDE. He was of rather a slight make, and,
though of a tolerably advanced age, stood as straight as an arrow. His
hair was glossy, and white as snow: his features were of an aristocratic
cast; their expression was severe and haughty; and I am compelled to say
that there was scarce a trace of intellect perceptible in them. His
manner and demeanor were cold, imperturbable, inaccessible; wherever he
went--so to speak--he radiated cold. Comparative poverty had embittered
his spirit, as his lofty birth and ancient descent had generated the
pride I have spoken of. With what calm and supreme self-satisfaction did
he look down upon all lower in the peerage than himself! And as for a
newly-created peer, he looked at such a being with ineffable disdain.
Among his few equals he was affable enough; and among his inferiors he
exhibited an insupportable appearance of condescension--one which
excited a wise man's smile of pity and contempt, and a fool's
anger--both, however, equally nought to the Earl of Dreddlington!--If
any one could have ventured upon a _post mortem_ examination of so
august a structure as the earl's carcass, his heart would probably have
been found to be of the size of a pea, and his brain very soft and
flabby; both, however, equal to the small occasions which, from time to
time, called for the exercise of their functions. The former was
occupied almost exclusively by two feelings--love of himself and of his
daughter, (because upon her would descend his barony;) the latter
exhibited its powers (supposing the brain to be the seat of the mind) in
mastering the military details requisite for nominal soldiership; the
game of whist; the routine of petty business in the House of Lords; and
the etiquette of the court. One branch of useful knowledge by the way he
had, however, completely mastered--that which is so ably condensed in
_Debrett_; and he became a sort of oracle in such matters. As for his
politics, he professed Whig principles--and was, indeed, a bitter though
quiet partisan. In attendance to his senatorial duties, he practised an
exemplary punctuality; was always to be found in the House at its
sitting and rising; and never once, on any occasion, great or small,
voted against his party. He had never been heard to speak in a full
House; first, because he never could summon nerve enough for the
purpose; secondly, because he never had anything to say; and lastly,
lest he should compromise his dignity, and destroy the _prestige_ of
his position, by not speaking better than any one present. His services
were not, however, entirely overlooked; for, on his party coming into
office for a few weeks, (they knew it could be for no longer a time,)
they made him Lord Steward of the Household; which was thenceforward an
epoch to which he referred every event of his life, great and small. The
great object of his ambition, ever since he had been of an age to form
large and comprehensive views of action and conduct, to conceive
superior designs, and to achieve distinction among mankind--was, to
obtain a step in the peerage; for considering the antiquity of his
family, and his ample, nay, _superfluous_ pecuniary means--so much more
than adequate to support his present double dignity of earl and
baron--he thought it but a reasonable return for his eminent political
services, to confer upon him the honor which he coveted. But his anxiety
on this point had been recently increased a thousand-fold by one
circumstance. A gentleman who held an honorable and lucrative official
situation in the House of Lords, and who never had treated the Earl of
Dreddlington with that profound obsequiousness which the earl conceived
to be his due--but, on the contrary, had presumed to consider himself a
man, and an Englishman, equally with the earl--had, a short time before,
succeeded in establishing his title to an earldom which had long been
dormant, and was, alas, of creation earlier than that of Dreddlington.
The Earl of Dreddlington took this untoward circumstance so much to
heart, that for some months afterwards he appeared to be in a decline;
always experiencing a dreadful inward spasm whenever the Earl of
Fitzwalter made his appearance in the House. For this sad state of
things there was plainly but one remedy--a MARQUISATE--at which the earl
gazed with the wistful eye of an old and feeble ape at a cocoa-nut, just
above his reach, and which he beholds at length grasped and carried off
by some nimbler and younger rival.
Among all the weighty cares and anxieties of this life, however, I must
do the earl the justice to say, that he did not neglect the concerns of
hereafter--the solemn realities of that Future revealed to us in the
Scriptures. To his enlightened and comprehensive view of the state of
things around him, it was evident that the Author of the world had
decreed the existence of regular gradations of society. The following
lines, quoted one night in the House by the leader of his party, had
infinitely delighted the earl--
"Oh, where DEGREE is shaken,
Which is the ladder to all high designs,
The enterprise is sick!
Take but DEGREE away--untune that string,
And, hark! what discord follows! each thing meets,
In mere oppugnancy!"[14]
When the earl discovered that this was the production of Shakespeare he
conceived a great respect for that writer, and purchased a copy of his
works, and had them splendidly bound. They were fated never to be
opened, however, except at that one place where the famous passage in
question was to be found. How great was the honor thus conferred upon
the plebeian poet, to stand amid a collection of royal and noble
authors, to whose productions, and those in elucidation and praise of
them, the earl's splendid-looking library had till then been
confined!--Since, thought the earl, such is clearly the order of
Providence in this world, why should it not be so in the next? He felt
certain that then there would be found corresponding differences and
degrees, in analogy to the differences and degrees existing upon earth;
and with this view had read and endeavored to comprehend the first page
or two of a very dry but learned book--Butler's _Analogy_--lent him by a
deceased kinsman--a bishop. This consolatory conclusion of the earl's
was greatly strengthened by a passage of Scripture, from which he had
once heard the aforesaid bishop preach--"_In my Father's house are_ MANY
MANSIONS; _if it had not been so, I would have told you_." On grounds
such as these, after much conversation with several old brother peers of
his own rank, he and they--those wise and good men--came to the
conclusion that there was no real ground for apprehending so grievous a
misfortune as the huddling together hereafter of the great and small
into one miscellaneous and ill-assorted assemblage; but that the rules
of precedence, in all their strictness, as being founded in the nature
of things, would meet with an exact observance, so that every one should
be ultimately and eternally happy--in the company of his equals. The
Earl of Dreddlington would have, in fact, as soon supposed, with the
deluded Indian, that in his voyage to the next world--
"His faithful dog should bear him company;"
as that his Lordship should be doomed to participate the same regions of
heaven with any of his domestics; unless, indeed, by some, in his view,
not improbable dispensation, it should form an ingredient in their cup
of happiness in the next world, there to perform those offices--or
analogous ones--for their old masters, which they had performed upon
earth. As the earl grew older, these just, and rational, and Scriptural
views, became clearer, and his faith firmer. Indeed, it might be said
that he was in a manner ripening for immortality--for which his noble
and lofty nature, he secretly felt, was fitter, and more likely to be in
its element, than it could possibly be in this dull, degraded, and
confused world. He knew that there his sufferings in this inferior
stage of existence would be richly recompensed,--for sufferings indeed
he had, though secret, arising from the scanty means which had been
allotted to him for the purpose of maintaining the exalted rank to which
it had pleased God to call him. The long series of exquisite
mortifications and pinching privations arising from this inadequacy of
means, had, however, the earl doubted not, been designed by Providence
as a trial of his constancy, and from which he would, in due time, issue
like thrice-refined gold. Then also would doubtless be remembered in his
favor the innumerable instances of his condescension in mingling, in the
most open and courteous manner, with those who were unquestionably his
inferiors, sacrificing his own feelings of lofty and fastidious
exclusiveness, and endeavoring to advance the interests, and as far as
influence and example went, polish and refine the manners of the lower
orders of society. Such is an outline--alas, how faint and
imperfect!--of the character of this great and good man, the Earl of
Dreddlington. As for his domestic and family circumstances, he had been
a widower for some fifteen years, his countess having brought him but
one child, Lady Cecilia Philippa Leopoldina Plantagenet, who was, in
almost all respects, the counterpart of her illustrious father. She
resembled him not a little in feature, only that she partook of the
plainness of her mother. Her complexion was delicately fair; but her
features had no other expression than that of a languid hauteur. Her
upper eyelids drooped as if she could hardly keep them open; the upper
jaw projected considerably over the under one; and her front teeth were
prominent and exposed. Frigid and inanimate, she seemed to take but
little interest in anything on earth. In person, she was of average
height, of slender and well-proportioned figure, and an erect and
graceful carriage, only that she had a habit of throwing her head a
little backward, which gave her a singularly disdainful appearance. She
had reached her twenty-seventh year without having had an eligible offer
of marriage, though she would be the possessor of a barony in her own
right, and £5,000 a-year; a circumstance which, it may be believed, not
a little embittered her. She inherited her father's pride in all its
plenitude. You should have seen the haughty couple sitting silently side
by side in the old-fashioned yellow family chariot, as they drove round
the crowded park, returning the salutations of those they met in the
slightest manner possible! A glimpse of them at such a moment would have
given you a far more just and lively notion of their real character,
than the most anxious and labored description of mine.
Ever since the first Earl of Dreddlington had, through a bitter pique
conceived against his eldest son, the second earl, diverted the
principal family revenues to the younger branch, leaving the title to be
supported by only £5,000 a-year, there had been a complete estrangement
between the elder and the younger--the titled and the moneyed--branches
of the family. On Mr. Aubrey's attaining his majority, however, the
present earl sanctioned overtures being made towards a reconciliation,
being of opinion that Mr. Aubrey and Lady Cecilia might, by
intermarriage, effect a happy reunion of family interests; an object,
this, which had long lain nearer his heart than any other upon earth,
till, in fact, it became a kind of passion. Actuated by such
considerations, he had done more to conciliate Mr. Aubrey than he had
ever done towards any one on earth. It was, however, in vain. Mr.
Aubrey's first delinquency was an unqualified adoption of Tory
principles. Now all the Dreddlingtons, from time whereof the memory of
man runneth not to the contrary, had been firm unflinching Tories, till
the distinguished father of the present earl quietly walked over, one
day, to the other side of the House of Lords, completely fascinated by
a bit of ribbon which the minister held up before him; and ere he had
sat in that wonder-working region, the ministerial side of the House,
twenty-four hours, he discovered that the true signification of Tory,
was _bigot_--and of Whig, _patriot_; and he stuck to that version till
it transformed him into a GOLD STICK, in which capacity he died; having
repeatedly and solemnly impressed upon his son, the necessity and
advantage of taking the same view of public affairs, that so he might
arrive at similar results. And in the _way_ in which he had been
_trained up_, most religiously had gone the earl; and see the result:
he, also, had attained to eminent and responsible office--to wit, that
of Lord Steward of the Household. Now, things standing thus--how could
the earl so compromise his principles, and indirectly injure his party,
as by suffering his daughter to marry a Tory? Great grief and vexation
of spirit did _this_ matter, therefore, occasion to that excellent
nobleman. But, secondly, Aubrey not only declined to marry his cousin,
but clinched his refusal, and sealed his final exclusion from the
dawning good opinion and affections of the earl, by marrying, as hath
been seen, some one else--Miss St. Clair. Thenceforth there was a great
gulf between the Earl of Dreddlington and the Aubreys. Whenever they
happened to meet, the earl greeted him with an elaborate bow, and a
petrifying smile; but for the last seven years not one syllable had
passed between them. As for Mr. Aubrey, he had never been otherwise than
amused at the eccentric airs of his magnificent kinsman.--Now, was it
not a hard thing for the earl to bear--namely, the prospect there was
that his barony and estates might devolve upon this same Aubrey, or his
issue? for Lady Cecilia, alas! enjoyed but precarious health, and her
chances of marrying seemed daily diminishing. This was a thorn in the
poor earl's flesh; a source of constant _worry_ to him, sleeping and
waking; and proud as he was, and with such good reason, he would have
gone down on his knees and prayed to Heaven to avert so direful a
calamity--to see his daughter married--and with a prospect of
perpetuating upon the earth the sublime race of the Dreddlingtons.
Such being the relative position of Mr. Aubrey, and the Earl of
Dreddlington, at the time when this history opens, it is easy for the
reader to imagine the lively interest with which the earl first heard of
the tidings that a stranger had set up a title to the whole of the
Yatton estates; and the silent but profound anxiety with which he
continued to regard the progress of the affair. He obtained, from time
to time, by means of confidential inquiries instituted by his solicitor,
a general notion of the nature of the new claimant's pretensions; but
with a due degree of delicacy towards his unfortunate kinsman, his
Lordship studiously concealed the interest he felt in so important a
family question as the succession to the Yatton property. The earl and
his daughter were exceedingly anxious to _see_ the claimant; and when he
heard that that claimant was a gentleman of "decided Whig
principles"--the earl was very near setting it down as a sort of special
interference of Providence in his favor; and one that, in the natural
order of things, would lead to the accomplishment of his other wishes.
Who could say that, before a twelvemonth had passed over, the two
branches of the family might not be in a fair way of being reunited? And
that thus, among other incidents, the earl would be invested with the
virtual patronage of the borough of Yatton, and, in the event of their
return to power, his claim upon his party for his long-coveted
marquisate rendered irresistible? He had gone to the Continent shortly
before the trial of the ejectment at York; and did not return till a day
or two after the Court of King's Bench had solemnly declared the
validity of the plaintiff's title to the Yatton property, and
consequently established his contingent right of succession to the
barony of Drelincourt. Of this event a lengthened account was given in
one of the Yorkshire papers which fell under the earl's eye the day
after his arrival from abroad; and to the report of the decision of the
question of law, was appended the following paragraph:--
"In consequence of the above decision, Mr. Aubrey, we are able to
state on the best authority, has given formal notice of his
intention to surrender the entire of the Yatton property without
further litigation; thus making the promptest amends in his power
to those whom he has--we cannot doubt unwittingly--injured. He has
also accepted the Chiltern Hundreds, and has consequently retired
from Parliament; so that the borough of Yatton is now vacant. We
sincerely hope that the new proprietor of Yatton will either
himself sit for the borough, and announce immediately his intention
of doing so, or give his prompt and decisive support to some
gentleman of decided Whig principles. We say _prompt_--for the
enemy is vigilant and crafty. Men of Yatton! To the rescue!!!--Mr.
Titmouse is now, we believe, in London. This fortunate gentleman is
not only at this moment in possession of the fine property at
Yatton, with an unencumbered rent-roll of from twelve to fifteen
thousand a-year, and a vast accumulation of rents to be handed over
by the late possessor, but is now next but one in succession to the
earldom of Dreddlington and barony of Drelincourt, with the large
family estates annexed thereto. We believe this is the oldest
barony in the kingdom. It must be a source of great gratification
to the present earl, to know that his probable successor professes
the same liberal and enlightened political opinions, of which his
Lordship has, during his long and distinguished public life, been
so able, consistent, and uncompromising a supporter."
The Earl of Dreddlington was not a little flustered on seeing the above
paragraph; which he read over half a dozen times with increasing
excitement. The time had at length arrived for him to take decisive
steps; nay, duty to his newly-discovered kinsman required it.
Messrs. Titmouse and Gammon were walking arm-in-arm down Oxford Street,
on their return from some livery-stables, where they had been looking at
a horse which Titmouse was thinking of purchasing, when an incident
occurred which ruffled him not a little. He had been recognized and
publicly accosted by a vulgar fellow, with a yard-measure in his hand,
and a large parcel of drapery under his arm--in fact, by our old friend
Mr. Huckaback. In vain did Mr. Titmouse affect, for some time, not to
see his old acquaintance, and to be earnestly engaged in conversation
with Mr. Gammon.
"Ah, Titty!--Titmouse! Well, then--_Mister_ Titmouse--how are
you?--Devilish long time since we met!" Titmouse directed a look at him
which he wished could have blighted him, and quickened his pace without
taking any further notice of the presumptuous intruder. Huckaback's
blood was up, however--roused by this ungrateful and insolent treatment
from one who had been under such great obligations to him; and
quickening _his_ pace also, he kept alongside with Titmouse.
"Ah," continued Huckaback, "why do you cut me in this way, Titty? You
_aren't_ ashamed of me surely? Many's the time you've tramped up and
down Oxford Street with your bundle and yard-measure"----
"Fellow!" at length exclaimed Titmouse, indignantly, "'pon my life I'll
give you in charge if you go on so! Be off, you low fellow!--Dem vulgar
brute!" he subjoined in a lower tone, bursting into perspiration, for he
had not forgotten the insolent pertinacity of Huckaback's disposition.
"My eyes! Give me in charge? Come, I like that, rather--you vagabond!
Pay me what you owe me! You're a swindler! You owe me fifty pounds, you
do! You sent a man to rob me!"
"Will any one get a constable!" inquired Titmouse, who had grown as
white as death. The little crowd that was collecting round them began to
suspect, from Titmouse's agitated appearance, that there must be some
foundation for the charges made against him.
"Oh, go, get a constable! Nothing I should like better! Ah, my fine
gentleman--what's the time of day when chaps like you are wound up so
high?"
Gammon's interference was in vain. Huckaback got more abusive and noisy;
no constable was at hand; so, to escape the intolerable interruption and
nuisance, he beckoned a coach off the stand, which was close by; and,
Titmouse and he stepping into it, they were soon out of sight and
hearing of Mr. Huckaback. Having taken a shilling drive, they alighted,
and walked towards Covent Garden. As they approached the hotel, they
observed a yellow chariot, at once elegant and somewhat old-fashioned,
rolling away from the door.
"I wonder who that is," said Gammon; "it's an earl's coronet on the
panel; and a white-haired old gentleman was sitting low down in the
corner"----
"Ah--it's no doubt a fine thing to be a lord, and all that--but I'll
answer for it, some of 'em's as poor as a church mouse," replied
Titmouse as they entered the hotel. At that moment the waiter, with a
most profound bow, presented him with a letter and a card, which had
only the moment before been left for him. The card was thus:
+-------------------------------+
| |
| THE EARL OF DREDDLINGTON. |
| |
| |
| GROSVENOR SQUARE. |
| |
+-------------------------------+
and there was written on it, in pencil, in rather a feeble and hurried
character--"For Mr. Titmouse."
"My stars, Mr. Gammon!" exclaimed Titmouse, excitedly, addressing Mr.
Gammon, who also seemed greatly interested by the occurrence. They both
repaired to a vacant table at the extremity of the room; and Titmouse,
with not a little trepidation, hastily breaking a large seal which bore
the earl's family arms, with their crowded quarterings and grim
supporters--better appreciated by Gammon, however, than by
Titmouse--opened the ample envelope, and, unfolding its thick gilt-edged
enclosure, read as follows:--
"The Earl of Dreddlington has the honor of waiting upon Mr.
Titmouse, in whom he is very happy to have, though unexpectedly,
discovered so near a kinsman. On the event which has brought this
to pass, the earl congratulates himself not less than Mr. Titmouse,
and hopes for the earliest opportunity of a personal introduction.
"The earl leaves town to-day and will not return till Monday next,
on which day he begs the honor of Mr. Titmouse's company to dinner,
at six o'clock. He may depend upon its being strictly a family
_reunion_; the only person present, besides Mr. Titmouse and the
earl, being the Lady Cecilia.
"Grosvenor Square, Thursday.
"TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE, ESQ., &c. &c."
As soon as Titmouse had read the above, still holding it in his hand, he
gazed at Gammon with mute apprehension and delight. Of the existence,
indeed, of the magnificent personage who had just introduced himself,
Titmouse had certainly heard, from time to time, since the commencement
of the proceedings which had just been so successfully terminated. He
had seen the brightness, to be sure; but, as a sort of remote splendor,
like that of a fixed star which gleamed brightly, but at too vast a
distance to have any sensible influence, or even to arrest his
attention. After a little while, Titmouse began to chatter very volubly;
but Gammon, after reading over the note once or twice, seemed not much
inclined for conversation: and, had Titmouse been accustomed to
observation, he might have gathered, from the eye and brow of Gammon,
that that gentleman's mind was very deeply occupied by some matter or
other, probably suggested by the incident which had just taken place.
Titmouse, by-and-by, called for pens, ink, and paper--"the very best
gilt-edged paper, mind"--and prepared to reply to Lord Dreddlington's
invitation. Gammon, however, who knew the peculiarities of his friend's
style of correspondence, suggested that _he_ should draw up, and
Titmouse copy the following note. This was presently done; but when
Gammon observed how thickly studded it was with capital letters, the
numerous flourishes with which it was garnished, and its more than
questionable orthography, he prevailed on Titmouse, after some little
difficulty, to allow him to transcribe the note which was to be sent to
Lord Dreddlington. Here is a copy of that courteous document:--
"Mr. Titmouse begs to present his compliments to the Earl of
Dreddlington, and to express the high sense he entertains of the
kind consideration evinced by his Lordship in his call and note of
to-day.
"One of the most gratifying circumstances connected with Mr.
Titmouse's recent success, is the distinguished alliance which his
Lordship has been so prompt and courteous in recognizing. Mr.
Titmouse will feel the greatest pleasure in availing himself of the
Earl of Dreddlington's invitation to dinner for Monday next.
"Cabbage-Stalk Hotel, Thursday.
"The Right Honble. the EARL OF DREDDLINGTON, &c., &c."
"Have you a 'Peerage' here, waiter?" inquired Gammon, as the waiter
brought him a lighted taper. _Debrett_ was shortly laid before him; and
turning to the name of Dreddlington, he read over the paragraph which
had been already laid before the reader. "Humph--_'Lady Cecilia'_--here
she is--his _daughter_--I thought as much--I see!" This was what passed
through his mind, as--having left Titmouse, who set off to deposit a
card and the above "Answer" at Lord Dreddlington's--he made his way
towards the delectable regions in which their office was
situated--Saffron Hill. "'Tis curious--amusing--interesting, to observe
the social progress of this charming little fellow"--continued Gammon to
himself--
"_Tag-rag_--and his daughter;
"_Quirk_--and his daughter;
"_The Earl of Dreddlington_--and his daughter. How many more? Happy!
happy! happy Titmouse!"
* * * * *
The sun which was rising upon Titmouse was setting upon the Aubreys.
Dear, delightful--now too dear, now too delightful--Yatton! the shades
of evening are descending upon thee, and thy virtuous but afflicted
occupants, who, early on the morrow, quit thee forever. Approach
silently you conservatory. Behold, in the midst of it, the dark slight
figure of a lady, solitary, motionless, in melancholy attitude--her
hands clasped before her: it is Miss Aubrey. Her face is beautiful, but
grief is in her eye; and her bosom heaves with sighs, which, gentle
though they be, are yet the only sounds audible. Yes, that is the sweet
and once joyous Kate Aubrey!
'Twas she indeed; and this was her last visit to her conservatory. Many
rare, delicate, and beautiful flowers were there. The air was laden with
the fragrant odors which they exhaled, as it were in sighs, on account
of the dreaded departure of their lovely mistress. At length she
stooped down, and, in stooping, a tear fell right upon the small sprig
of geranium which she gently detached from its stem, and placed in her
bosom. "Sweet flowers," thought she, "who will tend you as I have tended
you, when I am gone? Why do you look now more beautiful than ever you
did before?"--Her eye presently fell upon the spot on which, till the
day before, had stood her aviary. Poor Kate had sent it, as a present,
to Lady De la Zouch, and it was then at Fotheringham Castle. What a
flutter there used to be among the beautiful little creatures, when they
perceived Kate's approach! She turned her head away. She felt oppressed,
and attributed it to the closeness of the conservatory--the strength of
the odors given out by the numerous flowers; but it was sorrow that
oppressed her; and she was in a state at once of mental excitement and
physical exhaustion. The last few weeks had been an interval of
exquisite suffering. She could not be happy alone, nor yet bear the
company of her brother and sister-in-law, or their innocent and lovely
children. Quitting the conservatory with a look of lingering fondness,
she passed along into the house with a hurried step, and escaped,
unobserved, to her chamber--the very chamber in which the reader
obtained his first distant and shadowy glimpse of her; and in which, now
entering it silently and suddenly, the door being only closed, not shut,
she observed her faithful little maid Harriet, sitting in tears before a
melancholy heap of packages prepared for travelling on the morrow. She
rose as Miss Aubrey entered, and presently exclaimed passionately,
bursting afresh into tears, "Ma'am, I _can't_ leave you--indeed I can't!
I know all your ways; I won't go to any one else! I shall hate service!
and I know they'll hate _me_ too; for I shall cry myself to death!"
"Come, come, Harriet," faltered Miss Aubrey, "this is very foolish;
nay, it is unkind to distress me in this manner at the last moment."
"Oh, ma'am, if you _did_ but know how I love you! How I'd go on my knees
to serve you all the rest of the days of my life!"
"Don't talk in that way, Harriet; that's a good girl," said Miss Aubrey,
rather faintly, and, sinking into the chair, she buried her face in her
handkerchief, "you know I've had a great deal to go through, Harriet,
and am in very poor spirits."
"I know it, ma'am, I do; and that's why I can't _bear_ to leave you!"
She sank on her knees beside Miss Aubrey. "Oh, ma'am, if you would but
let me stay with you! I've been trying, ever since you first told me, to
make up my mind to part with you, and, now it's coming to the time, I
_can't_, ma'am--indeed, I can't! If you did but know, ma'am, what my
thoughts have been, while I've been folding and packing up your dresses
here! To think that I sha'n't be with you to unpack them! It's very
hard, ma'am, that Madam's maid is to go with her, and I'm not to go with
_you_!"
"We were obliged to make a choice, Harriet," said Miss Aubrey, with
forced calmness.
"Yes, ma'am; but why didn't you choose us both? Because we've both
always done our best; and, as for me, you've never spoke an unkind word
to me in your life"----
"Harriet, Harriet," said Miss Aubrey, tremulously, "I've several times
explained to you that we cannot any longer afford each to have our own
maid; and Mrs. Aubrey's maid is older than you, and knows how to manage
children"----
"What signifies _affording_, ma'am? Neither she nor I will ever take a
shilling of wages; I'd really rather serve you for nothing, ma'am, than
any other lady for a hundred pounds a-year! Oh, so happy as I've been
in your service, ma'am!" she added hastily, and burst into an agony of
weeping.
"Don't, Harriet!--You would not, if you knew the pain you give me," said
Miss Aubrey, faintly. Harriet perceived Miss Aubrey's ill-concealed
agitation; and starting aside, poured out a glass of water, and forced
her pale mistress to swallow a little, which presently revived her.
"Harriet," said she, feebly, but firmly, "you have never once disobeyed
me, and _now_ I am certain that you will not. I assure you that we have
made all our arrangements, and cannot alter them. I have been very
fortunate in obtaining for you so kind a mistress as Lady Stratton.
Remember, Harriet, she was the oldest bosom friend of my"----Miss
Aubrey's voice trembled, and she ceased speaking for a minute or two,
during which she struggled against her feelings with momentary success.
"Here's the prayer-book," she presently resumed, opening a drawer in her
dressing-table, and taking out a small volume--"Here's the prayer-book I
promised you; it is very prettily bound, and I have written your name in
it, Harriet, as you desired. Take it, and keep it for my sake. Will
you?"
"Oh, ma'am," replied the girl, bitterly, "I shall never bear to look at
it! And yet I'll never part with it till I die!"
"Now leave me, Harriet, for a short time--I wish to be alone," said Miss
Aubrey; and she was obeyed. She presently rose and bolted the door; and
then, secure from interruption, walked slowly to and fro for some time;
and a long and deep current of melancholy thoughts and feelings
flowed through her mind and heart. She had but a short time before
seen her sister's sweet children put into their little beds for
the last time at Yatton; and together with their mother, had hung
fondly over them, kissing and embracing them--their destined little
fellow-wanderers--till her feelings compelled her to leave them. One by
one, all the dear innumerable ties which had attached her to Yatton, and
to everything connected with it, ever since her birth, had been severed
and broken--ties, not only the strength, but very existence of which,
she had scarce been aware of, till then. She had bade--as had all of
them--repeated and agonizing farewells to very dear and old friends. Her
heart trembled as she gazed at the objects familiar to her eye, and
pregnant with innumerable little softening associations, ever since her
infancy. Nothing around them now belonged to _them_--but to a
stranger--to one who--she shuddered with disgust. She thought of the
fearful position in which her brother was placed--entirely at the mercy
of, it might be, selfish and rapacious men--what indeed was to become of
all of them? At length she threw herself into the large old easy-chair
which stood near the window, and with a fluttering heart and hasty
tremulous hand, drew an open letter from her bosom. She held it for some
moments, as if dreading again to peruse it--but at length unfolded and
read a portion of it. 'Twas full of fervent and at the same time
delicate expressions of fondness; and after a short while, her hand
dropped, with the letter, upon her lap, and she burst into a passionate
flood of tears. After an interval of several minutes, she again took up
the letter--read a little farther--still more and more moved by the
generous and noble sentiments it contained--and at length, utterly
overcome, she again dropped her hand, and sobbed aloud long and
vehemently. "It cannot--cannot--no, it _cannot_ be," she murmured; and,
yielding to her feelings for a long while, her tears showered down her
pallid, beautiful cheeks.
At length, having resumed her perusal of the letter, she came to the
conclusion. In a kind of agony she pressed the signature to her lips;
and then hastily folding up the letter, replaced it whence she had taken
it, and continued sobbing bitterly. Alas, what additional poignancy did
this give to the agonies of her last evening at Yatton! She had,
however, become somewhat calmer by the time that she heard the door
hastily, but gently tapped at, and then attempted to be opened. Miss
Aubrey rose and unbolted it, and Mrs. Aubrey entered, her beautiful
countenance as pale and sad as that of her sister-in-law. The former,
however, was both wife and mother; and the various cares which these
relations had entailed upon her, at a bitter moment like the present,
served in some measure to occupy her thoughts, and prevent her from
being absorbed by the heart-breaking circumstances which surrounded her.
Suffering had, however, a little impaired her beauty; her cheek was very
pale, and her eye and brow were laden with trouble.
"Kate, dear Kate," said she, rather quickly, closing the door after her,
"what is to be done? Did you hear carriage-wheels a few moments ago? Who
do you think have arrived? As I fancied would be the case, the De la
Zouches!" Miss Aubrey trembled and turned pale. "You must see--you
_must_ see--Lady De la Zouch, Kate--they have driven from Fotheringham
on purpose to take--_once more_--a last farewell! 'Tis very painful, but
what can be done? You know what dear, dear, good friends they are!"
"Is Lord De la Zouch come, also?" inquired Miss Aubrey, apprehensively.
"I will not deceive you, dearest Kate, they are _all_ come; but _she_,
only, is in the house: they are gone out to look for Charles, who is
walking in the park." Miss Aubrey trembled violently; and after
evidently a severe struggle with her feelings, the color having entirely
deserted her face, and left it of an ashy whiteness, "I cannot muster
up resolution enough, Agnes," she whispered. "I know their errand!"
"Care not about their errand, love!" said Mrs. Aubrey, embracing her
fondly. "You shall not be troubled--you shall not be persecuted." Miss
Aubrey shook her head, and grasped Mrs. Aubrey's hand.
"They do not, Agnes, they _cannot_ persecute me," replied Miss Aubrey,
with energy. "It is a cruel and harsh word to use--and!--consider how
noble, how disinterested is their conduct; _that_ it is which subdues
me!"
Mrs. Aubrey embraced still more closely her agitated sister-in-law, and
tenderly kissed her forehead.
"Oh, Agnes!" faltered Miss Aubrey, pressing her hand upon her heart to
relieve the intolerable oppression which she suffered--"would to Heaven
that I had never seen--never thought of him!"
"Don't fear, Kate! that he will attempt to see you on so sad an occasion
as this. Delamere is a man of infinite delicacy and generosity!"
"I know he is--I know he is," gasped Miss Aubrey, almost suffocated with
her emotions.
"Stay, I'll tell you what to do; I'll go down and return with Lady De la
Zouch: we can see her here, undisturbed and alone, for a few moments;
and then, nothing painful _can_ occur. Shall I bring her?" she inquired,
rising. Miss Aubrey did not dissent; and, within a very few minutes'
time, Mrs. Aubrey returned, accompanied by Lady De la Zouch. She was
rather an elderly woman. Her countenance was still handsome; and she
possessed a very dignified carriage. She was of an extremely
affectionate disposition, and passionately fond of Miss Aubrey. Hastily
drawing aside her veil as she entered the room, she stepped quickly up
to Miss Aubrey, kissed her, and grasped her hands, for some moments, in
silence.
"This is very sad work, Miss Aubrey," said she at length, hurriedly
glancing at the luggage lying piled up at the other end of the room.
Miss Aubrey made no answer, but shook her head. "It was useless
attempting it, dear Kate--we _could_ not stay at home; we have risked
being charged with cruel intrusion; forgive me, dearest, will you?
_They_," said Lady De la Zouch, pointedly, "will not come near you!"
Miss Aubrey trembled. "I feel as if I were parting with an only
daughter, Kate," said Lady De la Zouch, with sudden emotion. "How your
mamma and I loved one another!" said she, fondly, and burst into tears.
"For mercy's sake, open the window; I feel suffocated," faltered Miss
Aubrey. Mrs. Aubrey hastily drew up the window, and the cool refreshing
breeze of evening quickly diffused itself through the apartment, and
revived the drooping spirits of Miss Aubrey, who walked gently to and
fro about the room, supported by Lady De la Zouch and Mrs. Aubrey, and
soon recovered a tolerable degree of composure. The three ladies
presently stood, arm-in-arm, gazing through the deep bay-window at the
fine prospect which it commanded. The gloom of evening was beginning to
steal over the landscape.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, faintly, with a deep sigh.
"The window in the northern tower of the Castle commands a still more
extensive view," said Lady De la Zouch, looking earnestly at Miss
Aubrey, who, as if conscious of some agitating allusion, burst into
tears. After standing gazing through the window for some time longer,
they stepped back into the room, and were soon engaged in deep and
earnest conversation.
For the last three weeks Mr. Aubrey had addressed himself with calmness
and energy to the painful duties which had devolved upon him, of
_setting his house in order_. Immediately after quitting the
dinner-table that day--a mere nominal meal to all of them--he had
retired to the library, to complete the extensive and important
arrangements consequent upon his abandonment of Yatton; and after about
an hour thus occupied, he went forth to take a solitary walk--a
melancholy--a last walk about the property. It was a moment which
severely tried his fortitude; but that fortitude stood the trial. He was
a man of lively sensibilities, and appreciated, to its utmost extent,
the melancholy and alarming change which had come over his fortunes.
Surely even the bluntest and coarsest feelings which ever tried to
disguise and dignify themselves under the name of STOICISM--to convert
into bravery, and fortitude, a stupid, sullen insensibility--must have
been not a little shaken by such scenes as Mr. Aubrey had had to pass
through during the last few weeks--scenes which I do not choose to
distress the reader's feelings by dwelling upon in detail. Mr. Aubrey
had no mean pretensions to real philosophy; but he had still juster
pretensions to an infinitely higher character,--that of a CHRISTIAN. He
had a firm unwavering conviction that whatever befell him, either of
good or evil, was by the ordination of the Almighty--infinitely Wise,
infinitely Good;--and this was the source of his fortitude and
resignation. He felt himself here standing upon ground which was
immovable.
To avert the misfortune which menaced him, he had neglected no rational
and _conscientious_ means. To retain the advantages of fortune and
station to which he had believed himself born, he had made the most
strenuous exertions consistent with a rigid sense of honor. What,
indeed, _could_ he have done, that he _had_ not done? He had caused the
claims of his opponent to be subjected to as severe a scrutiny as the
wit of man could suggest; _and they had stood the test_. Those claims,
and his own, had been each of them placed in the scales of justice;
those scales had been held up and poised by the pure and firm hands to
which the laws of God, and of the country, had committed the
administration of justice: on what ground could a just and reasonable
man quarrel with or repine at the issue? And supposing that a perverse
and subtle ingenuity in his legal advisers could have devised means for
delaying his surrender of the property to the individual who had been
solemnly declared its true owner, what real and ultimate advantage could
have been obtained by such a dishonorable line of conduct? Could the
spirit of the CHRISTIAN RELIGION tolerate the bare idea of it? Could
such purposes or intentions consist for one instant with the
consciousness that the awful eye of God was always upon every thought of
his mind, every feeling of his heart, every purpose of his will? A
thorough and lively conviction of God's moral government of the world
secured Aubrey a happy composure--a glorious and immovable resolution.
It enabled him to form a true estimate of things; it extracted the sting
from grief and regret; it dispelled the gloom which would otherwise have
settled portentously upon the future. Thus he had not _forgotten the
exhortation which spoke unto him, as unto a child: My son, despise not
thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of
him_. And if, indeed, religion had not done this for Mr. Aubrey, what
_could_ it have done, what would it have been worth? It would indeed
have been that which dull fools suppose it--a mere name, a melancholy
delusion. What hopeless and lamentable imbecility would it not have
argued, to have acknowledged the reality and influence of religion in
the hour of prosperity--and to have doubted, distrusted, or denied it in
the hour of adversity? When a child beholds the sun obscured by dark
clouds, he may think in his simplicity that it is gone forever; but a
MAN knows that behind is the sun, magnificent as ever; and that the next
moment, the clouds having rolled away, its glorious warmth and light
are again upon the earth. Thus is it, thought Aubrey with humble but
cheerful confidence, with the Almighty--who hath declared himself _the
Father of the spirits of all flesh_--
"Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face!
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His works in vain!
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain!"
"Therefore, O my God!" thought Aubrey, as he gazed upon the lovely
scenes familiar to him from his birth, and from which a few short hours
were to separate him forever, "I do acknowledge Thy hand in what has
befallen me, and Thy mercy which enables me to bear it, as from Thee."
The scene around him was tranquil and beautiful--inexpressibly
beautiful. He stood under the shadow of a mighty elm-tree, the last of a
long and noble avenue, which he had been pacing in deep thought for
upwards of an hour. The ground was considerably elevated above the level
of the rest of the park. No sound disturbed the serene repose of the
approaching evening, except the distant and gradually diminishing sounds
issuing from an old rookery, and the faint low bubbling of a clear
streamlet which flowed not far from where he stood. Here and there,
under the deepening shadows cast by the lofty trees, might be seen the
glancing forms of deer, the only live things visible. "Life," said
Aubrey, to himself, with a sigh, as he leaned against the trunk of the
grand old tree under which he stood, and gazed with a fond and mournful
eye on the lovely scenes stretching before him, to which the subdued
radiance of the departing sunlight communicated a tone of tender
pensiveness; "life is, in truth, what the Scripture--what the voice of
nature--represents it--a long journey, during which the traveller stops
at many resting places. Some of them are more, others less beautiful;
from some he parts with more, from others with less regret; but _part he
must_, and pursue his journey, though he may often turn back to gaze
with lingering fondness and admiration at the scene which he has last
quitted. The next stage may be--_as all his journey might have
been_--bleak and desolate; but, through _that_ he is only passing: he
will not be condemned to stay in it, as he was not permitted to dwell in
the other; he is still journeying on, along a route which he cannot
mistake, to the point of his destination, his journey's end--the shores
of the vast, immeasurable, boundless ocean of eternity--HIS HOME!"
The deepening shadows of evening warned him to retrace his steps to the
Hall. Before quitting the spot upon which he had been so long standing,
he turned his head a little towards the right, to take a last view of an
object which called forth tender and painful feeling--it was the old
sycamore which his sister's intercession had saved from the axe. There
it stood, feeble and venerable object! its leafless silvery-gray
branches becoming in the fading light, dim and indistinct, yet
contrasting touchingly with the verdant strength of those near it. A
neat strong fence had been placed around it; but how much longer would
it receive such care and attention? Aubrey thought of the comparison
which had on a former occasion been made by his sister; and sighed
heavily as he looked his last at the old tree. Then he slowly walked on
towards the Hall. When about halfway down the avenue, he beheld two
figures apparently approaching him, but undistinguishable in the gloom
and the distance. As they neared him, he recognized Lord De la Zouch,
and Mr. Delamere. Suspecting the object of their visit, which a little
surprised him, since they had taken a final leave, and a very affecting
one, the day before, he felt a little anxiety and embarrassment. Nor was
he entirely mistaken. Lord De la Zouch, who advanced alone towards
Aubrey--Mr. Delamere turning back--most seriously pressed his son's suit
for the hand of Miss Aubrey, as he had often done before; declaring,
that though undoubtedly he wished a year or two first to elapse, during
which his son might complete his studies at Oxford, there was no object
dearer to the heart of Lady De la Zouch and himself, than to see Miss
Aubrey become their daughter-in-law. "Where," said Lord De la Zouch,
with much energy, "is he to look elsewhere for such an union of beauty,
of accomplishments, of amiability, of high-mindedness?" After a great
deal of animated conversation on this subject, during which Mr. Aubrey
assured Lord De la Zouch that _he_ would say everything which he
honorably could to induce his sister to entertain, or at all events, not
to discard the suit of Delamere; at the same time reminding him of the
firmness of her character, and the hopelessness of attempting to change
any determination to which she might have been led by her sense of
delicacy and honor,--Lord De la Zouch addressed himself in a very
earnest manner to matters more immediately relating to the personal
interests of Mr. Aubrey; entered with lively anxiety into all his future
plans and purposes; and once more pressed upon him the acceptance of
most munificent offers of pecuniary assistance, which, with many fervent
expressions of gratitude, Aubrey again declined. But he pledged himself
to communicate freely with Lord De la Zouch, in the event of an occasion
arising for such assistance as his Lordship had already so generously
volunteered. By this time Mr. Delamere had joined them, regarding Mr.
Aubrey with infinite earnestness and apprehension. All, however, he
said, was--and in a hurried manner to his father--"My mother is waiting
for you in the carriage, and wishes that we should immediately return."
Lord De la Zouch and his son again took leave of Mr. Aubrey. "Remember,
my dear Aubrey, remember the pledges you have repeated this evening,"
said the former. "I do, I will!" replied Mr. Aubrey, as they each wrung
his hands; and then, having grasped those of Lady De la Zouch, who sat
within the carriage powerfully affected, the door was shut; and they
were quickly borne away from the presence and the residence of their
afflicted friends. While Mr. Aubrey stood gazing after them, with folded
arms, in an attitude of melancholy abstraction, at the Hall door, he was
accosted by Dr. Tatham, who had come to him from the library, where he
had been, till a short time before, busily engaged reducing into writing
various matters which had been the subject of conversation between
himself and Mr. Aubrey during the day.
"I am afraid, my dear friend," said the doctor, "that there is a painful
but interesting scene awaiting you. You will not, I am sure, forbear to
gratify, by your momentary presence in the servants' hall, a body of
your tenantry, who are there assembled, having come to pay you--good
souls!--their parting respects."
"I would really rather be spared the painful scene," said Mr. Aubrey,
with emotion. "I am nearly unnerved as it is! Cannot you bid them adieu,
in my name? and say God bless them!"
"You _must_ come, my dear friend! If it _be_ painful, it will be but for
a moment; and the recollection of their hearty and humble expressions of
affection and respect will be pleasant hereafter. Poor souls!" he added
with not a little emotion, "you should see how crowded is Mr. Griffiths'
room with the presents they have each brought you, and which would
surely keep your whole establishment for months!--Cheeses, tongues,
hams, bacon, and I know not what beside!"
"Come, Doctor," said Mr. Aubrey, quickly, and with evidently a great
effort, "I will see them, my humble and worthy friends! if it _be_ but
for a moment; but I would rather have been spared the scene." He
followed Dr. Tatham into the spacious servants' hall, which he found
nearly filled by some forty or fifty of his late tenantry, who, as he
entered, rose in troubled silence to receive him. There were lights, by
which a hurried glance sufficed to show him the deep sorrow visible in
their countenances. "Well, sir," commenced one of them, after a moment's
hesitation--he seemed to have been chosen the spokesman of those
present--"we've come to tak' our leave; and a sad time it be for all of
us, and it may be, sir, for you." He paused, and added abruptly--"I
thought I could have said a word or two, sir, in the name of all of us,
but I've clean forgotten all; and I wish we could all forget that we
were come to part with you, sir;--but we sha'n't--no, never!--we shall
never see your like again, sir! God help you, sir!" Again he paused, and
struggled hard to conceal his emotions. Then he tried to say something
further, but his voice failed him.
"Squire, it may be law; but it be not justice, we all do think, that
hath taken Yatton from you, that was born to it," said one, who stood
next to him who had first spoken. "Who ever heard o' a scratch in a bit
of paper signifying the loss o' so much? It never were heard of afore,
sir, an' cannot be right!"
"You'll forgive me, Squire," said another, "but we shall never tak' to
t'new one that's coming after you!"
"My worthy--my dear friends," commenced Mr. Aubrey, with melancholy and
forced composure, as he stood beside Dr. Tatham, "this is a sad trial to
me--one which I had not expected, and am quite unprepared for. I have
had lately to go through many very painful scenes; but few more so than
the present. My dear friends, I can only say from my heart, God bless
you all! I shall never forget you, whom I have always respected, and
indeed been very proud of, as my tenantry, and whom I now, of course,
look at as my friends only. We shall _never_ forget you"----
"Lord Almighty bless you, sir, and Madam and Miss, and little Miss--and
the little squire!" said a voice, in a vehement manner, from amid the
throng, in tones which went to Mr. Aubrey's heart. His lips quivered,
and he ceased speaking for some moments. At length he resumed.
"You see my feelings are a little shaken by the sufferings which I have
gone through. I have only a word more to say to you. Providence has seen
fit, my friends, to deprive me of that which I had deemed to be my
birthright. God is good and wise; and I bow, as we must all bow, to His
will with reverence and resignation. And also, my dear friends, let us
always submit cheerfully to the laws under which we live. We must not
quarrel with their decision, merely because it happens to be adverse to
our own wishes. I, from my heart--and so must you, from
yours--acknowledge a firm, unshaken allegiance to the laws; they are
ordained by God, and He demands our obedience to them! society cannot
exist without them"--He paused. "I have to thank you," he presently
added in a subdued tone, "my worthy friends, for many substantial tokens
of your good-will, brought with you this evening. I assure you sincerely
that I value them far more"--he paused, and it was some moments before
he could proceed--"than if they had been of the most costly and splendid
description"----
"Lord, only hearken to t'squire!" called out a voice, as if on an
impulse of eager affection, which its rough, honest speaker could not
resist. This seemed entirely to deprive Mr. Aubrey of the power of
utterance, and he turned suddenly towards Dr. Tatham with an overflowing
eye and a convulsive quivering of the lips which showed the powerful
emotions with which he was contending. The next moment he stepped
forward and shook hands with those nearest. He was quickly surrounded,
and every one present grasped his hands, scarcely any of them able to
utter more than a brief but fervent "God bless you, sir!"
"I am sure, my friends," said Dr. Tatham, almost as much affected as any
of them, "that you cannot wish to prolong so afflicting a scene as this.
Mr. Aubrey is much exhausted, and has a long journey to take early in
the morning--and you had better now leave."
"Farewell! farewell, my kind and dear friends, farewell!--May God bless
you all, and all your families!" said Mr. Aubrey; and, most powerfully
affected, withdrew from a scene which he was not likely ever to forget.
He retired, accompanied by Dr. Tatham, to his library; where Mr.
Griffiths, his steward, was in readiness to receive his signature to
various documents. This done, the steward, after a few hurried
expressions of affection and respect, withdrew; and Mr. Aubrey had then
completed all the arrangements, and transacted all the business, which
had required his attention before quitting Yatton: which, at an early
hour in the morning, he was going to leave; having determined to go
direct to London, instead of accepting any of the numerous offers which
he had received from his friends in the neighborhood, to take up with
them his abode for, at all events, some considerable period. That,
however, would have been entirely inconsistent with the plans for his
future life, which he had formed and matured. He left the whole estate
in admirable order and condition. There was not a farm vacant, not a
tenant dissatisfied with the terms under which he held. Every document,
all the accounts connected with the estate, after having been carefully
examined by Mr. Parkinson, and Mr. Aubrey, and Mr. Griffiths, were in
readiness for the most scrupulous and searching investigation on the
part of Mr. Aubrey's successor and his agents.
Mr. Aubrey's library was already carefully packed up, and was to follow
him, on the ensuing day, to London, by water, as also were several
portions of the furniture--the residue of which was to be sold off
within a day or two's time. How difficult--how very difficult had it
been for them to choose which articles they would part with, and which
retain! The favorite old high-backed easy-chair, which had been worked
by Miss Aubrey herself; the beautiful ebony cabinet, which had been
given by her father to her mother, who had given it to Kate; the little
chairs of Charles and Agnes--and in which Mr. Aubrey and Kate, and all
their brothers and sisters--long since deceased--had sat when children;
Mrs. Aubrey's piano; these, and a few other articles, had been
successfully pleaded for by Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, and were to accompany
or rather follow them to London, instead of passing, by the auctioneer's
hammer, into the hands of strangers. The two carriage-horses, which had
drawn old Mrs. Aubrey in the family coach for many years, were to be
turned to grass, for the rest of their days, at Lady Stratton's. Poor
old Peggy was, in like manner, to have to herself a little field
belonging to Dr. Tatham. Little Charles's pony, a beautiful animal, and
most reluctantly parted with, was sent as a present, in his name, to
little Sir Harry Oldfield, one of his play-fellows. Hector, the
magnificent Newfoundland dog, was, at the vehement instance of Pumpkin,
the gardener, who had almost gone upon his knees to beg for the animal,
and declared that he loved the creature like a son--as I verily believe
he did, for they were inseparable, and their attachment was
mutual--given up to him, on his solemn promise to take great care of
him. Then there was a poor animal which they hardly knew how to dispose
of. It was a fine old favorite staghound, stone-blind, quite gray about
the head, and so very feeble, that it could but just crawl in and out of
its commodious kennel, and lie basking in the genial sunshine; wagging
its tail when any one spoke to it, and affectionately licking the hand
that patted it. Thus had it treated Mr. Aubrey, that very morning, as he
stood by, and stooped down to caress it for the last time. It was, at
his earnest request, assigned to Dr. Tatham, kennel and all; indeed the
worthy little doctor would have crammed the whole of his little premises
in a similar way, in order to have the more "keepsakes" and "memorials"
of his friends. Miss Aubrey's beautiful Blenheim spaniel, with its
brilliant black eyes, and long glossy graceful ears, was to accompany
her to London.
As for the servants--the housekeeper was going to keep the house of her
brother, a widower, at Grilston, and the butler was going to marry, and
quit service. As for the rest, Mr. Parkinson had, at Mr. Aubrey's
desire, written about them to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and Mr.
Gammon had sent word that such members of the establishment as chose,
might continue at Yatton, at all events till the pleasure of Mr.
Titmouse, upon the subject, should have been known. All the servants had
received a quarter's wages that morning from Mr. Griffiths, in the
presence of Mr. Aubrey, who spoke kindly to each, and earnestly
recommended them to conduct themselves respectfully towards his
successor. Scarce any of them could answer him, otherwise than by an
humble bow, or courtesy, accompanied by sobs and tears. One of them did
contrive to speak, and passionately expressed a wish that the first
morsel Mr. Titmouse ate in the house might choke him--a sally which
received so very grave a rebuke from Mr. Aubrey, as brought the hasty
offender to her knees, begging forgiveness; which, I need hardly say,
she received, but with a very serious admonition. Many of them most
vehemently entreated to be allowed to accompany Mr. Aubrey and his
family to London, and continue in their service, but in vain. Mr. Aubrey
had made his selection, having taken only his own valet, and Mrs.
Aubrey's maid, and one of the nursery-maids, and declaring that on no
consideration would he think of being accompanied by any other of the
servants.
There were some twenty or thirty poor old infirm cottagers, men and
women, who had been for years weekly pensioners on the bounty of Yatton,
and respecting whom Mr. Aubrey felt a painful anxiety. What could he do?
He gave the sum of fifty pounds to Dr. Tatham for their use; and
requested him to press their claims earnestly upon the new proprietor of
Yatton. He also wrote almost as many letters, as there were of these
poor people, on their behalf to his friends and neighbors. Oh, it was a
moving scene which had occurred at each of their little cottages, when
their benefactors, Mr. Aubrey, his wife, and sister, severally called to
bid them farewell, and receive their humble and tearful blessings! But
it was the parting with her school, which neither Kate nor her brother
saw any probability of being kept up longer than for a month or two
after their departure, which had occasioned Kate the greatest distress.
There were several reasons, which will occur to the reader, why no
application could be made, about the matter, from her, or on her
account, to Mr. Titmouse; even if she had not had reason to anticipate,
from what she had heard of his character, that he was a person unlikely
to feel any interest in such an institution. Nor had she liked to
trouble or burden the friends whom she left behind her, with the
responsibility of supporting and superintending her little
establishment. She had nothing for it, therefore, but to prepare the
mistress, and her scholars, for the breaking up of the school, within a
month of her departure from Yatton. She gave the worthy woman, the
mistress, a present of a five-pound note; and five shillings to each of
the children. She felt quite unequal to the task of personally taking
leave of them, as she had intended, and several times attempted. She
therefore, with many tears, wrote the following lines, and gave them to
Dr. Tatham, to read aloud in the school, when their good and beautiful
writer should be far on her way towards London. The little doctor paused
a good many times while he read it, and complained of his glasses.
"My dear little girls,--You know that I have already bid each of
you good-by; and though I tried to say something to all of you at
once, I was not able, because I was so sorry to part with you, and
tell you that my little school must be given up. So I have written
these few lines, to tell you that I love you all, and have tried to
be a good friend to you. Be sure not to forget your spelling and
reading, and your needle. Your mothers have promised to hear you
say your catechisms; you must also be sure to say your prayers, and
to read your Bibles, and to behave very seriously at church, and to
be always dutiful to your parents. Then God will bless you all! I
hope you will not forget us, for we shall often think of you when
we are a great way off; and Dr. Tatham will now and then write and
tell us how you are going on. Farewell, my dear little girls; and
may God bless and preserve you all! This is the prayer of both of
us--Mrs. Aubrey and
"CATHERINE AUBREY.
"_Yatton, 15th May 18--._"
The above was not written in the uniform and beautiful hand usual with
Miss Aubrey; it was, on the contrary, rather irregular, and evidently
written hastily; but Dr. Tatham preserved it to the day of his death,
and always thought it beautiful.
On the ensuing morning, at a very early hour, Dr. Tatham left the
vicarage, to pay his last visit to friends whom it almost broke his
heart to part with, in all human probability forever. He started, but on
a moment's reflection ceased to be surprised, at the sight of Mr. Aubrey
approaching him from the direction of the little churchyard. He was
calm, but his countenance bore the traces of very recent emotion. They
greeted each other in silence, and so walked on for some time,
arm-in-arm, slowly, towards the Hall. It was a dull heavy morning,
almost threatening rain. The air seemed full of oppression. The only
sounds audible were the hoarse clamorous sounds issuing from the old
rookery, at some distance on their left. Mr. Aubrey and Dr. Tatham
interchanged but few words, as they walked along the winding pathway to
the Hall. The first thing which attracted their eyes, after passing
under the gateway, was the large old family carriage, standing opposite
the Hall door, where stood some luggage, sufficient for the journey,
ready to be placed upon it; the remainder having been sent on the day
before to London. How mournful was the sight! On entering the Hall, they
found its heart-broken inmates all up, and dressed. The children were
taking their last breakfast in the nursery; Charles making many
inquiries of the weeping servants, which they could answer only by tears
and kisses. In vain was the breakfast-table spread for the senior
travellers. There sat poor Kate, in travelling trim, before the antique
silver urn, attempting to perform, with tremulous hand, her accustomed
office; but neither she, nor Mrs. Aubrey, was equal to the task; which,
summoning the housekeeper into the room, they devolved upon her, and
which she was scarce able to perform. Mr. Aubrey and Dr. Tatham were
standing there; but neither of them spoke. A short time before, Mr.
Aubrey had requested the servants to be summoned, as usual, to morning
prayer in the accustomed room, and requested Dr. Tatham to officiate. As
soon, however, as the sorrowful little assemblage was collected before
him, he whispered to Mr. Aubrey that he felt unequal to go through the
duty with the composure which it required; and after a pause, he said,
"Let us kneel down;" and in a low voice, often interrupted by his own
emotions, and the sobs of those around him, he read, with touching
simplicity and solemnity, the ninety-first psalm; adding the Lord's
prayer, and a very tremulous benediction.
The bitter preparations for starting at an early hour, seven o'clock,
were soon afterwards completed. Half smothered with the kisses and
caresses of the affectionate servants, little Charles and Agnes were
already seated in the carriage, on the laps of their two attendants,
exclaiming eagerly, "Come, papa! come, mamma! What a while you are!"
Just then, poor Pumpkin, the gardener, scarce able to speak, made his
appearance, his arms full of nosegays, which he had been culling for the
last two hours--having one a-piece for each of the travellers, servants,
and children, and all. The loud angry bark of Hector was heard from time
to time, little Charles calling loudly for him; but Pumpkin had fastened
him up, for fear of his starting off after the carriage. At length,
having scarcely tasted breakfast, the travellers made their appearance
at the Hall door. Kate and Mrs. Aubrey were utterly overcome at the
sight of the carriage, and wept bitterly. They threw their arms
passionately around, and fervently kissed, their venerable friend and
pastor, Dr. Tatham, who was grievously agitated. Then they tore
themselves from him, and hastily got into the carriage. As he stood
alone, bareheaded, on their quitting him, he lifted his hands, but could
scarce utter a parting benediction. Mr. Aubrey, almost overpowered with
his emotions, then grasped his hand, whispering, "Farewell, my dear and
venerable friend! Farewell!" "The Lord God of thy fathers bless thee!"
murmured Dr. Tatham, clasping Mr. Aubrey's hand in both of his own, and
looking solemnly upward. Mr. Aubrey, taking off his hat, turned towards
him an unutterable look: then, waving his hand to the group of agitated
servants standing within and without the door, he stepped into the
carriage; the door was shut; and they rolled slowly away. Outside the
park gates were collected more than a hundred people, to bid them
farewell--all the men, when the carriage came in sight, taking off their
hats. The carriage stopped for a moment. "God bless you all! God bless
you!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, waving his hand, while from each window was
extended the white hand of Kate and Mrs. Aubrey, both of which were
fervently kissed and shaken by those who were nearest. Again the
carriage moved on; and quickening their speed, the horses soon bore them
out of the village. Within less than half an hour afterwards, the
tearful eyes of the travellers, as they passed a familiar turning of the
road, had looked their last on Yatton!
* * * * *
NOTE _concerning the law of_ ERASURES _and_ ESTOPPELS.
I. ERASURES.--The question--What is the effect of an erasure, an
interlineation, or alteration apparent in a material part of a deed
above thirty years old, when offered in evidence?--has led to much
discussion both among professional and general readers of this work, as
well at home as abroad; and many communications upon the subject have
been received by the author. Lord Widdrington at the trial, and
subsequently he and the full court, held, in the case of _Doe_ d.
_Titmouse_ v. _Jolter_, that such an erasure was fatal to the case of
the party who relied on the instrument in which it was exhibited. In
constructing this portion of the story, the author, aware of some
difference of opinion on the subject among lawyers, relied upon the
following passage in a work of great and long-established authority,
(BULLER'S _Nisi Prius_, p. 255,) in which the law is thus laid down--"If
there be any [material] blemish, by razure or interlineation, in a deed,
it ought to be proved, though it were above thirty years old, by the
witnesses if living, and if dead, by proving the handwriting of at least
one of the witnesses, and also the hand of the party, _in order to
encounter the presumption arising from the blemishes in the deed_."
Such, also, is the law laid down in Lord Chief Baron Gilbert's Treatise
on Evidence, (p. 89,) and the proposition appears adopted, and these two
high authorities cited, in the last edition, (the ninth,) of that
celebrated standard text-book, PHILLIPS _on Evidence_, p. 205, published
since the former edition of this work. There is an impression, however,
that this strict rule would not _now_ be acted upon; on the ground that
the presumption resulting from a continued possession, in conformity
with the effect of a deed with erasure or interlineation, is strong
enough to overcome the presumption of forgery afforded by the
alterations themselves. Still it is possible to foresee great danger
arising out of the adoption of such a rule: for a man enjoying an estate
in lands, less than one of fee simple, may alter the deed so as to give
to himself that superior estate, and then, after a lapse of thirty
years, produce the deed so altered, and thereby defeat the innocent
party challenging his title to the property. Possibly it would now be
submitted as a question for a jury to decide, _whether the alteration
had been made previously or subsequently to the delivery of the deed?_
for if _previously_, the deed remains valid and binding. A deed thirty
years old is called "an ancient document," and is said to "prove
itself"--_i. e._ to require no proof of its execution, provided it shall
have been produced from a custody which may be reasonably and naturally
explained, even though not the strictly proper legal custody.--See the
late case of Doe _d._ Neale _v._ Sampler, 8 _Adolphus and Ellis' Rep._
151; and Doe _d._ Wildgoose _v._ Pearce, 2 _Moody and Robinson_, 240. As
to the point made by the Attorney-General, at the trial, that where the
right is once vested--_i. e._ the instant after the execution of the
deed--_such execution_ creating a title to the land in question--that
right and title cannot be affected by any subsequent alteration of the
deed;--it has been affirmed to be good law in a recent solemn decision
of the Court of Exchequer, and confirmed in a Court of Error.--_See
Davidson_ v. _Cooper_, 11 Meeson _v._ Welsley, 799-800. "The moment
after the execution of the deed, it has become valueless," said Lord
Abinger, "except as affording _evidence_ of the fact that it had been
executed." In this case, in which the author was engaged, (in 1843,) the
whole doctrine of erasures was thoroughly canvassed; and it was decided,
on error, that when an instrument, (whether under seal or not,) which is
_the foundation_ of a right sought to be enforced, is altered in a
material part, even by a stranger, without the privity of the party
affected by it, such alteration makes the instrument utterly void. The
Scotch law respecting erasures is exceedingly stringent; and even goes
farther than that laid down by Lord Widdrington.
II. ESTOPPEL.--Both this doctrine, and that of erasures, as illustrated
by this work, formed the subject of elaborate investigation in an
article in the _American Jurist_ for 1842, (vol. xxvii. pp. 50, et sec.)
The question relating to estoppel, is thus stated there in abstract
terms. "If the son and heir-apparent of a tenant in fee-simple, conveys
the land thus held, and afterwards dies in his father's lifetime, is the
heir of the father, who also makes his pedigree through the son,
estopped by that son's conveyance?" The conclusion arrived at is, that,
according to Lord Coke, if such conveyance had been with warranty, the
heir would be bound, if assets descended to him from the son.[A] But
statute 4 and 5 Anne, c. 16 § 22, makes void as against his heir all
collateral warranties made by an ancestor who has no estate of
inheritance, in _possession_; and the Act just passed, (1844--stat. 7
and 8 Vict. c. 76 § 5,) permitting the alienation of contingent
interests, expressly declares that it shall not enable any heir to
dispose of his _expectancy_.
[A] By "Warranty," is meant the clause with which deeds of feoffment
formerly concluded, and by which the feoffor agreed that he and his
heirs would "warrant, acquit, and forever defend the feoffee and his
heirs against all persons." This old form has long been obsolete;
and may be considered to have been, by two late statutes, abolished.
In this story an heir is represented as conveying away his expectancy;
and the author has received an obliging communication on the subject,
from one of the greatest conveyancers who ever lived--Mr. Preston--to
the following effect. "The rule of law is--_Qui non habet, ille non dat:
nemo potest plus juris in alium transferre, quam ipse habet._ Therefore
a grant by an expectant heir, _simpliciter_, is void. But the doctrine
of _estoppels_ (a 'cunning learning,' says Lord Coke) affords exceptions
to this general rule." A feoffment with warranty binds an heir, however,
not by estoppel, but by _rebutter_, "in order to avoid circuity of
action, which is not favored by the law."--(Co. Litt. 265 a.) He might
be estopped by a lease for years, and by matter of record--or by fine
and recovery, before those methods of assurance were abolished; but a
conveyance by Lease and Release would not bind the heir, on the
subsequent descent of the estate: for he had _no right at all_ at the
time of the release, made, but that once in the ancestor; after whose
decease the heir may enter in to the land against his own release.--(Co.
Litt. 265 a.) "The late vice-chancellor, Sir John Leach," says Mr.
Preston, "once decided that a release _did_ operate as an estoppel, in
conformity with my argument before him; but Lord Lyndhurst on appeal,
contrary to his own first impression, on Sir Edward Sugden's handing up
to him my own Book on Conveyancing, as a _contre projet_ to my attempt
to support the vice-chancellor's decision, overruled that decision."