How often is it that a new acquaintance, begun under accidental
circumstances, forms an epoch in life? How often does it change in every
respect the current of our days on earth--ay! and affect eternity
itself? The point of time at which we form such an acquaintance is, in
fact, the spot at which two streams meet. There, the waters of both are
insensibly blended together--the clear and the turbid, the rough and the
smooth, the rapid and the slow. Each not only modifies the manner, and
the direction, and the progress of the other with which it mingles, but
even if any material object separates the united stream again into two,
the individuality of both those that originally formed it is lost, and
each is affected for ever by the progress they have had together.
Wilton Brown was now once more moving at ease. He had his horses and his
servant, and his small convenient apartments at no great distance from
the Earl of Byerdale's. He could enjoy the various objects which the
metropolis presented from time to time to satisfy the taste or the
curiosity of the public, and he could mingle in his leisure hours with
the few amongst the acquaintances he had made in passing through a
public school, or residing at the University, whom he had learned to
love or to esteem. He sought them not, indeed, and he courted no great
society; for there was not, perhaps, one amongst those he knew whose
taste, and thoughts, and feelings, were altogether congenial with his
own. Indeed, when any one has found such, in one or two instances,
throughout the course of life, he may sit himself down, saying, "Oh!
happy that I am, in the wide universe of matter and of spirit I am not
alone! There are beings of kindred sympathies linked to myself by ties
of love which it never can be the will of Almighty Beneficence that
death itself should break!"
If Wilton felt thus towards any one, it was towards the Earl of Sunbury;
but yet there was a difference between his sensations towards that kind
friend and those of which we have spoken, on which we need not pause in
this place. Except in his society, however, Wilton's thoughts were
nearly alone. There were one or two young noblemen and others, for whom
he felt a great regard, a high esteem, a certain degree of habitual
affection, but that was all, and thus his time in general passed
solitarily enough.
With the Earl of Byerdale he did not perhaps interchange ten words in
three months, although when he was writing in the same room with him he
had more than once remarked the eyes of the Earl fixed stern and intent
upon him from beneath their overhanging brows, as if he would have asked
him some dark and important question, or proposed to him some dangerous
and terrible act which he dared hardly name.
"Were he some Italian minister," thought Wilton, sometimes, "and I, as
at present, his poor secretary, I should expect him every moment to
commend the assassination of some enemy to my convenient skill in such
affairs."
At length one morning when he arrived at the house of the Earl to pursue
his daily task, he saw a travelling carriage at the door with two
servants, English and foreign, disencumbering it from the trunks which
were thereunto attached in somewhat less convenient guise than in the
present day. He took no note, however, and entered as usual, proceeding
at once to the cabinet, where he usually found the Earl at that hour. He
was there and alone, nor did the entrance of Wilton create any farther
change in his proceedings than merely to point to another table, saying,
"Three letters to answer there, Mr. Brown--the corners are turned down,
with directions."
Wilton sat down and proceeded as usual; but he had scarcely ended the
first letter and begun a second, when the door of the apartment was
thrown unceremoniously open, and a young gentleman entered the room,
slightly, but very gracefully made, extremely handsome in features, but
pale in complexion, and with a quick, wandering, and yet marking eye,
which seemed to bespeak much of intelligence, but no great steadiness of
character. He was dressed strangely enough, in a silk dressing-gown of
the richest-flowered embroidery, slippers of crimson velvet
embroidered with gold upon his feet, and a crimson velvet nightcap with
gold tassels on his head.
"Why, my dear sir, this is really cruel," cried he, advancing towards
the Earl, and speaking in a tone of light reproach, "to go away and
leave me, when I come back from twelve or fourteen hundred miles'
distance, without even waiting to see my most beautiful dressing-gown.
Really you fathers are becoming excessively undutiful towards your
children! You have wanted some one so long to keep you in order, my
lord, that I see evidently, I shall be obliged to hold a tight hand over
you. But tell me, in pity tell me, did you ever see anything so
exquisite as this dressing-gown? Its beauty would be nothing without its
superbness, and its splendour nothing without its delicacy. The richness
of the silk would be lost without the radiant colours of the flowers,
and the miraculous taste of the embroidery would be entirely thrown away
upon any other stuff than that. In short, one might write a catechism
upon it, my lord. There is nothing on all the earth equal to it. No man
has, or has had, or will have, anything that can compete with it. Gold
could not buy it. I was obliged to seduce the girl that worked it; and
then, like Ulysses with Circe, I bound her to perform what task I liked.
'Produce me,' I exclaimed, 'a dressing-gown!' and, lo! it stands before
you."
Wilton Brown turned his eyes for an instant to the countenance of the
Earl of Byerdale, when, to his surprise, he beheld there, for the first
time, something that might be called a good-humoured smile. The change
of Wilton's position, slight as it was, seemed to call the attention of
the young gentleman, who instantly approached the table where he sat,
exclaiming, "Who is this? I don't know him. What do you mean, sir," he
continued, in the same light tone--"what do you mean, by suffering my
father to run riot in this way, while I am gone? Why, sir, I find he has
addicted himself to courtierism, and to cringing, and to sitting in
cabinets, and to making long speeches in the House of Lords; and to all
sorts of vices of the same kind, so as nearly to have fallen into prime
ministerism. All this is very bad--very bad, indeed--"
"My dear boy," said the Earl, "you will gain the character of a madman
without deserving it."
"Pray, papa, let me alone," replied the young man, affecting a boyish
tone; "you only interrupt me: may I ask, sir, what is your name?" he
continued, still addressing Wilton.
"My name, sir," replied the other, slightly colouring at such an abrupt
demand, "is Wilton Brown."
"Then, Wilton, I am very glad to see you," replied the other, holding
out his hand--"you are the very person I wanted to see; for it so
happens, that my wise, prudent, and statesmanlike friend, the Earl of
Sunbury, having far greater confidence in the security of my noddle than
has my worthy parent here, has entrusted to me for your behoof one long
letter, and innumerable long messages, together with a strong
recommendation to you, to take me to your bosom, and cherish me as any
old man would do his grandson; namely, with the most doting,
short-sighted, and depraving affection, which can be shown towards a
wayward, whimsical, tiresome, capricious boy; and now, if you don't like
my own account of myself, or the specimen you have had this morning, you
had better lay down your pen, and come and take a walk with me, in order
to shake off your dislike; for it must be shaken off, and the sooner it
is done the better."
The Earl's brow had by this time gathered into a very ominous sort of
frown, and he informed his son in a stern tone, that his clerk, Mr.
Brown, was engaged in business of importance, and would not be free from
it, he feared, till three o'clock.
"Well, my lord, I will even go and sleep till three," replied the young
man. "At that hour, Mr. Brown, I will come and seek you. I have an
immensity to say to you, all about nothing in the world, and therefore
it is absolutely necessary that I should disgorge myself as soon as
possible."
Thus saying, he turned gaily on his heel, and left the Earl's cabinet.
"You must excuse him, Mr. Brown," said the Earl, as soon as he was gone;
"he is wild with spirits and youth, but he will soon, I trust, demean
himself more properly." Wilton made no reply, but thought that if the
demeanour of the son was not altogether pleasant, the demeanour of the
father was ten times worse. When the three letters were written, Lord
Byerdale immediately informed Wilton that he should have no farther
occupation for him that day, although the clock had not much passed the
first hour after noon; and as it was evident that he had no inclination
to encourage any intimacy between him and his son, the young gentleman
retired to his own lodgings, and ordering his horse to be brought round
quickly, prepared to take a lengthened ride into the country.
Before the horse could be saddled, however, a servant announced Lord
Sherbrooke, and the next moment the son of the Earl of Byerdale entered
the room. There was something in the name that sounded familiar in the
ears of Wilton Brown, he could not tell why. He almost expected to see
a familiar face present itself at the open door; for so little had been
the communication between himself and the Earl of Byerdale, that he had
never known till that morning that the Earl had a son, nor ever heard
the second title of the family before. He received his visitor, however,
with pleasure, not exactly for the young nobleman's own sake, but rather
on account of the letters and messages which he had promised from the
Earl of Sunbury.
Lord Sherbrooke was now dressed as might well become a man of rank in
his day; with a certain spice of foppery in his apparel, indeed, and
with a slight difference in the fashion and materials of his clothes
from those ordinarily worn in England, which might just mark, to an
observing eye, that they had been made in a foreign country.
His demeanour was much more calm and sedate than it had been in the
morning; and sitting down, he began by a reproach to Wilton, for having
gone away without waiting to see him again.
"The fact is, my lord," replied Wilton, "that the Earl, though he did
not absolutely send me away, gave me such an intimation to depart, that
I could not well avoid it."
"It strikes me, Wilton," said Lord Sherbrooke, familiarly, "that my
father is treating you extremely ill; Lord Sunbury gave me a hint of the
kind, when I saw him in Rome; and I see that he said even less than the
truth."
"I have no right to complain, my lord," answered Wilton, after pausing
for a moment to master some very painful emotions--"I have no reason to
complain, my lord, of conduct that I voluntarily endure."
"Very well answered, Wilton!" replied the young lord, "but not
logically, my good friend. Every gentleman has a right to expect
gentlemanly treatment. He has a right to complain if he does not meet
with that which he has a right to expect; and he does not bar himself of
that right of complaint, because any circumstances render it expedient
or right for him not to resist the ill-treatment at which he murmurs.
However, it is more to your honour that you do not complain; but I know
my father well, and, of course, amongst a great many high qualities,
there are some not quite so pleasant. We must mend this matter for you,
however, and what I wish to say to you now, is, that you must not spoil
all I do, by any pride of that kind which will make you hold back when I
pull forward."
"Indeed, my lord," replied Wilton, "you would particularly oblige me by
making no effort to change the position in which I am placed. All the
communication which takes place between your lordship's father and
myself is quite sufficient for the transaction of business, and we can
never stand in any other relation towards each other than that of
minister and private secretary."
"Or CLERK, as he called you to me to-day," said Lord Sherbrooke, drily.
"The name matters very little, my lord," replied Wilton; "he calls me
SECRETARY to myself, and such he stated me to be in the little
memorandum of my appointment, which he gave me, but if it please him
better to call me clerk, why, let him do it."
"Oh! I shall not remonstrate," replied Lord Sherbrooke; "I never argue
with my father. In the first place, it would be undutiful and
disrespectful, and I am the most dutiful of all sons; and in the next
place, he generally somehow gets the better of me in argument--the more
completely the more wrong he is. But, nevertheless, I can find means to
drive him, if not to persuade him; to lead him, if not to convince him;
and having had my own way from childhood up to the present hour--alas!
that I should say it, after having taken the way that I have taken--I do
not intend to give it up just now, so I will soon drive him to a
different way with you, while you have no share in the matter, but that
of merely suffering me to assume, at once, the character of an old
friend, and not an insincere one. On the latter point, indeed, you must
believe me to be just as sincere as my father is insincere, for you very
well know, Wilton, that, in this world of ours, it is much more by
avoiding the faults than by following the virtues of our parents, that
we get on in life. Every fool can see where his father is a fool, and
can take care not to be foolish in the same way; but it is a much more
difficult thing to appreciate a father's wisdom, and learn to be wise
like him."
"The latter, my lord, I should think, would be the nobler endeavour,"
replied Wilton; "though I cannot say what would have been my own case,
if I had ever had the happiness of knowing a father's care."
Lord Sherbrooke for a moment or two made no reply, but looked down upon
the ground, apparently struck by the tone in which Wilton spoke. He
answered at length, however, raising his eyes with one of his gay looks,
"After all, we are but mortals, my dear Wilton, and we must have our
little follies and vices. I would not be an angel for the world, for my
part; and besides--for so staid and sober a young man as you are--you
forget that I have a duty to perform towards my father, to check him
when I see him going wrong, and to put him in the right way; to afford
him, now and then, a little filial correction, and take care of his
morals and his education. Why, if he had not me to look after him, I do
not know what would become of him. However, I see," he added in a graver
tone, "that I must not jest with you, until you know me and understand
me better. What I mean is, that we are to be friends, remember. It is
all arranged between the Earl of Sunbury and myself. We are to be
friends, then; and such being the case, I will take care that my lord of
Byerdale does not call my friend his clerk, nor treat him in any other
manner than as my friend. And now, Wilton, set about the matter as fast
as ever you can. There is my letter of recommendation from the Earl of
Sunbury, which I hope will break down some barriers, the rest I must do
for myself. You will find me full of faults, full of follies, and full
of vices; for though it may be a difficult thing to be full of three
things at once, yet the faults, follies, and vices within me seem to
fill me altogether, each in turn, and yet altogether. In fact, they put
me in mind of two liquids with which I once saw an Italian conjurer
perform a curious trick. He filled a glass with a certain liquid, which
looked like water, up to the very brim, and then poured in a
considerable quantity of another liquid without increasing the liquid in
the glass by a drop. Now sometimes my folly seems to fill me so
completely, that I should think there was no room for vices, but those
vices find some means to slip in, without incommoding me in the least.
However, I will leave you now to read your letters, and to wonder at
your sage and prudent friend, the Earl of Sunbury, having introduced to
your acquaintance, and recommended to your friendship, one who has made
half the capitals of Europe ring with his pranks. The secret is, Wilton,
that the Earl knows both me and you. He pays you the high compliment of
thinking you can be the companion of a very faulty man, without
acquiring his faults; and he knows that, though I cannot cure myself of
my own errors, I hate them too much to wish any one to imitate them.
When you have done reading," he added, "come and join me at Monsieur
Faubert's Riding School, in the lane going up to the Oxford Road: I see
your horse at the door--I will get one there, and we will have a ride
in the country. By heavens, what a beautiful picture! It is quite a
little gem. That child's head must be a Correggio."
"I believe it is," replied Wilton: "I saw it accidentally at an auction,
and bought it for a mere trifle."
"You have the eye of a judge," replied his companion.
"Do not be long ere you join me;" and looking at every little object of
ornament or luxury that the room contained, standing a minute or two
before another picture, taking up, and examining all over, a small
bronze urn, that stood on one of the tables, and criticising the hilts
of two or three of Wilton's swords, that stood in the corner of the
room, he made his way out, like Hamlet, "without his eyes," and left his
new acquaintance to read his letter in peace.
In that letter, which was in every respect most kind, Wilton found that
the Earl gave a detailed account of the character of the young nobleman
who had just left him. He represented him, very much as he had
represented himself, full of follies, and, unfortunately, but too much
addicted to let those follies run into vices. "Though he neither gambled
nor drank for pleasure," the Earl said, "yet, as if for variety, he
would sometimes do both to excess. In other respects, he had lived a
life of great profligacy, seeming utterly careless of the reproaches of
any one, and rather taking means to make any fresh act of licence
generally known, than to conceal it. Nor is this," continued the Earl,
"from that worst of all vanities, which attaches fame to what is
infamous, and confounds notoriety with renown, but rather from a sort of
daringness of disposition, which prompts him to avow openly any act to
which there may be risk attached. With all these bad qualities," the
Earl proceeded, "there are many good ones. To be bold as a lion is but a
corporeal endowment, but he adds to that the most perfect sincerity and
frankness.
"He would neither falsify his word nor deny an act that he has committed
for the world. His mind is sufficiently acute, and his heart
sufficiently good, to see distinctly the evils of unbridled licence, and
to condemn it in his own case; and he is the last man in the world who
would lead or encourage any one in that course which he has pursued
himself. In short, his own passions are as the bonds cast around the
Hebrew giant when he slept, to give him over into the hands of any one
who chooses to lead him into wrong. The consecrated locks of the
Nazarite--I mean, purity and innocence of heart--have been shorn away
completely in the lap of one Delilah or another; and though he hates
those who hold him captive, he is constrained to follow where they lead.
I think you may do him good, Wilton; I am certain he can do you no harm:
I believe that he is capable, and I am certain that he is willing, to
make your abode in London more pleasant to you, and to open that path
for your advancement, which his father would have put you in, if he had
fulfilled the promises that he made to me."