About a couple of weeks after this letter, one evening in October,
Mrs. Atheling, Kate, and Annie were returning to Atheling House from
Gisbourne, where they had been happily busy all the afternoon. They were
easy-hearted, but rather quiet; each in that mood of careless stillness
which broods on its own joy or sorrow. The melancholy of the autumn
night influenced them,--calm, pallid, and a little sad, with a dull,
soft murmur among the firs,--so they did not hurry, and it was nearly
dark when they came in sight of the house. Then Mrs. Atheling roused
herself. "How good a cup of tea will taste," she said; "and I dare
say it is waiting, for Ann has lighted the room, I see." Laughing and
echoing her remark, they reached the parlour. On opening the door, Mrs.
Atheling uttered a joyful cry.
"Why, John! Why, Edgar!"
"To be sure, Maude," answered the Squire, leaping up and taking her
in his arms. "I wonder how thou feelest to have thy husband come home
and find thee out of the house, and not a bit of eating ready for him."
Then Mrs. Atheling pointed to the table, and said, "I do not think there
is any need for complaint, John."
"No; we managed, Edgar and me, by good words and bad words, to get
something for ourselves--" and he waved his hand complacently over
the table, loaded with all kinds of eatables,--a baron of cold beef,
cold Yorkshire pudding, a gypsy pie, Indian preserves, raspberry
tarts, clotted cream, roast apples, cheese celery, fine old ale, strong
gunpowder tea, and a variety of condiments.
"What do you call this meal, John?"
"I call it a decent kind of a tea, and I want thee to try and learn
something from its example." Then he kissed her again, and looked
anxiously round for Kitty.
"Come here, my little girl," he cried; and Kitty, who had been feeling
a trifle neglected, forgot everything but the warmth and gladness of
her father's love and welcome. Edgar had found Annie a seat beside his
own, and the Squire managed to get his place between his wife and his
daughter. Then the "cup of tea" Mrs. Atheling had longed for became a
protracted home festival. But they could not keep politics out of its
atmosphere; they were, indeed, so blended with the life of that time
that their separation from household matters was impossible, and the
Squire was no more anxious to hear about his hunters and his harvest,
than Mrs. Atheling was to know the fate of the Reform Bill.
"It has passed at last, I suppose, John," she said, with an air of
satisfied certainty.
"Thou supposest very far wrong, then. It has been rejected again."
"Never! Never! Never! Oh, John, John! It is not possible!"
"The Lords did, as I told thee they would,--that is, the Lords and the
bishops together."
"The bishops ought to be unfrocked," cried Edgar, with considerable
temper. "Only one in all their number voted for Reform."
"I'll never go to church again," said Mrs. Atheling, in her
unreasonable anger.
"Tell us about it, Father," urged Kate.
"Well, you see, Mr. Peel and Mr. Croker led our party against the Bill;
and Croker _is_ clever, there is no doubt of that."
"Not to be compared to Lord Althorp, our leader,--so calm, so
courageous, so upright," said Edgar.
"Nobody denies it; but Croker's practical, vigorous views--"
"You mean his 'sanguine despondency,' his delight in describing
England as bankrupt and ruined by Reform."
"I mean nothing of the kind, Edgar; but--"
"Did the Bill pass the Commons, Father?" asked Kate.
"It did; although in fifteen days Peel spoke forty-eight times against
it, and Croker fifty-seven times, and Wetherell fifty-eight times. But
all they could say was just so many lost words."
"Think of such men disputing the right of Manchester, Leeds, and
Birmingham to be represented in the House of Commons! What do you say to
that, Mother?"
"I only hope father wasn't in such a stupid bit of business, Edgar."
And the Squire drank a glass of ale, and pretended not to hear.
"But," continued Edgar, "we never lost heart; for all over the
country, and in every quarter of London, they were holding meetings
urging us not to give way,--not to give way an inch. We were fighting for
all England; and, as Lord Althorp said, we were ready to keep Parliament
sitting till next December, or even to next December twelvemonth."
"I'll warrant you!" interrupted the Squire. "Well, Edgar, you
passed your Bill in a fine uproar of triumph; all London in the street,
shouting thanks to Althorp and the others--Edgar Atheling among them."
Then the Squire paused and looked at his son, and Mrs. Atheling asked,
impatiently,--
"What then, John?"
"Why, then, Lord John Russell and Lord Althorp carried the Bill to the
House of Lords. It was a great scene. The Duke told me about it. He
said nearly every peer was in his seat; and a large number of peeresses
had been admitted at the bar, and every inch of space in the House was
crowded. The Lord Chancellor took his seat at the Woolsack; and the
Deputy Usher of the Black Rod threw open the doors, crying, 'A Message
from the Commons.' Then Lord John Russell and Lord Althorp, at the head
of one hundred Members of the House of Commons, entered, and delivered
the Bill to the Lord Chancellor."
"Oh, how I should have liked to have been present!" said Kate.
"Well, some day thou--" and then the Squire suddenly stopped; but
the unfinished thought was flashed to every one present,--"some day
thou mayst be Duchess of Richmoor, and have the right to be present;"
and Kate was pleased, and felt her heart warm to conscious hope. She
caught her mother watching her, and smiled; and Mrs. Atheling, instantly
sensitive to the unspoken feeling, avoided comment by her eager inquiry,--
"Whatever did they say, John?"
"They said the usual words; but the Duke told me there was a breathless
silence, and that Lord John Russell said them with the most unusual
and impressive emphasis: 'My Lords, the House of Commons have passed
an Act to Amend the Representation of England and Wales, to which they
desire your Lordships' Concurrence.' Lord Grey opened the debate. I
dare say Edgar knows all about it. I believe Grey is his leader."
"Yes," answered Edgar, "and very proud I am of my leader. He is in
his sixty-eighth year, and he stood there that night to advocate the
measure he proposed forty years before, in the House of Commons. Althorp
told me he spoke with a strange calmness and solemnity, '_for the just
claims of the people_;' but as soon as he sat down Lord Wharncliffe
moved that the Bill be rejected altogether."
"That was like Wharncliffe," said the Squire. "No half measures for
him."
"Wellington followed, and wanted to know, 'How the King's government
was to be carried on by the will of a turbulent democracy?'"
"Wellington would govern with a sword instead of a sceptre. He would
try every cause round a drum-head. I am not with Wellington."
"Lord Dudley followed in an elegant, classical speech, also against the
Bill."
The Squire laughed. "I heard about that speech. Did not Brougham call
it, 'An essay or exercise of the highest merit, on democracies--_but
not on this Bill_.'"
"Yes. Brougham can say very polite and very disagreeable things. He
spoke on the fifth and last night of the debate. Earl Grey said a more
splendid declamation was never made. All London is now quoting one
passage which he addressed to the Lords: 'Justice deferred,' he said,
'enhances the price at which you will purchase your own safety; nor can
you expect to gather any other crop than they did who went before you, if
you persevere in their utterly abominable husbandry of sowing injustice
and reaping rebellion.'"
"Fine words, Edgar, fine words; just like Brougham,--catch-words, to
take the common people."
"They did not, however, alarm or take the Lords. My leader closed
the debate, and in a magnificent speech implored the archbishops and
bishops not to vote against the Bill, and thus stand before the people
of England as the enemies of a just and moderate scheme of Reform."
"And yet they voted against it!" said Mrs. Atheling. "I am downright
ashamed of them. The very date ought to be put up against them forever."
"It was the seventh of October. All night long, until the dawning
of the eighth, the debate was continued; and until three hours after
midnight, Palace Yard, and the streets about Westminster, were crowded
with anxious watchers, though the weather was cold and miserably wet.
Towards morning their patience was exhausted; and when the carriages of
the peers and bishops rolled out in broad daylight there was no one
there to greet them with the execrations and hisses they deserved.
The whole of our work this session in the Commons has been done in
vain. But we shall win next time, even if we compel the King to create
as many new Reform peers as will pass the Bill in spite of the old
Lords."
"Edgar, you are talking nonsense--if not treason."
"Pardon me, Father. I am only giving you the ultimatum of Reform.
The Bill _must_ pass the Lords next session, or you may call Reform
Revolution. The people are particularly angry at the bishops. They
dare not appear on the streets; curses follow them, and their carriages
have been repeatedly stoned."
"There is a verse beginning, 'Inasmuch as ye did it not,' etc.,--I
wonder if they will ever dare to repeat it again. They will do the church
a deal of harm."
"Oh, no," said Edgar. "The church does not stand on the bishops."
"Be easy with the bishops," added the Squire. "They have to scheme
a bit in order to get the most out of both worlds. They scorn to answer
the people according to their idols. They are politically right."
"No, sir," said Edgar. "Whatever is morally wrong cannot be
politically right. The church is well represented by the clergy; they
have generally sympathised with the people. One of them, indeed, called
Smith--Sydney Smith--made a speech at Taunton, three days after our
defeat, that has gone like wild-fire throughout the length and breadth
of England;" and Edgar took a paper out of his pocket, and read,
with infinite delight and appreciation, the pungent wit which made
"Mrs. Partington" famous throughout Christendom:--
"As for the possibility of the House of Lords preventing a
reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion
that ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to
be disrespectful, but the attempt of the Lords to stop the
progress of Reform reminds me very forcibly of the great
storm at Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent
Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824,
there set in a great flood upon that town; the waves rushed
in upon the houses; and everything was threatened with
destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm,
Dame Partington--who lived upon the beach--was seen at the
door of her house, with mop and pattens, trundling her mop,
squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the
Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused. Mrs. Partington's
spirit was up; but I need not tell you, the contest was
unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was
excellent at a slop or a puddle; but she should not have
meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease, be quiet
and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington."[2]
------
[Footnote 2: Speech at Taunton by Sydney Smith, October 12, 1831.]
"It was not respectful to liken the Lords of England to an old woman,
now was it, Mother?" asked the Squire.
But Mrs. Atheling only laughed the more, and the conversation drifted so
completely into politics that Kitty and Annie grew weary of it, and said
they wished to go to their rooms. And as they left the parlour together,
Edgar suddenly stayed Kitty a moment, and said, "I had nearly forgotten
to tell you something. Miss Vyner is to be married, on the second of
December, to Cecil North. I am going to London in time for the wedding."
And Kitty said, "I am glad to hear it, Edgar," and quickly closed the
door. But she lay long awake, wondering what influence this event would
have upon Piers and his future, until, finally, the wonder passed into
a little verse which they had learned together; and with it singing in
her heart, she fell asleep:--
"Thou art mine! I am thine!
Thou art locked in this heart of mine;
Whereof is lost the little key:
So there, forever, thou must be!"