LETTER FROM ALFRED PERCY TO HIS MOTHER.
“My Dear Mother,
“I am shocked by your story of Kate Robinson. I agree with you in
rejoicing that Caroline had sufficient penetration to see the faults of
Buckhurst Falconer’s character, and steadiness enough, notwithstanding
his agreeable talents, never to give him any encouragement. I agree with
you, also, that it was fortunate that her last letter to him was written
and sent before this affair came to her knowledge. It was much better
that she should abide by her objection to his general principles than to
have had explanations and discussions on a subject into which she could
not enter with propriety.
“I will, as you desire, keep Buckhurst’s secret. Indeed, in a worldly
point of view, it behoves him that it should be carefully kept, because
Bishop Clay, the prelate, who gave him his present living, though he
tolerates gormandizing to excess, is extremely strict with his clergy
_in other matters_; and, as I once heard Buckhurst say,
‘Compounds for sins he is inclin’d to,
By damning those he has no mind to.’”
“Buckhurst had, I believe, hopes that Caroline would have relented,
in consequence of his last overture; he was thrown into despair by her
answer, containing, as he told me, such a calm and civil repetition
of her refusal--that he swears he will never trouble her again. For a
fortnight after, he protests he was ready to hang himself. About that
time, I suppose, when he heard of Kate Robinson’s death, he shut himself
up in his rooms for several days--said he was not well, and could not
see any body. When he came out again, he looked wretchedly ill, and
unhappy: I pitied him--I felt the truth of what Rosamond said, ‘that
there is such a mixture of good and bad in his character, as makes me
change my opinion of him every half hour.’
“He has just done me an essential service. He learnt the other day from
one of his sisters the secret reason why Lord Oldborough was displeased
with Godfrey, and why Godfrey was despatched to the West Indies.--Lord
Oldborough had been told, either by Cunningham, or by one of his
sisters, that Godfrey made love to Miss Hauton, and that when he came
to town ostensibly on some regimental business, and was pleading for a
brother officer, his concealed motive was to break off the marriage of
his lordship’s niece. Buckhurst had been at the opera in the same
box with Miss Hauton and with my brother Godfrey one night. Godfrey’s
conduct had been misrepresented, and as soon as Buckhurst found that
Lord Oldborough had been deceived, he was determined that he should know
the truth; or, at least, that he should know that my brother was not to
blame. Godfrey never mentioned the subject to me; but, from what I can
understand, the lady showed him _distinguished attention_. How Buckhurst
Falconer managed to _right_ my brother in Lord Oldborough’s opinion
without _involving_ the young lady, I do not know.--He said that he had
fortunately had an opportunity one evening at his father’s, when he
was playing at chess with Lord Oldborough, of speaking to him on that
subject, when none of his family was watching him. He told me that
Lord Oldborough desires to see me, and has appointed his hour to-morrow
morning. Now, Rosamond, my dear, set your imagination to work; I must go
and draw a _replication_, which will keep mine fast bound.
“Yours truly,
“Alfred Percy.”
At the appointed hour, Alfred waited upon the minister, and was received
graciously. Not one word of Godfrey, however, or of any thing leading to
that subject. Lord Oldborough spoke to Alfred as to the son of his old
friend. He began by lamenting the misfortunes which had deprived Mr.
Percy of that estate and station to which he had done honour. His
lordship went on to say that he was sorry that Mr. Percy’s love of
retirement, or pride of independence, precluded all idea of seeing
him in parliament; but he hoped that Mr. Percy’s sons were, in this
extravagant notion of independence, and in this _only_, unlike their
father.
With all due deference, Alfred took the liberty of replying to the word
_extravagant_, and endeavoured to explain that his father’s ideas of
independence did not go beyond just bounds: Lord Oldborough, contrary to
his usual custom when he met with any thing like contradiction, did not
look displeased; on the contrary, he complimented Alfred on his being
a good advocate. Alfred was going to _fall into a commonplace_, about
a good cause; but from that he was happily saved by Lord Oldborough’s
changing the conversation.
He took up a pamphlet which lay upon his table. It was Cunningham
Falconer’s, that is to say, the pamphlet which was published in
Cunningham’s name, and for which he was mean enough to take the credit
from the poor starving genius in the garret. Lord Oldborough turned over
the leaves. “Here is a passage that was quoted yesterday at dinner at
Commissioner Falconer’s, but I don’t think that any of the company, or
the commissioner himself, though he is, or was, a reading man, could
recollect to what author it alludes.”
Lord Oldborough pointed to the passage: “_Thus the fame of heroes is at
last neglected by their worshippers, and left to the care of the birds
of heaven, or abandoned to the serpents of the earth._”
Alfred fortunately recollected that this alluded to a description in
Arrian of the island of Achilles, the present Isle of Serpents, where
there is that temple of the hero, of which, as the historian says, “the
care is left to the birds alone, who every morning repair to the sea,
wet their wings, and sprinkle the temple, afterwards sweeping with their
plumage its sacred pavement.”
Lord Oldborough smiled, and said, “The author--the reputed author of
this pamphlet, sir, is obliged to you for throwing light upon a passage
which he could not himself elucidate.”
This speech of Lord Oldborough’s alluded to something that had passed at
a dinner at Lord Skreene’s, the day before Cunningham had set out on
his embassy. Cunningham had been _posed_ by this passage, for which
Secretary Cope, who hated him, had maliciously complimented him, and
besought him to explain it. Secretary Cope, who was a poet, made an
epigram on Cunningham the diplomatist. The lines we do not remember. The
points of it were, that Cunningham was so complete a diplomatist, that
he would not commit himself by giving up his authority, even for a
quotation, and that when he knew the author of an excellent thing, he,
with admirable good faith, _kept it to himself_. This epigram remained
at the time a profound secret to Lord Oldborough. Whilst Cunningham was
going with a prosperous gale, it was not heard of; but it worked round,
according to the manoeuvres of courts, just by the time the tide
of favour began to ebb. Lord Oldborough, dissatisfied with one of
Cunningham’s despatches, was heard to say, as he folded it up, “_A
slovenly performance_!”
Then, at the happy moment, stepped in the rival Secretary Cope, and put
into his lordship’s hands the epigram and the anecdote.
All this the reader is to take as a note explanatory upon Lord
Oldborough’s last speech to Alfred, and now to go on with the
conversation--at the word _elucidate_.
“I suspect,” continued his lordship, “that Mr. Alfred Percy knows more
of this pamphlet altogether than the reputed author ever did.”
Alfred felt himself change colour, and the genius in the garret rushed
upon his mind; at the same instant he recollected that he was not at
liberty to name Mr. Temple, and that he must not betray Cunningham.
Alfred answered that it was not surprising he should know the pamphlet
well, as he probably admired it more, and had read it oftener, than the
author himself had ever done.
“Very well parried, young gentleman. You will not allow, then, that you
had any hand in writing it?”
“No, my lord,” said Alfred, “I had none whatever; I never saw it till it
was published.”
“I have not a right, in politeness, to press the question. Permit me,
however, to say, that it is a performance of which any man might be
proud.”
“I should, my lord, be proud--very proud, if I had written it; but I am
incapable of assuming a merit that is not mine, and I trust the manner
in which I now disclaim it does not appear like the affected modesty
of an author who wishes to have that believed which he denies. I hope I
convince your lordship of the truth.”
“I cannot have any doubt of what you assert in this serious manner, sir.
May I ask if you can tell me the name of the real author?”
“Excuse me, my lord--I cannot. I have answered your lordship with
perfect openness, as far as I am concerned.”
“Sir,” said Lord Oldborough, “I confess that I began this conversation
with the prepossession that you were equal to a performance of which
I think highly, but you have succeeded in convincing me that I was
mistaken--that you are not equal--but superior to it.”
Upon this compliment, Alfred, as he thought the force of politeness
could no farther go, rose, bowed, and prepared to retire.
“Are you in a hurry to leave me, Mr. Percy?”
“Quite the contrary, but I was afraid of encroaching upon your
lordship’s goodness; I know that your time is most valuable, and that
your lordship has so much business of importance.”
“Perhaps Mr. Alfred Percy may assist me in saving time hereafter.”
Alfred sat down again, as his lordship’s eye desired it.--Lord
Oldborough remained for a few moments silent, leaning upon his arm on
the table, deep in thought.
“Yes, sir,” said he, “I certainly have, as you say, much business
upon my hands. But _that_ is not the difficulty; with hands and heads
business is easily arranged and expedited. I have hands and heads enough
at my command. Talents of all sorts can be obtained for their price,
but that which is above all price, integrity, cannot--there’s the
difficulty--there is my difficulty. I have not a single man about
me whom I can trust--many who understand my views, but none who feel
them--‘_Des ames de boue et de fange!_’ Wretches who care not if
the throne and the country perish, if their little interests--Young
gentleman,” said he, recollecting himself, and turning to Alfred, “I
feel as if I were speaking to a part of your father when I am speaking
to you.”
Alfred felt this, and Lord Oldborough saw that he felt it strongly.
“_Then_, my dear sir,” said he, “you understand me--I see we understand
and shall suit one another. I am in want of a secretary to supply
the place of Mr. Cunningham Falconer. Mr. Drakelow is going to
Constantinople; but he shall first initiate his successor in the
business of his office--a routine, which little minds would make great
minds believe is a mystery above ordinary comprehension. But, sir,
I have no doubt that you will be expert in a very short time in the
technical part--in the routine of office; and if it suits your views, in
one word, I should be happy to have you for my private secretary. Take
time to consider, if you do not wish to give an answer immediately; but
I beg that you will consult no one but yourself--not even your father.
And as soon as your mind is made up, let me know your decision.”
After returning thanks to the minister, who had, by this time, risen
to a prodigious height in Alfred’s opinion; after having reiterated his
thanks with a warmth which was not displeasing, he retired. The account
of his feelings on this occasion is given with much _truth_ in his own
letter, from which we extract the passage:
“I believe I felt a little like Gil Blas after his first visit at court.
Vapours of ambition certainly mounted into my head, and made me a little
giddy; that night I did not sleep quite so well as usual. The bar and
the court, Lord Oldborough and my special pleader, were continually
before my eyes balancing in my imagination all the _pros_ and _cons_.
I fatigued myself, but could neither rest nor decide. Seven years
of famine at the bar--horrible! but then independence and liberty
of conscience--and in time, success--the certain reward of
industry--well-earned wealth--perhaps honours--why not the highest
professional honours? The life of a party-man and a politician, agreed
by all who have tried, even by this very Lord Oldborough himself, agreed
to be an unhappy life--obliged to live with people I despise--might
be tempted, like others, to do things for which I should despise
myself--subject to caprice--at best, my fortune quite dependent on my
patron’s continuance in power--power and favour uncertain.
“It was long before I got my pros and cons even into this rude
preparation for comparison, and longer still before the logical process
of giving to each good and evil its just value, and drawing clear
deductions from distinct premises, could be accomplished. However, in
four-and-twenty hours I solved the problem.
“I waited upon Lord Oldborough to tell him my conclusion. With
professions of gratitude, respect, and attachment, more sincere, I
fancy, than those he usually hears, I began; and ended by telling him,
in the best manner I could, that I thought my trade was more honest
than his, and that, hard as a lawyer’s life was, I preferred it to a
politician’s.--You don’t suspect me of saying all this--no, I was not
quite so brutal; but, perhaps, it was implied by my declining the honour
of the secretaryship, and preferring to abide by my profession. Lord
Oldborough looked--or my vanity fancied that he looked--disappointed.
After a pause of silent displeasure, he said, ‘Well, sir, upon the whole
I believe you have decided wisely. I am sorry that you cannot serve me,
and that I cannot serve you in the manner which I had proposed. Yours is
a profession in which ministerial support can be of little use, but in
which talents, perseverance, and integrity, are secure, sooner or later,
of success. I have, therefore, only to wish you opportunity: and if any
means in my power should occur of accelerating that opportunity, you may
depend upon it, sir.’ said his lordship, holding out his hand to me, ‘I
shall not forget you--even if you were not the son of my old friend, you
have made an interest for yourself in my mind.’
“Thus satisfactorily we parted--no--just as I reached the door, his
lordship added, ‘Your brother, Captain Percy--have you heard from him
lately?’
“‘Yes, my lord, from Plymouth, where they were driven back by contrary
winds.’
“‘Ha!--he was well, I hope?’
“‘Very well, I thank your lordship.’
“‘That’s well--he is a temperate man, I think. So he will stand the
climate of the West Indies--and, probably, it will not be necessary for
his majesty’s service that he should remain there long.’
“I bowed--was again retiring and was again recalled.
“‘There was a major in your brother’s regiment about whom Captain Percy
spoke to me--Major--’
“‘Gascoigne, I believe, my lord.’
“‘Gascoigne--true--Gascoigne.’ His lordship wrote the name down in a
note-book.
“Bows for the last time--not a word more on either side.
“And now that I have written all this to you, my dear mother, I am
almost ashamed to send it--because it is so full of egotism. But
Rosamond, the _excuser general_, will apologize for me, by pleading that
I was obliged to tell the truth, and the whole truth.
“Love to Caroline, and thanks for her letter.--Love to Rosamond, upon
condition that she will write to me from Hungerford Castle, and cheer my
solitude in London with news from the country, and from home.
“Your affectionate son,
“ALFRED PERCY.
“P.S. I hope you all like O’Brien.”
We hope the reader will recollect the poor Irishman, whose leg the
surgeon had condemned to be cut off, but which was saved by Erasmus. A
considerable time afterwards, one morning, when Erasmus was just getting
up, he heard a loud knock at his door, and in one and the same instant
pushing past his servant into his bedchamber, and to the foot of
his bed, rushed this Irishman O’Brien, breathless, and with a face
perspiring joy. “I axe your honour’s pardon, master, but it’s what
you’re wanting down street in all haste--here’s an elegant case for ye,
doctor dear!--That painter-jantleman down in the square there beyond
that is not _expicted_.”
“Not expected!” said Erasmus.
“Ay, not expected: so put on ye with the speed of light--Where’s his
waistcoat,” continued he, turning to Dr. Percy’s astonished servant,
“and coat?--the top coat, and the wig--has he one?--Well! boots or shoes
give him any way.”
“But I don’t clearly understand--Pray did this gentleman send for me?”
said Dr. Percy.
“Send for your honour! Troth he never thought of it--no, nor
couldn’t--how could he? and he in the way he was and is. But God bless
ye! and never mind shaving, or another might get it afore we’d be back.
Though there was none _in it_ but myself when I left it--but still keep
on buttoning for the life.”
Erasmus dressed as quickly as he could, not understanding, however,
above one word in ten that had been said to him. His servant, who
did not comprehend even one word, endeavoured in vain to obtain an
explanation; but O’Brien, paying no regard to his solemn face of
curiosity, put him aside with his hand, and continuing to address Dr.
Percy, followed him about the room.
“Master! you mind my _mintioning_ to you last time I _seen_ your honour,
that my leg was weak _by times_, no fault though to the doctor that
cured it--so I could not be _after carrying_ the weighty loads I used up
and down the ladders at every call, so I quit _sarving_ the masons, and
sought for lighter work, and found an employ that _shuted_ me with a
‘jantleman painter’, grinding of his colours, and that was what I was at
this morning, so I was, and standing as close to him as I am this minute
to your honour, thinking of nothing at all just now, please your honour,
_forenent_ him--_asy_ grinding, _whin_ he took some sort or kind of a
fit.”
“A fit! Why did you not tell me that sooner?”
“Sure I _tould_ you he was not _expicted_,--that is, if you don’t know
in England, _not expicted to live_; and sure I _tould_ your honour so
from the first,” said O’Brien. “But then the jantleman was as well as I
am this minute, that minute afore--and the _nixt_ fell his length on
the floor entirely. Well! I set and up again, and, for want of better,
filled out a thimble-full, say, of the spirits of wine as they call it,
which he got by good luck for the varnish, and made him take it down,
and he come to, and I axed him how was he after it?--Better, says he.
That’s well, says I; and who will I send for to ye, sir? says I. But
afore he could make answer, I bethought me of your own honour; and for
fear he would say another, I never troubled him, putting the question
to him again, but just set the spirits nigh hand him, and away with me
here; I come off without _letting on_ a word to nobody, good or bad, in
dread your honour would miss the job.”
“Job!” said Dr. Percy’s servant: “do you think my master wants a job?”
“Oh! Lord love ye, and just give his hat. Would you have us be standing
on ceremony now in a case of life and death?”
Dr. Percy was, as far as he understood it, of the Irishman’s way of
thinking. He followed as fast as he could to the painter’s--found that
he had had a slight paralytic stroke, from which he had recovered.
We need not detail the particulars. Nature and Dr. Percy _brought him
through_. He was satisfied with his physician; for Erasmus would not
take any fee, because he went unsent for by the patient. The painter,
after his recovery, was one day complimenting Dr. Percy on the
inestimable service he had done the arts in restoring him to his pencil,
in proof of which the artist showed many master-pieces that wanted
only the finishing touch, in particular a huge, long-limbed, fantastic,
allegorical piece of his own design, which he assured Dr. Percy was the
finest example of the _beau idéal_, ancient or modern, that human genius
had ever produced upon canvas. “And what do you think, doctor,” said the
painter, “tell me what you can think of a connoisseur, a patron, sir,
who could stop my hand, and force me from that immortal work to a
portrait? A portrait! Barbarian! He fit to encourage genius! He set up
to be a Mecænas! Mere vanity! Gives pensions to four sign-post daubers,
not fit to grind my colours! Knows no more of the art than that
fellow,” pointing to the Irishman, who was at that instant grinding the
colours--_asy_ as he described himself.
“And lets me languish here in obscurity!” continued the enraged painter.
“Now I’ll never put another stroke to his Dutch beauty’s portrait, if I
starve--if I rot for it in jail! He a Mecænas!”
The changes upon this abuse were rung repeatedly by this irritated
genius, his voice and palsied hand trembling with rage while he spoke,
till he was interrupted by a carriage stopping at the door.
“Here’s the patron!” cried the Irishman, with an arch look. “Ay, it’s
the patron, sure enough!”
Dr. Percy was going away, but O’Brien got between him and the door,
menacing his coat with his pallet-knife covered with oil--Erasmus
stopped.
“I axe your pardon, but don’t go,” whispered he: “I wouldn’t for the
best coat nor waistcoat ever I seen you went this minute, dear!”
Mr. Gresham was announced--a gentleman of a most respectable,
benevolent, prepossessing appearance, whom Erasmus had some recollection
of having seen before. Mr. Gresham recognized him instantly: he was the
merchant whom Erasmus had met at Sir Amyas Courtney’s the morning when
he offended Sir Amyas about the made shell. After having spoken a few
words to the painter about the portrait, Mr. Gresham turned to Dr.
Percy, and said, “I am afraid, sir, that you lost a friend at court by
your sincerity about a shell.”
Before Erasmus could answer--in less time than he could have thought it
possible to take off a stocking, a great bare leg--O’Brien’s leg, came
between Mr. Gresham and Dr. Percy. “There’s what lost him a rich friend
any way, and gained him a poor one, if that would do any good. There it
is now! This leg! God for ever bless him and reward him for it!”
Then with eloquence, emphasis, and action, which came from the heart,
and went to the heart, the poor fellow told how his leg had been saved,
and spoke of what Dr. Percy had done for him, in terms which Erasmus
would have been ashamed to hear, but that he really was so much affected
with O’Brien’s gratitude, and thought it did so much honour to human
nature, that he could not stop him.--Mr. Gresham was touched also; and
upon observing this, Erasmus’s friend, with his odd mixture of comedy
and pathos, ended with this exhortation, “And God bless you, sir! you’re
a great man, and have many to my knowledge under a compliment to you,
and if you’ve any friends that are _lying_, or sick, if you’d recommend
them to send for _him_ in preference to any other of the doctors, it
would be a charity to themselves and to me; for I will never have peace
else, thinking how I have been a hinderance to him. And a charity it
would be to themselves, for what does the sick want but to be cured? and
there’s the man will do that for them, as two witnesses here present can
prove--that jantleman, if he would spake, and myself.”
Erasmus now peremptorily stopped this scene, for he began to feel for
himself, and to be ashamed of the ridicule which his puffing friend, in
his zeal, was throwing upon him. Erasmus said that he had done nothing
for O’Brien except placing him in St. George’s Hospital, where he had
been admirably well attended. Mr. Gresham, however, at once relieved his
wounded delicacy, and dispelled all fears and anxiety, by the manner
in which he spoke and looked. He concluded by inviting Dr. Percy to
his house, expressing with much cordiality a wish to be more
intimately acquainted with a young gentleman, of whose character he had
accidentally learned more good than his modesty seemed willing to allow
should be known.
O’Brien’s eyes sparkled; he rubbed his hands, but restrained himself
lest Dr. Percy should be displeased. When Erasmus went away, O’Brien
followed him down stairs, begging his honour’s pardon--if he had said
any thing wrong or unbecoming, it was through ignorance.
It was impossible to be angry with him.
We extract from Erasmus’s letter to his mother the following account of
his first visit to Mr. Gresham.
“When I went to see Mr. Gresham, I was directed to an unfashionable part
of the town, to one of the dark old streets of the city; and from all
appearance I thought I was going to grope my way into some strange
dismal den, like many of the ancient houses in that quarter of the
town. But, to my surprise, after passing through a court, and up an
unpromising staircase, I found myself in a spacious apartment. The
darkness changed to light, the smoke and din of the city to retirement
and fresh air. A near view of the Thames appeared through large windows
down to the floor, balconies filled with flowers and sweet shrubs!--It
was an Arabian scene in London. Rosamond, how you would have been
delighted! But I have not yet told you that there was a young and
beautiful lady sitting near the balcony, and her name is Constance: that
is all I shall tell you about the young lady at present. I must go
on with Mr. Gresham, who was in his picture-gallery--yes,
picture-gallery--and a very fine one it is. Mr. Gresham, whose fortune
is one of those of which only English merchants can form any adequate
idea, makes use of it in a manner which does honour to his profession
and to his country: he has patronized the arts with a munificence not
unworthy of the Medici.
“My complaining genius, the painter, who had abused his patron so much,
was there with his portrait, which, notwithstanding his vow never to
touch it again, he had finished, and brought home, and with it the
sprawling Venus: he was now extremely angry with Mr. Gresham for
declining to purchase this chef-d’oeuvre. With the painter was a poet
equally vain and dissatisfied.
“I admired the mildness with which Mr. Gresham bore with their
ill-humour and vanity.--After the painter and poet, to my satisfaction,
had departed, I said something expressive of my pity for patrons who had
to deal with the irritable race. He mildly replied, that he thought that
a man, surrounded as he was with all the comforts and luxuries of life,
should have compassion, and should make allowance for genius struggling
with poverty, disease, and disappointment. He acknowledged that he had
met with much ingratitude, and had been plagued by the pretensions,
expectations, and quarrels of his tribe of poets and painters. ‘For
a man’s own happiness,’ said he, ‘the trade of a patron is the most
dreadful he can follow--gathering samphire were nothing to it.’
“Pray tell my father this, because it opens a new view, and new
confirmation of his opinions--I never spent a more agreeable day
than this with Mr. Gresham. He converses well, and has a variety
of information, which he pours forth liberally, and yet without the
slightest ostentation: his only wish seems to be to entertain and inform
those to whom he speaks--he has no desire to shine. In a few hours
we went over a world of literature. I was proud to follow him, and he
seemed pleased that I could sometimes anticipate--I happened to know as
well as he did the history of the two Flamels, and several particulars
of the Jesuits in Paraguay.
“My father often told us, when we were boys, that there is no knowledge,
however distant it seems from our profession, that may not, some time or
other, be useful; and Mr. Gresham, after he had conversed sufficiently
with me both on literature and science, to discover that I was not an
ignorant pretender, grew warm in his desire to serve me. But he had the
politeness to refrain from saying any thing directly about medicine;
he expressed only an increased desire to cultivate my acquaintance,
and begged that I would call upon him at any hour, and _give him the
pleasure of my conversation, whenever I had time_.
“The next morning he called upon me, and told me that he was desired to
ask my advice for a sick partner of his, to whom, if I would accompany
him, he would immediately introduce me. Who and what this partner is,
and of what disease he is dying, if you have any curiosity to know, you
shall hear in my next, this frank will hold no more--except love, light
as air, to all at home.
“Dear mother, affectionately yours,
“E. PERCY”