In several successive letters of Alfred to his brother, the progress of
his attachment to Miss Leicester is described. Instead of paying a visit
of a few days to her uncle, it appears that she stayed at the vicarage
during the whole of Alfred’s vacation. Her mother died, and, contrary
to the expectation of some of her admirers, Miss Leicester was left
in possession of only a moderate fortune. She showed much dignity under
these adverse circumstances, with a charming mixture of spirit and
gentleness of disposition. The change in her expectations, which
deprived her of some of her fashionable admirers, showed her the
superior sincerity and steadiness of Alfred’s sentiments. No promises
were given on either side; but it appears, that Alfred was permitted to
live and labour upon hope. He returned to London more eager than ever to
pursue his profession.
We trust that our readers will be fully satisfied with this abridgment
of the affair, and will be more inclined to sympathize with Alfred, and
to wish well to his attachment, than if they had been fatigued with a
volume of his love-letters, and with those endless repetitions of the
same sentiments with which most lovers’ letters abound.
Let us now go on to the affairs of Erasmus Percy.
Mr. Panton, provoked by his daughter’s coldness towards Lord Roadster,
had begun shrewdly to suspect that the lady must be in love with some
other person. His young physician was the only man on whom he could fix
his suspicions. Constance seemed to be on a more confidential footing
with him than with any of the visitors who frequented his house; she had
spoken of him in terms of high approbation, and had not contradicted her
father when he had, purposely to try her, pronounced Dr. Percy to be the
handsomest young fellow he knew. While these suspicions were secretly
gaining strength in the father’s mind, a circumstance occurred which
confirmed them at once, and caused them to burst forth with uncontrolled
violence of expression.
Dr. Percy was called in to prescribe for a sick lawyer, and from this
lawyer’s conversation he learnt that Lord Runnymede was a ruined man,
and that his son Lord Roadster’s extravagance had been the cause of his
ruin. Erasmus determined to put Mr. Panton upon his guard, and thus, if
possible, to prevent the amiable Constance from becoming a victim to her
father’s absurd ambition. With this view he went to Mr. Panton’s.
The old gentleman was gone to dine with his club. Mrs. Panton, in her
elegant language, desired he would leave his business with her. When
he had explained the purport of his visit, after a variety of vulgar
exclamations denoting surprise and horror, and after paying many
compliments to her own sagacity, all which appeared incompatible with
her astonishment, Mrs. Panton expressed much gratitude to Erasmus, mixed
with suppressed satisfaction, and significant nods which he could not
quite comprehend. Her gratitude was interrupted, and the whole train
of her ideas changed, by the entrance of a milliner with new caps and
artificial flowers. She, however, retained sufficient recollection of
what had passed, to call after Erasmus when he had taken his leave, and
to insist upon his coming to her party that evening. This he declined.
Then she said he _must_ dine with her next day, for let him be never
so busy, he must dine somewhere, and as good dine with somebody as with
nobody--in short, she would take no denial. The next day Erasmus was
received with ungracious oddity of manner by old Panton--the only person
in the drawing-room when he arrived. Erasmus was so much struck with the
gloom of his countenance, that he asked whether Mr. Panton felt himself
ill. Panton bared his wrist, and held out his hand to Erasmus to feel
his pulse--then withdrawing his hand, he exclaimed, “Nonsense! I’m as
well as any man in England. Pray, now, Doctor Percy, why don’t you get
a wig?”--“Why should I, sir, when I have hair?” said Erasmus,
laughing.--“Pshaw! doctor, what signifies laughing when I am
serious!--Why, sir, in my youth every decent physician wore a wig, and
I have no notion of a good physician without a wig--particularly a young
one. Sir, many people have a great objection to a young physician for
many reasons. And take my advice in time, Doctor Percy--a wig, a proper
wig, not one of your modern natural scratches, but a decent powdered
doctor’s bob, would make you look ten years older at one slap, and trust
me you’d get into practice fast enough then, and be sent for by many a
sober family, that would never think of letting you within their doors
without the wig; for, sir, you are too young and too handsome for a
physician--Hey! what say you to the wig?” concluded Panton, in a tone of
such serious, yet comical impatience, that Erasmus found it difficult
to restrain a smile, whilst he answered that he really did not think
his charms were so dangerous that it was necessary to disguise them by
a wig; that as to his youth, it was an objection which every day would
tend to lessen; and that he trusted he might obtain the credit of being
a good physician if he could cure people of their diseases; and they
would feel it to be a matter of indifference whether they were restored
to health by a doctor in a wig or without one.
“Indifference!” cried Panton, starting upright in his chair with
passion. “I don’t know what you call a matter of indifference, sir; I
can tell you its no matter of indifference to me--If you mean me; for
say that with God’s mercy you carried me through, what then, if you are
doing your best to break my heart after all--”
Mr. Panton stopped short, for at this instant Constance came into
the room, and her father’s look of angry suspicion, and her blush,
immediately explained to Erasmus what had the moment before appeared to
him unintelligible. He felt provoked with himself for colouring in his
turn, and being embarrassed without any reason, but he recovered his
presence of mind directly, when Constance, with a dignified ingenuous
modesty of manner, advanced towards him, notwithstanding her father’s
forbidding look, and with a sweet, yet firm voice, thanked him for his
yesterday’s friendly visit to her mother.
“I wonder you a’n’t ashamed of yourself, girl!” cried old Panton,
choking with passion.
“And I’m sure I wonder you a’n’t ashamed of yourself, Mr. Panton, if you
come to that,” cried Mrs. Panton, “exposing of your family affairs this
way by your unseasonable passions, when one has asked people to dinner
too.”
“Dinner or no dinner,” cried old Panton, and he must have been strangely
transported beyond himself when he made that exclamation, “dinner or
no dinner, Mrs. Panton, I will speak my mind, and be master in my own
house! So, Doctor Percy, if you please, we’ll leave the ladies, and talk
over our matters our own way, in my own room here within.”
Dr. Percy willingly acceded to this proposal. Old Panton waddled as fast
as he could to show the way through the antechamber, whilst Mrs. Panton
called after him, “Don’t expose yourself no more than you can help,
my dear!” And as Erasmus passed her, she whispered, “Never mind him,
doctor--stand by yourself--I’ll stand by you, and _we’ll_ stand by
you--won’t we, Constance?--see her colour!”--“We have reason to be
grateful to Dr. Percy,” said Constance, gravely, with an air of offended
modesty; “and I hope,” added she, with softened sweetness of tone, as
she looked at him, and saw his feelings in his countenance, “I hope
Doctor Percy is assured of my gratitude, and of my perfect esteem.”
“Come! what the devil?” cried old Panton, “I thought you were close
behind me.”
“Now, doctor,” cried he, as soon as he had fairly got Erasmus into his
closet, and shut the door, “now, doctor, I suppose you see I am not a
man to be imposed upon?”
“Nor, if you were, am I a man to impose upon you, sir,” said Erasmus.
“If I understand you rightly, Mr. Panton, you suspect me of some designs
upon your daughter? I have none.”
“And you won’t have the assurance to deny that you are in love with
her?”
“I am not in love with Miss Panton, sir: she has charms and virtues
which might create the strongest attachment in the heart of any man of
feeling and discernment who could permit himself to think of her; but
I am not in a situation in which I could, with honour, seek to win
her affections, and, fortunately for me, this reflection has probably
preserved my heart from danger. If I felt any thing like love for your
daughter, sir, you may be assured that I should not, at this instant, be
in your house.”
“A mighty fine speech, sir! and well delivered, for aught I know. You
are a scholar, and can speak sentences; but that won’t impose on me, a
plain man that has eyes. Why--tell me!--didn’t I see you within these
two minutes blushing up to the eyes, both of you, at one another?
Don’t I know when I see men and women in love--tell me! Mrs.
Panton--fudge!--And did not I see behind my back, just now, the women
conjuring with you?--And aren’t you colouring over head and ears with
conscience this very instant?--Tell me!”
Erasmus in vain asserted his own and the young lady’s innocence, and
maintained that blushing was no proof of guilt--he even adverted to the
possibility of a man’s blushing for others instead of himself.
“Blush for me as much as you please, if it’s me you allude to,” cried
the coarse father; “but when my daughter’s at stake, I make no bones of
speaking plain, and cutting the matter short in the beginning--for we
all know what love is when it comes to a head. Marrow-bones! don’t I
know that there must be some reason why that headstrong girl won’t think
of my Lord Runnymede’s son and heir, and such a looking youth, title and
all, as my Lord Roadster! And you are the cause, sir; and I thank you
for opening my eyes to it, as you did by your information to Mrs. Panton
yesterday, in my absence.”
Erasmus protested with such an air of truth as would have convinced any
person capable of being convinced, that, in giving that information, he
had been actuated solely by a desire to save Miss Panton from a ruinous
match, by honest regard for her and all her family.
“Ruinous!--You are wrong, sir--I know better--I know best--I saw my Lord
Runnymede himself this very morning--a little temporary want of cash
only from the estate’s being tied up, as they sometimes tie estates,
which all noble families is subject to--Tell me! don’t I know the bottom
of these things? for though I haven’t been used to land, I know all
about it. And at worst, my Lord Roadster, my son-in-law that is to be,
is not chargeable with a penny of his father’s debts. So your informer
is wrong, sir, every way, and no lawyer, sir, for I have an attorney
at my back--and your information’s all wrong, and you had no need to
interfere.”
Erasmus felt and acknowledged the imprudence of his interference, but
hoped it might be forgiven in favour of the motive--and he looked so
honestly glad to hear that his information was all wrong, that old
Panton at the moment believed in his integrity, and said, stretching
out his hand towards him, “Well, well, no harm done--then it’s all as
it should be, and we may ring for dinner--But,” recurring again to his
favourite idea, “you’ll get the wig, doctor?”
“Excuse me,” said Erasmus, laughing, “your confidence in me cannot
depend upon a wig.”
“It can, sir, and it does,” cried Panton, turning again with all his
anger revived. “Excuse you! No, sir, I won’t; for the wig’s my test, and
I told Mrs. Panton so last night--the wig’s my test of your uprightness
in this matter, sir; and I fairly tell you, that if you refuse this, all
the words you can string don’t signify a button with me.”
“And by what right, sir, do you speak to me in this manner?” cried
Erasmus, proudly, for he lost all sense of the ludicrous in indignation
at the insolent doubt of his integrity, which, after all the assurances
he had given, these last words from Mr. Panton implied: “By what right,
sir, do you speak to me in this manner?--And what reason can you have to
expect that I should submit to any tests to convince you of the truth of
my assertions?”
“Right! Reason!” cried Panton. “Why, doctor, don’t you know that I’m
your patron?”
“My patron!” repeated Erasmus, in a tone which would have expressed much
to the mind of any man of sense or feeling, but which conveyed no
idea to the gross apprehension of old Panton except that Dr. Percy was
ignorant of the fact.
“Your patron--yes, doctor--why, don’t you know, that ever since you set
me upon my legs I have been going up and down the city puffing--that
is, I mean, recommending you to all my friends? and you see you’re
of consequence--getting into fine practice for so young a man. And it
stands to reason that when one takes a young man by the hand, one has
a right to expect one’s advice should be followed; and as to the wig,
I don’t make it a test--you’ve an objection to a test--but, as I’ve
mentioned it to Mrs. Panton, I must make it a point, and you know I am
not a man to go back. And you’ll consider that if you disoblige me, you
can’t expect that I should continue my friendship, and protection, and
patronage, and all that.”
“Be assured, sir, I expect nothing from you,” said Erasmus, “and desire
nothing: I have the happiness and honour to belong to a profession, in
which, if a man merits confidence, he will succeed, without requiring
any man’s patronage.”--Much less the patronage of such a one as you!
Erasmus would have said, but that he commanded his indignation, or,
perhaps, it was extinguished by contempt.
A servant now came to announce that the company was arrived, and dinner
was waiting. In very bad humour, Mr. Panton, nevertheless, ate an
excellent dinner, growling over every thing as he devoured it. Constance
seemed much grieved by her father’s unseasonable fit of rudeness and
obstinacy; with sweetness of temper and filial duty she bore with his
humour, and concealed it as far as she could from observation. Mrs.
Panton was displeased with this, and once went so far as to whisper to
Erasmus that her step-daughter wanted spirit sadly, but that he ought
never to mind that, but to take a broad hint, and keep his ground.
Erasmus, who, with great simplicity and an upright character, had quick
observation and tact, perceived pretty nearly what was going on in the
family. He saw that the step-mother, under an air of frank and coarse
good-nature, was cunning and interested; that she wished to encourage
the daughter to open war with the father, knowing that nothing could
incense him so much as Constance’s thinking of a poor physician instead
of accepting of an earl’s son; Mrs. Panton wished then to fan to a
flame the spark which she was confident existed in his daughter’s heart.
Erasmus, who was not apt to fancy that ladies liked him, endeavoured to
relieve Constance from the agonizing apprehension which he saw she felt
of his being misled by her mother’s hints: he appeared sometimes not to
hear, and at other times not to understand, what Mrs. Panton whispered;
and at last talked so loud across the table to Mr. Henry, about letters
from Godfrey, and the officers of all the regiments in or out of
England, that no other subject could be introduced, and no other voice
could be heard. As soon as he decently could, after dinner, Dr. Percy
took his leave, heartily glad to escape from his awkward situation,
and from the patronage of Mr. Panton. Erasmus was mistaken, however, in
supposing that Mr. Panton could do him no harm. It is true that he could
not deny that Dr. Percy had restored him to health, and the opinion,
which had spread in the city, of Dr. Percy’s skill, was not, and could
not, be diminished by Mr. Panton’s railing against him; but when he
hinted that the young physician had practised upon his daughter’s heart,
all the rich citizens who had daughters to watch began to consider him
as a dangerous person, and resolved never to call him in, except in some
desperate case. Mrs. Panton’s gossiping confidences did more harm
than her husband’s loud complaints; and the very eagerness which poor
Constance showed to vindicate Dr. Percy, and to declare the truth,
served only to confirm the sagaciously-nodding mothers and overwise
fathers in their own opinions. Mr. Henry said and did what he could
for Erasmus; but what could be done by a young man shut up all day in
a counting-house? or who would listen to any thing that was said by a
youth without station or name? Mr. Gresham unluckily was at this time at
his country-seat. Poor Erasmus found his practice in the city decline
as rapidly as it had risen, and he began a little to doubt the truth
of that noble sentiment which he had so proudly expressed. He was
comforted, however, by letters from his father, who strongly approved
his conduct, and who maintained that truth would at last prevail, and
that the prejudice which had been raised against him would, in time, be
turned to his advantage.
It happened that, while old Panton, in his present ludicrous fit of
obstinacy, was caballing against our young physician with all his might
in the city, the remote consequences of his absurdities were operating
in Dr. Percy’s favour at the west end of the town. Our readers may
recollect having heard of a footman, whom Mr. Panton turned away for
laughing at his perversity. Erasmus had at the time pleaded in the poor
fellow’s favour, and had, afterwards, when the servant was out of place,
in distress, and ill, humanely attended him, and cured a child of his,
who had inflamed eyes. This man was now in the service of a rich and
very fine lady, who lived in Grosvenor-square--Lady Spilsbury. Her
ladyship had several sickly children--children rendered sickly by their
mother’s overweening and injudicious care. Alarmed successively by every
fashionable medical terror of the day, she dosed her children with every
specific which was publicly advertised or privately recommended. No
creatures of their age had taken such quantities of Ching’s lozenges,
Godbold’s elixir, or Dixon’s antibilious pills. The consequence was,
that the dangers, which had at first been imaginary, became real: these
little victims of domestic medicine never had a day’s health: they
looked, and were, more dead than alive. Still the mother, in the midst
of hourly alarms, was in admiration of her own medical skill, which she
said had actually preserved, in spite of nature, children of such sickly
constitutions. In consequence of this conviction, she redoubled her
vigilance, and the most trivial accident was magnified into a symptom of
the greatest importance.
It happened on the day when the eldest Miss Spilsbury had miraculously
attained her seventh year, a slight inflammation was discerned in her
right eye, which was attributed by her mother to her having neglected
the preceding day to bathe it in elder-flower water; by her governess,
to her having sat up the preceding night to supper; by her maid, to her
having been found peeping through a windy key-hole; and by the young
lady herself, to her having been kept poring for two hours over her
French lesson.
Whatever might have been the original cause, the inflammation evidently
increased, either in consequence or in spite of the innumerable remedies
applied internally and externally--the eye grew redder and redder, and
as red as blood, the nose inflamed, and the mother, in great alarm for
the beauty as well as health of her child, sent for Sir Amyas Courtney.
He had already won Lady Spilsbury’s heart by recommending to her the
_honan tcha_, or Tartar tea, which enables the Tartars to digest raw
flesh, and tinges water of a red colour.
Sir Amyas pronounced that the young lady had hereditary nerves, besought
Lady Spilsbury to compose herself, assured her the inflammation was
purely symptomatic, and as soon as he could subdue the continual nervous
inclination to shrivel up the nose, which he trusted he could in time
master, all would go well. But Sir Amyas attended every day for a month,
yet never got the mastery of this nervous inclination. Lady Spilsbury
then was persuaded _it could not be nerves, it must be scrofula_;
and she called in Dr. Frumpton, _the man for scrofula_. He of course
confirmed her ladyship in her opinion; for a week d----d nerves and Sir
Amyas; threw in desperate doses of calomel for another month, reduced
the poor child to what the maid called an _attomy_, and still the
inflammation increased. Lady Spilsbury desired a consultation of
physicians, but Dr. Frumpton would not consult with Sir Amyas, nor would
Sir Amyas consult with Dr. Frumpton. Lady Spilsbury began to dread
that the sight of the eye would be injured, and this idea terrified the
mother almost out of her senses. In the suspension of authority which
terror produces in a family, the lady’s-maid usually usurps considerable
power.
Now her ladyship’s maid had been offended by Dr. Frumpton’s calling her
_my good girl_, and by Sir Amyas Courtney’s having objected to a green
silk bandage which she had recommended; so that she could not _abide_
either of the gentlemen, and she was confident the young lady would
never get well while they had the management of affairs: she had
heard--but she did not mention from whom, she was too diplomatic to give
up her authority--she had heard of a young physician, a Dr. Percy, who
had performed wonderful great cures in the city, and had in particular
cured a young _lady_ who had an inflamed eye, just for all the world
like Miss Spilsbury’s. In this last assertion, there was, perhaps,
some little exaggeration; but it produced a salutary effect upon Lady
Spilsbury’s imagination: the footman was immediately despatched for
Dr. Percy, and ordered to make all possible haste. Thus by one of those
petty underplots of life, which, often unknown to us, are continually
going on, our young physician was brought into a situation where he
had an opportunity of showing his abilities. These favourable accidents
happen to many men who are not able to make use of them, and thus
the general complaint is preferred of want of good fortune, or of
opportunity for talents to distinguish themselves.
Upon Dr. Percy’s arrival at Lady Spilsbury’s, he immediately perceived
that parties ran high, and that the partisans were all eager to know
whether he would pronounce the young lady’s case to be nervous or
scrofulous. He was assailed by a multitude of female voices, and
requested particularly to attend to innumerable contradictory symptoms,
before he was permitted even to see his patient. He attended
carefully to whatever facts he could obtain, pure from opinion and
misrepresentation. The young lady was in a darkened room--he begged to
have a little more light admitted, though she was in such pain that she
could scarcely endure it. Our young physician had the great advantage of
possessing the use of his senses and understanding, unbiassed by medical
theories, or by the authority of great names: he was not always trying
to force symptoms to agree with previous descriptions, but he was
actually able to see, hear, and judge of them as they really appeared.
There was a small protuberance on the left side of the nose, which, on
his pressing it, gave great pain to the child.
“Dear me! miss, you know,” said the maid, “it is not in your nose
you feel the great pain--you know you told Sir Amyas Courtney t’other
day--that is, Sir Amyas Courtney told you--”
Dr. Percy insisted that the child should be permitted to speak for
herself; and, relieved from the apprehension of not saying the thing
that she was expected to say, she described her present and past
feelings. She said, “that the pain seemed lately to have _changed from
where it was before_--that it had changed ever since Dr. Frumpton’s
opening his snuff-box near her had made her sneeze.” This sneeze was
thought by all but Dr. Percy to be a circumstance too trivial to
be worth mentioning; but on this hint he determined to repeat the
experiment. He had often thought that many of the pains which are
supposed to be symptoms of certain diseases, many disorders which baffle
the skill of medicine, originate in accidents, by which extraneous
substances are taken or forced into different parts of the body. He
ordered some cephalic snuff to be administered to the patient. All
present looked with contempt at the physician who proposed such a simple
remedy. But soon after the child had sneezed violently and repeatedly,
Dr. Percy saw a little bit of green silk appear, which was drawn from
the nostril, to the patient’s great and immediate relief. Her brothers
and sisters then recollected having seen her, two months before,
stuffing up her nose a bit of green riband, which she said she liked
because it smelt of some perfume. The cause of the inflammation removed,
it soon subsided; the eye and nose recovered their natural size and
colour, and every body said, “Who would have thought it?” all but Dr.
Frumpton and Sir Amyas Courtney, who, in the face of demonstration,
maintained each his own opinion; declaring that the green riband had
nothing to do with the business. The sudden recovery of the child, Sir
Amyas said, proved to him, in the most satisfactory manner, that the
disease was, as he at first pronounced--nervous. Dr. Frumpton swore that
scrofula would soon break out again in another shape; and, denouncing
vengeance against generations yet unborn, he left Lady Spilsbury’s
children to take the consequences of trusting to a youngster, whose
impertinent interference he could never forget or forgive. In spite
of all that the two angry and unsuccessful physicians could say, the
recovery of the child’s eye redounded much to Dr. Percy’s honour, and
introduced him to the notice of several men of science and celebrity,
who frequented Lady Spilsbury’s excellent dinners. Even the intemperance
of Dr. Frumpton’s anger was of service; for in consequence of his
furious assertions, inquiry was made into the circumstances, and the
friends of Erasmus had then an opportunity of producing in his defence
the Irish porter. His cause could not be in better hands.
With that warmth and eloquence of gratitude characteristic of his
country, the poor fellow told his story so as to touch every heart.
Among others it particularly affected an officer just returned from our
armies on the continent: and by him it was the next day repeated at the
table of a celebrated general, when the conversation turned upon the
conduct of certain army surgeons. Lord Oldborough happened to be one of
the company; the name of Percy struck his ear; the moment Erasmus was
thus brought to his recollection, he attended particularly to what the
officer was saying; and, after hearing two circumstances, which were
so marked with humanity and good sense, his lordship determined to give
what assistance he could to the rising credit of the son of his old
friend, by calling him in for Lady Oldborough, who was in a declining
state of health. But Sir Amyas Courtney, who had long attended her
ladyship, endeavoured, with all the address of hatred, to prejudice her
against his young rival, and to prevent her complying with her lord’s
request. Depending on her habitual belief that he was essential to her
existence, Sir Amyas went so far as to declare that if Dr. Percy should
be sent for, he must discontinue his visits. Lord Oldborough, however,
whom the appearance of opposition to his will always confirmed in his
purpose, cut short the matter by a few peremptory words.
Sir Amyas, the soft silken Sir Amyas, could not for an instant stand
before the terror of Lord Oldborough’s eye: the moment he was told that
he was at perfect liberty to discontinue his visits, his regard--his
attachment--his devotion for Lady Oldborough, prevented the possibility
of abandoning her ladyship; he was willing to sacrifice his private
feelings, perhaps his private prejudices, his judgment, in short any
thing, every thing, sooner than disoblige Lord Oldborough, or any of his
family. Lord Oldborough, satisfied with the submission, scarcely stayed
to hear the end of the speech, but rang the bell, ordered that Dr. Percy
should be sent for, and went to attend a cabinet council.
Lady Oldborough received him as it might be supposed that a very
sickly, very much prejudiced, very proud lady of quality would receive
a physician without a name, who was forced upon her in opposition to her
long habits of reliance on her courtly favourite. Her present disease,
as Dr. Percy believed, was water upon her chest, and there was some
chance of saving her, by the remedies which have been found successful
in a first attack of that complaint; but Sir Amyas had pronounced that
her ladyship’s disorder was merely nervous spasms, consequent upon a
bilious attack, and he could not, or would not, recede from his opinion:
his prescriptions, to which her ladyship devoutly adhered to the last,
were all directed against bile and nerves. She would not hear of water
on the chest, or take any of the remedies proposed by Dr. Percy. Lady
Oldborough died ten days after he was called in. Those who knew nothing
of the matter, that is, above nine-tenths of all who talked about
it, affirmed that poor Lady Oldborough’s death was occasioned by her
following the rash prescriptions of a young physician, who had been
forced upon her by Lord Oldborough; and who, unacquainted with her
ladyship’s constitution, had mistaken the nature of her complaint. All
her ladyship’s female relations joined in this clamour, for they were
most of them friends or partizans of Sir Amyas Courtney. The rank and
conspicuous situation of Lord Oldborough interested vast numbers in the
discussion, which was carried on in every fashionable circle the day
after her ladyship’s decease.
Dr. Percy took a decided step in this emergency. He went to the
minister, to whom no one, friend or enemy, had ventured to give the
slightest hint of the reports in circulation. Dr. Percy plainly stated
the facts, represented that his character and the fate of his whole life
were at stake, and besought his lordship to have the truth examined
into by eminent and impartial physicians. Erasmus was aware of all
he hazarded in making this request--aware that he must hurt Lord
Oldborough’s feelings--that he must irritate him by bringing to his
view at once, and in this critical moment, a number of family cabals,
of which he was ignorant--aware that Lord Oldborough was oppressed
with business, public and private; and that, above all things, he was
impatient of any intrusion upon his hours of privacy. But all
these subordinate considerations vanished before Lord Oldborough’s
magnanimity. Without saying one word, he sat down and wrote an order,
that proper means should be taken to ascertain the disease of which Lady
Oldborough died.
The report made, in consequence of this order, by the surgeons,
confirmed Dr. Percy’s opinion that her ladyship’s disease was water on
the chest--and Lord Oldborough took effectual means to give the truth
publicity.
“You need not thank me, Dr. Percy--you have a right to expect justice,
more you will never want. My assistance might, it seems, have been
injurious, but can never be necessary to your reputation.”
These few words--much from Lord Oldborough--and which he took care to
say when they could be heard by numbers, were quickly circulated. The
physicians and surgeons who had given in their report were zealous in
maintaining the truth; medical and political parties were interested in
the affair; the name of Dr. Percy was joined with the first names in the
medical world, and repeated by the first people in the great world, so
that with surprising celerity he became known and fashionable. And thus
the very circumstance that threatened his ruin was, by his civil courage
and decided judgment, converted into the means of his rising into
eminence.
Late one night, after a busy and fatiguing day, just as Erasmus had got
into bed, and was settling himself comfortably to sleep, he heard a loud
knock at the door.
“Mr. Henry, sir, from Mr. Panton’s in the city, wishes to speak with
you.”
“Show him in.--So, old Panton, I suppose--some indigestion has brought
him to reason?”
“Oh! no such thing,” interrupted Mr. Henry--“I would not have disturbed
you at this time of night for any such trifle; but our excellent friend,
Mr. Gresham--”
“What of him?” cried Erasmus, starting up in bed.
“Is ill,--but whether dangerously or not, I cannot tell you. An express
from his house in the country has just arrived; I heard the letter read,
but could not get it to bring to you. It was written to old Panton from
Mr. Gresham’s housekeeper, without her master’s knowledge, as he has no
opinion of physicians, she said, except of a young Dr. Percy, and did
not like to send for him for such a trifle as a sore throat, lest it
should hurt his practice to leave town at this season.”
Erasmus stayed to hear no more, but ordered horses instantly, set out,
and travelled with all possible expedition. He had reason to rejoice
that he had not made a moment’s delay. He found Mr. Gresham actually
suffocating from a quinsy. A surgeon had been sent for from the next
town, but was not at home. Erasmus, the instant he saw Mr. Gresham,
perceiving the danger, without saying one syllable, sprang to the
bed, lanced the throat, and saved the life of his valuable friend. The
surgeon, who came the next day, said that Dr. Percy ought to have waited
for his arrival, and that a physician might be severely blamed for
performing a surgical operation--that it was a very indelicate thing.
But Mr. Gresham, who had fallen into a comfortable sleep, did not hear
him; nor did Dr. Percy, who was writing the following letter to his
father:
“... You will sympathize with me, my dear father, and all my friends
at home will sympathize in the joy I feel at seeing this excellent man,
this kind friend, recovering under my care. These are some of the
happy moments which, in my profession, repay us for years of toil,
disappointment, and sufferings--yes, sufferings--for we must suffer with
those that suffer: we must daily and hourly behold every form of pain,
acute or lingering; numbers, every year of our lives, we must see
perish, the victims of incurable disease. We are doomed to hear the
groans of the dying, and the lamentations, sometimes the reproaches, of
surviving friends; often and often must the candid and humane physician
deplore the insufficiency of his art. But there are successful,
gloriously successful moments, which reward us for all the painful
duties, all the unavailing regrets of our profession.
“This day I shall recall to my mind whenever my spirits sink, or
whenever my fortitude begins to fail. I wish you could see the gratitude
and joy in the looks of all Mr. Gresham’s servants. His death would
have been a public loss, for the beneficent use he makes of his princely
fortune has rendered numbers dependent on him for the comforts of life.
He lives here in a palace, and every thing he has done, whether in
building or planting, in encouraging the useful or the fine arts, has
been done with a judicious and magnificent spirit. Surely this man ought
to be happy in his own reflections, and yet he does not seem to me as
happy as he deserves to be. I shall stay here till I see him out of all
danger of relapse.--He has just awakened--Adieu for the present.”
In continuation of this letter the following was written the next day:
“All danger is over--my friend is convalescent, and I shall return to
town to-morrow. But would you think, my dear father, that the real cause
of Mr. Gresham’s being unhappy is patronage? By accident I made use of
that word in speaking of old Panton’s quarrel with me, and he cursed
the word the moment I pronounced it: ‘Yes,’ he exclaimed, ‘it is twice
accursed--once in the giving, and once in the receiving.’ Then he began,
in a most feeling manner, to describe the evils attendant upon being
a patron. He has done his utmost to relieve and encourage genius
in distress; but among all the poets, painters, artists, and men of
letters, whom in various ways he has obliged, he has scarcely been able
to satisfy the vanity or the expectations of any. Some have passed
from excessive adulation to gross abuse of him--many more torment him
continually with their complaints and invectives against each other;
and, instead of having done good by his generosity, he finds that, in
a variety of instances, of which he detailed the circumstances, he has
done much mischief, and, as he says, infinite injury to his own peace of
mind--for he has burdened himself with the care of a number of people,
who cannot be made happy. He has to deal with men but partially
cultivated; with _talents_, unaccompanied by reason, justice, or
liberality of sentiment. With great feeling himself, he suffers acutely
from all their jealousies and quarrels, and from the near and perpetual
view of the _littleness_ by which artists too often degrade themselves.
Another man in Mr. Gresham’s situation would become a misanthropist, and
would comfort himself by railing against the ingratitude of mankind; but
this would not comfort Mr. Gresham. He loves his fellow-creatures, and
sees their faults in sorrow rather than in anger. I have known him, and
intimately, for a considerable time, and yet I never heard him speak on
this subject but once before, when the painter, whom I used to call the
irritable genius, had caricatured him in return for all his kindness.
“Though it is not easy to change the habits or to alter the views and
objects of a man, like Mr. Gresham, past the meridian of life, yet I
cannot help flattering myself that this might be effected. If he would,
by one bold effort, shake off these dependents, the evening of his days
might yet be serene and happy. He wants friends, not _protégées_. I have
advised him, as soon as his strength will permit, to take a little tour,
which will bring him into your part of the country. He wishes much to
become acquainted with all our family, and I have given him a note of
introduction. You, my dear father, can say to him more than I could with
propriety.
“Mr. Gresham knows how to accept as well as to give. He allows me
to have the pleasure of proving to him, that where my friends are
concerned, I am above pecuniary considerations. My love to my dear
mother, Rosamond, and Caroline.
“Your affectionate son,
“E. PERCY.”
Though Mr. Gresham would not hurt the feelings of his young friend and
physician, by pressing upon him at the moment any remuneration, or
by entering into any calculation of the loss he would sustain by his
absence from London at this critical season, he took his own methods
of justly recompensing Dr. Percy. Erasmus found at his door, some time
after his return to town, a plain but excellent chariot and horses,
with a note from Mr. Gresham, written in such terms as precluded the
possibility of refusing the offer.
The celebrated London physician, who said that he was not paid for three
weeks’ attendance in the country, by a draft of two thousand pounds; and
who, when the pen was put into his own hands, wrote four in the place
of two, would smile in scorn at the generosity of Mr. Gresham and the
disinterestedness of Dr. Percy.