The day which followed immediately after the above-mentioned
conversation, was destined for a grand dinner party at the mansion
of Sir George Aimwell, Bart. Preparations were made for a splendid
entertainment. It was not an easy matter to get together a large
party in that neighbourhood without admitting to the table some
individuals of dubious dignity. There was, for instance, the equivocal
Mr Kipperson, at once landlord and tenant, gentleman and farmer; but
then he was so zealous a friend to the interest of agriculture. He was
so thoroughly enlightened on the corn question, that the great men of
Smatterton and Neverden could not but respect him. Sir George Aimwell
also liked Mr Kipperson, because he was a bad shot, and had so ardent a
zeal against poachers.
This party was assembled, among other objects, for the purpose of
welcoming to England the son of the rector of Neverden. But Robert
Darnley was by no means in spirits for the enjoyment of festivity. He
was sorry for what he had heard from Zephaniah Pringle, and he was
angry that he was sorry, and then again sorry that he was angry.
It had been unfortunate for him that there had been such silence
observed on the subject of his correspondence and acquaintance with
Penelope. Scarcely any one but the parties concerned knew anything
of the matter. Mr Kipperson suspected it, and the Smatterton family
had been informed of it by Mr Darnley, because the reverend gentleman
thought it but respectful to let them into the secret. As for Sir
George Aimwell, he scarcely knew or thought of anything, except
administering justice and killing birds. The Reverend Charles Pringle,
rector of Smatterton, was also quite unaware of the existence of any
correspondence between Robert Darnley and Penelope Primrose. No wonder
then that, under the present awkward circumstances, and with the false
account which Zephaniah, the critic, had brought from London, there
should be in the hearing of Robert Darnley much conversation by no
means agreeable to his feelings, or soothing to his mind.
When the party began to assemble they began also to talk: but at the
first their talk was very desultory and common-place. The worthy
baronet was congratulated by Mr Kipperson on having caught a poacher,
and was condoled with by the same gentleman on having lost almost his
whole brood of pheasants. It is astonishing that any one can be so
simple as not to see that pheasants were obviously created to be shot
by gentlemen and noblemen only, or their gamekeepers. There was also
much talk about horses and dogs, and the poor-rates, and Mr Malthus,
and parish settlements, and the agricultural interest.
It is very erroneously stated by many persons, both in writing
and in speaking, that the period between the first arrival of the
company and the serving up of the dinner is most weary, stale, flat
and unprofitable. But as there is no spot of earth so barren as not
to produce some curiosity to reward the toil and gratify the taste
of the botanist, so there is no attitude or condition of our being
which may not yield some fruit of instruction and amusement to the
moral botanist. We deserve the thanks of our readers for much that
we communicate in the way of information and amusement, but perhaps
for nothing so much as for directing their attention to the great and
valuable truth, that even the usually-considered dreary half hour
before dinner is not absolutely barren and worthless. Peradventure
also, by directing the attention to this matter, we may prevent many a
dinner from being spoiled, because we thus present a strong inducement
to an early arrival. He that arrives first is pretty certain that the
rest of the company can have no opportunity of pulling his character
to pieces behind his back. For when the host expresses to the rest of
his party his wonder that Mr Smith is not come, then the good people
who are hungry and impatient begin to talk about Mr Smith, and they use
him ungently, treating his transgressions with no candour, and honoring
his virtues with no encomium. There is also something very curious in
observing the different effects which dining produces on different
persons. Some will enter the drawing-room brimfull of intelligence,
telling everybody everything that everybody knows, and nobody cares
about. There are people who entertain the strange notion that tongues
were made to talk about mere matters of fact; and when they have said
their say, they are silent for the rest of the evening. There are again
others who, before dinner, look as wise and as stupid as owls; who seem
at a most painful loss what to do with their hands, or their feet,
or their eyes; who having no motive to look at one object in the room
more than at another, let their eyes roll unmeaningly and incessantly
about as if they were endeavouring to keep them open without looking
at anything. But when these apparently inanimate imitations of Chinese
Mandarins have had their dinner, their looks are brightened and
their tongues loosened, and as before dinner they seemed as if they
were wishing most ardently for an opportunity to simper at something
which might be said by another, they after dinner give forth that
which interests and delights. The period before dinner is also one
of great importance for the exhibition of personal decoration. Then,
and then only, has dress its right display, and its full complement
of observers. In this brief digression it is impossible to enter into
one half, or one twentieth of the particulars which may interest and
delight an observant mind. "Sermons in stones and good in everything,"
is one of the most true and most valuable expressions which the pen of
Shakspeare ever wrote. But to proceed.
There was, as we have said above, much miscellaneous talk before dinner
at this "grand miscellaneous" entertainment, given by Sir George
Aimwell. Mr Kipperson strutted about the room with his hands in his
pockets, looking as wise as a conjuror and as pleased as Punch, saying
something scientific or agricultural to every one there. The Reverend
Charles Pringle made his appearance also time enough to show the
company how possible it was to violate the decorum of clerical attire
without actually transgressing the literal regulations. Lady Aimwell
received much of that gentleman's polite attention; and the daughters
of Mr Darnley were also not unnoticed. The new rector of Smatterton
was very clever at conundrums, some new ones of his own making were
graciously communicated to the young ladies. Zephaniah Pringle, the
critic, was pleased to look very important, and to feel his dignity and
intellectuality mightily hurt, because the talk, such as it was, had
no interest for him. He was much at a loss to think how it was possible
for human beings to take an interest in such unintellectual things as
corn, cattle, game and poor-laws; and he thought the people were great
blockheads because they talked about what concerned themselves. Robert
Darnley received the congratulations of his friends; but he received
them coldly, for his mind was not at ease.
Now after much talk, miscellaneous and desultory, several of the party,
while yet they were waiting for dinner, congregated together at one of
the windows, and their talk was almost in whispers. Zephaniah Pringle
was one of that select committee, and he was speaking very gravely and
very knowingly, and Sir George Aimwell was looking as much as to say,
"I am very sorry for it." Mr Darnley the elder was also one of the
whispering group, and looked as serious and solemn as any one of them;
and every now and then he turned his eyes suspiciously and inquiringly
towards his son. The young gentleman more than suspected what was the
subject of their discourse; and as the rector of Neverden was the only
one of the party who had any suspicion of the interest which Robert
Darnley took in the person concerning whom the discussion was made,
they did not very carefully subdue and suppress their voices, but they
spoke loudly enough to be heard in their whispering, and the name of
Primrose was heard by Robert Darnley, and in spite of his high spirit
he felt sick at heart. And though he felt little appetite for dinner,
he was glad of the announcement, which relieved him from hearing, or
rather fancying that he heard, talk that told of the shame of Penelope.
Oh, that our pen could write strongly as our heart feels against those
villanous, viper-souled, low-minded, merciless reptiles, who, from
motives too grovelling and dirty to be analyzed, impertinently by their
ill-digested calumnies, mutilate and mangle the fairest reputation,
and sully the purest characters. Never can such vermin be sufficiently
punished or adequately vituperated, for they are absolutely incapable
of feeling such racking mental agonies as they inflict on others.
What could such a heartless puppy as Zephaniah Pringle feel of mental
and heart-rending agony, compared with that which Robert Darnley
experienced, when he had reason to think that the high-minded,
clear-souled Penelope, whom he had loved for her purity, her moral as
well as personal beauty, had so far forgotten all good feelings and
all high thoughts as to sink down into a character for which refined
language has no name?
The baronet's table was splendidly covered, and the guests were as
well pleased in demolishing as the cook had been in constructing and
compiling the various specimens of culinary art. Sir George Aimwell
paid, as was proper, especial attention to Robert Darnley, and
endeavoured to draw the young man into conversation, or, more properly
speaking, to provoke him into narrative. To such questions as were
asked he gave an ample and intelligent answer, but he proceeded no
further; he did not seem desirous to obtrude himself upon the attention
of the company.
Table-talk was by no means the forte of the worthy baronet; but when
he had a party he generally exerted himself: and as he was very well
aware that, in his own proper person, and from his own peculiar stores,
he was by no means a man of talk, he very considerately endeavoured to
set in motion other tongues than his own. On the present occasion he
thought, that as Mr Robert Darnley had been long abroad, he would most
likely be best able to entertain the guests. But when the hospitable
host observed how very slowly and reluctantly the young man brought
out the stores of his information, he next directed his attention to
Zephaniah Pringle, who was not so reserved. He spoke fluently, and
readily, and oracularly. Sir George, though not a man of letters, was
ready enough to indulge his guests, or to suffer them, if they would,
to indulge themselves, with literary conversation; and it was a great
happiness to Zephaniah Pringle to let the inhabitants of Smatterton
and Neverden know how great a man was in their company. Yet there was
a little abatement from the purity and intensity of that enjoyment,
in the observing how inapt they seemed to be in comprehending which
were the first publications of the day, and which were productions of
inferior note. Some of the party asked strange things about reviews and
magazines, and Zephaniah was astonished that there should be in any
part of Great Britain such complete, total darkness, and intellectual
neglect, as that his own peculiar periodical should be altogether
unknown even by name. He attributed their ignorance to mere spite, or
thought that Lord Smatterton, being a Whig, had made it a point to
conceal from his country neighbours the existence of that periodical,
which, by the means of pastry-cooks and tobacconists, had an immense
circulation in the metropolis. The daughters of Mr Darnley listened
with much reverence to the oracles of Zephaniah the critic, and they
thought him prodigiously wise, because he thought differently from
everybody else. They asked his opinion of every book which they
remembered having read: and they endeavoured to persuade themselves to
entertain the same opinions as he did.
If our readers imagine that, from what we have said concerning
the daughters of the rector of Neverden, these young ladies were
superficial simpletons, we are desirous of removing such impression.
They were not conceitedly confident in their own judgment; and, as they
were not much in the way of seeing or hearing literary pretenders and
intellectual quacks, they gave Zephaniah Pringle credit for all that he
assumed. They did not think very highly of themselves, and therefore
they readily yielded assent to the oracles of one who appeared so
competent and able to give an opinion. Many others, besides the
daughters of Mr Darnley, have been at a first, or even second interview
with Zephaniah, very greatly deceived as to the height, the depth, and
the breadth, of the critic's understanding.
This part of our narrative, though not directly tending to the
developement of the history, we could not consent to pass by unnoticed;
for though it may not be very entertaining, it is instructive, and
it affords us an opportunity of giving a valuable hint to our young
readers. The hint to which we allude, is to caution them against too
much modesty. Only suppose, for instance, that such an empty-headed
coxcomb as Zephaniah Pringle had entertained a fair opinion of his own
understanding, or that he had underrated his own intellectual powers
and stores, who would ever have found out that he was superior to what
he assumed? Who would have taken the trouble to urge him to assume a
higher rank? Not one. But now that he set himself up for a great one,
who was to detect the hollowness of his pretensions? Not above one in
a hundred. And who would take the trouble to expose him? Not one in a
thousand. And who would take notice of the exposure? Not one in ten
thousand.
In our next edition we will cancel this last paragraph, if we find
that modesty has ever made its owner rich or celebrated. Modesty is
certainly very much to be praised, and if we were candidate for any
situation of honor or emolument, or even for a good seat in a theatre,
we should very much approve of the modesty of such as, having power to
rival us, would meekly and quietly stand out of our way.