George III.George III.
The ladies laughed at Mr. Dapper’s droll way of narrating the manner of the king’s education.
“I do not wonder you smile, ladies; it is enough to make a horse laugh,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to know how the prince was put through his paces from the time he opened his eyes in the morning till he was tucked in bed at night. Lord North at one time was governor to the prince; he gave me the programme of the daily routine. The boy was to be out of bed at seven o’clock, eat breakfast and be ready for Mr. Scott fromeight o’clock to nine, or till the Reverend Doctor John Thomas came, who had him in charge till eleven, when he was to be turned over to Mr. Fung, for what purpose Lord North did not know. At noon, Mr. Ruperti had him for half an hour. From half past twelve till three the prince could play; that is, he could walk through the grounds around Leicester House, trussed up in fine clothes like a turkey for the spit, but he couldn’t kick up his heels or turn somersaults on the grass; he must be a nice little gentleman in lace and ruffles. At three o’clock he had dinner. At half past four the dancing-master, Mr. Deneyer, taught him the minuet. At five o’clock he had another half hour with Mr. Fung. From half past six to eight Mr. Scott put him through his curriculum. At eight o’clock he had supper, but must be in bed at ten. On Sunday from half past nine till eleven Reverend Doctor Ayscough lectured him on religion. To state it plainly, our royal sovereign’s real instructors were the servants and chambermaids of Leicester House. They told him nursery tales about hobgoblins, giant-killers, and witches. Doctor Ayscough and the bishop gave him lectures on theology. The Jacobite bishop exalted the prerogatives of princes and kings. Lord Waldegrave told me that, when he was appointed governor to Prince George, he found him to be a good, narrow-minded little bigot, with his head full of nursery tales and not much else.”
“Why, Mr. Dapper!” exclaimed Mrs. Newville, laying down her knife and fork again, and holding up her hands.
“I see that you are astonished, madam. Now Iwould not for the world say anything disrespectful of our gracious sovereign; he is not to be blamed for the errors of those who had charge of him during his minority,—he is to be commiserated rather; but you will observe that it was not a course of education calculated to enlighten a dull intellect. That he is good at heart every one knows, but his ministers also know that he is narrow-minded and obstinate.”
“We must not forget that our most gracious majesty, King George, is one of the Lord’s chosen instruments to carry out the plan of the divine mind,” said the rector.
“Oh, certainly, my dear sir; just as much of an instrument as ever Samson was, flourishing the jawbone of an ass, smiting the Philistines hip and thigh,” Mr. Dapper replied.
The ladies smiled, but the rector did not altogether relish the reply.
“I never have quite understood how Earl Bute obtained his ascendency with the king,” said Mr. Adams.
“It was through his influence with the mother of the king,” Mr. Dapper replied. “He had a great deal to say about the king’s education. It was Bute who induced George II. to appoint Andrew Stone to have charge of the young prince. Then the fat was in the fire. The Bishop of Norwich accused Stone of being a Jacobite, and the quarrel became hot—so sharp that the bishop entered the schoolroom to have it out with Master Stone. Now I suppose, my dear rector, you would have staked your money on the bishop, on the theory that the church militant should also be the church triumphant.”
“Possibly, if I were in the habit of laying wagers,” the rector replied.
“I certainly should have done so, reverend sir, but I should have lost my money,” continued Mr. Dapper; “for Mr. Stone was plucky, used his fists beautifully, and gave it to my lord the bishop right between the eyes. The bishop was quite gamey, though, and aimed a blow at Stone’s nose, but finally got shoved out of the room, greatly to his mortification. He couldn’t let the matter drop, and so accused Stone of being drunk. The matter finally got into Parliament where there was quite a row about it. Such were the auspices under which our good sovereign was educated to administer the affairs of the realm. His mother wanted to make him pious. She would not allow him to associate with other boys because they would corrupt his morals. Lord Bute advised the princess dowager to keep the prince tied to her apron strings, and succeeded.”
“Lord Bute,” Mr. Adams responded, “is very much disliked in the Colonies. When he was at the head of the ministry, he was hung in effigy on the Liberty Tree.”
“So he was in London,” Mr. Dapper replied. “Your detestation of him cannot be greater than it is in England. No one can quite understand how John Stuart made his way up to power. He was a poor Scotsman from the Frith of Clyde. He went to school at Eton and also at Cambridge, then came to London, hired a piece of land out a little way from the city, and raised peppermint, camomile, and other simples for medicine. He had a love for private theatricals,had shapely legs and liked to show them. One evening the Prince of Wales saw his legs, and, taking a fancy to the owner, told him to make himself at home in Leicester House. That was enough for John Stuart. Having got a foothold, he made himself useful to Fred, and especially to the princess dowager. George II. was getting on in years and irritable. The old king took it upon himself to pick out a wife for the prince, selecting the daughter of Charles, Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel; but the prince said he wasn’t going to be Wolfenbuttled by his grandsire. Just what he meant by it no one knows, as the word is not to be found in Doctor Johnson’s big dictionary.”
“Shall I help you to a bit of canvasback, my lord?” Mrs. Newville asked, interrupting the narrative.
“Canvasback! What may it be? Really, you have most astonishing things to eat over here,” Lord Upperton replied.
Mrs. Newville explained that it was a duck, and that it was regarded as a delicacy.
“I never ate anything so delicious,” said Upperton.
Mr. Dapper also praised it.
“Was the marriage of our king and queen a love-match?” Miss Chanson inquired.
“Well, hardly, at the beginning,” said Mr. Dapper. “When the prince was eighteen, he fell in love with Lady Sarah Lennox, daughter of the Duke of Richmond. She was seventeen, beautiful, and attractive. She knew how to display her charms to the best advantage, by going out with the haymakers on finesummer mornings to wander in the meadows among the daisies, wearing a fancy costume. No wonder the prince, looking from the windows of Holland House, thought it a delightful exhibition of Arcadian simplicity and made haste to chat with her. But love-making between the future king and a subject was not in accordance with the princess dowager’s ideas, and so Earl Bute found it convenient to appear upon the scene,—a gentle hint that there was to be no more love-making. Their flirtations would make a long story though, for Lord Newbottle was in love with Lady Sarah and jealous of the prince, which made it all the more interesting. Bute and the princess dowager put their heads together, and sent Colonel Graham on a prospecting tour among the German principalities. He sent back word that the daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz would make a good wife for his royal highness, and he judged well, for I am sure you all love our Sophia Charlotte.”
“Most certainly, and we would emulate her virtues,” said Mrs. Adams.
Mr. Newville proposed the health of the queen.
Their glasses drained, Mr. Dapper went on:—
“Lord Harcourt was sent as ambassador to negotiate a marriage, not with Sophia Charlotte, but with her brother, the duke.”
“Was not our queen consulted in regard to the matter?” Ruth asked.
QUEEN SOPHIA CHARLOTTEQUEEN SOPHIA CHARLOTTE
“Not at all. She knew very little about the world; never had been a dozen miles from home, never even had sat at the duke’s table. She was a simple-minded little girl who gave the chickens their doughand gathered nosegays from her flower-garden. You can imagine, ladies, that she hardly knew what to make of it when told that an ambassador from England had arrived and wanted to see her. The duke told her to put on her best gown, mind what Harcourt said, and not be a baby. Suddenly the folding-doors leading to the ducal chamber opened, and there stood the ambassador. ‘You are to be married to him by proxy, and be queen of England,’ said the duke, which so surprised the poor girl that she nearly fainted. The ceremony over, Harcourt presented her with a necklace of diamonds. You see, ladies, it is almost the story of Cinderella over again!”
“It is really romantic,” responded Miss Milford.
“I would not be married to one whom I never had seen,” exclaimed Ruth.
“A princess, Miss Newville, cannot always do as she would. She may be compelled to marry against her will,” said Lord Upperton.
“I would not,” Ruth replied.
“Not if the country required it?” Lord Upperton asked.
“No, my lord; and I am glad I am not a princess.”
“Bravely spoken. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink to the maiden who, though not of the blood royal, is yet a princess,” said Mr. Dapper.
“Hear! hear!” exclaimed the admiral, thumping the table.
The company gazed admiringly at Ruth, peerless in her beauty, the warm blood suffusing her cheeks.
“I understand that our queen assumed the position of royalty with much grace,” Mrs. Adams remarked.
“With charming simplicity, madam,” responded Mr. Dapper. “She landed at Harwich, and had an ovation all the way to London. People hurrahed, bells rang, and cannon thundered. The poor girl was terribly frightened. The thought of meeting a husband whom she had never seen unstrung her nerves. The Duchess of Hamilton laughed at her, but it was a hot shot the queen let fly; she said: ‘You have been married twice to husbands of your own choosing, but poor me must marry a man whom I never have seen.’”
“Bravo! that raked the quarter-deck,” exclaimed the admiral.
“How did the king receive her?” Ruth inquired.
“When she stepped from the coach she knelt at his feet; he gave her a kiss, and led her into the palace.”
“Very gallant on the part of the king; fitting and humble the action of the queen,” said the rector.
“I would not have got down on my knees to him,” said Ruth.
“May I ask why Miss Newville would not have knelt to her future husband and sovereign, had she been Princess Sophia?” the rector asked.
“Because it was an acknowledgement at the outset that she was not his equal. She abased herself by taking an inferior position. In the days of chivalry, men knelt to women. The princess did not leave her happy home to be a subject of King George; but to be his wife to stand by his side, and not crouch at his feet.”
“Hurrah! That’s a whole broadside. She’s sweeping your quarter-deck,” shouted the admiral.
The rector grew red in the face.
“It is recorded in the Holy Scriptures, Miss Newville, that wives must be obedient to their husbands,” he replied.
“Does the Bible say a wife must kneel at her husband’s feet?” she asked.
“Perhaps not in so many words, but she is commanded to obey. Our holy church teaches the doctrine. When the princess knelt at the feet of his majesty, it signified she would obey him. Perhaps it is my duty, Miss Newville, to say that your sentiments would be regarded as heretical by the authorities of the church.”
“Hold on, rector,” said Mr. Adams. “Don’t set the canons of the church to thundering.”
“It is the gossip at court,” said Mr. Dapper, “that the king wanted to retire soon after sundown, but the queen said she wasn’t going to bed with the hens. It is said he told her she must wear a particular dress, but she informed him he could dress as he pleased, and she should do the same.”
“You will have to go to court, rector, and lecture the queen on heresy,” said Mr. Adams.
The company laughed, and Ruth’s eyes sparkled over the rector’s discomfiture.
The meats had been removed and Pompey was serving the pastry and comfits.
“What delicious cheese you have. It is as toothsome as the finest Cheshire,” said Lord Upperton.
“We think it of excellent flavor, and I am sure you will relish it all the more when I inform you, my lord, that it was made by a girl not older than myself,” replied Ruth.
“Indeed! is it possible? How very clever she must be.”
“She is a New Hampshire lady.”
“Are dairymaids ladies?”
“Indeed they are, my lord. The young lady who made the cheese you are eating, I dare say, would adorn the court of our queen,” responded Mr. Adams.
“Bless me! oysters, cranberries, succotash, canvasback ducks, wild turkeys, pumpkin pie, dairymaids ladies, wives the equals of their husbands! Rector, will there be anything beyond these in the New Jerusalem?” exclaimed Lord Upperton.
Dinner over, the ladies passed into the parlor while the gentlemen smoked their pipes and finished their wine.
“I suppose, my lord,” said Mr. Adams, “you have not been here sufficiently long to form an opinion in regard to the Colonies.”
“Everything is so new and strange,” Lord Upperton replied, “I hardly know what to make of it. I had an idea that I should find your people quite rude and uncultivated. I understand you haven’t any theatre or anything of that sort; but, really, your ladies charm me by their conversation. Mrs. Adams informs me she has studied Latin and Greek.”
“I am happy to say my wife can read Cicero and Homer in the originals,” Mr. Adams replied.
“You astonish me,” his lordship exclaimed.
“We are somewhat primitive, but the Colonies in time will make amends for whatever they maybe lacking now,” Mr. Adams responded, sipping his wine. “The people who came to this Western world did somainly for conscience sake, and the time will come when this country will be the seat of empire. Society here is established on enduring foundations. One hundred years hence the chances are the people in the Colonies will outnumber those of England. We are loyal to the king, but we are a liberty-loving people and jealous of our rights. In time we shall be so strong that the united force of Europe will not be able to subdue us.”[48]
“You have a great extent of country, but as a people you are widely scattered. You have only a little fringe of settlements along the seacoast. It will be an easy matter to divide you. England is rich, and has a great navy; she controls the sea. Her armies have been victors on many fields; she has wrested Canada from France,” said his lordship.
“With the aid of the Colonies,” interrupted Mr. Adams.
“Perhaps we had better give politics the go-by and join the ladies,” said his lordship, rising and moving towards the parlor.
Pompey brought in the tea-urn, cups and saucers, sugar and cream.
“Shall I pass you a cup, Miss Newville?” Lord Upperton asked.
“Thank you, my lord, but I do not drink tea.”
“Ha, ha! Miss Newville, so you have joined the other conspirators to outwit Lord North!”
“No, your lordship, I have not joined them, but I must say I admire their resolution in giving up a luxury to maintain a great principle.”
“As for myself,” said Mr. Dapper, “I rather like the spirit of the Puritan mothers and daughters here in the Colonies; they are worthy descendants of the men who had it out with Charles I. It is all nonsense, this plea of Lord North, that the people in the Colonies ought to pay a portion of the debt incurred by England in the late war with France; it is the extravagance and corruption of Parliament and of those in power that grinds us,—the giving of grants, pensions, and gratuities to favorites, parasites, and hangers-on. During Bute’s and Grenville’s administrations the public money was sown broadcast. If votes were wanted, they were purchased. It was not unusual for a member of the Commons to find four hundred pounds in his napkin at dinner, or in a billet-doux left by the postman. Of course he understood the meaning of it. The ministers helped themselves to sugar-plums worth five thousand pounds. When the Duke of Grafton was at the head of the ministry, that parasite, Tom Bradshaw, who had done some nasty work for the Premier, received an annuity of fifteen hundred pounds and a suite of thirty rooms in Hampton Palace. He is there now, and has had the suite increased to seventy apartments. Not long ago the ministry put out one hundred thousand pounds to carry a measure through the Commons.”
“You astonish me! Do you mean to intimate that our king has corrupt men around him?” Mrs. Newville inquired.
“My dear madam, the king is hardly responsible for this state of things. It is part of the politicalsystem. Politics is a game. Men can cheat in government as well as in anything else, and there are quite as many cheats in and around St. James’s as at Almack’s or any of the other gambling resorts. Other things are done in and around Westminster, by those whom you are accustomed to revere, which would astonish you could I but speak of them,” said Mr. Dapper.
The evening being beautiful, the air genial, the company strolled in the garden, and ate the ripening plums and pears. Lord Upperton, finding pleasure in the society of Miss Newville, asked what recreation the young people in the Colonies enjoyed. She told of the launching of the ship Berinthia Brandon, the pung-ride and dance at the Greyhound Tavern, the quiltings, huskings, and tea-parties.
“I hope, Miss Newville, this will not be the last time I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I shall not soon forget the succotash and cranberries, and shall improve an early opportunity to pay my respects to you,” he said, as he bade her good-evening.
“By Jove, Dapper, she’s as fine a piece of chintz as can be picked up at St. James’s or anywhere else,” he said, as they returned to the Admiral Vernon.
On a pleasant afternoon Lord Upperton was once more ushered into the Newville mansion. Mrs. Newville being absent, he was graciously received by Ruth.
“I had such a delightful time in your hospitable home, Miss Newville, the other evening, that I could no longer refrain from paying my respects.”
“It is certainly very kind of you, my lord.”
“I cannot tell you how delighted I was when you told me about your recreations. How charming it must be to go riding in a pung, with a lot of ladies and gentlemen. I was wondering if I could not get up a pung-ride.”
“We only do that in winter, when snow is on the ground, my lord,” Ruth replied, hardly able to repress a smile.
“Oh, dear me! how stupid I am! Of course not,” and his lordship laughed heartily at his blunder.
“Do you not have snow in London, my lord?”
“Yes, sometimes; but then we haven’t any pungs. I don’t know what they are. Maybe they are a sort of hackney or chariot?”
“We have no hackney coaches here, as yet, my lord, but Mr. Hancock and the governor and a few of our citizens have coaches. A pung is not at alllike a coach. It is, instead, a sort of box on runners.”
“Oh, indeed, how interesting!”
“May I ask, my lord, what recreations you have in London?”
“We have quite a variety, I assure you, Miss Newville. We have card parties, where we play high or low, just as we feel. We have assemblies, where we tittle-tattle and gossip. We gentlemen lay bets on the winning horse at the next Derby. We go to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, and clap our hands at the acting of Davy Garrick or Jimmy Quin. At the opera we go wild when Mademoiselle Truffi soars like a nightingale up to high C. We dance at balls, array ourselves as harlequins and imps at masquerades, and see who can carry off the most bottles of port or sherry at dinner,” said his lordship, again laughing.
“Are you not jesting, my lord?”
“Oh no, Miss Newville; I am telling you sober truth. It is not exaggeration at all. For instance, the masquerade which the Duke and Duchess of Richmond gave on the king’s last birthday was so gay that I can hardly hope to picture it. The duke’s villa is on the banks of the Thames. The willows, elms, and oaks in the park were hung with lanterns, the house was all ablaze—lights in every room. Dukes, duchesses, earls, barons, lords, and ladies—more than six hundred—assembled in masquerade dress. The Duchess of Hamilton and Argyle was hostess. She appeared as Night, with a black trailing robe illuminated with silver stars, while herfather was dressed as a footman, with the portrait of his other daughter dangling from a ribbon tied to a button of his jacket.”
“Was it not rather out of character for a man old enough to be grave and dignified to take such a part?” Miss Newville asked.
“Perhaps so, but then we are expected to do absurd things in masquerade. Her grace the Duchess of Richmond, for instance, appeared as the Sultana of Persia, in a costume purchased in the bazaar of Bagdad. The Duchess of Grafton displayed her charms as Cleopatra. Now when we remember that Egypt and the Orient have a climate in which a person can get along without any great amount of clothing, it really does seem somewhat absurd for a lady, in a country with a climate like that of England, to attempt to imitate in dress, or undress, that celebrated queen of the East.”
Lord Upperton laughed again. “Miss Fitzroy,” he continued, “undertook to represent the Sultana of Turkey. If I remember rightly, she appeared in baggy silk trousers, high-heeled pink slippers, crimson jacket, embroidered with gold, and a white turban. Her bewitching eyes peeped through two holes in a muslin yashmak spangled with silver stars. Among the gentlemen I recall Lord Augustus Hervey, who disguised himself so completely as a jester that no one could make out who he was. He said saucy things as a court fool. He even guyed his own wife, and she never mistrusted she was flirting with her own husband, but then, as she was ready to flirt with anybody, it made no difference.”
Miss Newville hardly knew what reply to make as his lordship laughed again, and so remained silent.
“May I ask what character Lord Upperton assumed,” she asked.
“Oh, certainly. I appeared as a young devil, with hoofs, horns, and a forked tail. His satanic majesty, you know, is supposed to whisper things in people’s ears, and you may be sure I acted out the character I assumed. I did it so well that Lady Lucy Hastings said I was a perfect imp of darkness.”
“Have you any other recreations?” Miss Newville inquired.
“Oh, yes, a great many. One diversion I am sure would charm you,—the club at Almack’s, in which the ladies nominate gentlemen to membership and gentlemen the ladies. Only a few days before leaving London I attended a grand masquerade ball at Almack’s, where my Lady Archer appeared as a boy wearing a postman’s blue coat. Lord Edgecombe assumed the character of an old washerwoman. Sir Watkins Wynne rode into the hall on a goat, assuming the character of holy Saint David. The goat, more accustomed to browse in the pastures than take part in such high jinks, frightened by the blare of trumpets, the scraping of fiddles, and the whisking of the ladies’ skirts as they went round in the dance, capered like mad, butted my Lady Winchester so that she fell flat upon the floor, upset holy Saint David, and kept the room in an uproar until a waiter seized the animal by the horns and another by the tail and led him from the hall.”
Lord Upperton roared with laughter, and Miss Newville could but join him in the merriment.
“It was a picturesque scene, I assure you, with peddlers, haymakers, shepherdesses, gypsies, chimney-sweeps, and nymphs,” his lordship said.
“May I ask, my lord, what a masquerade is supposed to represent?” Miss Newville inquired.
“Well, really now, I never thought of it. I suppose it means something, but just what, upon my soul, I cannot tell you, except to have a jolly good time and appear to be what we are not.”
“Are such masquerade balls usually attended by noble lords and ladies?”
“Oh, yes. They are almost the exclusive patrons. I attended one a little while ago at Carlisle House. It was intended the king and queen should be patrons. Tickets were sent to his most gracious majesty, and, of course, there was a great crush. The king and queen returned the tickets, but everybody else was there. I remember that the Duke of Cleveland appeared as Henry VIII.; the Duke of Gloucester as a fine old English gentleman; the Duchess of Buccleugh as the Witch of Endor; Lady Edgecombe as a nun; the Duchess of Bolton as the goddess Diana; Lady Stanhope as Melopomene; the Countess of Waldegrave as Jane Shore; Lord Galway’s daughter, Mrs. Monckton, as an Indian princess, in a golden robe, embroidered with diamonds, opals, and pearls worth thirty thousand pounds. One of the gentlemen came as a Swiss ballad-singer with a hurdy-gurdy, leading a tame bear with a muzzle on his nose. He had been stopped by the gate-keeper, because he hadonly a ticket and a half—the half ticket for the bear; but it being a she-bear and ladies being admitted at half price, the hurdy-gurdy man won the day. Everybody laughed and said it was the best joke of the season.”
Lord Upperton saw a troubled look upon Miss Newville’s face, as if she had heard quite enough about masquerades.
“The recreations of court life, I would not have you think, Miss Newville, are masquerades and balls, and nothing else. We have suppers which are quite different affairs, where we do not try to be what we are not. After the theatres are out we go to the banquet halls, where wine and wit flow together. We gossip, sing songs, and flirt with the Macaroni ladies. The opera girls sing to us if they are not too tipsy, and we have gay larks till the wagons begin to rumble around Covent Garden Market, and the greengrocers are displaying their onions and cabbages for the early morning sale.”
“Who are the Macaroni ladies?” Miss Newville asked.
Lord Upperton laughed.
“I don’t wonder that you inquire. We call them Macaronies, ladies and gentlemen alike, who have traveled on the Continent, flirted at Versailles, in Paris, or in the Palace Barberini in Rome; who have eaten macaroni in Naples, and who have come home with all the follies, to say nothing of some of the vices of the nobility of other countries, in addition to what they had before they started on their travels. The gentlemen wear their hair in long curls; theladies patch and paint their faces. If they haven’t a pimple or a wart they make one. They wear gorgeous dresses. The gentlemen twiddle canes ornamented with dogs’ heads or eagles’ beaks, with gold tassels; carry attar of rose bottles in their gloved hands, and squirt rosewater on their handkerchiefs. They ogle the ladies through their quizzing glasses, wear high-heeled slippers, and diddle along on their toes like a French dancing-master teaching his pupils the minuet. The ladies simper and giggle and wink at the gentlemen from behind their fans, and leave you to imagine something they don’t say.”
Again Lord Upperton saw a troubled look upon Miss Newville’s face.
“We have convivial parties,” he continued. “If you like cards, you can try your hand at winning or losing. We play for fifty-pound rouleaux. There is always a great crowd, and not infrequently you may see ten thousand pounds on the table. Some play small; others plunge in regardless of consequences. My young friend, Lord Stravendale, before he was of age, one night lost eleven thousand pounds, but nothing daunted he played again, and as luck would have it got it all back at one hazard. He lamented he had not made the stakes larger, and said if he had been playing deep he might have made a million. It was really very clever in Stravendale.”
Again his lordship laughed, but Miss Newville could not see anything in the narrative to cause her to smile.
“There is Charley Fox,” Lord Upperton continued, “who goes in rather strong. He makes grand speeches in the Commons; but almost always getsfleeced at Almack’s. The Jews, who are usually on hand in one of the outside rooms with their shekels, waiting to lend money, charge exorbitant interest. Charley calls it the Jerusalem Chamber. Sometimes he gets completely cleaned out, and has to borrow a guinea to pay the waiter who brings him his brandy. One night at the beginning he won eight thousand pounds, but before morning lost the last sixpence.”
“Do ladies play?” Miss Newville asked.
“Certainly; they love gaming as well as the men. Her royal highness the Duchess of Cumberland not long ago set up card playing and gaming in her drawing-rooms. Her sister, Lady Elizabeth Lutterell, is one of the best gamesters in London. It is whispered, though, that she cheats on the sly. Lady Essex gives grand card parties, where there is high gaming. One lady, whom I know, lost three thousand guineas at loo. It is whispered that two ladies, not long since, had high words at one of Lady Essex’s parties; that they rode out to St. Pancras and fought a duel with pistols, and that one was wounded; which shows that our noble women have real grit.”
“Is what you are saying a fair picture of life among the nobility?” Ruth asked.
“I would not have you think, Miss Newville, that everybody of noble birth or high position is a gambler, but every one who plays, of course, wants a stake of some kind.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but I do not see any fun in losing money in the way you speak of.”
“Well, perhaps there isn’t any fun in losing, but it is real jolly when you win. It is like drinking wine; it warms you up.”
“Do you have any other recreations equally attractive and delightful?” Miss Newville inquired.
“We have gay times at the Derby during the races. Of course you have felt the excitement of a horse-race, Miss Newville?”
“No, for we do not have horse-racing here; but I believe they do in Virginia.”
“No racing! I am astonished. Are not your people rather slow?”
“We have few diversions, my lord; we do not win money by racing.”
“You can have no conception of what a grand sight it is. Everybody goes to the Derby—dukes, lords, bishops, rectors, ladies, and gentlemen. Before the race begins, we have our lunch parties. All are eating, talking, laughing, or laying bets. The horses come out from their stalls with the jockey boys in red, green, blue, and yellow, in their saddles. They draw lots to see which shall have the inside, then go down the track a little distance. The horses understand what they are to do just as well as we who stake our money. They sniff the air, step lightly, then break into a run, and everybody is on tiptoe. In a moment they are down to the first turn, and come in full view. There are four, perhaps, neck and neck. You have staked, say, on yellow. He loses half a length, and your heart goes down: but he gains a little, is up even once more—half a length ahead, and you yell and double your stakes. They are round the second turn, going like a whirlwind; yellow and blue are ahead of the others, neck and neck.
“‘Two to one on yellow!’ you shout.
“‘I’ll take it!’ roars Lord Pilkington.
“‘Two to one on blue!’ he shouts back.
“‘Put me down for it!’ you answer.
“They are on the home run. There is a great hubbub, like the roaring of a tornado, as they sweep under the line, yellow ahead. You swing your hat, and yell as loud as you can. You are ten thousand in. Oh, it is just the jolliest excitement a man can have!”
“If you win, my lord, does not somebody else lose?”
“Of course, Miss Newville.”
“Do they feel equally jolly?”
“Possibly not. Sometimes we are out of pocket, and do not feel quite so hilarious, but we swallow a stiff nipper of brandy and draw our checks like men. I won five thousand from Lord Pilkington, three thousand from Lady Merryfield, and quite a number of one hundred pounders from the ladies of my set, who bet on the blue, while I planked mine on the yellow. You see, Miss Newville, that ladies are sometimes influenced by fancy. Lady Somers, for instance, allowed fancy to get the better of judgment. She likes blue as a color, above yellow. She is quite horsey, and thinks she can drive a tandem. I had examined blue, felt of his muscles, and made up my mind that by and by he would have ringbone on his left fore leg. I believed that yellow had the best wind and bottom; but the ladies followed the lead of Lady Somers, and so I raked in their shekels. They all ponied up promptly, though, and paid their outs, like true-born English ladies.”
“I do not think,” said Miss Newville, “that I should like to lose or win money in that way.”
“Why, Miss Newville, once get into it, and you would say it is the most delightful sport in the world. If you think, however, that you would not like to participate in such pleasures, we have the fox hunt, which is the most charming and innocent diversion imaginable. You don’t bet any money in that, but have a rollicking good time riding over the country, ladies and gentlemen—leaping hedges and ditches, following the hounds, running Reynard to cover, and having a lunch at the close of the hunt.”
“Foxes are plentiful in this country, but we do not run them down with horses,” Miss Newville replied.
“Do ladies ride horseback in the Colonies?”
“Oh, yes. Were you to attend meeting in the country on the Sabbath, you would see many ladies riding up to the horse-block, wives on pillions behind their husbands. Do the ladies who hunt foxes attend meeting on the Sabbath, my lord?”
“Ha, ha! I suspect what you call going to meeting, with us is going to church. Oh, we are very devout. On Sunday we all go to church, kneel on our hassocks, and confess we are miserable sinners, recite the creed, pray for the king, queen, Prince of Wales, the army and navy. We do our full duty as Christians, and are loyal to the church, as well as to his majesty. My rector, at Halford, is a very good man. To be sure the living isn’t much, but he reads the prayers well, preaches a nice little sermon of ten minutes or so, for he knows I don’t care to be bored by the hour. He enjoys a fox hunt, says grace at dinner, and makes a point of having a little game ofcards with me Saturday evening. He doesn’t know much about cards, so I usually let him win a few shillings, knowing the poor fellow will feel better Sunday morning while reading the service if he knows he has a half-crown in his pocket, instead of being out that much. I know how it is, Miss Newville. I can be more devout and comfortable on Sunday after winning instead of losing five or ten thousand at Almack’s.”
“Perhaps, my lord, you feel you are not quite such a miserable sinner as you might be after all.”
“You have stated it correctly, Miss Newville,” his lordship replied, not discerning the quiet sarcasm. “Of course I am not, for if I lose, I curse my luck, and am ready to punch somebody’s head, and rip out some swear words, but if I win, I am ready to bless the other fellow for playing a king when he should have laid down an ace.”
His lordship apologized for having tarried so long, and took his departure.
“She’s a Puritan, through and through. As lovely and pure as an angel in heaven,” he said to himself as he walked down the street.
While the months were going by, Roger Stanley, student of Harvard College, was learning about life in Rumford, as a surveyor of land, spending his evenings in the house of Joshua Walden, with Robert and Rachel to keep him company, especially Rachel. He found pleasure in telling her the story of Ulysses and Penelope. Most of the young men of Rumford who came to the Walden home could only talk aboutoxen, which pair of steers could pull the heaviest load, or whose horse could out-trot all others. When the surveying was done, Roger accepted the invitation of the committeemen to keep the winter school. Never before had there been a master who could keep the big boys in order without using the ferule, but somehow the great strapping fellows, who might have put the master on his back in a twinkling, could not find it in their hearts to do anything that would trouble him. Other masters were content if they went through the regular daily stint of reading, writing, spelling, and ciphering, but he told them about men who made the most of themselves, and who had done great things,—Cæsar, Augustus, Charlemagne, Alfred the Great.
It was the schoolmaster who suggested that the people should meet once a week in the schoolhouse to discuss the great questions affecting the welfare of the Colonies, and who wrote out the questions to be considered:—
“What are the inalienable rights of the people?”“Has Parliament any right to tax the people of America without their consent?”“Is it right ever to resist the authority of the king?”“Ought the Colonies to unite for self-defense?”“Ought the Colonies, in any event, to separate from England?”
“What are the inalienable rights of the people?”
“Has Parliament any right to tax the people of America without their consent?”
“Is it right ever to resist the authority of the king?”
“Ought the Colonies to unite for self-defense?”
“Ought the Colonies, in any event, to separate from England?”
People from the back roads came to hear what Esquire Walden, Deacon Kent, Shoemaker Noyes, Blacksmith Temple, and Schoolmaster Stanley hadto say upon these questions before the parliament of the people, in the schoolhouse, lighted by two tallow candles and the fire blazing on the hearth. King George and Frederick North might have learned some fundamental principles of government, had they been present.
Like sitting in heavenly places were the mornings and evenings to Roger Stanley in the Walden home, where he passed the first and the last two weeks of the term. The food upon the table was appetizing; deft hands had prepared the bannock—Rachel’s hands. The plates, knives, and forks had been laid by her. It was she who glided like a fairy around the room. How could his eyes help following her? And when seated at the table, how radiant her face, beaming with health! In the early morning, long before breakfast-time, he heard her feet tripping down the stairs. While about her work, he could hear her humming a song which he had sung to her. Very pleasant the “good-morning” that came from her lips when he appeared. In the evening it was a pleasure to hold a skein of yarn for her to wind. He was sorry when the last thread dropped from his wrists, and wished she had another for him to hold.
It was the old, old story; the growth of mutual respect, honor, and love, becoming daily more tender and true; the love that needed no pledge, because it was so deep and abiding.
Lord Upperton was prolonging his stay in America. He visited New York and Philadelphia, and was once more in Boston. He called upon Thomas Hutchinson, governor; upon Thomas Flucker, secretary; and upon the officials of the Custom House. He accepted many invitations to dinner from gentlemen and ladies, and took excursions into the country on horseback. Lady Frankland hospitably entertained him in her country house, where he enjoyed himself shooting squirrels and partridges. Returning to Boston, he frequently called to pay his respects to Mr. and Mrs. Newville, never failing to ask for Miss Newville, prolonging his calls till past the ringing of the nine o’clock bell. He was very courteous, and had many entertaining stories to tell of life in England, of his ancestral home at Halford. The old castle was gray with age; the ivy, ever green upon its towers, hanging in graceful festoons from the battlements. Herds of deer roamed the surrounding park; pheasants crooned and cackled beneath the stalwart oaks; hares burrowed in the forest; nightingales made the midnight melodious with their dulcet singing. Old tapestries adorned the walls of the spacious apartments. In the banqueting halls were the portraits of ancestors—lords,dukes, and earls reaching down to the first Earl Upperton created by William of Normandy, for valor on the field of Hastings. On the maternal side were portraits of beautiful ladies who had been maids of honor and train-bearers at the coronations of Margaret and Elizabeth. The brain of Ruth could not keep track of all the branches of the ancestral tree; she could only conclude it was stalwart and strong.
Lord Upperton was heartily welcomed by Mrs. Newville, who esteemed it one of heaven’s blessings to be thus honored. On an evening, after a visit from his lordship, Mrs. Newville, with radiant face, drew Ruth to her bosom. “My dear,” she said, “I have joyful information for you. Lord Upperton has done us the distinguished honor to say to your father and me that he has become so much interested in our daughter that he presumes to ask the privilege of paying his addresses to her. It is not, Ruth, altogether a surprise to me, for I have seen his growing fondness for you.”
“Fondness for me, mother?”
“Yes, dear; he has not been able to keep his eyes off you of late. I have noticed that if you had occasion to leave the room, he fidgeted till you returned. We have given our consent, and he will call to-morrow evening to make a formal proposal to you.”
“But I do not desire he should make a proposal to me, mother!”
“Don’t want him to make an offer of marriage, child! Why, Ruth, what are you thinking of? Not wish to receive the attentions of a noble lord! I am astonished. Do you forget that he can trace his lineagedown to the time of William the Conqueror, and I don’t know how much farther? You surprise me!”
“I doubt not Lord Upperton may have a noble ancestry, but I don’t see how that concerns me. I am not going to marry his ancestors, am I?”
“Why, daughter, he has a crest,—an escutcheon of azure, sable, and sanguine, a lion rampant, a unicorn passant, and an eagle volent.”
“What would a crest do for me?”
The question puzzled Mrs. Newville. “I really do not know, daughter, just what it would do, but it would be painted on your coach; it would be embroidered on the banners hanging in Lord Upperton’s baronial hall. Just think of it! The lion, the emblem of strength, the unicorn of energy, the eagle of swiftness and far-sightedness,—it would represent all those qualities!”
“But what if one has not the qualities?”
“I am not so sure, daughter, but that you have those very characteristics in a remarkable degree. I know you have strength of will and energy. What you undertake you carry through; and you are far-sighted, you see what others of your age do not see. I do not say it to flatter you, daughter, but I am sure Lord Upperton’s coat-of-arms is emblematic of the character of the lady whom he wishes to see mistress of Halford Castle,” said Mrs. Newville, with radiant face.
It seemed to her that the fond hope of years was about to be realized; that the time was at hand when the Newville family was to be ennobled; when she, herself, could bid farewell to America, and be admittedto the charmed society of dukes, barons, princes, kings, and queens.
“Lord Upperton will call to-morrow evening, dear, and I will have Madame Riggoletti come in the afternoon to do your hair. You had better wear your corn-colored satin brocade, which is so becoming to you.”
“No, mother, I do not wish to wear it. I prefer to dress plainly. I want Lord Upperton to see me just as I am, a simple girl, who has had few advantages to fit her for the life in which he moves. I cannot appear to be what I am not.”
Ruth paused a moment as if considering whether she should speak the words upon her lips.
“Lord Upperton, you say, desires to pay his addresses to me and you have given consent. It is an honor for any lady to receive attentions from a gentleman of superior station, but I cannot promise you, mother, that I shall look with favor upon his suit, honorable though it may be.”
It was said calmly but with resolution.
“I dare say, daughter, you may think so now. It is quite natural. It is just what I said when my mother informed me that Theodore, your father, had asked permission to pay his addresses to me. I said I would not see him; but I did, and have been very glad ever since. After a little while, I used to listen for his footsteps. There were none like his. He always called Thursday evening after the lecture,[49]andI used to sit by the window an hour before it was time for him to put in an appearance, looking for him. So it will be with you, child. Now go to bed, dear, and think of the great honor which Lord Upperton is conferring upon us in asking for your hand!”
“Shall I give him my hand, if I cannot at the same time give him my heart?” Ruth asked, her earnest eyes scanning her mother’s face.
“Oh, but you will do both, dear. Many a girl has asked the same question at first, but soon found that the heart and hand went together.”
“I think,” Ruth replied, “if one may judge from outward appearances, there are some women who have given their hands to their husbands, but never their hearts. I see faces, now and then, which make me think of what I have read descriptive of deserts where there is no water to quench the thirst, no oasis with its green palms giving grateful shade from the summer heat,—faces that tell of hunger and thirst for the bread and water of love and sympathy.”
“You fancy it is so, and possibly here and there you may find a mismated couple, but, daughter, you will see things in a different light when once you get acquainted with Lord Upperton. I believe there is not another girl in Boston who would not jump at such a catch. You may not fancy him this moment, but in a short time you will say there is not another likehim in all the world. You feel just as I did towards Theodore. At first, I almost hated him, because he presumed to ask permission to visit me, but now he is the best man that ever lived. Just think of the offer that has come to you in contrast with what your father had to offer me. Lord Upperton brings you his high station in life, his nobility, his long line of ancestors, a barony, a castle with its ivied walls, a retinue of servants, his armorial bearings inscribed on banners borne by Crusaders. He will offer you rank, wealth, privilege, honor at his majesty’s court. Theodore had only himself to offer me. He was not much then, but he is more now. I have done what I could to make him what he is, and now our daughter has the prospect of wearing laces such as are worn by duchesses; to be received at court; to be spoken of as Her Grace. Now to bed, dear, and be happy in thinking it over.”
“But I do not love Lord Upperton, nor shall I ever care for him.”
“Don’t talk in that way, Ruth. You think so now, but when you are once married and begin to enjoy what will be yours,—a coach, waiting-maids to do your bidding, and are invited to the court of his majesty the king, and preside over your own table in the great baronial hall, with the high-born gentlemen and ladies doing you honor, it stands to reason that you will love him who brings these things to you.”
“You speak, mother, of the society in which I shall move, but I have no taste for such associations.”
“Tush, child; you know nothing about it.”
“Lord Upperton has given me a description of the employment and pleasures of the society in which hemoves, and I have no desire to enter it. I shall not find happiness in its circles. I want to be just what I am, your daughter, in our happy home.”
“But, Ruth, you cannot always be with us. Your father and I earnestly desire your future welfare and happiness. I am sure he will be surprised and pained to hear that you do not wish to receive the attentions of Lord Upperton.”
Mr. Newville entered the room. He saw the trouble on the face of his daughter.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Ruth thinks she never can love Lord Upperton and does not desire to receive his attentions, but I have told her it is only a present whim, just as mine was towards you.”
“Of course, daughter,” said Mr. Newville, with fatherly dignity, “it could hardly be expected you would feel any very strong attachment for Lord Upperton on so short an acquaintance. Conjugal love is a plant of slow growth, but I think you would, ere long, appreciate the great honors and the high privileges which he would confer upon you, and that your heart would go out to him.”
The troubled look upon the face of the daughter became more intense. Her father as well as her mother would have her receive the attentions of a man between whom and herself there was no possible sympathy. What should she say? A tear trickled down her cheek: she made no movement to wipe it away, but lifted her loving eyes and gazed steadily into her father’s.
“Since you both so earnestly desire it I will meetLord Upperton to-morrow evening and hear what he has to say,” she replied.
“You could hardly do otherwise. I think the more you see of him the better you will like him,” said Mr. Newville.
“Of course you will, my child; and now, dear, think it over in your chamber. I am sure you will see that a great opportunity has come to you,” said Mrs. Newville, giving her a kiss.
It was a summer night. The air was fragrant with the perfume of lilacs and apple-blooms. The young moon was going down in the west, throwing its departing beams upon the unfinished tower of King’s Chapel. Ruth, looking out from her white-curtained window, beheld a handful of cloud drift across the crescent orb and dissolve in thin air. She could hear the footsteps of passers along the street growing fainter as they receded. The bell on the Old Brick Meetinghouse struck the hour, and then, in the distance, she heard the watchman’s voice, “Ten o’clock, and all is well.” With perturbed spirit, she laid her head upon the white linen pillow which her own deft hands had made. So Lord Upperton was to solicit her heart and hand, and she had consented to meet him. What should she say to him? Why should he, having an acquaintance with the noble families of England, come across the sea and offer his attentions to an obscure New England girl, and desire to make her mistress at Halford Castle? Ought she not to feel flattered in having a noble lord for a lover? The thought did not stir her blood. Why was she averse to receiving his attentions? What was there about him that madethe thought repellent? Was he not a gentleman? Was he not polite? Did he not show proper respect not only to herself but to everybody? Why not make an effort to overcome her repugnance to him? Would any other girl in Boston or anywhere else hesitate a moment over such an opportunity as had come to her to be called My Lady,—to be mistress of a ducal castle,—a position of power and influence among the lords and ladies of the kingdom? To have diamonds and pearls? To have precedence over others of lower station in social life? Questions came in troops before her; vain her attempts to answer them.
Again the deep tones of the bell rang upon the still night air, and once more she heard the watchman’s voice announce the hour. For a moment it interrupted her reverie, but again the questioning went on. Her father and mother not only had given their consent for Lord Upperton to make proposal, but they earnestly desired she should become his wife. She could understand the motives that animated them. She was her father’s idol, her mother’s joy—very dear to them. Were they not ever doing what they could for her? Would not her marriage to Lord Upperton contribute to their happiness? Might not her father, through Lord Upperton’s influence at court, attain a more exalted position? Would not her marriage fill her mother’s life with happiness? Would it be an exhibition of filial duty were she to disappoint them? And yet, what right had they to make a decision for her when her own life’s happiness was concerned? Was she not her own? Had she not a right to do as she pleased? Ought she to sacrifice herself to theirselfish interests? She did not like to think it was wholly selfishness on their part, but rather an earnest desire to provide for her future welfare. Ought she not to abide their judgment as to what was best for her? Could she ever be happy with Lord Upperton? Could she find pleasure in fine dressing, card playing, and masquerading as he had described them? What would such a life be worth? Were position in society, pleasure, gratification of self, to be the end and aim of life? There seemed to be another somebody beside herself propounding the questions; as if an unseen visitor were standing by her bedside in the silent night. Was she awake or dreaming? She had heard the great lawyer, James Otis, put questions to a witness in a court where her father in his judicial robe sat as magistrate. It seemed as if she herself had been summoned to a tribunal, and one more searching than the great lawyer was putting questions which she must answer. Should she give her hand to Lord Upperton and keep back her heart? Ought she to allow prospective pleasure or position to influence her choice? Could she in any way barter her future welfare for the present life and for the larger life beyond? Was Lord Upperton of such lofty character that she could render him honor and respect, even if she could not give to him a loving heart?
In the half-dreaming hour another face looked down upon her—the face of him, who, in a time of agony, had been as an angel of God, rescuing her from the hands of ruffians. Oh, if it were he who solicited permission to pay his addresses, how would she leanher head upon his bosom and rest contentedly clasped forever by those strong and loving arms! Through the intervening months his face had been ever present. She lived again the hour of their first meeting, that of the afternoon tea-party, the launching of the Berinthia Brandon, the ride in the pung. She had received several letters from him, which were laid carefully away in her writing-desk. Many times had they been read and with increasing pleasure. He had not declared his undying love for her; the declaration was unwritten, but it was between the lines. He wanted to be more than he was, and she could help him. He wanted to do something for justice, truth, and liberty; to stand resolutely with those who were ready to make sacrifices for their fellow-men. What a sentence was this: “I want to be better than I am; I want to do something to make the world better than it is; and you are pointing the way.”
Ever as she read the words her eyes had filled with tears. She pointing the way! Those words in one end of the scale, and Halford Castle and everything connected with it in the other, and the writing tipped the beam.
The night was sultry; her pulses bounding; her brow hot with fever. She sat by the window to breathe the pure air. The stars were shining in their ethereal brightness; the dipper was wheeling around the polar star; the great white river, the milky way, was illumining the arch of heaven. She thought of Him who created the gleaming worlds. Beneath her window the fireflies were lighting their lamps, and living their little lives. She could hear the swallows crooning in their nests beneath the eaves.
“He made them; He cares for them; He will care for me,” she said to herself. The night air cooled her brow, a holy peace and calm came to her troubled heart. Kneeling, she repeated as her prayer the psalm which the rector had read on Sunday.