"My letters have come at last," said Brandon, next morning, as he joined his friends at breakfast. "My overseer, I suppose, wanted to show his economy, and posted them by the Southampton mail, which does not suit me at all. I would rather do without my dinner on mail-day than have my letters delayed for nearly a week. And now there is bad news for me, I must leave by the first ship. Had I got my letters when you received yours, I should have gone by the mail steamer and saved a month, but I cannot possibly manage to get off so soon."
"Oh! Mr. Brandon," said Mrs. Phillips, calmly, "there surely is no such need for hurry."
"Everything is going to the dogs at my station. I will probably have to buy land at a high price; and there appears to have been great mismanagement, from the accounts I hear. Another six months like the last and I will be a ruined man. It is very hard that one cannot take a short holiday without suffering so grievously for it. What were your accounts, Phillips; I think you said they were rather unsatisfactory?"
"Not very good, certainly; but not so bad as that comes to. You will look to Wiriwilta a little when you return, and send me your opinion. I had better entrust you with full powers to act for me, for I should prefer you as my attorney to Grant."
"I hope he will not be offended at the transfer," said Brandon.
"Oh! I think not; he took it very reluctantly, for he said his own affairs were enough for him."
"And perhaps a little more than enough," said Brandon, with a smile. "In that case I will be very glad to do all in my power for you."
"I have no wish to return to Australia," said Mr. Phillips, "if I can possibly afford to live here. With a family like mine, England offers so many advantages. In fact, there is only one place in the world worth living in, and that is London."
"Very true, if you have enough to live on," said Brandon, shrugging his shoulders. "I must go now to work as hard as ever to get things set to rights again, and perhaps in another dozen of years, when I am feeble, old, and grey, I may return and spend the poor remnant of my days in this delightful centre of civilization. But with me, fortunately, there are only the two alternatives, either London or the bush of Australia—there is no middle course of life desirable. If I cannot attain the one, I must make the best of the other."
Harriett Phillips listened to all this, and believed that matters were much worse with Brandon than they really were. She had no fancy for a twelve years' banishment from England, nor for a rough life in the bush. Mr. Brandon had been represented to her as a thriving settler who had made money. She saw the very comfortable style in which her brother lived, and she had no objection to such an establishment for herself; but she was not so particularly fond of Mr. Brandon as to accept for his sake a life so very different and so very much inferior. She felt that she had been deceived, and she did not like being deceived, or mistaken, and she still less liked to make mistakes; and instead of blaming herself, she was angry with everyone else—her brother, her sister-in-law, Brandon himself—for leading her to believe that his circumstances were so much better than they were. Of course, he would ask her—he could not help doing so; but as to accepting him—that was quite a different question.
She had put on her old bonnet with a grudge at Elsie; and when Mrs. Phillips appeared in the drawing-room ready for the party to the exhibition in all the splendour of her new one, which really looked lovely, and she lovely in it, and Harriett caught the reflection of both figures in the large mirror, she felt still more dissatisfied with everybody than she had done before. The gentlemen were ready, and they were just about to start, when a light quick step came to the door, and a little tap was heard.
Harriett opened it, and was delighted to see Elsie holding in her hand the second bonnet completed—equally beautiful, equally tasteful, and apparently quite as expensive.
"Oh, Alice, how good of you! What a love of a bonnet! Come in and see Mr. Hogarth. Look, Mrs. Phillips—look at Alice's clever handiwork."
And Alice was introduced a little unwillingly into the drawing room to be complimented on her taste and her despatch, and to shake hands with the two gentlemen. Miss Phillips was too much engrossed with her bonnet, and with the improvement it would make in her appearance, to observe the earnest, anxious looks of her two fancied admirers, as they greeted her sister's lady'smaid; or that they looked with interest and concern on her tired face, which, though now a little flushed with excitement, bore to those who knew the circumstances traces of having been up very late and very early over her work.
"I knew she could do it," Harriett whispered to Mr. Brandon, when Alice left the room; "she is so excessively quick. I never would have said so much about it yesterday, if I had not known she could easily do it; and does not mine look as well as Mrs. Phillips's? I said it would." And so she accepted Mr. Hogarth's arm, and went to see the pictures with a better judge than Brandon, in all the triumph of her new bonnet—the lightest, the most becoming she had ever had in her life: but her influence with Walter Brandon was lost for ever. He wished he had had Jane Melville, with her good common sense, or Elsie, with her sweet voice and winning ways, hanging on his arm instead of Mrs. Phillips, who was very uninteresting to him, though her great beauty and excellent style of dress made her an object of interest to other people, and who always enjoyed being well stared at in public places. But Jane was engaged with her pupils at this time, and Elsie was always kept very busy, so that neither of them could accompany the party, and Francis Hogarth felt disappointed, for he had anticipated the society of one or both of them.
How curiously the egotist, who fancies every one is engrossed with him or with her, would be disappointed if he or she could see the real thoughts of the people about them.. How Harriett Phillips would have started if she could have read the hearts of Hogarth and Brandon, and seen what a very infinitesimal share she had in either.
Francis was only impelled to pay attention to Miss Phillips by his natural sense of politeness, and by the wish to make the situation of his cousins in the family pleasant, as far as it lay in his power to do so; while Brandon, who had at last struck the key-note of Harriett's character, was astonished to find new proofs of her selfishness and egotism peeping out in the most trifling circumstances. He observed how different her manner was towards him, now that a man of property in the old country had appeared in the circle of her acquaintances, and he could not fail to see that an additional coldness had come over her when his circumstances were supposed to be less flourishing, and this made him rather disposed to make the most and the worst of his bad news.
In Derbyshire, where she had her own established place in the household, and where her father and her sister Georgiana gave way to her so much, she had appeared more amiable than she did now. The armed neutrality which she maintained with her sister-in-law had amused Brandon at first, but now it appeared to him to be unladylike and ungraceful to accept of hospitality in her brother's house without any gratitude or any forbearance. He began to question the reality of her very great superiority over Mrs. Phillips; with all her advantages of education and society she ought to have shown more gentleness and affection both to her brother's wife and his children. He analysed, as he had never done before, her expressions, and weighed her opinions, and found they generally had more sound than sense; and her habitual assumption that she knew everything much better than other people, became tiresome when he did not believe in her superiority.
He began, too, to contrast the charm of a face, when the colour went and came with every emotion, with that of one so unimpressible as Harriett Phillips's—whose self-possession was nearly as different from that of Jane Melville as it was from the timidity and diffidence of Elsie. Jane's calmness was the result of a strong will mastering the strong emotions which she really felt, and not in the absence of any powerful feeling or emotion whatever. Brandon had learned to like Jane better as he knew more of her, and rather enjoyed being preached to by one who could practise as well as preach. He felt that if she was superior to him she did not look down on him; and she certainly had the power of making him speak well, and of bringing out the very large amount of real useful practical knowledge that he had acquired in his Australian life. Her eagerness to hear everything about Australia and Australians certainly was in pleasing contrast to Miss Phillips's distaste for all things and people colonial; but above all, Miss Phillips's want of consideration for Alice Melville had weaned Mr. Brandon's heart from her. It was not merely unladylike; it was unwomanly. He could not love a wife who had so little sympathy and so little generosity.
Francis Hogarth did not forget his promise to Mr. Dempster, and went to his house at the hour appointed, to be witness of the seance. A number of his friends and fellow-converts were there, and the proceedings of the evening were opened by a short and earnest prayer that none but good spirits should be permitted to be present, and that all the communications they might be permitted to hear might be blessed to the souls of all of them.
The medium was a thin, nervous-looking youth of about nineteen; but, as Mr. Dempster assured Mr. Hogarth, was in every way to be trusted, as his character was irreproachable, and of great sincerity and simplicity. Francis was very incredulous as to the appearances being caused by spiritual agency, and though he could give no satisfactory explanation of the extraordinary movements of tables, easy chairs, sofas, &c., he felt that these things were very undignified and absurd, as every unbeliever always feels at first; but the eagerness of the large party who were gathered together had something infectious in it. Many of them had known severe bereavement—many of them had been tossed on the dark sea of doubt and despondency—and the brief messages communicated by raps, or by the voice of the medium, gave them consolation and hope.
To Francis, the details communicated appeared to be meagre and unsatisfactory. The spirits all said that they were happy, which to some present was a fact of inestimable value, but to him it was a matter of course. He never had believed, since he had thought out the subject in early manhood, that God would continue existence if He did not make it a blessing. But to others who, like many before him, had intelligently accepted of a sterner theology, and who had been struggling through years of chaotic doubts and fancies for footing on which to rest, he saw that these assurances gave real strength and support. An hour had passed amidst these manifestations—the interest of the believers continued to be unflagging, but Francis felt a little tired of it. He had lost no dear friend by death. The future world had not the intense personal interest to him that it had to others. The dearest beings in the world to him were his two cousins, and they were divided from him by circumstances almost as cruel as the grave. How few have done justice to the sad partings, the mournful alienations that have been caused by circumstances! Bereavement in all its varied bitterness has been sung by many poets in strains worthy of the subject; but circumstances are so insidious, and often so prosaic, that their tragical operation has been rarely treated of in verse.
His thoughts recurred, as they always did when he felt sad or serious, to Jane Melville—to the will that had brought them together, and at the same time so cruelly parted them—to the unknown father, whose own life had been blighted by the loss of domestic happiness, dealing so fatal a blow to the son whom he meant to bless and reward, by placing him in circumstances where he could not help loving Jane, and forbidding—so far as he could forbid—the marriage of two souls made for one another. Francis was wondering if his father now saw the mistake he had committed, or regretted it, when he was startled by the announcement that his father was in the room, and wished to communicate with him.
"How am I to know it is he?" said Francis, starting up incredulously, but at the same time somewhat awed by the mere possibility that such a one was there, out of the body, owning him as his son, which he had not done while he was alive.
"Does the spirit mean to communicate by raps or through the medium?" asked Mr. Dempster.
"By raps," was the answer given.
"Take the alphabet in your own hand," said Mr. Dempster, "and ask the spirit his name, and then pass your finger over the alphabet—the rap will arrest you at the right letter."
Francis passed his finger along the alphabet, half disdainfully, half in curiosity. The rap stopped him at the letter H. He had never thought the curious little taps sounded so unearthly before. Next he was stopped at E, then at N, then at R, and next at Y; and so on, till the full name of Henry Hogarth was spelled out.
"You wish to communicate with me;—then you love me now?"
The three quick raps meaning "Yes" was the immediate reply.
"Are you satisfied with what I have done at Cross Hall since your death?"
Again the alphabet was called for, and the raps spelled out, "Very much pleased."
"Are you sorry for the will you made?"
"All will be well in the end," was spelled out.
"Did you see your nieces' sufferings unmoved—their poverty, their disappointments, their unfitness for the work that you had set them to do?"
"They are better for what they have suffered," was spelled out; "and you too."
"Does the letter in my pocket come from my mother?"
The three raps replied in the affirmative.
"Did you give her an annuity, as she says you did?"
A single rap, meaning "No," was the reply.
"What did you give her, then, to make her forego her claims on you?"
"A sum of money," was the reply.
Francis observed a great difference in the character of the raps proceeding from Mr. Hogarth from those of the spirit last summoned, which had been supposed to be that of Mr. Dempster's eldest daughter, who had died at sixteen, and of a lingering disease. The latter were faint, and almost inaudible to an unpractised ear, while those of his father were firm and distinct. There was never any power of knowing from what part of the room the raps would come, and as answer after answer appeared to come so readily to his questions, it is not to be wondered at that Francis felt excited and awed at the mysterious intercourse.
"Advise me, my father; tell me what to do if you see more and know than more I can do. Should I assist my mother, as she asks me to do?"
The single impatient rap, meaning "No," was the immediate reply.
"Is she not in poverty and want?"
Again the answer was "No."
"Should not I write to her?"
"No; have nothing to do with her," was the answer.
"Can I ever have what I most desire in the world? You promise improvement—I want happiness," said Francis, passionately, startled out of himself by the extraordinary pertinence of the answers to his questions, and careless in the company of absolute strangers as to what they thought of him.
"Patience! I watch over you," was the reply.
"What do you do in the spiritual world?"
"I am learning," answered the spirit, "from one who loves me."
"What is her name?" asked Francis.
The alphabet was in his hands; he was anxious not to let any sign of his give any clue in case of its being all imposture and extraordinary quickness of sight. He purposely passed over the letters, but was rapped back by the recognised signal till the name "Marguerite" was spelled out.
"Yes," said he to himself, "you think all is well in the end; you have met Marguerite in the spirit world, after being separated for a lifetime in this, and this is very sweet to you; but I want Jane now to help me to live worthily. Can I win her in this life?"
"After a time," said the spirit, rapping by the alphabet this answer to his inaudible question.
"You then can answer mental questions," thought Francis. "What connection can Mr. Phillips possibly have with Mrs. Peck, or rather Elizabeth Hogarth?" But to this inaudible question the spirit made no reply, and told him, through the medium, that he was disinclined for any further communication. Certainly it was a question which he felt conscious he had no right to put, after what Mr. Phillips had said to him. The spirit was in the right not to answer it.
"Are you convinced?" said Mr. Dempster, who had seen the surprise with which Mr. Hogarth had spelled out the answers.
"I am staggered," said Francis. "The general answers might have been given at random, but the names, I am convinced, were unknown to every one here except myself."
"It always is the names that convince people," said a friend of the host's.
"I have asked some questions as to the future," said Francis. "I do not know if it is allowable to do so. Do your spirits claim to have a knowledge of what is to come?"
"Oh, yes; they do—those of the highest class in particular," said Mr. Dempster.
"I do not see how they can," said Francis musingly. "To know the future is a prerogative of Omniscience, and even the highest created intelligence cannot tell what His purposes may be."
"How do we guess at the future with sufficient accuracy to direct us in the present but by generalization from experience? Now, a departed spirit certainly has had a wider experience—sees more into other souls and their workings than we can possibly do while encumbered with these robes of clay—and consequently can make a juster generalization," said Mr. Dempster.
"But not an infallible one?" said Francis.
"No; certainly not," said Mr. Dempster.
"But, as to the present, their views are sure to be correct?" said Francis.
"If they are good spirits, and not lying spirits. We prayed against their appearance, and I do not believe that the spirit who has been communicating with you was of that kind," said Mr. Dempster.
"How, then, do you judge between lying spirits and true ones?" asked Francis.
"By the nature of their communications. A false or an immoral message cannot be delivered by a good spirit."
"Then you still continue to be the judges of the spirits? You do not bow your morality to theirs—you select and reject as you see good?"
"Morality is universal and eternal," said Mr. Dempster. "Even God himself cannot make evil good or good evil by any fiat of his own."
"Then have these manifestations taught you anything that could not have been otherwise learned?" asked Francis.
"They have taught ME much that I could not have otherwise learned. I cannot say what other people may attain to through pure reason or through a simple faith in the revealed will of God. There are diversities of administration, but the same spirit," said Mr. Dempster, with a simple earnestness that weighed much with Francis. But here Mr. Dempster's attention was called to a message from an old friend who had just died one of the saddest of deaths, having been lost in the Australian scrub twelve years before.
These raps were still stronger than those of Mr. Hogarth, being violent, and following immediately on the question wherever a negative or affirmative was used.
Mr. Dempster said he had been a powerful young man, of the most unquestionable determination, and that the raps were always consonant to the character of the spirit when in life. He eagerly turned to identify him. The name was correctly given; the date of his death; the length of time he had existed without food and water, and the clothes he had on when he died. Then a message was sent to his aged mother, who had so long mourned for her youngest born, that he was expecting her soon to join him in the spirit land. The place where the old lady lived was mentioned, and her state of health was described as being bad.
"All perfectly true, perfectly true, Mr. Hogarth. Poor Tom! His was a distressing fate. I expected that we should have something good in manifestations this evening, but I scarcely looked for anything so perfectly satisfactory as this. Every name and every date exactly correct. Are you not convinced now?"
"I am certainly very much staggered," said Francis. "Have you been thinking much about your friend or his mother lately?"
"Not particularly that I know of; but I liked him very much, and I often think of his solitary death."
"Have you heard that his mother is in bad health?"
"She has been an invalid for years, and you heard her age; but we must make a note of the date, and ascertain if she is particularly worse to-night. I feel sure that there are not many days of this earth for her, and how blessed a thing it is that we have such an assurance of a reunion and recognition as these communications give to us."
When Francis got into the open air after the excitement of the evening, he was inclined to think that all had been a dream or a delusion, but the answer and the names recurred with startling significance; the difficulty and almost the impossibility of any cheat or collusion, and the apparent sincerity of all who had been sitting by him during the manifestations, increased the bewilderment of his mind.
"I must see Jane about this to-morrow," said he; "her clear head can perhaps solve this curious problem; but if I had not seen it, I would not have believed what I saw. Will she believe without seeing? Yes, she will receive my testimony, for I would receive hers. After a time I may hope to be happy. How long a time, I wonder?"
Great was the grief of Emily when she heard that Mr. Brandon was going away in a week or two, and that he might never come back to England for a dozen of years; and now, instead of spending the rest of his time in London with them, he had to go to Ashfield, to spend his last days in England with his mother and sisters and nephews and nieces. She felt quite wronged by this conduct, and bade him goodbye when he came to take his temporary leave of them, with an amount of sulkiness rather foreign to her character. Lessons were a far greater bore than usual on that day, and both Emily and Harriett tried Jane's patience sorely. After they were set free for two hours in the middle of the day, Jane found her cousin was waiting for her to go out with him, and she wished very particularly to see him, on account of some news she had got from Scotland. He had not been satisfied to have none of her society on the preceding day, and had appointed with Mrs. Phillips to come when she would be at leisure, which that lady had forgotten or neglected to tell Jane or Elsie. It was Jane alone whom he wished to see—it was to her alone that he could speak about the communication with reference to his letter. Jane was sorry that Elsie was not asked to accompany their walk; but when Francis said he had something on his mind, and proceeded to tell all the singular circumstances of the previous evening, she listened with the greatest attention and with a suspended judgment. When he came to the mental question which related to herself, he simply called it something on which his heart was greatly set—it might have been his allotments or his cottages; but Jane asked no questions, and took no notice of his want of completeness in his narrative. Then he told of the inquiry as to Mrs. Peck's connection with Mr. Phillips, which he ought not to have asked, and which had received no answer. He paused for Jane's opinion before he came to narrate Mr. Dempster's message from his friend lost in the bush.
"Now, what do you think of all this, Jane?"
"I am a little staggered, as you were," said she. "I wish you had heard more or less—it bewilders me."
"Should I then follow this advice so strangely given?"
"I think the advice exactly corresponds with what you had resolved to do at any rate. It need not influence you either one way or the other. You asked my advice the other day, but neither from me nor from a departed spirit should you accept of or follow any advice which appears to your own soul not to be good. You cannot shift off your personal responsibility. As I said, it is your affair, not mine; and I feel sorry that consideration for me, and for my generous employer, has weighed so much with you that you scarcely give the claims of your mother their just due."
"And the spirit said she was my mother, but at the same time advised, or rather commanded me to have nothing to do with her. I do not wish to have anything to do with her. What is it to be grateful for—such a loveless, joyless life as mine has been—thwarted even now in my dearest hopes and wishes."
"Francis," said Jane, "you have a great deal to be thankful for, and so have I. With all the sufferings of the past year, I would not have been without it for the world. We have both learned much, both from circumstances and from each other."
"Jane, I am weary of all this talk about progress and perfection. I am hungering for happiness, as I told this strange interlocutor last night," said Francis, earnestly.
"And you will attain to it, Francis! but do not set your heart on what it is not right, or wise, or expedient for you to obtain. And you cannot look me in the face and say that, if one thing is denied, you have not many sources of happiness."
Jane looked at him with her sisterly eyes, feeling the pain she was giving, but determined not to show that she had any personal regret. It was very kind, but it was very discouraging. She felt for him like a sister—and nothing more.
"If I have any eyes," said Francis, trying violently to change the subject, "Brandon is still an admirer of your sister's. What in the world keeps him from declaring himself? Why does he not offer her all he has, and all he may hope to gain? He cares no more for Miss Phillips than I do, and she would never consent to accompany him to Australia. And Elsie looks so pretty and so sad, she needs a protector; she would be grateful to him; she cannot stand alone, as you do; and she knows she makes your position here much more difficult."
"The truth is, Elsie refused him, and it is difficult for a man to make a second offer when he has such slight opportunities of seeing her, even if he has not made a transfer of his affections."
"I would make an opportunity—I would write—I would ask point-blank to see her—I would speak to you about it, if I were in his place. It is cowardly in Brandon."
"Why, Francis, you are very unreasonable. Elsie refused him as positively and uncompromisingly as possible on her way down to Derbyshire. I do not think she would do so now; but how is he to know that?"
"I would hint as much to him, if I were you. Why, Jane, a word from you might secure your sister's happiness for life, and you shrink from saying it."
"Indeed I do," said Jane. "I think no good can come from interfering in such matters, and I am particularly ill-adapted for such a delicate communication. Besides, if one may judge by the last few weeks, it is Miss Phillips who ought to receive the offer of marriage, and not Elsie. If her brother were to ask what Mr. Brandon's intentions are, as he might very well do, the result would be a marriage of two very ill-assorted people. She cannot comprehend the real goodness and simplicity of his character, and despises the man whom she is scarcely worthy to wait on. She even looks down on her generous brother; she has no love for her brother's children, and no sympathy with anyone. I am really very glad to observe, with you, that her influence with Mr. Brandon has decreased of late; but he certainly has paid her a great deal of attention, and she expects a proposal."
"Her face has no charm to me," said Francis. "Taken feature by feature it is handsome enough; but it wants play and variety, and it has not the perfect harmony of Mrs. Phillips's. That is a singularly beautiful index to a soul that appears to be nothing particular. I have heard it said that we have all our ugly moments. Have you ever seen such a time with Mrs. Phillips?"
"There are times when she certainly does not look beautiful to me, nor to Elsie either. But I wanted to speak to you of your own affairs. I had letter from Tom Lowrie this morning, in which he says that he hears from one of his old schoolfellows that you have been asked to stand for the Swinton group of burghs, and that every one says you will easily be able to carry them over the duke's man."
"Ah! has he heard about it? I should have told you of it, but the more pressing personal interest of the letter from Melbourne, Mr. Phillips's strange agitation, and this mysterious spiritual communication, put it out of my head for the time, and a word from you would put it aside for ever," said Francis, with the old wistful look.
Jane, like all women who are interested in public matters at all, and they form a very small minority of her sex, rather over-estimated the importance of a parliamentary career. She knew the turn of her cousin's mind, his education as a man of the people, his position as a man of property, his earnest desire to do right, his patient habits of business, and his thorough method of research and inquiry, were all certain guarantees that he could not fail; and she had the belief that his abilities, and readiness, and confidence would make him an eloquent and skilful debater. It appeared to her to be an object of great importance that a perfectly honest and independent member should replace for the burghs in her native country the nominee of a great family, who only voted with his party, and never had done any credit either to the electors or to the nation. She said truly when she spoke of her ambition finding its vent in dreams about him and her pupil, Tom Lowrie. She certainly had influenced Francis Hogarth's character greatly during the turning-point of his life; the ideas she had nursed in her trials had been on his mind with force and earnestness, and through him she could hope to give a voice to a number of her crotchets and theories. Where a woman writes as well as thinks, she does not feel this dependence on the other sex so strongly; for, though at a disadvantage, she can for herself utter her thoughts—but Jane, as my readers will have observed, was not literary. She was an intelligent, well-informed, observing woman, but her field was action, and not books. In her present situation she had very little time for reading; but, from all that she saw, and from all the conversation she could hear, she found hints for action and subjects for thought. To see Francis in the British Parliament was a worthy ambition, and to give up such a probable career for an inglorious and obscure life with herself was not to be thought of. His wistful looks and earnest tones were to be treasured up in her heart for ever; but her own love for him was not of that imperious and unreasonable nature that she could not live without him.
"Do you think that you can really get in?' said Jane, eagerly. 'I know that my uncle said the Liberal interest was much stronger in the burghs of late, and you are really the fittest man they could have. I was quite pleased to hear from Tom that you are so soon appreciated. Of course, he is enthusiastic on the subject."
"I do not know if I am appreciated or not, but the burghs are a little tired of a struggle between the Conservative duke and the Whig earl, always resulting in some one being put up on both sides, to whom there were no strong objections, and no strong recommendations—a mere nobody, in fact."
"You are popular in the county, are you not?" asked Jane.
"No, not exactly. I do not think I could possibly carry the county, even if I could afford the contest, for I am not considered a safe person for the landed interest. I gained some eclat on the road trusteeship, by opening a road which was a great public convenience, but I lost more than I gained there, by my allotments, which are looked on as a dangerous precedent. The cottages make me popular with those who have no votes, and with the more enlightened class of farmers, but the old school of tenants object to them, and almost all the landlords fear that they may be asked to lay out money in the same way. On the whole, I am considered rather a dangerous man in the county, but in the burghs I am popular, I think. I have the character of being a man of the people, who has not lost sympathy with his class, and I can afford to give them my time and services, such as they are."
"If you go in, you want to do so independently," said Jane.
"Yes, I do; and here I risk my election. The Liberal party want a certain vote, which they think they could secure better by sending up a stranger from the Reform Club, who knows little and cares less about the burghs, than by supporting a man who will look into political and national questions for himself, and who will not be a mere partisan. If they mistrust me and send some one to divide the Liberal interest, I can only save the Swinton burghs from the duke's man, by retiring."
"But how foolish to divide the Liberal interest," said Jane.
"My dear Jane, you forget that his party is dearer to a party man than anything else. The question to be considered—and I want to see how your nice conscience will guide you through the bewildering mazes of political morality—is this: Whether it would be right to pledge myself to the party, in which case I am sure of my return, or to remain independent, and so make it very doubtful," said Francis.
"You cannot vote always with the Liberals—at least with the Liberals who form governments and oppositions," said Jane. "They are often in the wrong, and particularly so in the bestowal of patronage, which, I suppose, is a very important matter among party politicians. The appointments which the Whigs have made of late years have often been most shamefully actuated by family or party reasons, and not with a single eye to the public service. Many times the Conservatives are really more liberal than the Whigs—sometimes the Whigs are more Conservative than the Tories. It is of the first importance that there should be many men such as you in Parliament, who will watch over both parties; and, if this determined dualism is at work everywhere, how are such men to get into the legislature? But, surely, you could carry the burghs—you can speak, can you not?"
"I don't know, I never tried; but I dare say I could beat Mr. Fortescue, the duke's candidate. He has never opened his mouth in the House, but to give his vote, and on the hustings he made no figure."
"Try the independent course, by all means; you may be beaten, but then if you succeed, you will be so much more useful."
"It will probably cost me a thousand pounds."
"It is shameful that the duty of serving one's country for nothing should be so dearly bought. If you get in, you must try to introduce some measure to reduce election expenses."
"A difficult matter. The object of the Parliament, when once assembled, is to make it difficult and expensive to get in. To keep the candidature within the limits of a privileged body is considered a great safeguard."
"Not by me, or by you," said Jane. "I want you to get in because you know the feelings and the wants of the people who have no votes better than ninety-nine out of a hundred, who are members of Parliament. Oh! Francis, I feel quite sure that if you exert yourself you can get in. And what is a thousand pounds?—you have it to spare."
"I am doubtful," said Francis, shaking his head, "if I can afford to go into Parliament."
"Have you not two thousand a year? and do not lawyers who can scarcely make a living go into Parliament? I am sure there is some perjury on the subject of property qualification—but as, perhaps, the latter is unnecessary, it is the less matter."
"They go to increase their means, or their practice, or their influence, and generally take the first opportunity of accepting something better than the Chiltern Hundreds under Government," said Francis.
"There must be something very wrong somewhere, if a country gentleman of your standing cannot afford to give his services to the House of Commons. Have you brought the requisition that was sent to you?" said Jane.
"Yes; do you really want to see it? I have it in my pocket, and if I really felt in earnest on the subject, I ought to communicate with Mr. Freeman, the earl's political agent in London, to know how he will favour a man who would support the general policy of Government, but who will hold himself free to vote against them whenever he sees them in the wrong. My only means of securing the earl's influence is by convincing him that he cannot carry the burghs against Fortescue by such a man as he has to put up; and as I am rather doubtful on that point, I can scarcely assert it confidently. If he chooses to withhold his family interest he can make me fail; but if it comes to the push, I would rather retire than let Fortescue get in."
"Electioneering, then, is very nice and difficult work," said Jane.
"Very difficult for the scrupulous, the sincere, and the far-seeing."
"Who are just the sort of people whom we want to see in Parliament."
"Whom YOU want to see, Jane, but not whom the two great parties wish to see. Then, should I go to Mr. Freeman, do you think, with this requisition and a frank declaration of my principles, and hear what he says on the matter? If the earl supports me I may count on a majority of twenty—a safe enough one; and if not, shall I spend the thousand pounds in a glorious defeat; writing the boldest and most independent of addresses; making the most uncompromising speeches from the hustings, if I can find voice?"
"No fear of your finding voice, Francis," said Jane, warmly.
"Regardless of the savour of rotten eggs; undaunted by the sneers at my birth and breeding; the tales about my father, the jeers at my mother; and only retiring at the last moment, when I have said all that I have got to say, but which, I fear, my audience were not much in a mood to hear. My own idea is, that I should succeed better in the calm argumentative debates in Parliament, than as a hustings orator, or a popular declaimer."
"Yes, you will, and you certainly should try the second, that you may attain to the first. My uncle was asked to stand for these burghs some ten years ago, but he was too crotchety, and could not write an address that was at all likely to be acceptable to the electors, so he gave up the contest before it began. Yet, you know, it would be well to have a few crotchety people in the House of Commons. The game of life, whether social or political, is not played by only two sets of black and red men—like chess or backgammon."
"I have met a gentleman at Miss Thomson's pretty frequently," said Francis, "who struck me as having the most remarkable qualifications for a member of Parliament. He has a habit of recurring to first principles which is rather startling, but which always forces you to give a reason for the faith that is in you, and which either confirms your opinion satisfactorily, or changes, or modifies it. He has retired from business on about 700 pounds a year—which he has made in America, principally—has no family, no cares, and plenty of leisure—is the most upright of men, and knows more of the principles of jurisprudence, and the details of commercial matters than any one I ever knew; but no constituency would choose him, and he cannot afford to throw away a thousand pounds for the privilege of having his say out. He is one of the electors of Swinton, and particularly anxious that I should contest the burghs. His own vote he can answer for, but he boasts of no large following; though he is a man who ought to exert mental influence, he is too far ahead to be popular. If I were to stand, and were to succeed, I will find him a most useful prompter; and with you to inspire enthusiasm for the public service, and this Mr. Sinclair to suggest principles and details, I ought to distinguish myself."
"I am quite sure that you will," said Jane; "so my advice is to lose no time in seeing Mr. Freeman. I cannot believe that people who call themselves liberal can act so illiberally as to endeavour to stifle independence. You will tell me a different tale tomorrow."
Francis did as Jane advised him, and as he himself thought he should do, and waited on Mr. Freeman. It happened to be a time of a lull in party politics; there was no question strongly before the public mind on which Whigs and Tories were so equally pitted that one vote was of extreme importance; there was no near prospect of a change of Ministry, and the great Whig houses had been much baited lately about their family selfishness and their party selfishness being quite as bad as that of the old Tory set. So it appeared to Mr. Freeman at the present crisis to be a very wise and expedient thing to offer support to an independent man like Mr. Hogarth, for it was very questionable if the duke, who had been more liberal in his expenditure in the towns, would not carry it against a mere club man, and they had no better man to spare. Mr. Hogarth, at least, was sure to ask nothing of the Government. His support, when they got it, would cost nothing; his adverse vote would be only on outside questions, as a rule. It would look very well for the county election, which was to be a very tough affair between a younger son of the duke and a younger brother of the earl, that Mr. Hogarth, of Cross Hall, should have the earl's cordial support in the burghs. His vote was secure for the Honourable James, and all those he could influence, he hoped. Francis said he could answer for his own, but his tenants must please themselves.
"Oh, yes, certainly; but tenants generally find it for their advantage to vote with their landlord," said the agent.
"I will give my tenants distinctly to understand that they must vote from conviction, and that that will please me. That is my view of being a Liberal," said Francis.
"And if all the other county proprietors had the same view the Honourable James would walk the course; but we must oppose all the stratagems of war of an enemy who takes every advantage, and strains to the utmost the influence of property and patronage."
"I want to go in with perfectly clean hands," said Francis.
"Bless you, so does everybody," said the parliamentary agent; "but somehow there is a lot of queer work must be done to get fairly seated on the benches."
"I not only wish it, but I mean to do it," said Mr. Hogarth.
"Well, well—I hope you will be able to manage it. I must introduce you to the earl. I think he will say, as I say, that he will give you cordial support; so that the sooner you get your address out the better—as soon in the field as possible, and don't fall asleep over it. The other party are like weasels—they are not to be caught napping; and will undermine what you fancy secure ground, if you only give them a chance."
The result of Francis' interview with the earl was as satisfactory as that with the agent. Party for once was inclined to waive its high prerogative, and to allow a person to slip into Parliament without any pledge as to future action. His manner prepossessed the earl; he received an invitation to dinner to meet a few political friends, and to talk over the canvass for the county, which was one on which all their strength was to be expended. Harriett Phillips was all the more interested in Mr. Hogarth when he had been invited to dinner with a peer of the realm, and stood a good chance of adding M.P. (though only for a Scotch group of burghs) to his name. Even Mrs. Phillips felt a little excited at the idea of a British member of Parliament, and seemed to view both Jane and Elsie with more favour than she had done before; while Mr. Phillips, anxious to do away with the impression of his first interview with Mr. Hogarth, was quietly and cordially hospitable, and hoped that the Swinton burghs would return him, that they might have the pleasure of his society in London for the coming sessions. Francis spent a week or more in London, and promised Miss Phillips to pay a visit to her father in Derbyshire by and by. Mr. Brandon was completely at a discount, and as fairly out of the circle of Harriett's probable future life at Ashfield as if he had sailed for Australia.