CHAPTER IV.

"Lo! our opinion is a child so dear,We love its prattle, though a simple note."Peter Pindar.

From the conversation which was mentioned as having taken place between Mr. John Martindale and his young relative in the last chapter, Mr. Philip derived a very considerable degree of satisfaction. He felt very confident that there was no danger that he should lose the property which was destined conditionallyto devolve to him. He was most happy in being relieved from the claims of the money-lenders, and being able to call the property which he should receive with Miss Sampson his own.

There was still, however, some little alloy in the pleasure that he enjoyed in these thoughts. He was by his circumstances almost excluded from all notoriety, and deprived of those very pleasures for which wealth and rank were in his estimation desirable. The constitution too of Miss Sampson's mind was not such as could render retirement delightful and desirable; and even had her mind been ever so well informed, or her disposition ever so reflective and intellectual, those things would not have afforded much interest to the Hon. Philip Martindale. At the first moment, when Mr. Martindale the elder announced his designs of liberality towards the young gentleman, Philip felt much delighted; and it was indeed a great pleasure to be relieved from the demands of his creditors. All these matters Philip thought it desirable to state to Lord Martindale, knowing that theymust reach his ear by some channel, and thinking it most desirable that the information should come from himself. Lord Martindale, it seemed, was not ignorant of these circumstances, so far at least as concerned his son's transactions with money-lenders, and the occasion which rendered these transactions necessary. Here was another mortification; for Philip had a feeling of regard for his parents, and was concerned at what gave them pain. Lady Martindale had long and deeply felt the unpleasantness of dependence on the caprices and whims of Mr. John Martindale; and the more frequently the subject recurred to her thoughts, the more did she regret the vanity which induced them to aspire after nobility.

In due time, the Hon. Philip Martindale led to the altar Celestina, only child of Sir Gilbert Sampson. The happy couple immediately after the marriage-ceremony set out on a tour, in which we have no intention of accompanying them. Lord Martindale, after he found that the circumstances of his son were so essentially improved, partiallyrecovered his health and spirits; but there was yet a feeling of mortification in his lordship's mind, at the necessity which had compelled his son to avail himself of mercantile wealth to keep up his dignity: still, however, his lordship had the consolation of thinking that it was not quite so great a mortification, as if the young gentleman had been compelled to have recourse to his own talents at the bar. Wealth, it appears, is always honorable, and always honored; but there are various degrees in which it is honorable. That wealth is most honorable which has been handed down through many generations, and which has been acquired nobody knows how, and nobody knows when: that wealth is less honorable which is the obvious result of commercial diligence, skill, and activity; but in process of time, as the inheritors of that wealth grow more ignorant of the means by which it was acquired, it becomes more honorable. There is some degree of honor in possessing wealth by means of marriage with an heiress, even if that heiress inherit mercantile wealth, provided that the person marryingdoing any thing to provide for himself. There is honor also in wealth acquired by commercial skill, but that honor is of a very equivocal kind; and those more highly-favored persons who have descended from a long line of ancestors who never disgraced themselves by obtaining a livelihood for themselves, ought to look down with a proper degree of contempt on such individuals as have, by using their understandings and employing their skill, acquired property for themselves. This is exceedingly appropriate and decent in a country which depends on commerce; and this feeling the Right Hon. Lord Martindale possessed, or rather was possessed by most strongly. The young gentleman also felt his share of the mortification. To such a degree was he annoyed by the thought of the origin of his wealth, that he could not bear to hear any mention of soap. We pity the young gentleman very much—we pity Lord Martindale too, and we pity all who are similarly circumstanced; andthe said heiress never did, or attempted to do, or was capable, of we should be very happy to suggest a plan to keep the superfine people more distinct from the common people, but it is not in our power. So we must let the world go on as it has done, and as it will do in spite of our teeth; and we take to ourselves some credit for our modesty in that, while we are putting forth a book full of wisdom and of the fruits of wise observation, we do not anticipate that we shall thereby produce any great change in the aspect of society or the manners of mankind.

Seeing that the Hon. Philip Martindale, in whom our readers are so much interested, is now most happily married, and is set out on a tour, we may very safely dismiss him for the present; assuring the public that they need not entertain any hopes or fears that the honorable gentleman should on his return present them with a volume of travels. We warrant him quarto-proof.

There was mention made in a former part of this history of an amiable and worthy widow, Lady Woodstock, concerning whom it was reported that Mr. John Martindale would in all probability make heran offer of his hand. There was no other ground for the report than that Mr. Martindale, thinking her the most intelligent woman among his acquaintance, paid very especial attention to her, listened very patiently when she spoke, and seemed always pleased when in her company. The reports concerning Mr. John Martindale's attachment to the intelligent and amiable widow revived again, and circulated with renewed activity; when immediately, on Mr. Philip's marriage and his departure on his tour, Lady Woodstock made her appearance in town. For the most part, this worthy lady spent summer and winter, and spring and autumn, at Hollywick Priory; but by some unaccountable movement or other, it so happened that the good lady and her four daughters made their appearance in London within a week of the time when Philip set out on his tour. Lady Woodstock's acquaintance was by no means extensive; and in all probability very few of the world would ever have known any thing about her, had it not been that the very rich andeccentric old John Martindale was supposed to be paying his addresses to her. It is a certain and undeniable fact, that the old gentleman waited on the Woodstocks as soon as they arrived in town; that they were scarcely noticed by any one else, and that they only visited Mr. Martindale, and that they were almost the only company which Mr. Martindale entertained at his house. We are relating facts and not making romances, therefore we will plainly and straight-forwardly tell our readers, that as Mr. Martindale was a very great oddity and had very singular notions, he thought that no one but Lady Woodstock was a fit companion for Signora Rivolta. He had, therefore, solicited and implored her ladyship to bring her family up to London, and to remain there during the rest of the season. Mr. Martindale the elder is not the only man in the world who has a habit of fancying some one individual to be the wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best creature that ever lived or could live. On this ground, and on this only, did he seek for the society of Lady Woodstock, when and wherever it was to behad; and he had no more thoughts of marrying her than you have, gentle reader.

Now it came to pass that, soon after the arrival in London of Lady Woodstock and her family, and soon as the report was spread abroad that Mr. John Martindale was likely to marry the widow, that the charms of Lady Woodstock's daughters were most loudly blazoned forth, and multitudes began to see beauties of person and mind in these young ladies which they had never seen before. When there appeared a probability that Lady Woodstock was about to become the wife of a very opulent man, and when it was thought as a necessary and natural consequence that her daughters would be handsomely portioned, then, and not till then, was it found out that Lady Woodstock had as choice an assortment of ancestors as any body else; then it was discerned that her daughters were remarkably intelligent and unaffected young women; and then many of her ladyship's old acquaintance who had for some years nearly or totally forgotten her, began to wonder that shenever had come up to town before during the season. As yet, however, it was not thought safe for any young gentleman to make formal proposals to any one of the daughters; but the young ladies were by no means neglected. They were not cut either by new or old acquaintance; they never made their appearance without most courteous recognition; and as the younger of the four had scarcely finished her education, but was even in town attended by a music-master at the special appointment of old John Martindale, some songs and some sonatas were dedicated to the young ladies. By degrees, the Woodstocks rose into a species of celebrity. The young ladies did not much affect to set themselves up as literary ladies, but they were perhaps a little proud of being thought not quite so frivolous as the generality of young ladies of the present day. Our readers, we suppose, do not need to be informed that young ladies of the present day are very frivolous; and that they have been so for centuries past, and will be for centuries to come. The times are sadly altered, and so they always will be to the end of time. Thedaughters of Lady Woodstock were not absolutely blue-stockings. The two eldest had read Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, and thought it was a book which every body should read. They had also read Paley's Works and Cowper's Poems. The eldest had the reputation of having read Cowper's translation of Homer, though but few gave her credit for that accomplishment. The mother and her four daughters very simultaneously and loudly rebuked the flippancy of the present generation of books. This is also an important and interesting fact which we wish to impress on the minds of our readers, that the modern publications are of a very frivolous and flimsy nature: none of them are worth reading. It is a self-evident maxim—it does not require proof; and if we were to attempt illustration, we should be absolutely overwhelmed with superabundance of materials. Modern publications always have been and always will be worthless. The very words modern and newfangled are in themselves expressions of condemnation. The modern writers merely string together a multitude of words; they have no ideas at all, orif they have by accident any thing like an idea or thought, they overwhelm it with a host of unmeaning words. If Milton's Paradise Lost, or Spenser's Fairy Queen, or Young's Night Thoughts, had been written by any of the writers of the present day, they would have spun the same materials out to a most immoderate and unreasonable length; and if Lord Byron had been the author of the Iliad, he would have made of it a poem as long as Childe Harold; or if any of our modern novel-writers had taken the subject of Clarissa Harlowe, there is every reason to suppose that they would have extended it to the dimensions of Rees's Cyclopedia. The taste of the daughters of Lady Woodstock did not much approve modern literature; and no wonder, when we consider the emptiness and wordiness of the present race of writers; and as to modern periodicals, where is there one that can for a moment compete with what the Lady's Magazine was sixty years ago? But the young ladies were not altogether ignorant of modern literature. They were generally acquainted with the names and titles of new books, and could speak veryfluently concerning them at their first appearance, but afterwards they made it a rule to forget them.

Lady Woodstock and her daughters were very religious, according to the present fashion. They were not religious purely for fashion's sake, but merely according to the fashion. They certainly believed themselves to be religious, and so far they certainly were. One of the first thoughts that entered their minds on arriving in town was to engage a pew at church. Lady Woodstock herself would have been as religious, let the fashion be as it might; but we believe that the young ladies admired the popular preacher as much for his popularity as for his piety. There was to the west of Temple Bar, but how far to the west and in what street our informant has not been careful enough to inform us, a very handsome chapel of ease, answering by its comfortable internal accommodations most completely to its name; at which chapel there officiated a preacher whose discourses were as soft and beautifulas the velvet cushion on which his elbows reclined, and light as the feathers wherewith that cushion was stuffed. Lady Woodstock was so far religious as to regard the church-prayers as a matter of devotion, but the young ladies rather considered the sermon as a matter of diversion. They were most skilful sermon critics, very loudly praising zeal and seriousness, and very acute in detecting grammatical errors. It was very amusing to hear the young ladies on Sunday morning tumultuously and in concert gabbling forth the praises or dispraises of the sermon of the day, and criticising the air, tone, aspect and manner of the reverend officiating divine. "What a delightful sermon we have had this morning."—"Did you notice how solemnly he gave out the text?"—"I like to hear the words of Scripture uttered solemnly and seriously."—"But did not you very much admire that beautiful simile of the gilded bark and the rippling wavelets, there is something so very pretty in the word wavelets?"—"Yes, it is a very pretty word, but I do not think it is in Johnson."—"I should like to read thatsermon, it was so accurately composed; I am sure it would read well." Such talk as this, but extended to a length which it would be tedious to narrate, established for the young ladies in their own thoughts and in the thoughts of their neighbours that they were very religious. So pleased and well satisfied were they with that kind of discourse, that they were not unfrequently led to think very lightly of the religion of such as could not or would not join them in the discussion. Old Mr. Martindale would sometimes in his peculiar way laugh at the zeal of the young ladies in discussing these matters, and they had long ago very deliberately set him down as a man of no religion. With all this, however, they were very good and amiable young women. They were benevolent,—they were affectionate—they were diligent—they were cheerful—they were decidedly decorous in their conduct and manners; and their whole character was truly respectable. They were rather confined in their notions, but that was the accident of education; and Mr. Martindale thought that they would be better companions for hisgrand-daughter than many others with whom an acquaintance might have been formed, and who were more extensively acquainted with that sort of stuff which people call the world.

"A heated fancy or imaginationMay be mistaken for an inspiration."Byrom.

With such tastes and views as the daughters of Lady Woodstock possessed, it is not to be supposed that they should be long in town without forming an acquaintance with the charming preacher, whose melodious voice and pious similies so regularly delighted and edified them every Sunday. And let no critic carp at this phraseology. To bedelighted is to be put in good humor; to be put in good humor is to have the best feelings of our souls called into action. There is to some ears devotional impulse and excitement to holy feeling in the wordless eloquence of a well-played voluntary; and why should not a well-turned period from the lips of a graceful speaker have power to edify as well as to please? There was not any impropriety in Lady Woodstock's taking notice of the preacher of whom we are speaking. He was a middle-aged married man with a numerous family, for whom he was endeavouring to provide as well as might be. His preferment was but little, though his popularity was great. He was unfortunate in having too many patrons. Every body thought that, as Mr. Henderson had a very fashionable audience, he must of necessity be in the way of preferment; and so he certainly was, as the one mile stone is on the road to Windsor a very little way on, and not likely to get any farther.

Now old John Martindale had his crotchets, as our readers may have perceived; and one of his crotchets was, that with all his naturalobstinacy, if he ever took a fancy to an individual for one quality which pleased him, he kindly gave that individual credit for every possible human excellence, and would suffer himself to be led, guided, or drawn,ad libitum, by the said individual. He was pleased with Lady Woodstock as being a woman of good natural sense, quiet, unobtrusive, unaffected manners; and he was also pleased with the young ladies her daughters, because they differed much from the majority of young ladies of the present age. Thereupon, whatever Lady Woodstock said was right; and the daughters also had their influence over the old gentleman. Had any one else attempted to persuade Mr. Martindale to attend service at Mr. Henderson's chapel, he would have uttered such an outrageous and violent philippic against popular preachers, as would have shocked and terrified all lovers of velvet cushions. But the young ladies ruled their mamma, and Mr. Martindale thought that there must be some good sense in a preacher whom so intelligent a woman as Lady Woodstock could tolerate. He therefore was prevailed on to attendoccasionally at this fashionable chapel; and a very nice, warm, snug, comfortable place it was. Yet, though Mr. Martindale was induced to give his occasional attendance, he could not help so far yielding to his natural propensity as to criticise somewhat cynically and severely the performances and exhibitions of the preacher. When, indeed, preachers condescend to lose sight of the dignity of their profession, and to set themselves up as orators and flower-mongers to attract the gaping gaze of a rabble of Sunday loungers, they must not feel mortified if their performances undergo the same kind of criticism, and produce no more than the same effect as the performances of singers, dancers, fiddlers, conjurors, or any others who exhibit themselves for the amusement of the public.

By more frequent attendance the old gentleman grew less fastidious, and he fancied that he could discern, amidst all the flowery and pretty eloquence of the popular preacher, some symptoms of strong good sense; and he more than suspected that the style wasassumed for the sake of rendering that tolerable which otherwise would not be attended to. Pleased with his imagined discovery, he was desirous of being acquainted with Mr. Henderson, and very readily acceded to Lady Woodstock's request to meet him at her house. Judging from his own impression of Mr. Henderson's strength of mind and fulness of information, he thought it not unlikely that he should find in him a fit and proper person to induce Signora Rivolta to look more favorably on the English religion. But the old gentleman was not aware that it is possible for a man to be a popular preacher, and to utter very elegant harangues, and even to display in his composition a sound judgment as well as an elegant taste, but at the same time to be grievously unfurnished with stores of literature, and altogether unexercised in the harsher struggles and conflicts of polemic disputation. This he found to be the case with Mr. Henderson. The worthy preacher was a man of good sense, graceful and agreeable manners, fluent in conversation, well acquainted with all the popularand fashionable topics of conversation, and quite as well satisfied as Mr. Martindale himself of the folly and vanity of the passions and pursuits of the day. One of the two thought that he could not do better than set himself cynically against the world—the other humored its follies; the one did no good by his cynical humor—the other did a little by his management and direction of the prevalent follies. Mr. Henderson, we are inclined to think, judged the wisest of the two. It is not in the power of a weak hand to stop a headstrong horse; but less power than is required to stop the animal, may direct its course. Thus thought the popular preacher. He was as aware as Mr. Martindale that fashion was folly where folly was fashion. He knew that the springs and motives of action must be of a mingled nature: he knew that action was different from contemplation. The latter was pure virtue and reason; the former mingled with passion and folly. From vanity the preacher often extorted liberality. From the pride, the superstition, the caprice, the indulgence of the rich, he was frequently able toextract clothing and food, and medicine for the poor. Well and wisely did he think that if all the benevolence that sprung from mixed motives should immediately cease, and that if nothing were to be done for the miseries and sufferings of humanity but from the purest and most intellectual motives, a mass of good would be withdrawn from society, the absence of which it would painfully and deeply feel. To his view there was some use in splendid hospitals, even in their splendor; and he was not wanting in the ingenuity that could manage to indulge those benevolent ones who delighted in thechiaro oscuroof benevolence, and who wished to have the credit of unostentatious charity, and to make their darkness visible: for if unostentatious benevolence is good, it ought to be known to exist for the sake of example; and as there is much merit in it, that merit should not go unrewarded. Mr. Henderson was also of opinion, if elegant people by going to church could benefit the world by the force of example, it was a pity not to indulge them with something that might render church agreeable and pleasant. Thepublic he knew did not analyse the motives or think of the taste of the church-going gentry; they merely saw and knew the fact, and that fact had its influence on the public mind. It was something to the world that the gentry and nobility should go to church; but it was nothing to the world that the gentry and nobility in going to church should there find gratification of their taste, and be as much delighted with the fine-turned periods and graceful utterance of the preacher, as they are by the elegant evolutions of the opera-dancer. Mr. Henderson in his younger days had been as wise as any mental hero of one-and-twenty, he had seen the nothingness and vanity of the world of fashion, and he had declaimed in his early themes on the dignity of man and the purity of motives; but growing up, he found that he could not model the world according to his own pattern, and instead of turning cynic and snarling at the world by way of teaching it wisdom and sobriety, he became a popular preacher, and he was very much admired, and he enjoyed the admiration, but he could see through it, and he had the good sense notto overvalue himself for it. He had read Mandeville, and he found that the analysis of motive, however agreeable an employment for the mind, was but a thankless task, and that people would not believe what they did not like to believe; and since he had become a father, he found that the best mode of managing children was by flattery, and that the encouraging though not always accurate expression of commendation "There's a good boy!" did much more for the cause of virtue and order than a more strict and book-like kind of philosophy. And so he managed those children of a larger growth, to whose ears his lips distilled the honied eloquence of Sunday exhortation. Such was Mr. Henderson's character; and whether it be good, bad, or indifferent, whether it be execrable or admirable, we decide not. It may however be easily imagined, that with such a character and under such circumstances he would not be offensive to old John Martindale; and it may be also as easily imagined, that he would not be very likely to induce a mindconstituted as that of Signora Rivolta to renounce the religion in which she had been educated. Many, however, were the attempts made by Mr. Martindale to introduce and continue discussions for that purpose; and Signora Rivolta could very readily discern the altitude of Mr. Henderson's mind as regarded controversial discussion. It appeared to her, that Mr. Henderson was a person more likely to be converted in Italy than to convert in England.

One good, however, clearly accrued from the frequent and encouraged visits of Mr. Henderson to the Woodstocks and Martindales; namely, that the old gentleman was rendered rather less cynical, and more Catholic in his general notions and views of society. The contrast between the characters of the popular preacher and the old gentleman was very great, but the collision was not attended with unpleasant effects, because both of them had natural good-humor, and because Mr. Henderson had been long practised in the habit of managing the opulent, and yielding himself gracefully to their humors and whims.

In process of time, Mr. Martindale liked the preacher so much that he felt inclined to patronise him, should it be found on inquiry that patronage was desirable. But the old gentleman thought as many others had thought, that a man so situated could not stand in need of patronage, but must be well provided for. He did not think how heedless the world in general was towards such as ministered to their pleasures, and that they regarded the metropolitan Sunday lecturer as the minister to their Sunday pleasures, thinking him, if they thought at all, amply remunerated for his labors by the honor of their attendance and approbation.

As hitherto Mr. Martindale did not know whether Mr. Henderson were married or single, he one day asked him the question; and when that question was answered in the affirmative, and mention was made of the number of the reverend gentleman's family, the old gentleman then proceeded to make further inquiries, such as are allowable from a man of great wealth who has livings in his gift. The answer to these inquiries astonished Mr. Martindale. But Mr. Hendersonwas not at all astonished at Mr. Martindale's astonishment; for he had been asked the same questions by many of his opulent hearers, and had given them the same answers, and heard the same or similar expressions of astonishment. Hitherto, however, no fruit had resulted from these flattering and promising inquiries: therefore he did not build any hopes on the language used by Martindale, which was to his ear but an echo of what he had heard very, very many times for a dozen years at least. The impression, however, on Mr. Martindale's mind from Mr. Henderson's answers to his inquiries, was stronger than the impression on Mr. Henderson's mind from Mr. Martindale's expressions and exclamations of astonishment at the ill success which the eloquent divine had experienced in his profession. It was one of Mr. Martindale's fancies that he was a great patron of merit, and as he wished to have an opportunity of indulging this propensity, he was very willing to see in Mr. Henderson quite as much merit as the reverend gentleman himself could ever think of laying claim to. As Mr.Martindale also very highly enjoyed declaiming against the world and its blindness and insensibility to all that was really deserving, he was very well pleased that he could quote Mr. Henderson as an instance of neglected merit. Notwithstanding his own general distaste of popular and splendid preaching, he could not but admire Mr. Henderson, who, he said, was far superior to the common run of popular men. There is in Mr. Henderson, he used to say, a strong foundation of good sense and knowledge of the world: he is far above the silly vanity of aiming merely at popular applause; and he never uses figurative or splendid language except where it is appropriate; and all his metaphors, and similes, and illustrations, are in such pure and perfect good taste.

Now it fortunately happened just at this critical moment, that a living in the gift of Mr. Martindale fell vacant. It was the immediate impulse of the old gentleman's mind to present Mr. Henderson to that living; and he also thought at the very same moment how very strange it was that of all that host of people of fashion and opulence whogiven him a living. But the wonder a little abated, when a host of applications and recommendations, backed and seconded by most powerful considerations, came rushing in upon him. Among the rest was one from Lord Martindale himself, not so much supplicating for the living, as reminding Mr. Martindale that as Trimmerstone was now vacant, it might be desirable to place some one there to keep it till Robert Martindale, who was now just going to the university, should be of age to take it. There was also another application from a person of higher rank and greater influence in the world, who accompanied his recommendation with a hint that if gratified in this request, he might in his turn be of some service to Lord Martindale's family. The motive to provide for one's own family or connexions is certainly much stronger than the motive to provide for a stranger; but the motive of caprice or crotchet is as powerful as any motive that can rule the human heart. There was a considerable struggle in the old gentleman's mind, but the motiveattended Mr. Henderson's chapel, not one of them should ever have of caprice was the strongest. He had wealth enough to provide for his family as well as they could expect to be provided for, and as for government patronage he needed it not for himself or for any of his relatives. He certainly did feel some gratitude, though he would hardly acknowledge it, for the title by which the name of Martindale became ennobled. As to Robert Martindale, he thought that it would be quite as well to wait a little longer before any steps were to be taken in his behalf. On this principle he wrote a note to Lord Martindale, stating that he would not forget to provide in due time for the establishment of his family, but that he did not approve of the practice of keeping livings in reserve for young men who were not old enough to know their own minds. The note concluded with an abundance or superabundance of protestations on the part of the old gentleman; and requesting that Lord Martindale would have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of the note, and to express his acquiescence in its principle.

Before, however, it was possible that this note could have reached his lordship, another came from Lady Martindale, requesting to see the old gentleman immediately, for Lord Martindale had been seized by a return of his complaint, and his medical attendants thought him to be in very imminent danger. There was no refusing such a summons as this. He therefore promptly obeyed it, but firmly resolved to give the living to Mr. Henderson; and very much did he dread any thing of a discussion on the subject with his noble relatives.

There was no opportunity for the discussion he dreaded. Lord Martindale was obviously near his end, and his power of thought and attention was rapidly failing. He recognised his relative, and thanked him very cordially and formally for his many acts of kindness to himself and family. He then seemed to lose thought and sensation for a few minutes. Again he opened his eyes, and inquired for Philip; but when told that Philip was on a tour with his bride, he seemed distressed at his forgetfulness, and endeavoured to make an effort to revive his languishing strength, but it was all in vain. Not beingable to shake off his weakness, he endeavoured to disguise it, and complained of drowsiness, and that the medicine which he had taken last night had deprived him of rest, and that he would now sleep a little, and then he should be better able to converse. This movement was complied with by his attendants, and they were silent. The patient closed his eyes, but his lips kept moving, and in a very few minutes he awoke again, but the eyes looked more dim; and he endeavoured to fix a steadfast look on Mr. Martindale, and he said, "Is that Philip?" He had just discernment enough to see that he was wrong, and just power enough to express a sense of his weakness. He presently ceased to ask questions, and he no more attempted to reply to those which he asked him. He once more looked on those about him, and waved his hand, and faintly said "Go," as if he wished to be left alone; but there was not time to comply with his request, for that word was his last: he was no longer conscious. The empty or the crowded apartment was precisely the same to him.

"All promise is poor dilatory man,And that thro' ev'ry age."Young.

The sudden and painful event recorded at the close of the last chapter, presented a momentary interruption to the negotiations with Mr. Martindale on the subject of the living of Trimmerstone. The Dowager Lady Martindale would not use any importunities on the business; and as for the young man himself for whom the living wassupposed to be destined, Mr. Robert Martindale, he was too indifferent to the profession to have any wishes or to feel any interest about it. Poor Mr. Henderson was not as yet aware that any such expectations might be entertained by him. Hearing of the death of Lord Martindale, he designed to pay a visit of condolence to his lordship's relative; but he was too diffident to be very hasty in that visit, leaving early calls to those who were more in the intimacy of Mr. Martindale. But there was not quite so much consideration on the part of those who were interested in the disposal of the living: they were prompt in their application, and more importunate in their solicitations. Among other visitors in the way of condolence to Mr. John Martindale was Sir Gilbert Sampson. From the marriage of his daughter into the Martindale family he felt some right to claim kindred with him, and we must do Mr. John Martindale the justice to say that he did not disallow that claim. He always had behaved with familiarity and cordiality towards the city knight.

When Sir Gilbert Sampson was announced, he was readily admitted and well received; and, after a few half-formed sentences and muttering clumsinesses about the recent melancholy event, the knight proceeded to business. It was with no small share of diplomatic pomp that the worthy knight gravely informed Mr. Martindale of his having been that very morning honored with a call from a certain nobleman high in office and powerful in influence. Mr. Martindale received the information with a cynical attempt at indifference, but he was not really and soundly proof against the fascinations of high rank and mighty consideration. After, therefore, a very few, and those but faint sneers, he condescended to ask what might be the business on which this high and mighty potentate had designed to call upon Sir Gilbert Sampson. Now Mr. Martindale guessed the business to be about the living of Trimmerstone; but though he did so guess, and though he was sure that he had guessed rightly, and though he had made up his mind that nothing should inducehim to give the living otherwise than he had designed, that is, to Mr. Henderson, yet he was not unwilling to hear what the great man had said to Sir Gilbert. Poor Mr. Martindale was but half a cynic; he had not quite so thorough a contempt for the world as he endeavoured to affect. He listened very attentively, therefore, to Sir Gilbert when he related the visit of the morning, and the conversation which he had had with the great man.

Sir Gilbert related as well as he could the conversation, which all turned upon the vacant living. The sum and substance of the whole matter was this: the great man had expressed a great wish to obtain the next presentation to Trimmerstone to oblige a very valued friend of his own, and a stanch supporter of loyal principles. This happened some few years ago, when loyalty was a more marketable article than it is now; for since radical meetings have ceased to be common, loyalty is become quite a drug, and fetches nothing. But to proceed to, or rather with, business: the great man made such an object of obtaining this living, that he had said, or at least intimated, or hinted, thatthe Martindale family might be very much aggrandised in the way of honor by its surrender. In short, to come directly to the point, the message with which Sir Gilbert was charged amounted to nothing more nor less than this, namely, that if Mr. John Martindale would comply with the solicitation of the great man, and give to his friend or nominee the living, then Philip, now only Lord or Baron Martindale, would be forthwith created Viscount Martindale and Earl of Trimmerstone. There was a temptation.

John Martindale heard all this unmoved, but he could not reflect upon it unshaken. It was a serious matter to have an individual related so nearly to himself advanced thus high in the peerage. It would certainly be a fine thing to have an earl under his thumb, and so to possess as it were a vote in the House of Lords. But then what is to become of poor Mr. Henderson?

"Have you actually promised Mr. Henderson?" exclaimed Sir Gilbert Sampson; "for if so, you are placed in an awkward situation; but still I think it may be managed."

"Why, no," replied Mr. Martindale, "I have not actually promised him, but still it was my full intention to give him the living; and it is not many days ago since I made such inquiries of him, and used such language to him, as nothing could justify but the intention of doing something for him, and there is nothing else that I can do for him. I am sure a more loyal man cannot exist than poor Henderson."

"Very likely; but then one must sometimes, for the sake of one's own family, do things which otherwise we might not like. As for poor Henderson, I know him well; I have often dined with him; he is a contented, diligent sort of a man, and a very sensible man. He taught my daughter geography; he makes a very good living by giving instructions in private families. He might, to be sure, be glad of a living, but still he has managed so long to do very well without; and then people in office have so many hangers-on whom they must by some means or other get rid of, that I do not wonder that they are rather anxious about these matters. Now I will candidly acknowledge to you,that though I am highly honored by my daughter's marrying into the Martindale family and becoming at all events a peeress, yet I must say that I should be very proud to see her a countess. I know it is a weakness. I acknowledge it as such; but still I must say it would be gratifying to me. And really to say the truth, Mr. Martindale, I don't think it would be altogether displeasing to you to have your young relative called Earl of Trimmerstone."

Whatever Mr. Martindale's notions on that subject might be, he did not like to avow them to Sir Gilbert Sampson. He merely shook his head, and looked as wise as Lord Burleigh in the Critic. People may, if they please, be very witty about a man's shaking his head, and say that there is nothing in it, but we contend that there is a great deal in it: for nothing comes out of it on being shaken; and therefore it retains its own counsel, which may be hereafter interpreted according to circumstances: just as the facetious authors of the Rejected Addresses represent Mr. Cobbett as saying, "I prophesied so, though Inever told anybody." Exactly so may the wise Burleigh-like man who on great affairs and momentous occasions only shakes his head, afterwards interpret that shake as may best suit his inclinations, and claim a reputation for wisdom which might not be his had he merely uttered his thoughts through the common-place medium of unequivocal and interpretable words. Instead therefore of saying that when a man shakes his head there is nothing in it, we ought more properly to say there is any thing or every thing in it. Be this as it may, Mr. John Martindale did shake his head when he heard the communication of Sir Gilbert Sampson.

Now as Sir Gilbert inferred from the shaking of the head, that Mr. Martindale was not quite so positive on the subject of the living as when the conversation began, and before there was any mention of the earldom, he thought it might not be undesirable to pursue the subject; and as money was not so great an object to Sir Gilbert as honor, he ventured to say in continuance:

"But, my good friend, are there no other means of rendering a service to Mr. Henderson than by giving him this very living. You say you have not promised him this very identical living, but that you have only given him hopes of something. Now suppose you give me leave to purchase this living of you, and you in return purchase a presentation for Mr. Henderson, or give him the means of purchasing one for himself."

"Oh, no, no, I can't think of doing him a service in this way. He would hardly accept of it under such circumstances; he is a man of too great delicacy to accept of a pecuniary present."

Sir Gilbert smiled, and replied, "Indeed, sir, I think you wrong Mr. Henderson in attributing to him such a degree of fastidiousness. He is too courteous a man rudely to decline what a patron may offer him. Indeed, I know that he has been much mocked by the promise of patronage; and I should not be surprised if the pecuniary patronage might not be most acceptable to him of any. He has a large family, and they are arrived at an expensive age. I certainly am of opinion that the arrangement I propose will be acceptable."

As the argument now led to prove that bestowing the living on the nominee of the great man might lead to a considerable advantage in favor of Mr. Henderson, old John Martindale began to relax from his rigidity of purpose, and to be happy that he might do two useful and beneficial acts at once. He might benefit Mr. Henderson and contribute to the advancement of his own relative at the same time. Then he hesitated, and said he did not know what to say about the matter. He thought that what Sir Gilbert Sampson said had some weight in it; and after a long harangue which meant nothing at all, he concluded by promising to take the matter into his most serious consideration.

Very few days after this interview with Sir Gilbert Sampson, the old gentleman received a letter from his cousin Philip, and another also from the bride. These letters were constructed so as to be peculiarly pleasing and flattering to Mr. Martindale; and he thought that it would be a great pity to lose a fine opportunity of advancing the younggentleman to the honor of an earldom. But still there remained on his mind a strong feeling of perplexity as concerned poor Mr. Henderson. It was not quite accordant with the old gentleman's strict notions of honor and steadiness of purpose; but as some benefit might result from the arrangement, it was perhaps better to benefit two parties than one only. Thereupon the matter was presently settled, and Mr. Henderson again disappointed of a living. This disappointment, however, the good man bore with patience; and he was, though with great difficulty and after long and suitable opposition, prevailed upon at last to accept the means of procuring for himself some other living.

And now the daughter of the soap-boiler had become countess, both father and daughter were delighted in the highest degree, nor was Philip himself less pleased. Upon examining, however, his pecuniary resources, the Right Hon. the Earl of Trimmerstone found that his means were not quite adequate to his rank, or equal to his expectations: for the property received with Celestina was rather a large than a smallproportion of the wealth of Sir Gilbert Sampson. This was mortifying; but there was still a fine prospect to look forward to in the event of old Mr. Martindale's decease: therefore the Earl and Countess of Trimmerstone resolved to keep up the dignity of their rank at as little expense as possible.

This resolution was certainly very good, but unfortunately it proved to be good for nothing. For in a certain rank there are certain expenses which are absolutely unavoidable; and then it might be naturally supposed that, when Mr. Martindale had made a sacrifice for the purpose of raising his relative's rank, he would alter the tenor of his whimsical will. Under the influence of this consideration, and by the power of unavoidable circumstances, it happened that the Earl of Trimmerstone, though in possession of more ample means than were ever enjoyed by the Hon. Philip Martindale, found himself almost as necessitous and as embarrassed as ever. His most amiable countess loved splendor, and therefore found it to be absolutely necessary. When,therefore, they set up their establishment in town, though they thought that they were using a very high degree of economy, they brought upon themselves the imputation of extravagance, and in fact somewhat more than the imputation. But what could they do? They must live as other persons of the same rank. In addition to the evils of ill-managed expenditure, there arose another very serious difficulty, or rather trouble, to the newly-married pair. The Countess loved splendor, but she had not been properly tutored to manage it; there she was clumsy in display, and tasteless in decoration. She had not the power of carrying off the absurdities of fashion with the proper grace and indifference of right-honorable impudence. Frequently, therefore, his lordship felt ashamed of his countess; and not unfrequently, some of his companions and friends would amuse themselves at his expense; and he always felt himself in jeopardy, as if about to hear the word "soap" mentioned.The Earl of Trimmerstone not finding the Countess much of a companion, sought elsewhere for the pleasures of society. The Countess of Trimmerstone loved not solitude, but unhappily was by no means select in her associates. Being resolved not to be proud, so as to neglect her old acquaintance, her ladyship found it difficult to keep a very choice circle of acquaintance in her new sphere. There were not wanting persons of rank and distinction amidst her visitors and companions, but these were not always of the best kind. In her innocence and good-humor she knew it not, but his lordship did, and he was greatly displeased. Then did her ladyship think that his lordship was very harsh and rigid; and then did his lordship think that he had purchased her ladyship's wealth at too dear a price. We were going to say, that then it was too late to repent; no, it was not too late, we think it was very early to repent in the first year of their married life. Be it late or early, they certainly did repent. Celestina thought that it was not so fine athing to be a countess as she used to imagine. When she was single, it appeared to her most desirable to be a lady; now she was married, she did not think it would be much increase to her happiness to become a duchess.

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