"'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful—She wished she had not heard it."Shakspeare.
It is judicious in those who change the place of their abode at different seasons of the year, to select such times as the places to which they betake themselves exhibit their greatest variety of aspect. For this reason, autumn is well selected as the time for visiting the sea-coast. That is a time of year in which the sun rises and sets atsuch hours as that its beauties may be seen and enjoyed, without much interference with the usual arrangements of life's daily duties and employments of breakfast and dinner. That is a season in which we have some of the stillest, brightest, and serenest weather, and when the mid-day sun gives glorious brightness without oppressive heat. That is a season when the evening moon shows to such fine advantage its broad disk shining on the rippling waters. That also is a season when by sudden and mighty storms the sea may be agitated into convulsive sublimity. The calm and storm at that period of the year may rapidly succeed each other.
The day on which Tippetson met Clara Rivolta on the beach was fine, and brilliant, and calm. The sun that evening set gloriously. There hung on its retreat a host of gorgeous clouds snatching from its declining rays fragments of fleeting gold to deck their ever-changing fringes. An unusual number of persons were on the beach that evening to see the beautiful sight. In the midst of their admiration manyexpressed their fears of a coming storm; and at midnight, or towards morning, their fears were realised, or we may say their hopes were gratified. It was a pleasant consideration that they saw no vessels out at sea, and therefore they could enjoy the sublimity of the scene without a distressing and painful sympathy with the endangered or perishing crew. Signora Rivolta was highly capable of enjoying the sight, and she solicited for her daughter's company at an unusually early hour in the morning to walk down to the beach to watch the mighty movements of the waters. Even till sun-rise, and after, the wind blew with unabating fury. It was a magnificent and highly stimulating sight that could bring the luxurious and effeminate out amidst the conflicting storm to enjoy nature in one of her moods of sublimity. Mr. Tippetson exposed himself among the rest to the pelting of the pitiless storm. Several vessels after a time became visible struggling with the storm, but they were small and rode lightly, no serious danger seemed to threaten them. The scudding clouds and gleaming light fromthe rising sun now concealed and now displayed them; and it was a fine sight to look upon the white sails fluttering in the wind.
Presently the wind changed a little, and blew more towards the shore; and more vessels became visible, and some large ships made their appearance. The interest of the gazers was more intense; and many among the crowd talked knowingly and loudly concerning the vessels, and their names and destination. Many conjectures were uttered, and much idle talk was made. Clara felt no interest in the observations, and did not listen to them. Signora Rivolta saw and thought of nothing but the wide foaming waters and the distant sails; but others were there from whose language a deeper interest might be inferred. There were standing near Signora Rivolta and her daughter a couple of middle-aged, respectable-looking persons, who seemed to be husband and wife, and who talked to each other as if they had a son or some near relative at sea; but not supposed to be near that part of the coast. They seemed bothmuch terrified, and endeavouring alternately to console each other. It is not very uncommon to suggest for consolation to others that which is not the slightest consolation to ourselves. Signora Rivolta hearing these good people so earnestly conversing with each other on the subject of the storm and its probable extent, was unaccountably led to give heed to their discourse. From their language, it appeared that they had a son whom they were expecting to arrive in a few days from South America, but they had every reason to suppose that the vessel in which he was destined to sail must be many leagues out at sea.
While they were thus talking, and Signora Rivolta hearing, though not absolutely listening to them, some men in sailors' garb came and stood near them, and showed their skill and discernment in naming the larger vessels which were in sight. They were very positive that they were right, and in most instances very likely they were, for they were all of the same opinion. Presently there came in sight a vessel of aboutthree hundred tons burden; and on the subject of the name of that ship there arose a little dispute among the party. The anxious couple, who had been in close talk about their absent son, hearing one of the sailors mention the name of the ship in which they supposed that their son had been embarked, addressed him, and asked if it were possible that that ship could have arrived so soon. To this question the whole party made answer at once, some one way and some another; but it was impossible to make out from the multitude of answers the meaning of any one. After much inquiry and with great difficulty, it was elicited from one of the men that he had arrived in England but three days ago, and that on his voyage home the vessel in which he had sailed had overtaken and spoke with that in question. This seemed strong evidence in favor of the possibility of its being near England.
"Can you tell me," said the gentleman, "the names of any of the passengers in that ship?"
"No, sir," replied the sailor, "I did not hear any thing about thecrew or the passengers; I only know that the captain's name was Brown, and that the vessel was bound for London. There was a gentleman on board, but I did not hear his name, who wanted to come with us because we sailed so much faster; but our captain could not take him as we had our complement of passengers, and there was one gentleman among our passengers who was very ill, and wanted all the accommodation that could be afforded. He could not be very well accommodated, poor man, but every body did what they could for him. He was such a favorite with all on board, though he was a lawyer."
In spite of the anxiety of the moment, the gentleman smiled at the language in which the sailor was pleased to compliment his sick passenger. He entered, therefore, into farther conversation with the men on the beach respecting the vessels expected, and concerning the probability of danger to those near land. The answers were satisfactory. The sailors were right in their predictions; the wind abated, the danger was over. The party on the shoredispersed to their respective abodes; and Clara, who was gifted with a very active imagination, could not banish from her mind the conceit that the sick man could be no other than Horatio Markham. She thought it very probable that the climate might not agree with him, and that he might have returned to his native land in hopes, in faint hopes of recovering his health; and she thought that these hopes might not be fulfilled, and then she let her imagination follow him to the grave. There she raised an imaginary monument to his memory, and she fancied that she could see the marble inscribed with some tender, touching, not common-place epitaph. Then she let her imagination dwell with a sickly sweet complacency on the thought of her frequent visits to his tomb; and because it had happened to her to have the misfortune to suffer herself, in the simplicity of her soul, to be imposed on by Miss Henderson, and because she had been roughly though kindly roused from that dream, and because she had parted from the first young gentleman who had taken her fancy, she thought that life must beto her a dreary blank, that friendship and love were pleasures only to be known by poetic description. Poor child! little did she think that all this deep feeling and all this gloom was the produce almost entirely of that unwholesome, artificial sentimentality which Miss Henderson had infected her with in her sloppy, mawkish, ricketty correspondence. By the mere force of imagination, Clara so weakened her spirits as to throw herself into a kind of low nervous fever; and had it not been for the united influence of her mother's healthful mind, and the honest skill of an intelligent physician, her life might have been sacrificed to the power of imagination.
It is true, that the sick passenger who was every body's favorite, though a lawyer, was indeed Horatio Markham, and that the climate had not agreed with him; but his illness was not a dangerous illness; and Clara had very little reason indeed to suppose it was he, and still less reason to apprehend a fatal termination of his indisposition. Her imagination, however, had been excited, and her sensibilities had been nourished with unwholesome food. Happy, indeed, was it for her that she did not for a certainty know that Markham was returned, and that he had suffered illness from the climate. Had she known that, it would have been more difficult to restore her to health. As it was, the task was difficult and tedious. The indisposition kept the party longer at the sea-side than their original intention, and during the whole of that time Mr. Tippetson remained there too. Signora Rivolta, the only one of the party who was tired of his company, could not with any propriety use any means to get rid of him: he therefore continued paying his attentions, and almost his addresses, to Clara. He really fancied himself in love with her, and he was not quite so great a blockhead as not to observe that Clara was far superior to Miss Henderson. Old Mr. Martindale observed nothing in the young gentleman's attentions, but was pleased with his cunning homage and dexterous flattery. Signora Rivolta never contradicted though she did not cordially coincide with her father, when he was pleased to say, as he very frequently did,"that young Tippetson is a pleasant man, and really not such a fool as he looks." The Signora knew that the old gentleman had a mode of arguing peculiar to himself, whereby he proved to a demonstration the truth of every fancy or crotchet that came into his head. It is no easy matter to confute a rich old man.
Day after day, while Clara continued to exhibit the least symptoms of indisposition, Mr. Tippetson made repeated inquiries, and it was at last suspected by the old gentleman that there was really something very particular in the attentions thus paid to his grand-daughter. As every thing in the very shape or with the name of fashion was abominable to Mr. Martindale, a little more or a little less did not affect him; and Mr. Tippetson, though outrageously finical, was not more offensive to him than any young man would have been whose coat was formed according to the prevailing mode. And as this gentleman had rendered himself less disagreeable than he appeared at first sight, the grandfather of Clara Rivolta did not see any thing very objectionablein Mr. Tippetson as suitor to the young lady. Mr. Martindale would certainly have preferred what he would call a rational young man, but that was in his idea so scarce an article, that he almost despaired of finding one. He continued to receive the young gentleman's visits, and to be pleased with the homage he paid. Occasionally, he would go so far as to make in the hearing of Clara allusions to the probable intentions of the perfumed youth. Signora Rivolta was distressed at the very thought. She gave her daughter credit for so much good sense as to decline such an offer, were it proposed to her cool deliberate judgment; but it was impossible to say what effect might gradually and unreflectingly be produced on her feelings and imagination. Clara's mother knew that judgment had little to do with love; but that perseverance, kindness, ingenious flattery, incessant homage, would produce great effects. As the time passed on the danger became greater, and the mother's anxiety was increased.
All this time Clara considered that Mr. Tippetson was engaged, if not actually at least virtually and by implicit understanding, to Miss Henderson; and as her own affections had been once much interested about Horatio Markham, and as she had suffered on his account, or on account of his image on her mind, a very serious illness, she imagined that she was irrevocably doomed to live or die for the absent youth. Being therefore totally unsuspicious of the possibility of any danger of the wandering of her affection, she behaved with much unreserve to Mr. Tippetson, and was pleased with the friendly interest which he seemed to take in her welfare. And as Clara's manners were easy and unconstrained, as in the acquaintance between the parties there was much sociability of expression and habit, the young gentleman fancied that he had actually made some progress in the young lady's affection. In fact, he had made so much progress as this, that from being absolutely disagreeable he had become tolerable, and from being tolerable he had become almost agreeable. Young ladies,though sometimes prodigiously wise, are not always very partial to a superabundance of that article in mothers and grandfathers; and a very little wisdom in a young gentleman, seems to them much more intellectual than a great deal in an old one. The monotony of wisdom is also wearying to the novelty-loving mind of youth, and the variety of folly becomes an agreeable relief. It is true that Mr. Tippetson was a fop and a fribble and a dandy and an exquisite, and all that sort of thing; but was it to be wondered at? And there are many very respectable and intelligent middle-aged men who in their early days were as great puppies as any lads now living. And again, the foppery of dress and affectation of manners are only offensive, or chiefly so, to those superannuated, formal, queer, quizzical creatures, who delight in any cut of a coat that is not fashionable. Now Clara did not judge of Mr. Tippetson according to the principle and standard of a staid middle-aged or elderly gentleman, or by the feelings of a matronlylady, who thinks the young men of the present generation much more graceless fops than their predecessors.
The ingenious Mr. Tippetson, who had but an indistinct idea of the state of Clara's mind towards the image of Horatio Markham, thought that the young lady's affections had been misplaced and grievously disappointed: therefore, his talk to her was in the indirect and pathetic line of implied sympathy; and as Miss Henderson had aroused in Clara's heart all the romance of which it was capable, some little progress was thus made in her good-will. Ordinarily speaking and straightforwardly thinking, it seems a strange kind of process to take possession of a lady's heart by sympathising with her on the loss, or descanting on the virtues of a first love; but clumsy as this may seem in theory, it has succeeded in practice. Perhaps it is very good policy, when once the sensibilities have been kindled, to keep them alive; and as that love is surest which glides gradually into the heart, it may be as well not to let the mind cease to love, butto manage it and wind it so as to bring it gradually to a change of object. So when an unreasoning, strong-willed infant is playing with a toy, from which it may be desirable to detach its attention, it is not such good policy to wrest the said toy violently from its little hands, as gradually to insinuate another, and then the first toy quietly drops. In like manner, when the female heart mourns its first love frustrated, let him who seeks to succeed in the affection not wait till that affection is cold, and not seek to reason away its acuteness, but manage rather to keep it alive and gradually change its object. That dexterous and unerring instinct which, we have before said, belongs to such men as Mr. Tippetson, directed him to the plan which we have here recommended, and perhaps nothing was wanting but a sufficient portion of time to give it success. Happy it is, however, for the purposes of poetic justice, that this sufficient quantity of time was not allowed. Circumstances interfered to prevent such an abomination as the marriage of the silly, conceited, common-place, Henry Augustus Tippetson, tothe mild, gentle, simple-hearted, kind-souled Clara Rivolta. If he had married her, he would soon have been weary of her pleasant, pretty, unaffected manners, and probably would have broken her heart by neglect. What these circumstances were must be detailed hereafter.
"Rich in these gifts, why should I wish for more?"P. Whitehead.
Our readers have received an intimation that Horatio Markham, of whom we think highly and deservedly so, had ere this time returned to England, after a very short stay in that situation to which he had been recommended solely by the respectability of his character and the high reputation which he had so early acquired in his profession. Theclimate did not agree with him; and foreign climates seldom do agree with those who like better to be at home than abroad. A representation to that effect was made to the authorities at home, and he was recalled. As soon as he came to England he waited on the worthy and kind-hearted nobleman to whom he had been indebted for the situation, and whose patronage had come to him spontaneously and unsolicited. Whether or not there appeared in Markham any very strong symptoms of a constitution injured by foreign climes we know not; this only do we know, that his lordship expressed great concern that Mr. Markham should have suffered so much, and great hopes that his native air would restore and confirm his health.
Lords are generally gracious to those whom they patronise. The nobleman in question was particularly and especially so to such as he patronised voluntarily, and on the pure ground of good desert or good promise. He was compelled, as all men high in office must be, occasionally to give his countenance and patronage to those who deserved it not; but whenever the choice was purely his own, it was from the best of motives and with the kindest spirit. Doubly happy did he feel himself in such patronage as this; he was pleased that he could countenance merit, and he was pleased that the state should be well and honestly served. We cannot withhold such a slight tribute as this from public merit; and at the same time there is another tribute of respect to private merit which we cannot withhold from Horatio Markham. We commend him most cordially and sincerely, that being a man of considerable talent and real independence of mind, he did not affect the absurd priggery and puppyism of refusing a situation, in which he might make himself useful, on the ground of being above patronage, or of despising place. Merit there might be and merit there was under the profligate sway of the later Stuarts in refusing bribes to betray the nation into slavery; ingenious however must be the skill of him who can make the parallel hold good in the present day.
To return to our narrative. The worthy nobleman who had thus taken Markham by the hand, having expressed his regret that circumstances did not allow his young friend to continue in that situation to which he had been appointed, added,
"And I am more especially concerned to think, that in all probability your professional practice has been injured by your absence from England, as your stay has not been long enough to justify any public remuneration. Over the public purse I have not an unlimited command; over my own I have, and if you will suffer me to defray the expenses into which I have led you by sending you out of the country you will make me your debtor."
Markham was perplexed. He was absolutely and decidedly against accepting the offer, but he was not ready with the proper language in which to decline it. After the hesitation of a few seconds, he replied,
"Your lordship will pardon me, if I know not how to reply to your very kind offer; and your lordship will be pleased to hear that under present circumstances it is superfluous. I had but little professional practice to lose, and that I trust is not altogether lost; besides, if I begin again it will be under better auspices, with a little more experience and a little more knowledge."
The nobleman was not offended at the young man's proper feeling of independence. Markham's confusion and hesitation arose from not considering the immense difference in station between himself and his patron; his patron was aware of the feeling, and instead of resenting it, regarded it with complacency as a good symptom of a sound and an honest ambition. There are indeed arts by which a man may rise to almost any eminence in political station, but many of them are low creeping arts. It has been pointedly said, that the highest stations in society are like the summits of the Pyramids, accessible only to eagles and reptiles. Markham's aspiring was more of the eagle than the reptile cast. The nobleman with whom he was conversing was aware of this, and glad for the sake of human nature to see it. He had had much intercourse with aspirants, but he had found them for the mostpart of the creeping sycophantic character, stooping to any body and to any thing which might seem to favor their schemes. It was not so with Markham. The spirit of high station was in his mind long before he reached it; and that kept him in the true feeling of independence and self-esteem. Independence quite free from affectation and conceit, is too uncommon to pass unnoticed. To be at once independent of the great and also independent of the noisy multitude is an acquirement of great value, only to be attained by self converse and reflection. True independence is in and from the mind.
After Markham's interview with his patron, he went down into the country to spend a few weeks with his parents, and in his native air he soon regained what he had lost in point of health. It is not to be supposed that all this time no thought of Clara should have entered his mind. But if our readers imagine that he came home as love-sick as he went abroad, they greatly mistake. Love is not the most rational and reasonable thing in the world, but still it must in ordinarily-constructed minds have some little ground of hope and probability to rest upon. If there had been at parting anyexpressions on the part of Markham and of Clara that there was a mutual understanding between them, however faint and few those expressions might have been, something would have been afforded for their love to build upon. But they were mutually ignorant of each other's feelings; and though in their separation they thought one of the other, yet those thoughts were rather a species of aerial castle-building, than any regular, calm, deliberate anticipation of probability. Clara thought much of Markham, but knew not that he thought any thing of her; Markham thought much of Clara, but knew not that she had any thoughts to spare for him. They merely thought how delightful, if it should prove eventually that the regard was mutual; but on that point they were ignorant.
Markham had in his situation much business to attend to. New scenes were around him, and new faces were presented to him, and new acquaintances were forming around him. And when his health failed him, and he had thoughts that life might soon be sacrificed to his change of climate, there came into his mind thoughts of real and actualinterests which supplanted his consideration of imaginary and possible interests. His mind looked towards the place of his birth, and towards his kind and revered parents; and he thought of their sorrows, and of the bitterness of their bereavement, should he be removed from them. He had not formed such an acquaintance as Clara had with Miss Henderson. He had not met with any thing to keep alive in his mind a romantic or passionate feeling; but, on the contrary, every thing contributed to sober down his thoughts to the level of literal truth and solidity of real life. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that when he returned to England his romantic tenderness should be a little abated, and that he should think rather more of the actual than the possible. We are sorry for the romantically-disposed that it did so happen. It would have been far more agreeable for them to read, and far more pleasant for us to write, a very tender pathetic scene of the meeting of Clara and Horatio. We should have been very glad of an opportunity to display our eloquence in describing theemotion of Markham as soon as he arrived in England, at the thought that now he was breathing the same air as his beloved and beautiful Clara Rivolta. It would have gratified us mightily to have described the eagerness with which, forgetting every relative, friend, duty, or other consideration, he hurried to pay his respects to his good friend Mr. Martindale, that he might have an opportunity of throwing himself at Clara's feet. It would also have gratified us to have described the emotions, feelings, doubts, tremblings, and fears, at the supposition, the dreaded supposition, that Clara might in his absence have given her heart to another. All this would have been very pretty, but nothing of this kind occurred. Markham soon after he had left England, or at least in a very short time after he had settled down soberly to the duties of his situation, had, comparatively speaking, forgotten Clara. Not that her image was quite erased from the tablet of his memory, or that the lineaments of her pleasant countenance could no more be recollected; but the recollection was more placid, and the memory of her as anordinary acquaintance supplanted the thought of her as a beloved one: and when, therefore, he returned to England, though he had not quite forgotten that such a person existed, yet his most powerful thoughts were certainly not at that moment with her. After first paying his respects, as in duty bound, to his patron, he next sought the roof of his parents, and gladdened their eyes with the sight of their beloved son in far better health than their fears had anticipated. It may be very well supposed that the good people were proud of their son. Parents mostly are proud of their children, and especially if they hear any thing of a respectable character for moral and intellectual eminence. That certainly was the case with Horatio Markham. He had always borne a high character for integrity and good principle and good understanding. And there was one peculiar satisfaction that the good people enjoyed; namely, that they had absolutely been favored with a letter from Markham's kind friend and patron, the nobleman above alluded to, in which he expressed his approbation of their son'sconduct and character, and gave them hopes that he would certainly rise in his profession. And as Markham's parents were vain beyond measure of all this high flattery, they were considerate enough for a length of time to withhold from their son all knowledge of this letter, lest they might fill his mind with too great a conceit of himself. But the gratification of communicating it was too great to be resisted; fortunately, however, for the young man, no very great harm came of it: perhaps it acted as a stimulus, morally as well as intellectually. To be praised for mental powers by a man of talent only, may excite vanity in the heart of a young man; but to be praised and commended morally by a man of high moral character and pure principle, is also a stimulus and excitement to moral diligence. We will not stop to enter very minutely into the inquiry, how far pride may be a component part or prompting motive to high moral principle and dignified integrity of conduct; nor, supposing such to be the case, will we minutely and scrupulously weigh the value of that quality thus supported. It is verywell that there is in the world such a virtue as high principle; that there exists in many minds that firm, obstinate, haughty independence, which disdains aught that is morally base and mean. The existence of such a principle is good; and we will not cavil at it, if it be accompanied with a little pride, or even with a great deal. We are indeed very much of opinion that a lack of pride is in many cases an injury, or the cause of injury. But to proceed with our history.
Our observant readers will observe, that we have not said that Markham had absolutely forgotten Clara, but only that he had not preserved a romantic and passionate remembrance of her. As soon, however, as the more important demands on his first thoughts and attentions had been complied with, there came into his mind a recollection of Brigland and its magnificent Abbey, and of the whimsical old John Martindale. A few days, therefore, after his arrival home, he rode over to Brigland to see his old friend, the rich cousin of the Earl of Trimmerstone.
When he came to Brigland, he found the magnificent building still shining in all its splendor, and the broad expanse of water spreading its smooth mirror to the fields and to the sky; but when he came to the old gentleman's cottage, he found it desolate and deserted. There was in it only one elderly female domestic, who had been left to take care of it till she was quite tired of her task. Markham was hardly able to gain admittance at all, but after much knocking and ringing this old lady made her appearance. To the inquiry, whether Mr. Martindale was at home, she only returned a short pettish answer, saying,
"At home! no; and never will be, I think. He is running about all over the country, nobody knows where."
"Then you can't tell me," said Markham again, "where I can find him?"
"No, that I can't; but perhaps they can tell you at the Abbey: that fellow Oliver knows all their movements, but they never condescend to honor me with any information."
Markham thanked the domestic for her answer to his inquiries, and proceeded to the Abbey. When he came near to that fine building, his attention was drawn to symptoms of neglect which he had not observed at a distance. He did not find any difficulty in gaining admittance here: for the trusty Oliver, who had nothing else to do, was constantly on the look-out for strangers who might be attracted by curiosity to visit this splendid mansion during the absence of its occupier. It was a very good source of profit to Oliver; and whenever he saw any one approaching the house, he always stepped officiously forward to introduce the visitor. He presently recognised Markham, and greeted far more courteously than the crabbed old lady at the cottage had done; and when Markham made inquiries concerning the family, then was the tongue of the trusty Oliver set in rapid motion, and his powers of utterance were indeed prodigious. His memory also was remarkably tenacious; for it seemed astonishing to Markham that he should recollect so many various and minute circumstances. He entered into a very particular,full, free and copious narrative of all that had taken place in and out of Brigland, so far as concerned the family of the Martindales. There might be, it is possible, some little invention; for with such gentlemen as Oliver the imagination is somewhat prompt to supply the defects of memory. Among other matters of information which Oliver gave to Markham, he said,
"And fine doings there have been, sir, about Miss Clara; for the poor young lady has been dying for love of a Mr. Skippetson, a very fine young gentleman indeed, such a dandy, sir, as you never heard of. It is said he spends enough in perfumery to keep half a dozen poor families; and when he was down at the sea-side and would have a warm bath, he insisted upon having six bottles of Eau de Cologne put into the water to make it sweet. Well, sir, as I was saying, this gentleman is paying his addresses to Miss Clara; and Miss Clara's mamma declares it shall not be a match, for she does not like the young man; and Mr. Martindale declares it shall; and says that if Clara does not marry Mr. Skippetson, she shall not have a farthing of his money; and Miss Clarahas been so ill, that she has been quite at death's-door: indeed, sir, the last accounts I received from the servants that are with them say, that it is very likely that the poor young lady will die of a broken heart. But they say that Madam Rivolta is so proud, she thinks nothing under a lord good enough for her daughter; and the father of the young lady does not seem to care any thing about the matter, he only smokes cigars and lounges about. It is a great pity that Mr. Martindale ever happened of that family, they have done him more harm than good; they have so unsettled him that he hardly knows what he is about, or where he is going to next: he has taken a fine house in town, and is going about from one watering-place to another; and Madam Rivolta rules him as she pleases, only he is quite resolved that he will not give up Mr. Skippetson. That is the only point they disagree about, except the religion; for the family are all the most obstinate papists that ever lived. Then, sir, I suppose you have heard that Mr. Philip is become my lord; he has been made Earl of Trimmerstone, and he has marriedthe daughter of Sir Gilbert Sampson, but the servants say that they don't live happily; for my lord has been a little disappointed about money matters. He did not find Sir Gilbert quite so rich or quite so free as he expected. The servants say, too, that my lord is a most decided gambler; and that since he has been married, he has lost many very heavy sums. Then, sir, they also say that my lord is very jealous of Mr. Skippetson, but there is not the least foundation for his suspicions. Nothing but misfortunes have happened to the family since the discovery of these Italians; I am sure I wish they had all remained in Italy till doomsday. And I suppose, sir, you have heard that this house is to be sold: for Mr. Martindale has paid so many gambling-debts for his lordship, that he will be glad of the money that the house will fetch; but it is said that there are not ten persons in the kingdom who can afford to buy the Abbey at Mr. Martindale's price, and that after all it must be pulled down, and the materials be sold for any thingthat they will fetch. For I am told that Mr. Martindale is so tired of Brigland, that he is determined never to live here any more; and I don't wonder at it, I am sure, for I never knew such a censorious, tattling, gossiping set of people any where as there is in Brigland. There's that Mrs. Price, and then there's Mrs. Flint, and Mrs. Denver the parson's wife, those women get together and talk over all the affairs of the parish, and the next parish too. And if this house is sold, I shall lose my place."
Here Mr. Oliver paused to take breath. Markham thanked him for his information; part of which was not new to him, and part of which he hardly believed. He found it very difficult to believe that Clara should ever be attached to such a ridiculous coxcomb as that described by Mr. Oliver. One of the parties he felt assured must have been misrepresented. Either the young gentleman was not such a rank coxcomb as had been described, or the young lady was not really and sincerely in love with him. Markham, for the sake of his own reputation and thathe might have a good opinion of himself, was absolutely compelled to this conclusion, for he could not admit that he himself could ever have been so weak and undiscerning as to be attached for a moment to a young lady who was capable of admiring such a ridiculous coxcomb. In order, however, to gain information from as many sources as possible, Markham went into the notoriously gossiping and censorious town of Brigland, and called upon Mr. Denver, from whom he hoped to extract a more agreeable account than had been given to him by Oliver: for if Clara was to be another's, he hoped at least that that other would be a man of some respectability and solidity of character, and not an absolute blockhead or an egregious coxcomb.
From Mr. Denver he received, alas! no consolation. The same tale that he had heard at the Abbey was repeated at the parsonage, and with additional particulars and more mortifying aggravations. For the truth is, that Mr. Denver had received his information from Mrs. Denver, who was indebted for her knowledge of those interesting facts to Mrs. Price, whoacknowledged with much gratitude Mrs. Flint as her authority, and it was from Oliver's own self that Mrs. Flint derived her information. Thereupon, Horatio Markham, who thought that what all the world said must be true, began to be very much mortified and sadly perplexed. Notwithstanding the cool temperate manner in which he had borne the recollection of Clara, still, when he revisited the place where he had first seen her, and recollected the readings and quotations with which they had entertained each other, he could not avoid feeling a revival of old emotions and hopes.
"'Gainst love's unerring arts there's no defence—They wound the blockhead and the man of sense."Fawkes.
The time was now arrived for Markham to renew his attention to professional pursuits. His native air soon restored his health in all its firmness and vigor; and he had been but a short time in London, before he found that his temporary absence from England had not materially interfered with his professional success. He had, indeed,some reason to suppose that this absence, or circumstances connected with it, had been the means of forwarding him in his profession.
Mr. Martindale had not yet arrived in town with his family; for after leaving the sea-side he took them to Bath and Cheltenham, to both of which places they were followed by the indefatigable Mr. Tippetson: much to the annoyance of two parties—to that of Clara whom he pursued, and to that of Miss Henderson whom he forsook. But Miss Henderson was not in despair, though she began to tremble lest she might lose the sweet gentleman to whom she had so liberally given her heart. But if she might judge from past experience, the loss was likely to be soon supplied. It has been stated that Signora Rivolta interfered with and interrupted the correspondence between Clara and Miss Henderson; but it is not to be imagined that Clara could in so many words tell Miss Henderson that the correspondence must cease on account of the absurdity of her part of it: some other excuse was therefore to be found, and it was found accordingly. Now Miss Henderson could not helpthinking, and indeed who could in her situation? that Clara was about to supplant her in the heart of Mr. Tippetson. This she thought was very unkind; but it was the way of the world, and it was not the first time that she had been so deceived. But as she was by no means of a vindictive spirit, but rather addicted to the romantic, and as she saw or thought she saw that Mr. Tippetson was about to leave her, it occurred to her whimsical imagination that it would be an act of heroic virtue and self-denial, if she should magnanimously and deliberately and calmly surrender all interest in the heart and affections of Mr. Tippetson, and make over and transfer the same to Clara Rivolta, to have and to hold as her own to all intents and purposes.
As the voluminous, formal, and sentimental correspondence had been declined on the part of Clara, but without any expression or intimation of ill-will and ill-humor on either side, it did not appear that there was any serious obstacle or impediment to sending or receiving a letter as matters of business; for the friendship between the parties had not been renounced, they had merely ceased a regular and copious correspondence. Miss Henderson, therefore, in the heroism and magnanimity of her soul, resolved to send an epistle to Clara, surrendering in her favor the heart of Henry Augustus Tippetson. This is a very rare specimen of resignation; so rare indeed, that though we shall favor our readers with a copy of the letter, we rather give it as a curiosity than as an example likely to be followed, or a pattern which may in any probability be imitated. Such exalted generosity is not common in those degenerate days; and it is very delightful and refreshing amidst the selfishness with which we are surrounded on all sides, to find so pure and delectable a specimen of grandeur and sublimity of soul. The letter is as follows:
"Once more, my ever dear Clara Rivolta, I take my pen to address you, and perhaps it may be for the last time. We are separated by distance of place, and still more so by the cessation of a correspondence which gave me at least infinite pleasure and inestimable benefit. As I can no longer hope to receive your truly intellectual communications, I read over and over again those most delightful and improving letters with which you once condescended to honor me: and indeed it was a condescension in you to stoop to let down your fine mind to correspond with me. I feel I acknowledge your superiority; and not only do I acknowledge and feel it, but it is manifest to others too. Tippetson is your slave. Nay, start not, I repeat it, Tippetson is your slave. I am well aware that I possess not powers of mind to retain him. Clara, he is yours. Yes, my ever dear friend, Tippetson is yours. I surrender him entirely, unreservedly, calmly. Do you doubt it, my Clara? Do you distrust me? Oh, no, you cannot. See how steadily and firmly I write. My hand trembles not; my cheeks burn not; no tear blots the paper; nor do I repent what I have said, or wish it unsaid. Tippetson appreciates your merits. You have the power to rule and charm his mind. The world may call him frivolous, but can that be a frivolous or common-place mind that can comprehend and rightly appreciate the superior mindof Clara Rivolta? You, my dear friend, know that Tippetson is not frivolous, that he has powers of mind far above the ordinary average of human intellect. Take him, dear Clara, he is yours for ever. And do not think that in thus surrendering him to you, I renounce your friendship; nay, rather do I seem to have a stronger claim on it and on your gratitude for this surrender. But I may not enlarge. I must not endeavour to renew a correspondence, which you, no doubt for the best of reasons, have declined. I have written by this day's post to Tippetson to the same purport that I have written to you. May Heaven bless you both with all imaginable happiness! Think nothing, I conjure you, of the pain which this sacrifice has cost me, that is now over and past. It is done. Every other consideration must give way to the sanctity of friendship. Farewell, a long farewell."Ever and unchangeably yours,"Rebecca Henderson."
"Once more, my ever dear Clara Rivolta, I take my pen to address you, and perhaps it may be for the last time. We are separated by distance of place, and still more so by the cessation of a correspondence which gave me at least infinite pleasure and inestimable benefit. As I can no longer hope to receive your truly intellectual communications, I read over and over again those most delightful and improving letters with which you once condescended to honor me: and indeed it was a condescension in you to stoop to let down your fine mind to correspond with me. I feel I acknowledge your superiority; and not only do I acknowledge and feel it, but it is manifest to others too. Tippetson is your slave. Nay, start not, I repeat it, Tippetson is your slave. I am well aware that I possess not powers of mind to retain him. Clara, he is yours. Yes, my ever dear friend, Tippetson is yours. I surrender him entirely, unreservedly, calmly. Do you doubt it, my Clara? Do you distrust me? Oh, no, you cannot. See how steadily and firmly I write. My hand trembles not; my cheeks burn not; no tear blots the paper; nor do I repent what I have said, or wish it unsaid. Tippetson appreciates your merits. You have the power to rule and charm his mind. The world may call him frivolous, but can that be a frivolous or common-place mind that can comprehend and rightly appreciate the superior mindof Clara Rivolta? You, my dear friend, know that Tippetson is not frivolous, that he has powers of mind far above the ordinary average of human intellect. Take him, dear Clara, he is yours for ever. And do not think that in thus surrendering him to you, I renounce your friendship; nay, rather do I seem to have a stronger claim on it and on your gratitude for this surrender. But I may not enlarge. I must not endeavour to renew a correspondence, which you, no doubt for the best of reasons, have declined. I have written by this day's post to Tippetson to the same purport that I have written to you. May Heaven bless you both with all imaginable happiness! Think nothing, I conjure you, of the pain which this sacrifice has cost me, that is now over and past. It is done. Every other consideration must give way to the sanctity of friendship. Farewell, a long farewell.
"Ever and unchangeably yours,"Rebecca Henderson."
This act of heroic generosity, flattering as it might have been to the mind of Miss Henderson, admirable and beautiful as it may be considered in itself, was not by any means pleasant or agreeable to Clara. Could Miss Henderson have seen Clara's countenance while she was reading the letter, or could she have heard Clara's remarks when she had finished the letter, her vanity would not have been at all gratified. Clara was very much mortified and vexed when she read that part of the letter which referred to a communication addressed to Mr. Tippetson: for thus was she threatened with immediate and unavoidable persecution. The young gentleman had by habit become tolerable as an acquaintance, but on a sudden and with such circumstances to become a professed lover would be absolutely intolerable. For any thing that Clara knew to the contrary, Miss Henderson might have given Mr. Tippetson reason to suppose that his addresses had been all but invited; so that the poor girl was in a most awkward and distressing perplexity. There was, however, one piece of service which this letter did for her, and that was, that by abruptly presenting and proposingto her Mr. Tippetson as a lover, it prevented the young gentleman more effectually from insinuating himself gradually and successfully into her good graces. For as we have above observed that he had become gradually more tolerable as an acquaintance, it is not to be thought unlikely that he might make farther progress in her good opinion. But whatever effect Miss Henderson's letter might produce in the determinations and prospects of the young gentleman, it did not by any means prompt him to an immediate avowal of his affection for her, and that was some relief; but his attentions were continued and unremitting, and against these Clara was more effectually on her guard than she might have been, had she not received this fortunate intimation from her friend.
We have not described Miss Henderson as a faultless model of the fair sex, though peradventure some of our readers may imagine that the instance which we have above related of her elevated generosity is a specimen of very sublime virtue, and hardly compatible with any but a faultless or almost faultless character. From this sublimity we must however detract something by stating two important facts, which somewhat let down the dignity and pure disinterestedness of the surrender. The facts are these: that in the first place, Miss Henderson had every reason to suppose that she had no chance of obtaining Mr. Tippetson for herself; and that in the second place, fearing this loss, she had provided herself with a new flame and a fresh object of admiration in the person of Markham. It is very mortifying to think that such is the weakness of our nature, such the constitution of humanity, that we can scarcely ever quote a specimen of the greatness of the human mind without being shocked by the vicinity of some corresponding littleness. So it ever must be: mountains imply vallies; and the higher the former, the deeper are the latter.
The circumstances which led to an acquaintance between Miss Henderson and Horatio Markham were these. Markham, as we have said, hastened to town after paying due respects to his friends in the country, and set seriously to work to recover lost time. But though thebusiness, he did not let it so far occupy all his thoughts and all his time as to omit an attendance at church. Like the rest of the world who go to church, he was much better pleased with that which amuses than with that which instructs; and though Mr. Henderson's chapel was at an inconvenient distance from Markham's chambers, yet the young gentleman was so partial to fine preaching, that he did not hesitate to take a very long walk for the sake of hearing a very fine sermon. By some accident, it so happened that he sat in the same seat which was formerly occupied by Mr. Tippetson. When Mr. Tippetson had deserted that seat, Miss Henderson thought that it looked very gloomy, and her heart swelled nigh unto bursting; but when the seat was occupied by Markham, that pew did not look so dreary. Markham was not so nice a man as Mr. Tippetson, nor did he look so very earnestly at Miss Henderson; but he did look at her once or twice, and that was better than nothing. He was also very attentiveyoung gentleman was very diligent and assiduous in applying to to the preaching, and that was a recommendation to Miss Henderson. Markham attended the chapel regularly, and by degrees Miss Henderson thought him a very sensible man; for she observed that, whenever any very splendid tropes, figures, or metaphors, were uttered by her pa, the young gentleman looked particularly well pleased. This raised him in her estimation very highly; for she was certain that he was a man of taste as well as of superior understanding. Sometimes, and on some occasions, Mr. Henderson would be very pathetic; and on these occasions Miss Henderson discerned that Markham was a man of feeling as well as taste. Her anxiety was excited to know who this stranger could be. That curiosity was soon gratified, and she learned that it was no other than Mr. Markham, the rising young barrister, who was so remarkable for his judicious mode of conducting his causes. Miss Henderson thought it could be no one else. It was very gratifying to her that such a man as Markham should pay her pa the compliment of attending so regularly at his chapel. She wishedthat compliment, and she did not know what reward was in her power to bestow but her own self. But she could not make Mr. Markham an offer, and he was not likely to offer himself till he had been introduced to her acquaintance. It was not long before an opportunity was afforded her of being introduced to this sensible young gentleman. They met, as it is called, by accident, at the house of a mutual friend. Markham was evidently received with distinguished attention. He was listened to when he talked, and Miss Henderson was astonished at the extent of his information and the soundness of his judgment. We have already intimated that Markham was a little disposed to pedantry: when therefore opportunity occurred of speaking of law, he was fluent and copious in his talk; and when poetry was the subject of conversation, he was eloquent on that topic also. His talk generally was much from and concerning books. In youth that is very pardonable. Miss Hendersonin the fulness of her heart to express her sense of gratitude for thought it was altogether admirable, and was enraptured with the great extent of erudition which the young gentleman displayed, and thought what a pity it would be if so sensible a man as Mr. Markham should have the misfortune to be captivated by some pretty-faced simpleton, and so be cruelly destined to spend all his days with a woman not capable of appreciating his merits, and without power or inclination to amuse and delight his mind with intellectual talk and discussion. It was so great a pity that there should be any danger of such calamity happening to him, that Miss Henderson grew more and more anxious that he should be placed out of the way of such calamity by becoming engaged to her, whose intellect was of such superior order, and who could so well and properly appreciate his excellencies, and by whose conversation his spirits might be cheered and refreshed after the toils and labors of the day. But the great difficulty was how to effect this engagement. She could not ask him, nor could she ask him to ask her;but she could and she did take very great pains to make herself agreeable: she echoed all his remarks, and was ready with a smile for every thing that he might say in the shape of or with pretension to wit: nay more, if he had been disposed to be pathetic, she was ready with her tears and sighs. Now Markham must have been downright rude and ungrateful had he not returned attention with attention; and if Miss Henderson was pleased to pay him compliments, it became him gratefully to acknowledge those compliments. Clearly, therefore, the young lady began to hope that some progress was made in his affections, or at least very soon would be. It was not in her power to ask Mr. Markham to visit her pa; but it was in her power to manage so to bring Mr. Henderson and Mr. Markham together in this party, that an acquaintance might thereby be formed between them. As Mr. Henderson was rather proud of his pulpit performances, he readily accepted Markham's compliments, and he expressed a wish to be better acquainted; and Miss Henderson took care that theconversation should not drop here, but with great ingenuity so contrived that they did not part that evening before Markham had arranged to call on Mr. Henderson.