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 SELF. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "CECIL." 
 
 Put gall in thr ink, though thou write with a goose-quill." 
 
 Shakspeabb. 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 MDCCCXLV.
 
 • ■ • » < 
 
 LONDON i 
 
 PRINTED BY G. J. PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRANL-.
 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC. 
 CECIL CECILIZETH. 
 
 Could you but surmise, dear public, the 
 grateful and devoted affection which your par- 
 tiality has engendered in my heart, you would 
 give me credit for the tears which at this mo- 
 ment obscure ray eyes, while shaking hands 
 with you after so long an absence ! To me 
 what a public have you been ; — how bountiful, 
 — how indulgent ! — Your hand, again, old 
 fellow ! — I did not think to be so overpowered 
 by my feelings. 
 
 The emotions I experience, and which I cannot 
 doubt to be reciprocal, convince me, however, 
 
 aooi^tji
 
 IV ADDRESS. 
 
 that I have done amiss in attempting to amu^- 
 you by other adventures than my own. I 
 feel that it is of your own Cecil you are want- 
 ing to hear, and that of him you could never 
 hear too much ; whereas, the critical machines 
 tl)at pretend, by their uncouth signals, to tele- 
 graph your opinions, — Examiners — Spectators — 
 Athenaeums — Atlases — John Bulls, — had suc- 
 ceeded in convincing me that you appreciate 
 only what is set down with the dry circum- 
 stantiality of a coroner's inquest, — that you have 
 denounced my naivete as egotism, — and declared 
 me unequal to the narration of a sustained story. 
 By such calumnies, — invidious wretches ! — did 
 they betray me into the weakness of relating 
 the history of one of my contemporaries ; in- 
 stead of delighting you with what Faulcon- 
 bridgc would call, "sweet poison for the tooth 
 of age," — namely, anecdotes of my simple self, 
 — of whom, more hereafter. 
 
 You will admit, in the secpiel, that I have
 
 ADDRESS, V 
 
 done you notable service. Every now and then 
 the age, like 
 
 The snake, sheds its enamelled skin, 
 and it is only by carefully collecting and com- 
 paring these relics, that its growth and progress 
 can be appreciated. In 1845, selfishness is a 
 sufficiently prevailing vice. But my story will 
 afford some comfcrt to the moralists, by proving 
 that it was thirty times more flagrant, thirty 
 years ago. 
 
 But though the dramatis personae of the tale 
 be new, and though I have endeavoured to 
 vindicate your much-traduced Cecil from the 
 charge of selfishness, by exhibiting the portrait 
 of a real egotist, — the antithesis of his generous 
 nature, — the style, the thoughts, the moral, the 
 malice, are those of the object of your pristine 
 affection. In these days of universal scribble- 
 dom when, as in those of Horace, Scribimus 
 indocti doctigue, your mind has been distracted 
 by counterfeits — But I flatter myself tny 
 powers of pen are unmistakeable.
 
 VI ADDRESS. 
 
 You have often heard, dear public, of an 
 Irish peer, privileged, like the grandees of 
 Spain, to wear his hat before the king. — But do 
 you know why ? — Probably not ! — for the 
 cheap-edition-mongers have so vulgarized 
 English history, by compressing into your 
 brains and libraries the works of Hume com- 
 plete in half-a-dozen penny numbers, that you 
 are no lono^er able to distinguish between 
 William IV. and William the Conqueror ! 
 
 By the sagacity of the booksellers, however 
 the price of that inestimable work, the Peerage, 
 is still kept up. Take, therefore, Burke's 
 Peerage and open it at K for Kingsale, — 
 where you will find set down how his lord- 
 ship's ancestor, the gallant Earl of Ulster, — 
 (the Cecil of his day,) — liberated by king John 
 from captivity in the Tower of London, to take 
 up the gauntlet flung down by Philip Augus- 
 tus, when he proposed to decide by single 
 combat the quarrel between England and 
 France, bore such terrors in his name and as-
 
 ADDRESS. VU 
 
 pect, that, at the last sounding of the trumpets, 
 the French champion put spurs to his horse, 
 and left him master of the lists ! 
 
 Desirous, however, of witnessing some token 
 of his far-famed strength, Philip caused a helmet 
 of proof to be placed on a wooden block, (as we 
 now occasionally place a judicial wig, ) which the 
 Earl of Ulster cleft asunder at a blow — leaving 
 the sword embedded in the wood ! 
 
 And who was to extricate the weapon ? — The 
 united chivalry of France, — king — courtiers — 
 knightsand squires, — all tugged at it,and tugged 
 in vain. — When behold, at the powerful touch 
 of its master, it glided forth as light) v as from a 
 golden scabbard ! — The old story, dear public, 
 of Ulysses and his bow. 
 
 Need I suggest a deduction .'' — Surely your 
 sagacity must discern that the weapon so long 
 left sticking in the block of your favour, has 
 been at length drawn forth by the only hand 
 capable of striking it so deep, or redeeming it 
 for new feats of valour.
 
 Vlll ADDRESS. 
 
 Here I am again, sword in hand ! — As the 
 Roman says in the play, and Sir Robert in tlie 
 house, — "Lend me your ears !"" (they are long 
 enough to spare some portion to a friend !) 
 
 Sit mihi fas audita loqui, 
 and in the following pages you shall find the 
 pen of the Coxcomb flourished with all its ori- 
 ginal grace and spirit, by the unique and solely- 
 competent hand of 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF CECH..
 
 SELF. 
 
 CHAPTER 1 
 
 O soeclum insipiens et inficetum ! 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 Alas ! for the circulating libraries,— the day 
 of the novelist is done ! — Our locomotive age 
 has outstripped his sedentary calling. Few 
 have leisure to write, — few even leisure to read. 
 Steam has realized the phrase of Corporal 
 Trim, that — " we are here now and gone in a 
 moment :" — and it is consequently as easy, and 
 twice as edifying, to survey the romance of life 
 with our simple optics, as through the reflect- 
 ing glasses of the press. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 SELF. 
 
 Thanks, moreover, to the march of civiliza- 
 tion, privacy has been exploded among us, and 
 individuality eifaced. People feel in thou- 
 sands, and think in tens of thousands. No 
 quiet nook of earth remaining, for the modern 
 Cincinnatus to cultivate his own carrots and 
 opinions ; — where humour may expand into ex- 
 crescence, or originality let grow its beard ! 
 Robinson Crusoe's island has been invaded by 
 missionary societies, or colonization commit- 
 tees ; — and, even in our scarcely less bar- 
 barous midland counties, railroads are cutting 
 their way into the heart of Harlowe Place, and 
 puffing their descecrations into ne venerable 
 face of Grandison Hall. The word " tender" 
 has acquired, in modern parlance, a sense that 
 would have distracted the chivalrous author of the 
 " Arcadia;" nor is there a vicarage in the land 
 sufficiently remote from the shriek of the en- 
 gine-driver, to foster the ingenuousness of a Dr. 
 Primrose. 
 
 No matter ! — Certain among us are old 
 enough to remember those inartificial days of
 
 SELF. 
 
 3 
 
 slow coaches and turnpike-gates, when country 
 families wore their own unsophisticated hearts 
 and minds ; instead of having their sentiments 
 down from town, every morning, ready frizzed, 
 by the early train; and what writer in his 
 senses would exchange a whole shire traversed 
 by a rail-road and its branches, for a homely 
 parish, such as Edenbourne presented at the 
 commencement of the present century; when 
 its heavy wagon made a three days' journey 
 from the metropolis, and even the great Don at 
 the Castle was forced to sleep a night on the 
 road. 
 
 Edenbourne, though on the borders of Wales, 
 has been brought of late within eight hours' 
 range of London ; and receded more miles than 
 Babbage could compute, from the kingdom of 
 Heaven. But before all trace be obUterated of 
 the simplicity of its good old times, come forth, 
 thou gray goosequill, and let a few of thy random 
 flourishes redeem its insignificance from ob- 
 
 livion ! — 
 
 In those days when, by act of parliament and 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SELF. 
 
 the grace of royal birthdays, the London season 
 commenced in January, and ended in June, 
 the mere announcement at Edenbourne, every 
 summer, that " the family had arrived at the 
 castle," sufficed to certify to the anxious neigh- 
 bours that Lord and Lady Askham were settled 
 at headquarters for the six months ensuing ; — 
 prepared to inflict or undergo the peine forte et 
 dure of formal dinner-parties. No flying about, 
 as now, from the county of Devon to that of 
 Durham, to dash for a day or two into the bril- 
 liant festivities of the Duke of this, or Mar- 
 quis of the other. After the example of Wind- 
 sor and Frogmore, every man's house was then 
 his homei — the place appointed for him to live 
 and die in, — a scene of sober-suited happiness, 
 where punctuality to the bell announcing break- 
 fast, dinner, and family prayers, constituted the 
 chief duty of the day ; and the arrival of a 
 monthly-nurse, with caudle and christening cap, 
 the grand event of the year. 
 
 It required, however, no great stretch of 
 moderation on the part of the Askhams to con-
 
 SELF. 5 
 
 tent themselves with Eden Castle. The domain 
 was extensive, the house stately and spacious. 
 The neighbouring borough was of Lord Ask- 
 ham's way of thinking in politics, for he re- 
 turned its member; the neighbouring parson- 
 age of his own persuasion in religion, for he 
 nominated ics rector. His park boasted the 
 finest breed of deer in the county, his rent-roll 
 the most punctual race of tenants. A large 
 family of children supplied a variety of domestic 
 interests ; and so engrossed was his lordship in 
 giving the law absolute to his steward and 
 bailiff, and her ladyship to the tutor, governess, 
 and head-nurse, that they seldom found time 
 to lament the badness of the roads, or thinness 
 of the neighbourhood. 
 
 Throughout the autumn, indeed, large par- 
 ties succeeded each other at the castle ; but 
 chiefly composed of family connexions ; people 
 of the same high caste and domestic habits as 
 the Askhams, who found sufficient pastime at 
 Edenbourne in making acquaintance with the
 
 6 SELF. 
 
 beauties of the place, — the children, plantations, 
 and experimental farm. 
 
 Incapable of supplying a new emotion or idea 
 to their noble kindred, they were not likely to 
 suggest the moral deficiencies of the place ! 
 
 Unluckily, Lord and Lady Askham were 
 cousins ; born of the same blood, bred with the 
 same prejudices, — so that there was nothing in 
 the nature of the one to counteract the errors 
 of the other ; and their virtues and weaknesses 
 being identical, and consequently mutually im- 
 perceptible, no chance of amendment ! The 
 horizon that contented both was a narrow one ; 
 the sole object of their existence to escape 
 blame in this world, and condemnation in the 
 next ; — a purpose they held to be accomplish- 
 able only by keeping under iron subjection those 
 gentler instincts of the heart, which, over in- 
 dulged, are apt to become elements of per- 
 dition. 
 
 Like the saints of old, they fortified their 
 selfish sanctity in solitude. Eden Castle stood
 
 SELF. / 
 
 isolated in its neighbourhood, like a hermitage 
 in the desert. Satisfied that truth and justice 
 in all their dealings insured its respect, the 
 Askhams cared little for its affections ; and as 
 there was no family of their own rank in life 
 within visitinsr distance with hereditarv claims 
 upon their sympathy, they took no more heed 
 than the grand Turk of what was passing be- 
 yond their park palings. 
 
 Reserved and taciturn, Lord Askham attri- 
 buted to philosophical moderation that total 
 abstinence from political and courtly life, which 
 was the result of constitutional shyness. Though 
 as staunch a Tory as the terrorism of those 
 revolutionarv times could render a man of his 
 property, he contented himself with demon- 
 strating his attachment to church and state by 
 a bis-annual appearance at the levee, — by hold- 
 ing his borough at the disposal of the " heaven- 
 born minister," and paying down his taxes like 
 a man, — ay, and a man of thirty thousand a 
 year ! 
 
 And thus, his lordship's dryness of nature
 
 8 SELF. 
 
 being unmitigated by the amenities of the 
 courtier as well as unraoistened by the Great- 
 British humanities of sportsmanship, his gravity 
 of deportment increased with his years ; doing 
 far greater credit to the magistrates' bench, 
 than to the hilarity of his dinner-table, or cheer- 
 fulness of his fire-side. Children ceased to be 
 children in his presence. His grown-up sons 
 addressed him in the tone of dependents ; and 
 the few families of the neighbourhood occa- 
 sionally invited to the castle, had very much 
 the air of being brought there by the con- 
 stable. 
 
 The character of the Askhams, however, 
 stood high in the county. Eden Chase, with 
 its thousands of acres, and Eden Castle, with 
 its hundreds of ancestral portraits, constituted 
 the grand features of the district ; and vene- 
 ration for the place was extended to its owners. 
 To have attributed a fault to either, would 
 have passed for flat blasphemy ; not only with 
 Dr. Racket, the rector of Edenbourne, and 
 Simprems, the apothecary; but with Mrs.
 
 SELF. 9 
 
 Gwatkin, of Hexham Hall, and her quaint old 
 brother, Sir Erasmus L'Estrange, who, though 
 people of liberal fortune, had no higher ambi- 
 tion than to be invited once a year to the 
 castle ; to be frozen by the condescension of 
 Lady Askham, and listen to his lordship's pom- 
 pous protestations over his port, that he "would 
 sacrifice the last guinea of his rent-roll to the 
 support of the war, and the extermination of 
 blood-thirsty France !" — 
 
 Cheered by his enlightened patriotism, they 
 returned home convinced that if Old England had 
 not the best of it against her " natural enemy," 
 it would be no fault of Lord Askham ; and 
 that Chatsworth, Woburn, and Alnwick united, 
 were unworthy to be placed in the scale against 
 their own Eden Castle ! 
 
 The first person who ventured to form a con- 
 trary opinion, was the heir-apparent to its 
 honours. Like most spirited lads trammelled 
 in leading-strings at home, Percy Askham had 
 broken through all restraint the moment he 
 reached Eton. xVt Oxford, he exceeded even 
 
 B 5
 
 ]0^ SELF. 
 
 the privilege of an elder son to be troublesome 
 and expensive, (which the example of the heir- 
 apparent of the kingdom had rendered patent 
 in the land !) and though Lord Askham reck- 
 oned confidently on the penitentiary system of 
 his methodical home to reclaim his prodigal 
 son, so soon as he came to settle at Eden 
 Castle, Percy entertained projects of a very 
 different nature. 
 
 "Farewell, thou dreary pile!" — groaned he, as 
 the postchaise in which he was proceeding to 
 Oxford for his last terra, turned the well-known 
 corner at Edenbourne which excluded the 
 castle from sight : " farewell, a long farewell 
 to all thy dulness ! — As Juliet says in the play, 
 ' Heaven knows when we may meet again !' " 
 
 " It is well my father and mother do not 
 hear you," said his grave brother Phihp, to 
 whom, with Siddonian emphasis, the apostrophe 
 was addressed. 
 
 " On the contrary, 'tis deuced unlucky ! If 
 my father and mother heard such home-truths 
 oftener, my dear Phil, their house would not
 
 SELF. 1 1 
 
 be so much more boring than other peoples\ 
 Between the toadying of their sycophantic 
 neighbours, and the eternal laudations of our 
 humdrum family chorus, they know no more of 
 the world than if thev lived in the Escurial !" 
 
 " And what should we gain by their being 
 more worldly ?" retorted Philip. 
 
 " A pleasanter home, in the first place ! 
 — Such slowness as that of Eden Castle is con- 
 tagious as the plague ; and in time, lue shall 
 become as moss grown as our elders ! In the 
 second, my father and mother owe me some 
 compensation for being one of ten children — a 
 severe calamity, even under the most extenua- 
 ting circumstances. But when made a pretext for 
 converting the family seat into a boarding- 
 school" — 
 
 " / never find the children in my way !" in- 
 terrupted Philip, with some asperity. 
 
 " Nor I in mine. — I wish I did — poor things ! 
 What I complain of is, that the authors of our 
 days have been listening for the last twenty 
 years to the didactics of tutors and governesses,
 
 12 SELF. 
 
 till everything in the establishment has been 
 Mrs. Trimmerized to suit their notions ! 
 Life at Eden Castle is revised for the use of 
 schools !" 
 
 " Time stands so still with my father, that 
 he is apt to forget its progress with ourselves," 
 observed Philip, unwilling fully to confirm his 
 brother's strictures. 
 
 " Why should we expect him to treat his 
 sons better than he treats himself?" — cried 
 Percy, ensconcing himself more snugly in the 
 corner of the chaise. " Such a life as he chooses 
 us to lead of it ! — With such an income as his, 
 a woman cook ! — In such a county as ours, a 
 subscription of five-and-twenty pounds to the 
 hounds, instead of estabhshing the hunt at 
 Eden Castle ! — ' Angels and ministers of grace 
 defend us !' — Thirty thousand a year, and a 
 pony to the fox-hounds !" — 
 
 " But since my father is not fond of hunt- 
 ing— ' 
 
 " Spoken as becomes a younger brother !" 
 cried Percy, slapping him on the shoulder ;
 
 SELF. 13 
 
 " and to reward your filial piety, my boy, 
 henceforward you shall enjoy without a rival the 
 delights of your dulce domum ! — I.ong, long 
 may you survive to comfort your afflicted 
 parents for the loss of their graceless elder son !" 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Percy ?"' cried 
 Philip Askham, with an air of consternation. 
 
 " To go into a deep decline, my dear fellow, 
 and be ordered to a milder climate ; as my sole 
 chance of escape from the never-to-be-suffi- 
 ciently-yawned-at halls of my ancestors !" was 
 the cool reply of the elder brother. " Know, 
 sir, that my father's intentions towards me are 
 of the most malignant nature. As soon as I 
 have taken my degree, he proposes to bring me 
 into parliament for Edenbourne, and Tommy- 
 Goodchild me for the rest of my days under his 
 own roof, both in Mansfield-street and Eden 
 Castle." 
 
 " And what can you desire more ?" 
 
 " I desire a great deal less /—Sooner 
 volunteer into a marching regiment, or be- 
 come mate of an Indiaman ! — I have ' a truant
 
 14 SELF. 
 
 disposition, good my lord ; and if condemned 
 to fossilize at the castle, (as at present consti- 
 tuted,) will not answer for resisting my inclina- 
 tion to hire incendiaries, during some temporary 
 absence of the family, and put an end to my 
 suflFerings !" 
 
 " A tour to a milder climate would certainly 
 be a less costly alternative," said Philip, who 
 had long ceased to argue with the extravagant 
 flights of his brother. 
 
 " I may depend upon you, then, to attest a 
 medical certificate of the weakness of my lungs ? ' 
 
 " Your own influence with my father will 
 suffice, — the strength of which you have tried 
 pretty severely !" 
 
 " I have done my best, certainly, to improve 
 his lordship's education, " said Percy, gravely ; 
 " but he does not get on as I could wish. You^ 
 my dear Phil, must complete his enlighten- 
 ment. While I proceed to Lisbon or Madeira 
 to take the chill off my constitution, you will 
 naturally become all in all with Old Capulet 
 and his lady."
 
 SELF. 15 
 
 Philip Askham shrugged his shoulders. He 
 suspected that he was no great favourite with his 
 parents. 
 
 " But that the property is so strictly en- 
 tailed," resumed the wild heir-apparent, " I 
 should be afraid of giving you so immense an 
 advantage over me. Make the most of it, how- 
 ever ; for I admit that you deserve compensation 
 for submitting to the severe infliction of our 
 domestic felicity." 
 
 An intimation such as this was of course re- 
 garded by Philip as the vapouring of an idle 
 hour ; and never was he more amazed than on 
 learning from Lord Askham, soon after Percy 
 quitted Christ Church, that he had received 
 alarming hints from Simprems touching the 
 health of his son. 
 
 " It seems that Percy's chest has been deli- 
 cate ever since his last attack of influenza," said 
 his lordship, in a tone of pique. " Vastly pro- 
 voking, upon my word ! — Just as I was on the 
 point of bringing him into parliament !— He
 
 16 SELF. 
 
 was well enough, Heaven knows, all the time 
 he was at Oxford." 
 
 Had Lord Askham's regrets been expressed 
 in a more kindly tone, the task of confederacy 
 might have sat heavy on the soul of Philip. 
 As it was, he felt entitled to hold his peace. 
 
 " Your brother has taken it into his head 
 that nothing will do for him but the Mediterra- 
 nean," resumed the provoked father. " Mere 
 prejudice — mere nonsense ! — For my part, I 
 have perfect faith in Devonshire. 1 have cal- 
 culated the thing to a nicety ; and it would cost 
 me less to remove the whole family to Torquay 
 for the winter, than run the risk of Percys ex- 
 travagance abroad. Torquay brought round 
 old Lady Lenitive, when condemned by the 
 whole faculty ! — Why don't you answer, Philip ? 
 You must have heard the highest character of 
 Torquay ?" — 
 
 It had been useless to assure Lord Askham 
 that, whatever the effect of the climate of De- 
 vonshire on Lady Lenitive, it would only serve
 
 SELF. 17 
 
 to aggravate the disorder of his refractory son ; 
 and Philip was beginning to remonstrate se- 
 riously with the pretended invalid on the inde- 
 cency of treating their father like a pere de 
 comedie, when lo ! his scruples were relieved by 
 the intervention of a great political event. 
 
 The peace of Amiens put an end to the out- 
 pouring of christian blood, and the perplexities 
 of Eden Castle ! — 
 
 An immediate migration of callow lordlings 
 followed the opening of the continent ; and as, 
 among the noble cubs destined to be bear-led 
 through the grand tour, was Lady Askham's 
 nephew, Lord Middlemore, a minor in the enjoy- 
 ment of as many thousands a year as entitled 
 him to the persecutions of a first-rate pedant, to 
 the Rev. Dr. Dactyl was delegated the charge 
 of both the cousins. 
 
 No possible plea for opposition ! Percy 
 Askham was taken in his own toils. His health 
 and letters of credit were placed under the con- 
 trol of one with whom he saw it would be diffi- 
 cult to trifle; while, during his absence, as he
 
 18 SELF. 
 
 had himself sagaciously predicted, Philip, in- 
 stead of entering the diplomatic career for which 
 he had been intended, was promoted to fill his 
 brothers place at Eden Castle.
 
 SELF. 1 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Cur alter fratrum cessare et ludere, et uiigi, 
 Praeferat Herodis palmetis pinguibus — 
 
 HoR. Ep. ii. 
 
 There is no flying hence or tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun ' 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Before six months had elapsed, though Mr. 
 Askham's pathetic allusions, in his letters from 
 the Continent, to the infirm state of his health, 
 attested that his abhorrence of Eden Castle was 
 undiminished, the prejudices of Philip in its 
 favour had undergone considerable modification. 
 
 His disgusts, however, were not those of an 
 elder son. He quarrelled neither with the
 
 20 SELF. 
 
 homeliness of the table, nor the want of a kennel. 
 The respectabilities of the place were not too 
 tough for his digestion ; but he was harassed by 
 the arbitrary temper of his parents, and morti- 
 fied by their reserve. 
 
 Nothing in the atmosphere of such a house 
 to foster the better impulses of his age I All 
 was leather and prunella. The Askhams took 
 pride rather than pleasure in their children: — to 
 rear them so as to confer honour on themselves, 
 constituting their notion of the parental mis- 
 sion. Their inclinations were always over- 
 looked — their faults, never. Some small mea- 
 sure of kindness, indeed, was evinced towards 
 the alpha and omega of the family, — the heir- 
 apparent in his box-coat, and babe in its robes, 
 (like the softening words of endearment which 
 begin and end the harshest letter.) But with 
 Philip commenced their system of discipline. 
 While working him as hard as Caliban under the 
 rod of I'rospero, and rating him nearly as 
 roundly, they protested that it was all from a 
 sense of duty, lest he should be disqualified by
 
 SELF. 21 
 
 a life of ease for the struggles and hardships 
 allotted to younger brothers by the utmost rigour 
 of the law. 
 
 The truth was that, disappointed in their 
 hopes of seeing their eldest son take that early 
 part in public life which his father had been too 
 shy or indolent to hazard, they could not for- 
 give Philip for standing in Percy's boots ; and 
 chose to visit upon Mm the ill-health of his bro- 
 ther. 
 
 It seemed almost too great a stroke of fortune 
 for a second son to fulfil the quotidian duty of 
 reporting the state of the glass, for the edifica- 
 tion of his father, and skimming the daily 
 papers, for the information of his mother; and 
 instead of requiting his filial zeal by the intima- 
 cies of domestic companionship, they seldom 
 addressed him at all, except to find fault. His 
 sisters were &till condemned to hard labour and 
 solitary confinement in the school-room, — his 
 brothers pursuing at Eton their arduous course 
 of study in cricket, football, and boating; so 
 that, embarrassed by the unindulcent scrutiny
 
 22 SELF. 
 
 of his parents, the companionless young man 
 moped about the place he had so gratuitously 
 defended against the animadversions of Percy, 
 till his youthful spirits subsided, and his afi'ec- 
 tions shrunk within him like the shrinking of 
 a collapsed balloon. 
 
 Before the end of a year, the silent system 
 had done its worst on Philip ! — 
 
 The Gwatkins, of Hexham Hall, (an old 
 mansion which, commanding an obhque squint 
 of Eden Castle from a distant hill, felt privileged 
 to discuss its economy,) often whispered, half 
 inquiringly, half confidentially, to Simprems 
 the Edenbourne apothecary, that " it must be a 
 great comfort to poor Lord Askham to find his 
 second son so steady, during the absence of his 
 eldest." But though rumours of the precarious 
 state of the heir-apparent had considerably ele- 
 vated Philip in the estimation of the neighbour- 
 hood as the presumptive representative of the 
 family, neither the fifteen livings of which he 
 was to be patron, nor the noble herd of deer 
 whose haunches would lie at his disposal, gave 
 
 10
 
 SELF. 23 
 
 them courage to invite him to their houses, ex- 
 cept on occasion of the solemn dinner-parties 
 dedicated to Lord and Lady Askham. Mrs. 
 Gwatkin, though the mother of several mar- 
 riageable daughters impatiently waiting the 
 advent of St. Valentine, stood far too much in 
 awe of the heads of the family, to affront them 
 by unwarrantable attentions to their son. 
 
 On the mere hint of some such civility, Lady 
 Askham had been heard to say, in her severest 
 tone, that " it was impossible for Mr. Philip 
 Askham to leave his father;" plainly intimating 
 the slavish footing on which he was established 
 under their roof. 
 
 If a letter were to be written, Philip must be 
 at hand ; if a petitioner to be denied, Philip 
 must undertake the ungracious task ; nor was 
 Lady Askham able to surmise the meaning of 
 the Court Circular, or his lordship to decide 
 how many points the wind had veered to the 
 south, unless their son held his eyes, ears, and 
 understanding at their absolute disposal. 
 
 Even when, in his second year of domestic .
 
 24 SELF. 
 
 thraldom, his toils were lightened by the emanci- 
 pation of his eldest sister from the school-room, 
 to assist in answering notes and spelling news- 
 papers, Lady Askham seemed afraid to let him 
 off too easily. 
 
 " Philip is never in the house !" — she soon 
 began to complain to Margaret, the new 
 amaiiuensis. " He goes out an hour earlier 
 than he used, and comes home an hour later. 
 Nay, more than once, poor Lord Askham has 
 had to worry himself to death, by writing ex- 
 cuses to County Meetings with his own hand ! 
 Most ungrateful and unaccountable conduct, — 
 and I shall take care to let Philip see that his 
 neglect does not pass unnoticed." 
 
 Home was accordingly made more uninviting 
 than ever to the truant. The longer his ab- 
 sence, the longer, on his return, the accusing 
 faces of his parents ; till his sister, a kind- 
 hearted but timid girl, beholding him an object 
 of perpetual resentment, had scarcely courage 
 to exchange a word with the delinquent. 
 
 " They care only for Percy !" muttered he,
 
 SELF. 25 
 
 after a family dinner, during which nothing had 
 been audible but the gingle of the family plate 
 and wheezings of the family butler. " With 
 Percy, they had enough to talk about; but 
 whether I come or go, is a matter of in- 
 difference. — Were I to break my neck to-mor- 
 row, even Margaret would not shed a tear ! — It 
 is excusable, perhaps, in those toadying people 
 at Hexham, or poor Simprems, to make a 
 distinction between my brother and myself; for 
 to them, twenty years hence, Percy will be an 
 important neighbour. — But that parents should 
 recognize a difference between their children ! — 
 that Margaret, a mere girl, should be so 
 worldly!" 
 
 Misgivings of this sordid nature act upon 
 the mind as parasite-plants upon a tree, ex- 
 hausting its better qualities. Jealousy, and 
 still meaner envy, gradually corroded his heart, 
 till the growth of his natural affections was 
 stunted. Even the fairest offspring of the 
 human breast, — first love, — was cheated of its 
 due proportions ;— and, as the child of a de- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 SELF. 
 
 formed mother inherits her distortion, the Cupid 
 of Philip Askham was born a cripple ! 
 
 For, as will have been inferred by the expe- 
 rienced reader, the two hours per diem ab- 
 stracted from his duty towards his father, were 
 devoted to a woman ! 
 
 Some three miles from the castle, engirded 
 by the river Eden as with a silver sash, stood 
 the demure little town of Edenbourne ; having 
 little beyond its post-oflSce to recommend it to 
 the favour of the neighbourhood, but charming 
 the eye of the traveller by pleasant sites, 
 diversified by picturesque limestone cliffs ad- 
 vancing like a rampart upon the river; with 
 shrubby rocks intervening, and here and there a 
 sunny orchard basking in ruddy luxuriance on 
 the bank. 
 
 The landscape was fair to look on, and the 
 road leading to it from the castle, through Eden 
 Chase, the best bridle-road in the county; so 
 that none but the toll-keeper of the turnpike 
 road was justified in expressing surprise that 
 Mr. Philip Askham should prefer its verdant
 
 SELF. 27 
 
 solitudes for his daily exercise, to the king's 
 highway. Nevertheless, the pertinacity of his 
 visits to Edenbourne, urns beginning to excite 
 murmurs in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Among the lesser gentry, according to whose 
 code the Askhams could do no wrong, (so com- 
 pletely had the rector of his lordship's nomi- 
 nation made it an article of religion with them 
 ,to fear God, honour the king, and respect the 
 Askhams !) much surprise was expressed that a 
 young man having that noble domain at his dis- 
 posal, and that stately roof over his head, should 
 find any society preferable to his charming home 
 circle. 
 
 Even those on visiting terms at Eden Castle, 
 Mrs. Gwatkin, and her quizzical old brother, 
 Sir Erasmus L'Estrange, — even they who were 
 occasionally admitted within that circle's icy 
 precincts, where they could not but notice that 
 Philip was the chartered drudge of the house, 
 were puzzled to conceive what attraction could 
 draw him, morning after morning, to the gate of 
 a certain small tenement, called Eastfield, situ- 
 
 c 2
 
 28 SELF. 
 
 ated in the pleasantest suburb of Edenbourne ; 
 from which he was seldom seen to emerge 
 before set of sun. 
 
 Mrs. Gwatkin, indeed, who, as the mother 
 of three pensive spinsters, (one of whom, in so 
 thin a neighbourhood, was obviously entitled to 
 be fallen in love with by Philip Askham,) was 
 so anxious concerning his proceedings, that she 
 did her utmost to engage Sir Erasmus in un- 
 ravelling the mystery. But the old gentleman, — 
 a spare, arnotto-coloured bachelor of sixty-five, 
 whose thin face was as much overgrown by his 
 whisker, as his obscure name by an alphabet of 
 initials, indicating his fellowship with all the 
 learned societies of Europe, — (having been 
 knighted by George III. in honour of six quartos 
 of travels as dry as himself, written apparently to 
 prove that he had traversed the four quarters of 
 the globe without finding anything worth men- 
 tioning.) The old gentleman was not to be moved 
 bv her inuendoes. — He had seen without emotion 
 the Pyramids, and temple of Juggernaut ; and
 
 SELF. 29 
 
 when assured that " Mr. Philip Askharn — poor 
 infatuated young man — was wasting his life and 
 credit with a lady living at Eastfield," — replied, 
 in his favourite phrase, that " he saw nothing in 
 it." 
 
 " Nothing in disgracing himself under the 
 eyes of a family so respectable as his ?" — cried 
 Mrs. Gwatkin, with indignation. 
 
 *' Why, what disgrace is there in visiting a 
 lady who happens to live at Eastfield ?"" in- 
 quired Sir Erasmus, taking a third sniff out 
 of his pinch of snufF. 
 
 *' Cannot you imagine the sort of lady who 
 must reside in such a place ?" — exclaimed the 
 swelling proprietress of a mansion making up 
 sixteen best beds. " A cottage built by a re- 
 tired tax-gatherer, on a bit of ground filched 
 from the common !" — 
 
 " A vastly pretty bit of ground, and a neat 
 cottage enough," observed the man who had 
 not only " swam in a gondola,"" but hovelled in 
 a bungalow. 
 
 "I grant you,— as lodge to a gentleman's
 
 30 SELF. 
 
 park !" retorted his sister. " But it is partly 
 your fault ; for when the place was in the mar- 
 ket, two years ago, you should have bought it, 
 and thrown it into your own grounds. I took 
 you to see it on purpose." 
 
 " As I saw nothing in it, where was the 
 use of throwing away four or five hundred 
 pounds?" — 
 
 " To prevent our having a disreputable neigh- 
 bour at our gates ! — Perhaps, were you to visit 
 Eastfield now, you might see something in it !" 
 
 " Improved, eh, by the new tenant?" 
 
 " I don't know what you call improvement,^* 
 cried his sister, provoked by his obtuseness ; 
 "and as to the new tenant, who might pass for 
 a school-girl, but that she is mother of two 
 children " 
 
 " A widow, eh ?" interrupted Sir Erasmus, 
 who took most sublunary matters on their own 
 showing. 
 
 " She certainly calls herself Mrs. Saville,^'' 
 replied his sister, without noticing his inter- 
 ruption. " But I dare say she has as much
 
 SELF. 31 
 
 right to the name of Howard or Percy ! My 
 mind misgave me, indeed, that all was not as it 
 should be, when I saw the place doing up, pre- 
 vious to her arrival. A productive kitchen- 
 garden turned upside down, to give place to 
 flower-beds and a pretence at a lawn ;~and pink 
 curtains, forsooth, at the drawing-room win- 
 dows !" 
 
 '^ What is there in all that ?" observed Sir 
 Erasmus composedly, 
 
 "Her predecessor, though well to do in the 
 world, was contented with white dimity !" replied 
 the irate lady. — " It was her duty, moreover, 
 (dropping from the skies into a strange neigh- 
 bourhood without an introduction, and under 
 suspicious circumstances,) to avoid everything 
 likely to compromise her in the opinion of 
 her neighbours. — The consequence of the sort 
 of equivocal gentility affected by Eastfield is, 
 that no one has visited this Mrs.Saville !" 
 
 " And does Mrs. Saville desire to visit any 
 one ?" demanded the matter-of-fact old bachelor.
 
 32 SELF. 
 
 (C 
 
 Apparently ; since she is so fond of morn- 
 ing visitors, as daily to admit young Askhara." 
 
 "I see nothing in that T retorted Sir Eras- 
 mus, " They were probably old acquaintance." 
 
 "Old? Mrs. Saville cannot be more than 
 one-and-twenty, (about the age of my Fanny,") 
 added Mrs. Gwatkin in a lower tone. 
 
 Perhaps then she may be a poor relation, '* 
 persisted Sir Erasmus; better up in the pages 
 of the Encyclopaedia Britannica than those of 
 Debrett." 
 
 " In that case," rejoined his sister, " baskets 
 of game and fruit would find their way from 
 Eden Castle to Eastfield, instead of the second 
 son. — Take my word for it. Lord Askham 
 never so much as heard her name. — The 
 worst of it is, that the Askhams (though I re- 
 spect them from the bottom of my heart) are such 
 unneighbourly people, that it is impossible to 
 give them a hint on the subject, such as one 
 should feel it a duty to afford to ether parents 
 under similar circumstances."
 
 SELF. 33 
 
 "As to the circumstances, I see nothing in 
 them," retorted Sir Erasmus ; " and if the Ask- 
 hams are uncivil, why trouble your head about 
 their affairs?" 
 
 " Because, if some stop be not promptly put 
 to Mr. Philip's proceedings, I foresee the most 
 dreadful results !"' 
 
 " Indeed ?" — ejaculated her brother, almost 
 excited by the solemnity of her tone. 
 
 " Unless his father and mother interfere, 
 who knows but he may marry this Mrs. Sa- 
 ville?" 
 
 " And why not ? I see nothing in it," re- 
 plied the hardened tourist. " I have heard 
 you assert that since his brother is so delicate, 
 he ought to marry ! You said so to himself, 
 indeed, when we dined last year at Eden Castle." 
 
 " Because 1 thought him rather struck with 
 Fanny, who is just the age for him !" 
 
 " So, you say, is Mrs. Saville." 
 
 " It is useless talking to you, brother, about 
 such matters," cried Mrs. Gwatkin, rising an- 
 grily to depart ; " of the world we live in, you 
 
 c 5
 
 34 SELF. 
 
 know no more than a child ! A family like the 
 Askhams is not to be judged like the out- 
 landish beings you may have met in a jungle,— 
 or the boors of Tobolsk, — or any other of the 
 savages in fur or feathers, among whom you 
 dawdled away your youth. However, some day 
 or other, you will be sorry enough when, instead 
 of your niece Fanny, you see this adventuress 
 settled at Eden Castle !" 
 
 " I promise you I should see nothing in it," 
 was the rejoinder of Sir Erasmus, as she quitted 
 the room; "for you tell me she is a pretty 
 young woman ; whereas poor Fanny is — but that 
 is no fault of her's." 
 
 It might be that the maternal irritabilities of 
 Mrs. Gwatkin were roused by the inference; 
 for the following day, much as she stood in awe 
 of Lady Askham, she proceeded to the castle 
 for a morning visit, with the apple of discord in 
 her pocket. 
 
 There was some difficulty, however, in bring- 
 ing her batteries into play. Lady Askham be- 
 came unapproachable the moment she assumed
 
 SELF. 35 
 
 her airs of dignity ; and on finding Mrs. Gwat- 
 kin of Hexham Hall, pretend to know more 
 than herself concerning her son, — n^B. son Philip , 
 — she added a cubit to her stature. 
 
 Still, with the praiseworthy zeal of her calling, 
 the mischief-maker persevered ; till, by the 
 earnestness of her revelations, she brought 
 conviction to the mind of the distressed 
 mother. 
 
 " Philip, — passing his life in clandestine inti- 
 macy with a young widow ? — The demure re- 
 served Philip, a libertine? — The .heir presump- 
 tive to their honours about to become the prey 
 of an adventuress?" — A thunderbolt falling 
 on the roof-tree of Eden Castle could not 
 have produced greater consternation ! 
 
 This was the first remarkable event in the 
 parental life of the Askhams, and they could 
 not make enough of it ! So bitter, indeed, was 
 their indignation, that their officious informant, 
 terrified like the boy in the story book, by the 
 sight of the devil she had raised, entreated 
 them to make further inquiries, and exercise
 
 36 SELF. 
 
 their personal judgment, before they proceeded to 
 
 open their vials of wrath on the head of their son. 
 
 But alas ! further inquiries served only to 
 certify their injuries ! It was easy to ascertain 
 that Philip's leisure hours were spent at East- 
 field ;— that the owner of that rustic retreat 
 was young and lovely ; — ^and, having at length 
 deputed their trusty Simprems to cross-question 
 the Edenbourne attorney by whom her lease 
 had been drawn up, it came to light that she 
 was the widow of an officer in the Guards ; 
 whose family, . disapproving his marriage, had 
 turned their backs on her and her children. 
 
 Philip, it appeared, had accidentally shared 
 the mail with them, one dreary night, the pre- 
 ceding winter ; when Mrs, Saville was on her 
 road to Edenbourne, to take possession of the 
 new home she had been tempted by an adver- 
 tisement to hire in a county as remote as pos- 
 sible from the scene of her early afflictions ; and 
 having kindly lent his furred cloak to the be- 
 numbed children on their journey, had called 
 for it at Eastfield the following day, of course
 
 SELF. 37 
 
 only to spare the bewildered stranger the incon- 
 venience of despatching it to Eden Castle. 
 
 " And why did you never mention the cir- 
 cumstance to your mother or myself?" sternly 
 demanded Lord Askham, after extorting this 
 latter piece of information from the blanched 
 lips of his son. 
 
 " Because you express a dislike to hearing 
 any gossip about the people at Edenbourne," 
 — stammered Philip ; " nor did I think it likely 
 that your lordship or my mother could feel 
 much interest in — in — a person so humbly 
 situated as Mrs. Saville." 
 
 " Not when she interests j/o^< so deeply, that you 
 spend half your life in her company!" — cried the 
 angry father. " Philip, Philip ! — you are either 
 an egregious dupe, or an abominable hypocrite ! 
 You are making a fool of this woman, or are 
 made a fool of ! — But let it go no further ! So 
 long as you abide under my roof, sir, I am an- 
 swerable to the county for your moral conduct, 
 — and will take care that it shall not disgrace 
 us. — I desire that this dangerous intimacy may 
 be broken off!"
 
 38 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit, 
 A Diis plura feret. 
 
 HOR. 
 
 €el. For his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a 
 covered goblet ov a worm-eaten nut. 
 Ros% Not true in love ? 
 Cel, Yes, when he h in ; but I think he is not in ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Till the moment of this paternal explosion, 
 Philip Askham had never looked steadily in the 
 face the nature of his intimacy with Mrs. Sa- 
 ville ; — perhaps because the subjection in which 
 he was held, prevented his considering his soul 
 (and its affections) his own ; — perhaps because 
 the multifarious avocations forced upon him left 
 him httle leisure for self-examination ; — perhaps 
 because the course of true friendship, which, 
 
 8
 
 SELF. 39 
 
 Mwlike the course of a true love, does sometimes 
 run smooth, had proved so soothhig in its pro- 
 gress, as to lull him into temporary oblivion. 
 
 But, once roused by the thundering broad- 
 side of Lord Askham, no hope of further 
 repose ! He knew that the woman reviled by 
 his father as seeking to entrap him, was as 
 proud as she was poor, — and as poor as an 
 income produced by the interest of five thou- 
 sand pounds could make her; — and that, so far 
 from having formed designs upon his heart, her 
 own was buried in the grave of her hus- 
 band. — Impossible to be more fondly devoted to 
 the memory of the dead, than she to that of the 
 young and gallant Edward Saville ! 
 
 By a timely act of kindness to her children, 
 Philip had recommended himself to her ac- 
 quaintance ; but so sincere was the young 
 mother in her desire of seclusion, and so well 
 aware that a life of retirement could alone 
 secure a subsistence for her children out of her 
 scanty fortune, that when her courteous fellow- 
 traveller persisted in calling again and again at
 
 40- SELF. 
 
 Eastfield, — on pretence of the loan of a book 
 or newspaper, — or plants for her garden, or 
 counsel for her furnishing, — his visits were felt to 
 be an intrusion. 
 
 Neither by word nor look, had she ever en- 
 couraged his assiduities. It was only because 
 he devoted himself so affectionately to the chil- 
 dren and lightened the dreariness of their little 
 lives, that his company was tolerated by the 
 mother. 
 
 Then what, — since such the footing of their 
 friendship, — what went he to seek at Eastfield ? 
 Simply a happier home than he left behind ! 
 The deportment of Mrs. Saville was so concili- 
 ating, and the welcome of the loving children so 
 kind, that it seemed as if, in winter, all the sun- 
 shine of the earth were concentrated by her 
 warm fireside, — as in summer, upon her flowery 
 lawn. At Eden Castle, not the vestige of a 
 flower within half a mile of the house ! At 
 Eden Castle, not one cordial hand extended 
 towards him ! With the servants, he was " only 
 Mr. Philip;" with his parents, only one of their
 
 SELF. 
 
 41 
 
 younger sons. Even his pretty cousin, Helen 
 Middleraore, when on a visit at the house, was 
 kept by her prudent mother out of the way of 
 a cousin so unavailable. How cheering there- 
 fore, after all his humiliations, to be smiled 
 upon by so sweet a face as that of the gentle 
 Evelyn Saville ! 
 
 For she did smile upon him. She even made 
 an effort to smile when her spirits were at the 
 lowest, in compassion to the depressed air of 
 a visitor who came to her harassed by his go- 
 cart routine of domestic toil ; and, after helping 
 to place the children in the swing, — assisting 
 the young widow in her flower garden, — or 
 witnessing the progress of a Skye terrier, 
 whose education constituted the chief diversion 
 of little Edward, — so refreshed were the feel- 
 ings of the Paria by an atmosphere of kindli- 
 ness and love, that if he did not return to the 
 castle a wiser and a better man, he returned 
 there twice as patient ! 
 
 And now, after nearly a year"'s enjoyment of 
 these alleviations, he was suddenly ordered to
 
 42 SELF. 
 
 renounce the society of one whose toleration 
 had been an act of mercy ! — But how was it to 
 be done ? — Though originally discouraged, he 
 flattered himself his visits had now become 
 habitual to Aer— indispensable to the children. 
 If absent a day from Eastfield, he had to ex- 
 plain the reason. And how was he to make it 
 apparent that, henceforward, he should return 
 no more ? 
 
 Never had the sunshiny pleasantness of the 
 place assumed so powerful a charm, as in his 
 solitary reveries during those first few tedious 
 days he strove to stay away. — On attempt- 
 ing to turn his horse's head in the oppo- 
 site direction on entering Eden Chase, even the 
 horse seemed of opinion that the great business 
 of its life was to call upon Mrs. Saville ; and in 
 spite of bit and bridle, contended the matter, not 
 manfully, but horsefully, with its master. 
 
 Nor did Lord and Lady Askham diminish 
 his predilection for his Paradise Lost, by the 
 suUenness through which they endeavoured to
 
 SELF. 43 
 
 mark their deep sense of his misconduct. Never 
 had the castle been more insupportable ! — 
 Even the neighbours, the Gwatkins and Sir 
 Erasmus, Dr. Hackit and Simprems (a sort of 
 Greek chorus to the family catastrophes, which 
 supplied ohs ! ahs ! and alases ! when any 
 thing was amiss with the Askhams,) thought to 
 recommend themselves to the great people, by 
 coldness towards a son who was understood to 
 be in diso-race. 
 
 By the end of a month, in short, Philip had 
 pined and grumbled himself into a discovery 
 that Eastfield was essential to his happiness. — 
 But for the exile imposed upon him, he might 
 never have ascertained it; but having boldly 
 made the avowal to himself, one day, while 
 vainly trying to induce his horse to saunter 
 along a dusty lane leading to Hexham, instead 
 of cantering over the smooth green turf towards 
 Edenbourne, off they started together, as by a 
 common impulse ; and, reckless of father and 
 mother, threats of future disinheritance or pre-
 
 44 SELF. 
 
 sent persecution, — Philip Askham abruptly made 
 his re-appearance in the little drawing-room 
 at Eastfield. 
 
 Perhaps, while ringing at the gate, he may have 
 pictured to himself that his return was as import- 
 ant to the feelings of its mistress, as to his own ; 
 for he was grievously disappointed in the result. 
 Though the children, climbing his knees, up- 
 braided him with his long absence, not a tinge 
 of emotion coloured the soft cheeks of their 
 mother. 
 
 While with gentle courtesy she inquired what 
 had kept him away, he watched her narrowly; 
 his father's accusations half tempting him to fear 
 — to hope — at all events to believe — that she 
 might regard him with deeper interest than as 
 a morning visitor. 
 
 But no ! her mild grey eyes dwelt quietly 
 on his own, her sweet voice remained undis- 
 turbed, — and the seam she was sewing exhibited 
 the most pattern-like evenness of sempstress- 
 ship. It was clear that his comings and goings 
 possessed no stronger hold upon tlie heart of
 
 SELF. 45 
 
 that unimpressionable being than those of Sim- 
 prems the apothecary ! 
 
 Phihp Askham scarcely knew whether to be 
 glad or sorry ! — Within the last few days, while 
 reflecting in his desultory rambles on the influ- 
 ence exercised over his mind by his intimacy at 
 Eastfield, and his mechanical identification with 
 the family, it had certainly glanced into his 
 mind that to be an object of attachment to one 
 so fair and gentle as that girlish widow, might 
 be a more enchanting thing than was yet 
 dreamed of in his philosophy; nay, he had 
 detected himself in the weakness of exercisinor 
 his arithmetic on the amount of their united 
 incomes, as well as of the manifold virtues which 
 enhanced her personal attractions. 
 
 But as, even therii he had admitted the folly 
 of dwelling on the matter, — since, where she fifty 
 times more graceful and amiable, she would re- 
 main an object of abhorrence at Eden Castle, 
 — Philip had no excuse for the feehng of 
 pique which mingled with his perception of her 
 indifference.
 
 46 SELF. 
 
 So pre-occupied was his mind by his vexa- 
 tion at her sangfroid^ that, for some minutes, he 
 held Sehna on his knee in silence, and allowed 
 the playful endearments of her little brother to 
 pass unnoticed. 
 
 "Are you ill, dear Mr. Askham, or angry 
 with us ?" inquired the children, surprised by 
 his unusual absence of mind; on which hint, 
 their mother raised her eyes from her work 
 towards the handsome face of her visitor ; and 
 finding it exhibit its usual hue of health, dropped 
 them again in silence, and quietly resumed her 
 occupation. 
 
 As she sat there, like a statue of snow, the 
 pang of discovering that his father was mistaken, 
 and that he was still alone in the world, was 
 almost too much for Philip ! — 
 
 Instead of replying to the interrogations of 
 Selina, or attempting to account for his previous 
 absence, he suddenly, almost ferociously, an- 
 nounced to Mrs. Saville, that he should not see 
 her again for some time to come ; having a 
 round of county engagements to fulfil with Lord
 
 SELF. 47 
 
 and Lady Askham, which would keep them 
 away from Eden Castle till the commencement 
 of the London season. 
 
 " Go away, and not come back again till next 
 summer?" — cried Selina, while tears began to 
 moisten her long eyelashes. " No, no ! you must 
 not go away. We shall be so unhappy with- 
 out you ! Who will come and see us when you 
 are gone, and who will put us in the swing ?" 
 
 " It seems a long time to look forward to 
 next summer," interposed her mother, as if to 
 put an end to her prattle. "But look back to 
 last spring, Selina, and see how quickly the time 
 has passed !" 
 
 "Yes, because dear Mr. Askham came to 
 see us every day, and paid us such long visits !" 
 " The best thing you can do, then," said her 
 mother, slightly colouring, " is to make the time 
 seem short by being very good and very atten- 
 tive to your lessons, and on his return, surprise 
 him by your improvement." 
 
 Philip's impatience was brought to a climax 
 by the composure of these maternal admoni-
 
 48 SELF. 
 
 tions. Scarcely more than a child herself, it 
 was absurd to hear her thus sermonizing the 
 children ! — 
 
 " You are most kind," said he, with sarcastic 
 bitterness, to " limit my absence to six months ; 
 I am afraid I shall afford a somewhat longer 
 trial of Selina's application. My brother Percy 
 is on his return home (recalled by my father), 
 and his instalment at Eden Castle will give the 
 signal for my release. I shall immediately 
 enter upon my diplomatic career." 
 
 " But even then, the castle must always be 
 your home ? You will, at some future time, re- 
 turn to Edenbourne ?" — pleaded the imperturba- 
 ble Mrs. Saville. 
 
 " There is little in this neighbourhood 
 to attract those who have freedom of choice !" 
 — was the savage reply of Philip, who 
 seemed to have visited Eastfield only to be un- 
 gracious. Nay, so obstinate was his morose- 
 ness, that, on finding the grief of poor Selina at 
 the prospect of losing him increase to a degree 
 that threatened to disarm his anger, he heart-
 
 SELF. 49 
 
 lessly disentwined her little fingers from his 
 hand; and, pleading a commission to execute 
 for Lady Askham, took a hasty leave, and was 
 out of sight in a moment. 
 
 " My father was right !" — muttered Philip, in 
 a choking voice, as he reached the green con- 
 fines of the Chase. — " It was time there 
 should be an end of this !" — 
 
 Some days after this catastrophe in the family 
 at Eden Castle, one of very different moment 
 occurred in the history of the world. 
 
 England and France, — those two great coun- 
 tries predestined never to be one, since their 
 union, like that of many other couples, is pro- 
 ductive of fighting and scratching, kissing and 
 making it up again, only to recommence their 
 squabbles, — had hit upon fresh grounds of na 
 tional dissension. On the present occasion, 
 indeed, the new government, which asserted new 
 claims and pretensions in behalf of la grande 
 nation, adopted also modes of hostility new in 
 the history of nations. 
 
 On the sudden proclamation of war, the En- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 SELF. 
 
 glish travellers in France were detained as pri- 
 soners ! — 
 
 As it was then the fashion to describe the 
 soldier of fortune who controlled its destinies, 
 (for the premier cmisul like 
 
 Le premier roi, fut un soldat heureux,) 
 
 as a species of archfiend engendered by the fiery 
 foam of Phlegethon, the country-gentlemen in- 
 stantly decided that the unfortunate detenus 
 would be poisoned in cold blood, like the sick at 
 Jaffa, or murdered in the Temple, like Captain 
 Wright ; unless reserved for a more terrible fate 
 by some new process of scientific torture. The 
 Institut might possibly offer a premium for the 
 invention of instruments for the better excru- 
 ciation of English prisoners ; or Berthollet de- 
 dicate his crucibles and retorts to their readier 
 extermination. 
 
 Now Lord Askham was a country gentleman ! 
 And who could blame him, on the present oc- 
 casion, for using to the utmost his privilege of 
 prejudice and credulity ; — since his eldest son —
 
 SELF. 51 
 
 his heir apparent — his pride — his Percy — was 
 included among the ill-fortuned detenus ! 
 
 On receiving the mandate of recall to Eng- 
 land issued by his father in consequence of 
 certain revelations made by the travelling tutor, 
 Percy had thought proper to extend his home- 
 ward journey by a tour in the Pyrenees. 
 Though the season of the year was unpropitious 
 alike to the picturesque and the pastimes of 
 Bareges, he chose to make them a pretext for 
 prolonging his release from Eden Castle ; and lo ! 
 just as he reached the city of Troubadours, the 
 mandate of arrest went forth ! — 
 
 " Wh}', in the name of Heaven, could he not 
 return to England with Middlemore and Dr. 
 Dactyl?" exclaimed this distracted father, on 
 learning the grievous intelligence ; — adding 
 (much in the tone of the " que (liable allait il 
 faire dans cette galcre F" of Geroute,) " and 
 what on earth took him round by Toulouse !" — 
 
 " My brother was on his way home," pleaded 
 Philip. "It was his nearest way to England." 
 
 " He had much better have coa.e with Mid- 
 
 D 2
 
 52 SELF. 
 
 dlemore. He ought to have been here six weeks 
 ago — What could possibly take him round by 
 Toulouse !" reiterated Lord Askham, in despair. 
 
 *' When Percy wrote to you, my lord, from 
 Bareges, he mentioned that he was to visit 
 St. Sauveur, and said " 
 
 " I remember, I remember! — But I desired 
 him in my answer to lose no time on the road. 
 I told him he was wanted at home ! — What, 
 what on earth took him round by Toulousa?" 
 
 « Would it not be better," argued Philip, " if 
 you ascertained immediately at Coutts's, the 
 safest mode of making remittances to my bro- 
 ther? — In his present painful situation, his re- 
 sources must not be allowed to fail." 
 
 " Certainly, — of course ! — I- will write di- 
 rectly, — or better still, will speak to Coutts 
 himself. — Old Coutts knows more of what 
 is going on in Europe, than they know in Down- 
 ing Street or the Horse Guards ; and your bro- 
 ther's name can scarcely fail to be mentioned in 
 any dispatches that arrive from France. The 
 eldest son of Lord Askham of Eden Castle, must
 
 SELF. 53 
 
 be an object of some consequence in the eyes of 
 this Corsican blackguard ; and poor Percy would 
 doubtless be among the first selected for perse- 
 cution. PhiUp ! my blood runs cold when I 
 think of it ! — What on earth took him round by 
 Toulouse !" 
 
 As time passed on, and the mind of England 
 worked itself clear upon this painful subject, not 
 even the tenderest of parents, — not even the 
 most hysterical of hypochondriacs, — saw cause to 
 apprehend that one of the greatest statesmen of 
 modern times would commit so great a blunder, 
 or one of the greatest warriors so cowardly an 
 act, as injure a hair of the heads of those 
 guiltless prisoners: — and Lord Askham alone 
 chose to persevere in painting the First Consul 
 in the attitude of the ogre preparing his cap- 
 tives for table, and " smelling the blood of an 
 Englishman." His lordship seemed to think 
 that the punctuality of his tax-paying, and no- 
 toriety of his antigallicism, would bring down a 
 double measure of vengeance on his son ! 
 
 Already, he lamented over him like the Duke
 
 54 SELF. , 
 
 of Ormond over his dead Ossory. Hushed were 
 those bitter revilings which, only a few weeks 
 before, had upbraided Percy as a prodigal— a 
 profligate — a parricide, — bent on effecting the 
 ruin of the house of Askham, by converting the 
 hundreds allowed him into thousands ; and, in- 
 stead of fortifying his feeble lungs by a milk 
 diet and Iceland moss, astounding Rome with 
 his carnival antics, or, in his box at the Scala, 
 talking down the united chorus of contrabassi 
 and big drums ! 
 
 All that Lord Middlemore had boasted of the 
 feats of his cousin, — all that the Rev. Dr. Dactyl 
 had entrusted to the aggrieved ear of his pa- 
 rents, — was now buried in oblivion. Lord Ask- 
 ham persisted in describing him as the comfort 
 of his gray hairs — the hope of an honourable 
 house — the most attached of sons — the most pa- 
 triotic of John Bulls, — till he almost believed 
 what he advanced ! 
 
 " To be compelled to reside in a foreign coun- 
 try," said his lordship, with a degree of mournful 
 gravity worthy the countenance of a mute, "to
 
 SELF. 55 
 
 eat the bitter bread of banishment from Eden 
 Castle, — from his beloved home, — will be death 
 to this high-spirited young man !" 
 
 By his family misfortune, the usually taciturn 
 lord felt that he had acquired claims to universal 
 commiseration — a right to be listened to a 
 right to be read ; and memorably did he abuse 
 the privilege ! As if to repay himself for half a 
 century of insignificance, the memorials with 
 which he beset King, Lords, Commons, — the 
 Treasury Bench and Privy Council, — were 
 such, both in length, breadth, and thickness^ as 
 must have expended in transcription the patience 
 of any private secretary less abjectly submitted 
 to his will, than his unfortunate son. 
 
 Though sincerely touched by an event so vi- 
 tal to the future interests of the captive, Philip, 
 indeed, interpreted somewhat nearer the truth 
 the state of Percy's feelings, and the nature of 
 his situation. But while admitting to himself^ 
 in secret, that certain family fetters might be 
 almost as heavy to bear as the jjarole exacted 
 by Napoleon, and that in Percy's place he too
 
 56 SELF. 
 
 should have gone round by Toulouse, he devoted 
 himself to watch with redoubled interest the 
 signs of the times, as indications of his brother's 
 chances of liberation. 
 
 He now took interest in those leading articles, 
 heretofore so loathingly rehearsed ; and became 
 a nightly attendant in the gallery of the House 
 of Commons, to examine the portents of debate. 
 No great sacrifice ! — There were giants on the 
 earth in those nights, and gigantic cause of 
 strife to animate their mighty energies. — Old 
 England in its buff waistcoat, legislating for the 
 rights of nations, had a somewhat better claim to 
 be listened to, than Young England in its white, 
 drivelling with boarding-school elocution over 
 the Pharisaical dissidence of the Puseyites, or 
 the perplexities of the Spanish succession! — 
 
 The re-rivetting of his own chains by the cap- 
 tivity of his brother, had perhaps some share in 
 creating this profound sympathy. Still, Philip 
 had discernment enough to fear that a nature 
 like that of Percy, might degenerate during a 
 long sojourn in France, where all his faults would
 
 SELF. 57 
 
 pass for virtues ; and that Verdun must prove a 
 fatal school to the future lord of Eden Castle. 
 
 Trusting, however, with the many, that the en- 
 largement of the detenus would be negociated 
 between the two governments; or rather, trusting 
 to the eloquence of those sonorous implements 
 of destruction (whereon Louis XIV. wisely 
 caused to be inscribed " Ratio ultima regum" 
 — the logic of Kings,) he devoted himself anew, 
 as in filial duty bound, to the toil and trouble of 
 his home department. It was his business to 
 submit without a murmur. No Canon short 
 of the fifth commandment could inspire patience 
 to listen to the question, a million times a day 
 repeated, of — " But what took him round by 
 Toulouse ?" — 
 
 If the whole truth must be told, he was be- 
 ginning to contemplate without much disgust, 
 the prospect of a return to Eden Castle, whence 
 he had departed in such dudgeon. The sum- 
 mer was come again. June had reappeared in 
 the fields, with her brocaded robe of blossoms ; 
 and amid the suffocation of fashionable assem- 
 
 D 5
 
 58 SELF. 
 
 blies, and dusty monotony of Rotton Row, ivho 
 could forbear to sigh after the cool greenery of 
 Eden Chase, with its dotted thorns, doing pe- 
 nance in their white sheets, and its silvery 
 birches bathing their drooping branch-tips in 
 the brook ? 
 
 While passing in review, as he pursued his 
 meditative way along Pall Mall, those group- 
 ings of sylvan landscape, some trace perhaps of 
 a certain cottage in Edenbourne might be re- 
 motely discernible in the distance ; for though 
 never weary of congratulating himself on hav- 
 ing escaped the danger of falling in love with 
 Mrs. Saville, he recurred far oftener to East- 
 field and the Eastfieldians than was consonant 
 with his professions of indifference. 
 
 Comparison with the restless, world-worn 
 belles of a London season, had been decidedly 
 favourable to the young widow. Her purity of 
 complexion, her purity of nature, her softness 
 of eye, her gentleness of speech, could not but 
 gain by the contrast ; and since her manifest 
 indifference towards himself entitled him to cul-
 
 SELF. 59 
 
 tivate her acquaintance quoad acquaintance, so 
 long as it could be done without oifence to his 
 family, he was perhaps excusable in anticipating 
 with rapture the welcome of the children and 
 the domestic peace of her house, as the best 
 consolations awaiting him on his return to the 
 country. Lord and Lady Askhara being just 
 then too full of Percy and Toulouse to keep a 
 vigilant watch on his movements, he flattered 
 himself his way was clear. 
 
 But as the birthday drew nigh, (the glorious 
 4th of June, at that time as propitious to those 
 " licensed to let posthorses," as now the Derby 
 or the Oaks,) it appeared that he had reckoned 
 without his host, i, e. his host of Eden Castle ! 
 
 Lord Askham was not only too full of his 
 son Percy to play the spy on his son Philip, 
 but too full of him to return at present to that 
 ancestral hall, where oxen had been roasted 
 whole, for his birth as an heir-apparent, 
 and his attainment of years of discretion. The 
 tender father felt that the sight- of a borough 
 there was no Percy to represent, would be
 
 60 SELF. 
 
 wormwood to his soul ; nor could the petty 
 sympathy of the rector and apothecary, the old 
 tourist and his dowdy sister, content a man 
 who had laid his sorrows at the foot of the 
 throne, and elegiacised the ear of the adminis- 
 tration. — 
 
 On the eve of their annual migration, there- 
 fore, when the family wagon rumbled its way 
 to town to fetch home the properties of the 
 house of Askham, the household was suddenly 
 apprized that the living moveables were booked 
 for another destination. 
 
 " Margaret was looking delicate ; the chil- 
 dren," Lady Askham thought, " would be the 
 better for the sea." 
 
 For reasons best known to the heads of the 
 well-disciplined family, they were to spend the 
 autumn at Weymouth.
 
 SELF. 6 1 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Let still the woman take 
 An elder than herself. So wears she to him ; 
 So sways the level in her husband's heart. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Omnes ut tecum meritis pro talibus annos 
 Exigat, et pulchra faciat te prole parentem. 
 
 Virgil, 
 
 Quand la raison a raison, c'est que le hasard y met de la 
 mechancete. 
 
 Balzac. 
 
 Nothing wonderful in such a movement on 
 the part of any family less methodical and stay- 
 at-home than the Askhams. For English 
 people when bored, as for dogs when rabid, a 
 dip in the sea passes as an infallible specific; 
 and as the popularity of the Prince of Wales 
 was already extending itself to that frightful
 
 62 
 
 SELF. 
 
 little fishing village on the coast of Sussex, now 
 converted by the decree of royal caprice into a 
 flourishing town such as in America would call 
 itself a city, — no wonder that the loyal devotion 
 of Lord and Lady Askham 
 
 (Heu pietas ! — heu prisca fides !) 
 
 should direct their marine propensities towards 
 the coast of Dorset. 
 
 His lordship might perhaps have discovered 
 in the sequel, that a bathing-place enlivened 
 by the presence of royalty, the galloping of 
 dragoons, the glittering of aide-de-camps, the 
 braying of trumpets and braying of courtiers, 
 is a somewhat different thing from a bathing- 
 place mourning in sackcloth and ashes, over 
 the absence of the same ; but that a second family- 
 event was impending, calculated to reconcile 
 him to all sublunary evils, — even to the name 
 of Toulouse ! — 
 
 Providence, which had visited him severely 
 in his sons, was rewarding him in his daughters. 
 Margaret Askham, the meek fellow-sufferer of
 
 SELF. 63 
 
 the honorary secretary, was about to receive her 
 crown of martyrdom, in the shape of a coronet: 
 the agitation consequent on the dehcate di- 
 lemmas of courtship, being in fact the origin 
 of that paleness which had excited the uneasi- 
 ness of her parents, and transported the family 
 to the coast. 
 
 All, however, was now adjusted. Miss Ask- 
 ham's complexion was restored to its pristine 
 bloom ; and her alliance with the most noble 
 the Marquis of Uppingham, had not only been 
 announced in the papers, but elicited the con- 
 gratulations of royalty. 
 
 The world, with its usual envious spirit on 
 such occasions, wondered mightily at the 
 match ; — some people unable to conjecture how 
 the Askhams could allow a lovely girl of nine- 
 teen to throw herself away on a man three times 
 her age, — some, to imagine how so superior a 
 man as Lord Uppingham could condemn himself 
 to the society of an unformed, unmeaning miss. 
 — For it was the great match of the season ; — 
 unique in point of settlements, diamonds, equi-
 
 64 SELF. 
 
 page, all that imparts lustre to the fleckering 
 coruscations of Hymen's torch ; — and the mal- 
 contents had an immense majority. 
 
 The truth was that, though Miss Askham, a 
 sensible but submissive girl, had accepted the 
 Marquis's proposals as in obedience to the 
 commands of her parents, persons as well ac- 
 quainted as her brother Philip with the dreari- 
 ness of her loveless home, were tempted to 
 surmise that reminiscences of Eden Castle im- 
 parted considerable charm to her anticipations 
 of Uppingham Manor; while the Marquis, a 
 man of great merit but arbitrary temper, was 
 solely induced to offer his hand to the daughter 
 of Lord and Lady Askham, because he wanted 
 the best wife that could be had-^for money ! 
 
 Arrived at a time of life, when the gout and 
 a winter-fireside in perspective, render domestic 
 companionship indispensable, even to the most 
 popular of men and ablest of ministers, he had 
 looked about him for a patient helpmate, of 
 his own condition in life ; and if the spirit- 
 breaking roof of Eden Castle did not produce
 
 SELF. 65 
 
 Griseldas, what virtue in boiled mutton and 
 backboards ? 
 
 As Marino Faliero would have said in his 
 place, — 
 
 He trusted to the blood of Lady Askham, 
 
 Pure in her veins ; — he trusted to the soul 
 
 God gave her, — to the truths her Bible taught her, — 
 
 To her belief in heaven, — to her mild nature, — 
 
 To her bright faith and honour for his own ! — 
 
 Attraction in a ball-room, or skill in a 
 concert, were nothing to the purpose. For to a 
 man of his lordship's age and predominance, 
 such accomplishments as entrechats and bra- 
 vuras appear an impertinence ; and he had 
 literally fallen in love with Margaret Askham, 
 from the smiling serenity with which he 
 saw her devote a whole summer's afternoon 
 to sorting a box of entangled silks for her 
 mother ! — 
 
 On the first announcement of the engage- 
 ment, her brother Philip was among those 
 who saw in it only the disproportion of years. 
 He could not bear that the bright youth of a girl
 
 66 SELF. 
 
 like Margaret should pass at once into the 
 shade ; and, attributing the match to worldliness 
 and ambition, accused the pernicious system of 
 his parents of having dried up all natural im- 
 pulses in her soul. 
 
 He even remonstrated in plain English with 
 his sister ; and, braving the indignation of Lord 
 and Lady Askham, in case Margaret should 
 turn traitress and reveal his interference, ad- 
 jured her to deliberate on the solemn nature of 
 matrimonial obligations, — to forget that her 
 trousseau was in the hands of Macfarlane, and 
 the Uppingham diamonds in those of Rundell 
 and Bridge, — and interrogate her conscience con- 
 cerning her motives for swearing to love, as well 
 as honour and obey, a man some years older 
 than her father. 
 
 The prophet Balaam could scarcely have lis- 
 tened in greater wonderment to the reproof of 
 the inspired quadruped, than Margaret to the 
 rebuke of her usually uncommunicative bro- 
 ther. But her answerwas as prompt as consoling. 
 
 « Make yonrself, easy, dear Philip," said she,
 
 SELF. 
 
 67 
 
 —after thankiug him for this unexpected evidence 
 of affection. " My choice is free, — my pur- 
 poses are far other than you suppose. The 
 kindness with which I was distinguished by 
 Lord Uppingham from the moment of my ap- 
 pearance in society, (I, whom so few distin- 
 guish!) may have had some share in opening 
 my eyes to his merits. But to me, there is 
 more charm in the high breeding of such a 
 man, — in his influence over the minds of others 
 — in his command over his own, — than in 
 the showy attractions of the ball-room partners 
 you seem to consider more suitable as partners 
 for life." 
 
 Philip Askham listened in silence. " Can 
 this be a girl of nineteen ?" thought he ; " no, 
 five-and-thirty, if she be a day !— Reason herself 
 could not argue more frigidly. The Marquis is 
 right ; — their ages are perfectly assorted." 
 
 " Lord Uppingham never utters a word but 
 brings conviction to my mind," pursued Miss 
 Askham, as if interpreting her brother's 
 thoughts ; " I never saw him out of temper, 1
 
 6d SELF. 
 
 neverknew him unjust. — Are^Aesenomeritsinthe 
 man with whom one is to pass the remainder of 
 one's days ?" — 
 
 " The greatest T replied Phihp. « Still, 
 there requires sympathy of tastes and habits, to 
 complete the happiness of married life." 
 
 " Between us there will be similarity of 
 tastes and habits," argued Miss Askham, more 
 earnestly, " for I shall instinctively adopt his 
 own." 
 
 " You have at present seen so little of the 
 world !" pleaded her brother. " Recollect, I 
 entreat you, that should you meet hereafter 
 some companion better suited to your years and 
 feelings " 
 
 " I have never yet seen the person I prefer 
 to him," interrupted his sister, with warmth. 
 Henceforward, " there is no danger. I shall re- 
 enter society with the eyes and heart of a 
 wife." 
 
 The axiom of a popular French moralist oc- 
 curred at that moment to Phihp, that "many 
 would pass through life ignorant of the ^pas-
 
 SELF. 69 
 
 sion of love, if they had never happened to 
 hear the name," as fully confirmed. — Here 
 was a girl who had never read a novel, — 
 never perused a line of poetry save the chaste 
 didactics of Thomson and Cowper, — never 
 trilled or cadenced on the fatal words " mio bene" 
 — never traced with pen or pencil the too instruc- 
 tive allegories of mythological lore ; and, who, 
 pure as Eve at the fountain, surmised no charm 
 in married life beyond the companionship of a 
 man frosted with the snows of nearly sixty 
 winters, and, instead of the wings of Cupid, 
 adorned with the paraphernalia of a K. G. ! 
 
 " I see you regard me with pity !" said she, 
 addressing her brother with a smile. "You 
 are wondering at my stupidity, in not preferring 
 to a man older than my father, some gay cap- 
 tain in the Guards !— Thank yourself, dear 
 Philip, for my enlightenment ! — It was your 
 example that taught me the value of a young 
 man's love !" 
 
 " What can you possibly mean ?"' cried Philip,
 
 70 SELF. 
 
 apparently less skilled in the interpretation of 
 physiognomy than his sister. — 
 
 " For two whole months, last year," returned 
 Miss Askham, " I heard nothing day after day, 
 at Eden Castle, but complaints of your mad 
 passion for the lady at Eastfield, — that beautiful 
 Mrs. Saville." 
 
 " You have seen her, then ?" — interrupted 
 Philip, in an altered voice. 
 
 " Often, when driving through Edenbourne ; 
 and constantly, at church. I never beheld a 
 sweeter countenance, I never saw a more grace- 
 ful figure : and, like the rest of the family, 
 when I heard of your spending week after 
 week in her company, I concluded it must end 
 in her becoming your wife. Admit that you 
 were desperately in love with her? — Your absent 
 manners, — your peevishness with we, — your 
 impatience of all and everything at home, — 
 satisfy me that, for a time, your whole heart 
 was at Eastfield !" 
 
 " And what then ?" — faltered Philip, equally
 
 SELF. 71 
 
 surprised and embarrassed by the frankness of 
 her accusations. 
 
 " Simply that, when required by my father 
 to renounce the object of your attachment, you 
 became suddenly enlightened to the folly of 
 a love match; — and farewell, poor Mrs. Sa- 
 ville !"— 
 
 For an instant, Philip was half tempted to 
 avow the real cause of his estrangement. But 
 self-love prevailed. Even to his sister, a man 
 has not courage to admit that his affection is 
 unreturned. 
 
 « So m.uch," resumed Miss Askham, in a 
 more cheerful voice, " so much for the stability 
 of Love ! — And when I reflect on your unstea- 
 diness of purpose, — on Percy's flightiness, — or 
 the coarseness of our cousin Middlemore, (with- 
 out an idea beyond the stable and barouche- 
 box,) I own I congratulate myself on the pros- 
 pect of passing my life with one whose affection 
 is likel}- to be permanent ; and for whom my 
 own is founded on unbounded confidence and 
 respect."
 
 72 SELF. 
 
 " After all," mused Philip, on parting from 
 his sister, " the severities of Eden Castle may 
 have overshot the mark with Percy and myself; 
 but it is a capital school for wives ! — I have 
 always heard Lord Uppingham cited as one of 
 the ablest men in the kino-dom. He has 
 made proof of his sagacity (where the cle- 
 verest men usually shew it least) in his 
 choice of a wife !" 
 
 And thus agreeably relieved from his scru- 
 ples concerning the motives and future pro- 
 spects of his sister, Philip allowed himself to 
 fraternize a little more cordially with his future 
 brother-in-law; against whom, as the most 
 stiff-necked of Tories and StrafFord-like of 
 ministers, he entertained a certain mistrust. 
 The wedding was to be solemnized in London. 
 Nothing short of the metropolis would content 
 the vast ambitions of Lord and Lady Askham, 
 on an occasion so honourable to their family 
 annals ; and though the mature bridegroom and 
 sensible bride pleaded for the tranquillity of 
 Edenbourne, and the modest surplice of DoctOj.
 
 SELF, 
 
 73 
 
 Racket, — a special license, an archbishop, and 
 the attendance of all the " thrones, majesties, 
 dominions, princedoms, powers," of both their 
 houses, were indispensable to the vain-glorious 
 cravings of parents, who evidently accepted the 
 marriage of their daughter as a tribute to their 
 personal merit. 
 
 In all this, Philip could not sufficiently admire 
 the deference testified by the Marquis towards 
 a father-in-law, several years his inferior in age, 
 and a thousand degrees in understanding. The 
 urbanity with which he supported the tedious- 
 ness of a family circle, dull and hollow as the 
 lugubrious music of a muflfled drum, — the 
 patience with which he listened to Lord Ask- 
 ham's chapter of Lamentations over his son 
 Percy's refusal to spend the winter at Torquay, 
 and rebellion in going round by Toulouse, — were 
 proofs of self-command and good-breeding 
 which Philip admitted to be of better augury 
 for the happiness of his wife, than the pomps 
 of Uppingham Manor, or the promised dignities 
 of a Lady of the Bedchamber. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 
 
 SELF, 
 
 Meanwhile, the wedding, stately as it was, 
 was still a wedding ; and exercised the charm 
 inseparable from such inspiriting events, even 
 in the best-reg'ulated families. The tutor and 
 governess lapsed into secondary authorities ; 
 and Emma and Susan Askham, who were to 
 officiate as bridesmaids, ventured to surmise, under 
 the excitement of white satin and swans-down, 
 wedding-cake and wedding favours, that gram- 
 mars and dictionaries, solfeggi and sonatas, 
 might not alway prevail. The grave old ser- 
 vants relaxed into smiles, like gnarled and rusty 
 fruit trees putting forth their white blossoms in 
 the spring time ; and even Philip felt cheered 
 by the momentary hilarity of the house. 
 
 It was not till the Marquis and Marchioness 
 departed after the ceremony for Uppingham 
 Manor, amid the cheers of the populace and 
 smiles of the most triumphant of parents, 
 that the memory of his old grievances re-enve- 
 loped him as in a leaden winding sheet! — Alas ! 
 and woe was him ! — He was about to become 
 once more sole auditor of his father's Jere-
 
 SELF, 75 
 
 miads ! — In Margaret, he had lost a pitying 
 companion ; and there would be no one now to 
 share with him the burthen of the grand family 
 dinners, — the stuffy dowager assemblies, and 
 solemn oratorios, which constituted the Mans- 
 field Street heau ideal of the pleasures of the 
 season ! 
 
 To his great surprise, however, Philip disco- 
 vered that the entrance of a man of the world 
 into his humdrum circle, had already enlarged 
 its perceptions. The experience of Lord Up- 
 pingham had doubtless suggested that, during 
 the absence of the future head of the house, 
 something of the name of Askham ought to be 
 seen in the gay circles of the heau monde ; for 
 the parrot-like tone in which Lord Askham 
 repeated — " We owe it to poor Percy not to 
 suffer our connexions wholly to decay," — con- 
 vinced him that the politic Marquis was not 
 only the origin of the flattering invitations he 
 received, but of the sanction which enabled him 
 to accept them. 
 
 Lord Askham had every encouragement to 
 
 £2
 
 76 SELF. 
 
 slacken the chains of paternal authority in 
 the moderate eagerness evinced by Philip " to 
 take the goods the gods (and the Upping- 
 hams) provided." The young mans spirit was 
 broken by the sense of dependence. If, in some 
 ball-room, the partner for whose hand he applied 
 happened to be engaged, he instantly fancied 
 himself scouted as a younger brother. 
 
 " She would have danced with Percy !" 
 thought he, when his cousin Helen Middle- 
 more pleaded fatigue as an excuse for not 
 undertaking the travaiix forces of one of those 
 country-dances of forty couples, which, at that 
 time, rendered an invitation to a ball equivalent 
 to a sentence of hard labour in a house of 
 correction. For Philip had been made too 
 painfully conscious, at Eden Castle, of the 
 nonentityism of his position, ever to feel at ease. 
 His habits of subjection clung to him, even in 
 the world. 
 
 " Is Philip's health as delicate as that of 
 your eider brother, my dear Margaret?" in- 
 quired Lord Uppingham of his bride, after a
 
 SELF. 77 
 
 stately family dinner in Mansfield Street, given 
 on their return to town : and Margaret, who 
 had gathered from her cousin. Lord Middle- 
 more, the real state of the case as res^arded 
 Percy's consumptive tendencies, hesitated to 
 answer. 
 
 " Philip is not out of health^' said she, 
 " only out of spirits. — My brother leads so 
 secluded a life at Eden Castle !" 
 
 " But what business has he at Eden Castle ? 
 At his age, he should be working in some pro- 
 fession," — replied the active public man. 
 
 " He was to have entered the corps diplo- 
 matique^ 1 believe, but for Percy's detention in 
 France." 
 
 " And is the misfortune of one brother, my 
 dear child, to produce the ruin of the other ? ' 
 inquired the Marquis, with a smile. " Strange 
 policy, methinks ! — Lord Askham's estates 
 being entailed, he will be able to do little for 
 his younger children." 
 
 " But Philip is able to do a great deal for
 
 78 SELF. 
 
 him!" interrupted Lady Uppingham. "My 
 father could not get on at all, without Philip !" 
 
 " I could find Lord Askham three hundred 
 better secretaries at a salary of four- score pounds 
 a year !" observed her husband, with difficulty 
 suppressing his disgust at the miscalculating 
 selfishness of his father-in-law, 
 
 " But even a private secretary could not 
 altogether replace Philip," pleaded Margaret. 
 " Our neighbourhood is a bad one ; and in the 
 winter evenings, he is wanted for chess with my 
 father, or backgammon with mamma.' 
 
 •' Sport to them, but death to him r — rejoined 
 the Marquis. '■^Poor Philip ! — I no longer won- 
 der at his long face, or the compassionate 
 tone in which you pronounce his name ! But 
 we must see to this, my little wife. — One pri- 
 soner is enough in the family. Poor Philip, as 
 you call him, must be set at liberty. " 
 
 With a deep blush, Lady Uppingham endea- 
 voured to insinuate, as clearly as might be 
 
 without attributing blame to her parents, the
 
 SELF. 79 
 
 impossibility of change in the cast-iron arrange 
 ments of Eden Castle. 
 
 " Slaves and despots are a reciprocal creation, 
 my dear Margaret," observed Lord Uppingham, 
 in a more sententious tone. " The feeble son is 
 father to the arbitrary father ! Philip owes all 
 possible duty to his parents, except such as is 
 incompatible with self-respect." 
 
 " If my father and mother could only hear 
 you preach the virtue of filial insubordination !" 
 — said Lady Uppingham, taking his hand. 
 
 " To their sons — only to their sons' — replied 
 her husband, not a little amused by her air of 
 dismay. " In their daughters, my good little 
 wife, I fully recognize the virtue of passive obe- 
 dience. But we must lend a helping hand to 
 poor Philip ! Though the French proverb pro- 
 claims the danger of interposing a finger betwixt 
 the tree and the bark, I must venture mine 
 for your brother." 
 
 Cheered rather than dispirited by the autho- 
 ritative tone of one on whose superiority of in- 
 tellect she had implicit reUance, the young wife
 
 80 SELF. 
 
 offered no further remonstrance. She trusted, 
 perhaps, the season being at its close, that 
 immediate occasion would not present itself for 
 the rash attempt. Lady Askham was remain- 
 ing in town only for the triumph of witnessing 
 the first public appearance, at the birthday, of 
 the daughter in whom her pride delighted ; 
 after which, the family was to resume its clock- 
 work routine at Eden Castle. 
 
 " But why should Philip leave London be- 
 fore the end of the season?" — inquired the Mar- 
 quis, when these arrangements were discussed 
 
 by the Askhams in his presence " Leave him 
 
 with us, my dear lord. — Though your establish- 
 ment in Mansfield Street is broken up, we 
 have plenty of room for him at Uppingham 
 House ; and Margaret will be thankful for such 
 an escort to the parties and operas to which 1 
 so often find it difficult to accompany her. 
 — What say you, Phihp ? — Will you give us the 
 pleasure of your company in Privy Gardens till 
 parliament is up?" 
 
 Accustomed to regard his children as part of
 
 SELF. 81 
 
 his property — and an available part, — Lord 
 Askham felt almost too much injured for words 
 by this insult to his flag. 
 
 " Is your lordship aware," said he, ere his 
 son gathered courage to reply, " that I am 
 about to preside over our County Agricultural 
 Meeting ?" 
 
 " Ay, on the 17th, I think,"— was the cool 
 rejoinder of the Marquis, " and a full meeting 
 I suspect you will have ! — But that need not 
 take Philip out of town. — He, I suppose, has 
 no great genius for bone-mills and patent 
 ploughs ?" — 
 
 ' " I shall require my son's assistance on the 
 occasion !" replied Lord Askham, coldly, — for 
 once overcoming his deference towards a son- 
 in-law whose political position invested him with 
 peculiar dignity in the eyes of an Irish (non- 
 representative) peer. 
 
 " If you require his assistance, I have not 
 another word to say, " said Lord Uppingham 
 with a smile. " I forgot, my dear lord, that you 
 would have a speech to get up, and — " 
 
 £ 5
 
 82 t SELF. 
 
 " I do not allude to assistance oUJiat nature,'' 
 eagerly interrupted Lord Askham. " But 
 during the unfortunate absence from England 
 of my son Percy, it is right and proper that I 
 should be supported on public occasions by 
 the presence of his next brother." 
 
 " At the public dinner, you mean? Cer- 
 tainly, certainly ! At our time of life, that sort 
 of toast-and-sentiment work is no joke. — But, 
 three weeks are wanting to the 17th; and till 
 then, we will take care of him. We have some 
 hard debating in prospect. Pitt is to speak on 
 the Alien Bill, — a better school for your son 
 than all the clodhopping County Meetings in 
 the world !" — 
 
 Lord Askham opened his lips as if for re- 
 joinder ; — but feelings of some sort or other, — 
 certainly not pleasant ones,' — impeded his ut- 
 terance. 
 
 " For I conclude you mean shortly to bring 
 him into parliament !" continued the straight- 
 forward Lord Uppingham, who, since none but 
 the family were present, saw no need to set a
 
 SELF. 83 
 
 watch over his lips. " Government affords us 
 so Httle hope of an exchange of prisoners, that 
 of course you will no longer reserve Edenbourne 
 for Percy ?" — 
 
 A ferocious glance from Lord Askham to- 
 wards his son plainly intimated a suspicion that 
 with him originated these preposterous hints ! 
 Philip felt his situation to be critical. Imme- 
 diate self-vindication was indispensable. It was 
 only by a decided negative to the friendly over- 
 tures of his brother-in-law he could hope for 
 indulgence. 
 
 With more clearness, therefore, than might 
 have been anticipated, he expressed his grati- 
 tude for Lord Uppingham's kindness, and a 
 decided objection to remaining in town. 
 
 " I fear, my dearest IMargaret, my inter- 
 ference comes too late ! — I am sadly afraid 
 PhiUp has been made, and will remain, a poor 
 creature !" — said Lord Uppingham, when subse 
 quently talking over the matter with his wife. 
 " He wanted courage, you saw, to back me. 
 
 10
 
 84 SELF. 
 
 He had not spirit to use the arguments put into 
 his mouth. ■" 
 
 " Because," pleaded Margaret, whose heart 
 yearned towards her former fellow-bondsman, 
 " I am persuaded Philip has really no desire to 
 remain in town. From words he occasionally 
 lets fall, I fear, poor fellow, he has not half got 
 over his attachment for Mrs. Saville !" 
 
 " The Edenbourne widow you once men- 
 tioned to me ? — A woman without fortune or 
 connexion !" cried Lord Uppingham, in horror- 
 struck consternation. — " By Jove, that would 
 be worse than all the rest [—That must be im- 
 mediately looked to !" — 
 
 And with the promptitude of a man whom the 
 activities of public life have rendered fertile in 
 expedients, and who is therefore little accus- 
 tomed to take things as he finds them, he began 
 to deliberate in earnest on the prospects and 
 capabilities of his brother-in-law. His own 
 happiness was now too intimately linked with 
 the welfare of the Askham family, to admit
 
 SELF. 85. 
 
 of his allowing the smallest of them to be thrown 
 away. * 
 
 While Philip Askham, therefore, accompanied 
 his family unresistingly into the country, forti- 
 fied against fate by his usual philosophy, 
 
 Durum, sed levius fit patientia 
 Quicquid corrigere est nefas,— 
 
 a master-hand was busy with his destinies; a 
 
 hand rendered sufficiently puissant by lono- 
 exercise of authority, to enable its protegis to 
 dispense with further patience.
 
 86 SELF. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Peace ! I have sought it where it should be found ; 
 And iu its stead, a heaviness of heart, 
 A weakness of the spirit, — listless days, 
 And nights inexorable to sweet sleep, 
 Have come upon me. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 "'£»' eKiriaiv xph thj (T0(p8S ix^^" fiiof. 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 To return to Eden Castle after an absence 
 trebling that of their ordinary residence in 
 London, — an absence during which their eldest 
 son had been led into captivity, and their eldest 
 daughter promoted to a marquisate, — was a 
 mighty event to the Askhams. Prepared to 
 greet the expectant neighbourhood with un- 
 wonted affability, they anticipated a considerable 
 overflow of sympathy in return.
 
 SELF. 87 
 
 But alas ! they had gained little by allowing 
 Edenbourne to discover that its prosperity was 
 unabated, though, for eighteen months, no flag 
 had been flying at the castle ! — The little 
 borough felt somewhat aggrieved that the mar- 
 riage of Miss Askham had not been solemnized 
 in its parish church ; and was secretly wounded 
 in its feelings at being still represented in par- 
 liament by a dumby, a treasury hack, a mere 
 warming pan for the Honourable Percy Askham ; 
 who, being a prisoner at Verdun, ought at least 
 to be replaced by the Honourable Philip. — With 
 an able-bodied and able-minded son at their 
 service, Lord Askham had no right to demand 
 their allegiance for a man of straw ! 
 
 The borough knew better, however, than to 
 grumble audibly ; and no sooner had it trans- 
 pired on what day the family coach would 
 make its appearance, than orders were issued 
 by Dr. Hacket for a rattling peal of bells 
 as it passed through the town ; — while, at 
 the toll-bar, an attempt was made at a triumphal 
 arch, somewhat resembling a May-day Jack-in- 
 the-Green. — All the laurels in the town were
 
 88 SELF. 
 
 laid under contribution: and poor Simprems' 
 garden was shorn to the quick. 
 
 But if the whole truth must be told, Eden- 
 bourne and its environs felt not only a little 
 sullen, but a little nervous. They scarcely knew 
 how they should venture to look Lady Askham 
 in the face ! 
 
 « I wish my first visit to the castle was over. 
 It will be vastly awkward !" — observed Mrs. 
 Gwatkin to Sir Erasmus L'Estrange. 
 
 " What ! to get the carriage and horses 
 through the triumphal arch?" inquired the gal- 
 lant knight, who had grown a year younger for 
 every month's absence of the Askhains. 
 
 " Why, how is it to be explained about Mrs. 
 Saville.'' — Lady Askham will think it so extra- 
 ordinary, considering the suspicions entertained 
 concerning her at Eden Castle, that we should 
 all visit her, the moment her ladyship's back was 
 turned !" 
 
 "After ascertaining that there was nothincr 
 in them, it was your duty, as it was my pleasure, 
 to make the amende honorable." 
 
 "Still, I am convinced Lady Askham will
 
 SELF. 89 
 
 take it amiss. — Out of the question, you know, 
 for her ladyship to visit at Eastfield !" — 
 
 " Considering the wry faces she makes about 
 visiting at Hexham, perhaps it may,'" — re- 
 joined Sir Erasmus. " But she may go fur- 
 ther and fare worse. — We have derived more 
 gratification from Mrs. Savilie's society in the 
 last six months, than from Eden Castle in all 
 the years of our lives." — 
 
 " I must say, however," persisted Mrs. 
 Gwatkin, " that I wish the explanation was 
 over ; more especially as Mr. Philip has accom- 
 panied the family." 
 
 " Afraid, eh, that the fair widow will stand in 
 poor Fanny's light ? — Make yourself easy, my 
 dear sister. After eighteen months butterflying 
 in the world of fashion, depend on't a young 
 Honourable will see little enough in either of 
 them ! — So cheer up ! — I dare say your friend 
 Lady Askham will let you off with a slight re- 
 primand I" 
 
 Secure, meanwhile, in inordinate self-es- 
 teem against suspicion of the mingled feelings 
 their arrival was creating, the Askhams ap-
 
 90 SELF. 
 
 preached Edenbourne with unabated confidence 
 in the loyalty of their subjects. 
 
 " Poor people ! our return to the castle is a 
 great event to them /"" — cried Lord Askham, 
 with a philanthropic smile of landed-proprietor- 
 ship, as the train of carriages rattled across the 
 market-place amid the clamour of the populace, 
 the ringing of bells, and barking of curs. " I 
 wish Uppingham had been with us !" added his 
 lordship, blandly addressing Philip, as they 
 came within view of the arch of evergreens. — 
 " I should have been glad to have him an eye- 
 witness of the respect and attachment of the 
 neighbourhood!" 
 
 At that moment, Philip Askham's eyes were 
 peering so admiringly from the carriage win- 
 dow, that his father was justified in concluding 
 them to be fixed on the calico flags, adorned 
 with appropriate devices, streaming from the 
 summit of the arch ; and if Philip allowed them 
 to stray a little beyond that loyal trophy, so as 
 to catch a glimpse of the shrubbery-belt enclos- 
 ing the lawn of Eastfield, the more shame to his 
 duplicity ! At all events, he vouchsafed no
 
 SELF. 91 
 
 answer to the paternal vaunt ; probably because 
 lost in delightful anticipations of the moment 
 when, escaping from the pomp and prosifica- 
 tions of home, he should make his way once 
 more to the hermitaa^e of the vounff recluse:, 
 entertaining as little doubt of finding her the 
 pensive mourner he had left behind, as his 
 father and mother of the unaltered devotion of 
 their country neighbours ! — 
 
 Never had Eden Castle worn so pleasant an 
 aspect to his eyes, as on that day ; — not because 
 the school-children were planted on the lawn, 
 like a little shrubbery of charity plants, to chant 
 a doleful stave of welcome to their noble 
 patrons; — not because the old people at the 
 almshouse doors curtseved or uncovered their 
 shaking heads to their benefactors ;— not because 
 the bronzed face of the out-door servants, shone 
 "celestial rosy red" with a double allowance of 
 home-brewed. But in the confusion of the 
 moment, the house was unhinged. Chaos was 
 come again. The school-books were not un- 
 packed, and the tutor and governess wandered 
 up and down, like our first parents after the
 
 92. SELF. 
 
 fall, forlorn and purposeless. The children 
 might actually be heard laughing aloud, as they 
 ran through the shrubberies towards their little 
 play-gardens, so long sighed for among the sooty 
 bushes of Cavendish Square. 
 
 A shudder came over him, however, when he 
 reflected that, though the days were at their 
 longest, they did not last for ever; and that a 
 morrow was at hand when Order, which, 
 according to Pope, is " Heaven's first law," 
 would also legislate once more at Eden Castle. 
 The approaching Agricultural Meeting, too, was 
 in store for him with its elocutionary labours. — 
 Lord Askham who, since compelled to fight 
 hand to hand with government on the question 
 of his son's exchange, had peeled off his habits 
 of reserve, would doubtless follow up his new 
 vocation by wreaking on an unoffending county, 
 the eloquence bottled up, like the old October, 
 ever since the day of addressing his assembled 
 tenantry in honour of the birth of his son and 
 heir ; and for such a speech, his lordship must 
 be crammed, like one of his prize-oxen. Philip 
 foresaw reams of rough draughts, perplexed by
 
 SELF. 93 
 
 emendations upon emendations, likely to pass 
 through his hands. 
 
 On this point, however, he was mistaken. 
 Suspicions of an understanding between his son 
 and son-in-law, had insinuated themselves into 
 Lord Askham's mind ; and so tenacious was he 
 of his consequence in the eyes of the noble 
 President of the Council, that he would not for 
 the world have allowed a t to be crossed, or an 
 i to be dotted, by his scribe of all work, in the 
 discourse which his mind's eye already beheld 
 in the columns of the County Chronicle, duly dis- 
 patched per mail for the edification of Upping- 
 ham Manor. 
 
 In order, indeed, to mark to the neighbour- 
 hood that he required no assistance at the hands 
 of his son, he enfranchised Philip for a time, by 
 pointedly excluding him from his agricultural 
 survey of the Eden Castle estate ; in all quar- 
 ters of which, after so long an absence, a com- 
 plication of rural interests claimed his atten- 
 tion. 
 
 What, therefore, more easy than for Pliilip to 
 escape from the portals which stood thus in-
 
 94 SELF. 
 
 vitingly open ? — Common civility required him 
 to make inquiries after the health of his country 
 neighbours ; and nearest of them all, as well as 
 dearest, abided Mrs. Saville ! — Already, as he 
 took his way along the Chase, his fancy depicted 
 that snug, cozy little drawing-room, shaded by 
 the curtains so opprobriated by Mrs. Gwatkin ; 
 — where the fondest of mothers devoted her- 
 self to the happiness of the fairest of children ; 
 where no music was heard but their prattle, 
 the kettle singing on the fire, or the cat 
 purring on the hearth, — where no finer engravings 
 were seen than the cuts in little Edward's Ro- 
 binson Crusoe, — where periodicals reached not 
 and reviews were unknown ; yet where, in Philip 
 Askham's opinion, there prevailed a charm of 
 elegance and refinement beyond reach of the 
 luxuries of Eden Castle or grandiosities of Up- 
 pingham Manor. 
 
 He was almost angry with himself, however, 
 for the excess of emotion that caused his life- 
 blood to ebb and flow, as he placed his hand 
 once more on the well-known garden latch ; — 
 and though there was none but himself to be de-
 
 SELF. 95 
 
 ceived by the assertion, he insinuated that it 
 must be the intense fragrance of the flower beds 
 on the lawn, which rendered him so heartsick. 
 Eden Castle had not accustomed him to 
 flowers; and the favoured nook of earth shelter- 
 ed among the limestone cliffs, was variegated 
 as by the blossoms of Paradise. 
 
 Another moment, and the bold comparison 
 was doubly justified. Scarcely had Philip Ask- 
 ham replied to the gentle greeting of Mrs. Sa- 
 ville, and the half-shy half-friendly recognition 
 of the children, when he perceived Sir Erasmus 
 L'Estrange, in his well-remembered nankeen 
 gaiters, seated with smiling and familiar self- 
 complacency in his accustomed chair. — The 
 old serpent had made its way into the garden of 
 Eden ! — 
 
 Philip's heart sank within him. He saw that his 
 pleasant mornings of yore, — his harmless happy 
 tete~a-tetes of daily occurrence, — were never 
 more to be renewed. All comfort in Eastfield 
 was at an end. 
 
 Another fatal fact was equally incontestible,
 
 96 SELF. 
 
 that never had its fair proprietress looked so 
 lovely ! Her weeds were laid aside, — her wavy 
 hair was, for the first time, fully uncovered ; 
 and amended health and spirits had perfected 
 into womanhood the development of her 
 girlish beauty. Philip was positively dazzled 
 as he raised his eyes to a face, pure as one of 
 the brightest creations of Giorgione. It was 
 only a certain chaste sobriety of dress, (without 
 being actually mourning, the nearest possible ap- 
 proach to it,) which satisfied him that her nature 
 was unchanged; and that, though domesticated 
 under her roof, the withered Sinbad before him 
 was not about to convert those matronly robes 
 into bridal attire. 
 
 It was irritating enough, however, to find 
 himself accosted by both, in the self-same 
 friendly tone. They seemed actuated by a 
 common feeling of courtesy ; and any feeling 
 in common between a lovely young woman of 
 two-and-twenty and a rich and grim old bache- 
 lor of sixty-four, must be offensive. Though 
 in the case of the Uppinghams, Philip had been 
 readily reconciled to the same disparity, on
 
 SELF. 97 
 
 the present occasion, his bosom heaved with 
 disgust ! 
 
 It is true that little Edward Saville did his 
 utmost to increase his abhorrence. To chil- 
 dren, eighteen months constitute an eternity ; 
 and in reply to Philip's questions about their 
 former pursuits, — the swing, the terrier, the fish- 
 ing-tackle, — he heard of nothing but " Sir 
 Erasmus !" 
 
 " Sir Erasmus puts us in the swing every 
 morning," lisped the little fellow ; " and Skye is 
 gone to live at his house ; because there 
 is a stable-yard, you know, at the Lodge ; 
 and terriers are only fit, mamma says, for a 
 stable-yard. — As soon as I am able to ride. 
 Sir Erasmus is going to get a Shetland pony 
 for me," added the child, warming in praise of 
 his friend. — " Mamma took away the little fish- 
 ing-rod you gave me, because when I went 
 out with it alone, I nearly fell into the 
 river." 
 
 Philip lent but a divided attention to the 
 child's long explanations ; as a punishment for 
 which, he had further to learn that this un- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 SELF. 
 
 toward accident was the origin of the acquaint- 
 ance between Eastfield and Edenbourne Lodge. 
 As extremes meet, the venerable naturalist of 
 sixty-four, while groping in the water-meadows 
 after specimens for his herbary, had come to the 
 aid of the little naturalist of four, minus the 
 sixty ; and the terrified mother, thankful that 
 such a Triton should have been at hand among 
 the minnows by which her darling had been 
 betrayed into danger, could no longer close her 
 gates. 
 
 Presented by her new acquaintance to his 
 sister's family, the barrier which divided Mrs. 
 Saville from the neighbourhood was soon over- 
 thrown ; — the Gwatkins, defrauded just then of 
 the social succours of Eden Castle, being so 
 cordial in their overtures, that Timon himself 
 could not have resisted their advances. 
 
 Philip Askham could scarcely blame her. 
 The whole thing was the result of accident: 
 and at her age, why condemn herself to perpe- 
 tual isolation ? The faithful devotion which 
 had blinded her to the strength of his attach- 
 ment, did not render it a crime to dine occasion-
 
 SELF. 99 
 
 ally at Hexham Hall, or drink tea at Eden- 
 bourne Rectory, — though the loss occasioned 
 to him by such a change, was indeed irrepar- 
 able ! 
 
 It was perhaps because reflections of this 
 nature imparted a saddened expression 
 to his countenance, that Mrs. Saville's little 
 girl, — who, throughout his prolonged absence, 
 had adhered to her declarations that " Sir 
 Erasmus, however kind, could never replace 
 their own dear Philip, who had lent them his 
 cloak on their cold journey to Edenbourne," — 
 drew closer towards his knee ; and, during the 
 interrogations of her brother, placed her little 
 hand affectionately within his own. 
 
 "We missed you so much when you went 
 away !" — whispered Selina, when her mother's 
 attention was engrossed by the elder visitor. 
 " We used to talk of you every day. But 
 mamma told us you would never come back, 
 and that you had quite forgotten Eastfield !" 
 
 Soothed by the endearing tone in which these 
 simple words were uttered, Philip replied by 
 imprinting a silent kiss on Selina's ivory fore- 
 
 r2
 
 1 00 SELF- 
 
 head; attempting to conceal his emotions by 
 smoothing down her auburn cuvls. 
 
 *' But now you are come back again," 
 resumed the child, encouraged by his notice, 
 " you will come and see us every day again, 
 won't you ? — and put us into the swing as you 
 used, instead of Sir Erasmus ?" — 
 
 Apprehensive that the revelations of Selina 
 might become of a too personal nature, Mrs. 
 Saville attempted to make the conversation 
 general. Unluckily, she also made it disagree- 
 able. Her adoption of the first person plural 
 was not to be borne ! — 
 
 " We have not yet congratulated you," said 
 she, " on the happy event in your family. Yet 
 believe me we did full honour at Edenbourne 
 to Miss Askham's marriage. The bonfires on 
 Eden Down must have been visible half across 
 the county !" 
 
 " I never remember to have seen a finer 
 blaze," added Sir Erasmus, (looking, in his 
 nankin gaiters and camlet suit as dry and yel- 
 low as a Zweiback biscuit,) " except on occasion 
 of a Suttee which I had the^good fortune to
 
 SELF. 101 
 
 witness, of a Malabar Begum in the neighbour- 
 hood of Trincomalee." 
 
 " A somewhat inauspicious comparison, sir, 
 for wedding rejoicings !" retorted Philip, an- 
 grily. "But perhaps you are of my opinion, 
 that a match where the bridegroom has forty 
 years the advantage of the bride, is little better 
 than a funeral pile ?" — 
 
 " Pardon me, — I see nothing of the kind in 
 it!" replied the prim old gentleman. ^' There 
 are many worse disparities in married life than 
 difference of age ; and Heaven knows poor Miss 
 Askham had little chance, hereabouts, of a 
 more suitable aUiance. As my sister Gwatkin 
 often observes, there is not a young man worth 
 speaking of in this part of the county !" — 
 
 " You perceive, Mr. Askham, that your long 
 absence has caused your name to be excluded 
 from our list," said Mrs. Saville, in a concilia- 
 tory tone, as if shocked by the mutual ungra- 
 ciousness of her visitors. 
 
 " I have indeed become a stranger here " 
 was the bitter retort of Philip ; and though, 
 during the remainder of the visit, his gentle
 
 102 SELF. 
 
 hostess devoted herself to the task of soothing 
 his evidently rufBed spirit, and though woman, 
 like the viper, possesses in her own nature, an 
 antidote for every wound of her infliction, on 
 the present occasion the venom had spread too 
 widely. Phihp Askham eventually took his 
 departure from the cottage, writhing under as 
 absurd a sense of ill-usage, as though the fair 
 Evelyn had violated an engagement to preserve 
 their acquaintanceship immaculate as the vows 
 of affianced love ! 
 
 On his way homeward through Eden Chase, 
 he gave vent to his long-repressed irritation of 
 feeling. 
 
 " She is quite right to despise me !'' cried he. 
 " How can I wonder that even yonder withered 
 old mummy should be more important in her 
 eyes than myself; — a poor, beggarly, helpless 
 wretch of a younger brother, — of no more ac- 
 count, even in my own family, than one of the 
 upper servants ! — Any woman of sense and 
 feeling would spurn the fool who submitted to 
 such subjection. How much more, one who has 
 been happy in the affection of a man of spirit,
 
 SELF. 103 
 
 like Saville ! In becoming better acquainted 
 with the neighbourhood, she has learned to esti- 
 mate my position. Nothing can be more 
 marked than her change of manner. Even the 
 children — even that darling Uttle Selina, — 
 seemed to view me as an object of commisera- 
 tion ! But I cannot stand this much lonijer ! 
 If my father must have a hanger-on among his 
 sons, Henry is on the eve of leaving Cambridge: 
 — let him victimize Henry ! Lord Uppingham, 
 an impartial judge, understood my situation at 
 a glance. Strenua nos exercet inertia. I 
 am losing my faculties, — I am becoming weary 
 of my life ! As soon as this confounded Agri- 
 cultural Meeting leaves my father at leisure, I 
 will, compel him to an explanation !" 
 
 His lordship was certainly in no mood, just 
 then, to give ear to filial remonstrances ! As 
 in the case of all absentees, abuses had crept 
 during his absence into the administration of 
 his affairs. His farms had been neglected, — his 
 preserves injured,— his park trespassed upon, — 
 his woodlands exposed to depredation. For in
 
 104 SELF. 
 
 an establishment so methodical, the smallest 
 relaxation of discipline becomes fatal. 
 
 AUj therefore, was confusion in what was by 
 courtesy called his mind. Wrongs to be re- 
 dressed, tenants to be ejected, bailiffs to be 
 discharged, were intermingled sens dessus des- 
 sous with the elements of his wonderful speech: 
 — drill husbandry, the pacification of Europe, 
 the repeal of the malt tax, fiorine grass, and the 
 barbarous infringement of the rights of nations 
 in the person of the Honourable Philip Ask- 
 ham ! — Every blotting-book in the house con- 
 tained scraps and shreds of eloquence, of no 
 good omen to the ears of the Agricultural Meet- 
 ing; and such a world of mysterious meanings 
 was hieroglyphicized in his usually blank physi- 
 ognomy, that any one meeting his lordship, with- 
 out warning, in the lobbies or shrubberies of 
 Eden Castle, might have supposed him intent 
 on the perpetration of some heinous crime. 
 
 What, therefore, was the astonishment of 
 Philip, on his return home after his disappoint- 
 ment at Eastfield, to behold his father sud-
 
 SELF. 105 
 
 deuly advance towards him, with a radiant 
 visage and outstretched hand, overflowing with 
 milk and honey ! 
 
 " I congratulate you, Philip !" said he; "I 
 sincerely congratulate you. Your prospects in 
 life (which for years have been a subject of the 
 most serious concern to your mother and my- 
 self) are satisfactorily adjusted. In considera- 
 tion of my well-known attachment to the throne 
 and staunch support of government, and per- 
 haps in some measure on account of the impos- 
 sibility of meeting my wishes with respect to 
 the enlargement of your brother, his Majesty 
 hath been pleased to appoint you to a post in 
 the Audit Office, to which the education you are 
 known to have received, and the duties you have 
 fulfilled in this house, satisfy him you will do 
 ample justice." 
 
 " An appointment in the Audit Office?"" 
 — said Philip, breathless with dehght. 
 
 " With a salary of eight hundred a year I" 
 said Lord Askham, with emphasis : " a place 
 that might have literally been offered to your 
 eldest brother — " 
 
 F 5
 
 !06 SELF. 
 
 Overcome with gratitude and joy, Philip 
 began to reproach himself with his former in- 
 justice towards his father. While accusing 
 Lord Askham of selfishness and oppression, that 
 misjudged parent had been not only exercising 
 his influence to obtain him a government ap- 
 pointment, but endeavouring to qualify him for 
 the discharge of its duties. 
 
 " You must hasten instantly to town," re- 
 sumed his lordship ! " Next week parliament 
 will be up, and the ministry dispersed. Not a 
 moment is to be lost. It will doubtless be a 
 disappointment to you, Philip, to forego the 
 Agricultural Meeting ; but your interests in life 
 are at stake, and / will take care that a county 
 paper, containing an accurate report of the 
 proceedings, shall reach you in London. You 
 may even, if you think proper, transmit it to 
 the editor of some daily paper. They are glad, 
 at this time of year, to secure authentic pro- 
 vincial intelligence." 
 
 Philip could scarcely believe his senses. 
 His father, putting a case to him in tlie opta- 
 tive, or ii/ any other than the imperative mood ! 
 f.
 
 SELF. 107 
 
 His father, desiring him to do as "he thought 
 proper," in even so trifling a matter as the re- 
 printing of his speech ! — 
 
 " I shall find Margaret and Lord Upping- 
 ham still in town," said he, after respectful ex- 
 pressions of gratitude, both for the appointment 
 procured, and county paper promised. « How 
 pleased and surprised they will be to learn what 
 you have done for me !" 
 
 " Yes, — your sister seems vastly pleased. 
 The letter announcing your appointment came 
 from Margaret," observed Lord Askham, his 
 brow suddenly contracting. « For of course you 
 must be aware, Phihp, that though the place is 
 given in consideration of the family claims I 
 have specified, the application for it to govern- 
 ment came from the Marquis of Uppingham." 
 
 " I might have guessed it!" was Philip's 
 mental rejoinder. " How could I for a moment 
 suppose that my emancipation proceeded from 
 my father !" — 
 
 It was an additional satisfaction, however, 
 in leaving home, that his joy was undis- 
 turbed by compunctious visitings.— flje had
 
 108 SELF. 
 
 nothing and no one to regret there, — absolutely 
 no one and nothing ! — 
 
 The woman to whom he had madly 
 dreamed of devoting himself, had opened his 
 ej'es to the slightness of her friendship. In his 
 own family, he was an unconsidered younger 
 son ; and, on reaching the corner of the Lon- 
 don road excluding Eden Castle from sight, he 
 exclaimed in bitterness of soul, as Percy had 
 done five years before in joyousness of spirit, 
 — " Farewell, thou dreary pile ! — heaven knows 
 when we shall meet again !"
 
 SELF 109 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Men, like butterflies, 
 Show not their meally wings but to the summer. 
 
 Shakspearb. 
 
 Tuv eiToxevrccv Kavoes iioi ovyTivlis, 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 Such were the antecedents of a young place- 
 man, who, in the year 1805, assumed with 
 general approbation the envied privileges of 
 " a man of wit and pleasure about town." 
 
 Touched by the Promethean torch of inde- 
 pendence, Philip Askham started forth a new 
 creature. No longer the dispirited denizen of 
 a dull house in Mansfield Street, — no longer 
 compelled to render a daily account to his task- 
 masters of the use of his five senses, — the en- 
 franchised bachelor of St. James's Place trod
 
 110 SELF. 
 
 the earth with a firmer step, and encountered 
 the eyes of his fellow-creatures with an uplifted 
 countenance. Good-humour produced good 
 looks : and now that he was his own master, 
 every body was his most obedient humble ser- 
 vant. Friends, nay, relations, rose up like 
 myrmidons from the earth, to welcome him into 
 his new world. 
 
 " By Jove, Phil ! Percy won't know you 
 when he sees you again !" — vociferated his coach- 
 ing cousin, Lord Middleraore, a disciple of the 
 Lade school, then in the zenith of its flagrancy. 
 " Percy used to swear that you would be 
 flannel-petticoated for life at Eden Castle. 
 But gad ! now you've thrown over the old folks, 
 you're throwing off in style. — Wish you joy, my 
 boy, of having cut your wisdom teeth !" — 
 
 Lord Middlemore's sister, too, his handsome 
 cousin Helen, whose near-sightedness had often 
 disabled her fdr discerning an obscure younger 
 brother across the Hanover Square Rooms, at 
 the Ancient Music, when in moping attendance 
 on his family, was noiv lynx-eyed in her recog- 
 nition. One of her mother's opera-tickets was
 
 SELF. 1 1 1 
 
 placed at Philip's disposal; and to her lady- 
 ship's table in Brook Street, he had a general 
 invitation. 
 
 " It would have been an idle compliment, 
 my dear nephew," said the dowager, " so long 
 as you resided with your family. But an 
 official man, always on the pave, gets sadly 
 tired of dining every day at his club, before 
 the regular dinner-parties of the season com- 
 mence." 
 
 Such a pretext for occasionally escaping in 
 former times, the La Trappish dinners in Mans- 
 field Street, might, however, have been more 
 acceptable than the loss of one of the pleasant 
 house-dinners at White's, the merits of which were 
 caviar to Lady iNIiddlemore. But even towards 
 her meanness, even towards the worldliness of 
 the Lady Helen, he was indulgent. The King 
 of France forgave the injuries perpetrated 
 against the Duke of Orleans; and the new 
 official whom Lord Uppingham's patronage 
 had snatched into a seventh heaven from the 
 Slough of Despond, was in charity with all man- 
 kind.
 
 112 SELF. 
 
 Nothing perfect, however, in this world of 
 imperfection ! Better for Philip had his pro- 
 motion occurred earlier in the parliamentary 
 session, so as to secure him the counsel of one 
 so much a master of the arts of life, as his 
 brother-in-law, the Marquis. For, notwithstand- 
 ing Lord Uppingham's aptitude in giving advice, 
 all he had been able to effect in Philip's favour 
 previous to his departure for the north, was to 
 present him to the heads of his department, and 
 propose him at the best club ; and ere they met 
 again the following winter, Philip was likely to 
 be as fixed in his habits of life, as though his 
 liberty were of six years', instead of six months', 
 enjoyment. 
 
 In those hard-fighting times, the great vessel 
 of the state was always in commission. No 
 holiday — no intermission ! — If the Red Book 
 and the country were encumbered with sinecure 
 places to the amount of hundreds of thousands, 
 the places which were no sinecure admitted of 
 little trifling. Those who did work, worked 
 hard enough for the rest; and an autumn in 
 town was consequently a less dreary affair than 
 ni these piping times of peace, when most of
 
 SELF. 113 
 
 the public oflfices prorogue themselves simul- 
 taneously with the prorogation of parliament. 
 But even had the town been thinner, and its 
 fogs thicker, gay and sociable would it have ap- 
 peared to Philip Askham, by comparison with 
 the moral opacities of Eden Castle. 
 
 One only charge was given him at parting by 
 Lord Uppingham. " Lose no opportunity," 
 said he, " of manifesting your intention to take 
 a decided line in politics. It will not commit 
 you, for your place (luckily for you) is perma- 
 nent ; and in these times, a novice in public life 
 must be a party-man, or nothing ! Your father, 
 however, seems to hark back about bringinsf 
 you into parliament; hinting, in his last 
 letter, that since I have taken your fortunes in 
 hand, it may be as well to reserve Edenbourne 
 for Henry; who having obtained honours at 
 Cambridge, seems the predestined man of 
 genius of the family."" 
 
 Phihp was just then too much in sorts with 
 fortune to quarrel with any one ; or on this 
 hint, his younger brother might have suc- 
 ceeded to the jealous grudge formerly enter-
 
 114 SELF. 
 
 tained against Percy.-r-He rejoiced, however, 
 that his exclusion from parliament sus- 
 pended the necessity for those precipitate 
 political manifestations suggested by his party- 
 ridden brother-in-law.— -For, regarding things 
 in general with different eyes from both patron 
 and parent, he did not care to add political 
 antagonism to their many causes of mutual dis- 
 content. 
 
 As it was, the only method for an ex-parlia- 
 mentary man to avouch his politics, was by the 
 depth and strength of his potations, and the 
 toasts that served to season them. Pamphlets 
 were not in fashion, as speaking-trumpets for 
 sucking politicians;— Wilkes and Junius having 
 established so alcoholic a standard of party 
 writing, that anything short of treason or sedi- 
 tion, passed for milk-and-water. Port and 
 claret formed a pleasanter alternative : and all 
 that Philip permitted himself, in compliance 
 with the " invariable principles" of his family 
 and usages of that convivial epoch, was to drink 
 occasionally to the health of William Pitt; 
 which William Pitt's more than occasional 
 
 4
 
 SELF. 115 
 
 drinking, had, sooth to say, somewhat im- 
 paired. 
 
 Nor was pretext for wassail deficient. The 
 glorious victory of Trafalgar had set all the 
 patriotic pulses of England throbbing ; and even 
 for the alarmists of the day, a terrible arch of 
 promise was created by the shining of the 
 sun of Hope through its gory shower. People 
 like Lord Askham, who hailed the metamor- 
 phosis of the " Corsican blackguard" into an 
 emperor recognized by the powers of Europe, 
 as a personal affront,—" the fiend's arch mock" 
 expressly devised for their mortification, — 
 scarcely knew how to keep their exultation 
 within the bounds of decency on that memo- 
 rable occasion. If the French had the best of 
 it by land, the sea (God bless her !) was true to 
 her allegiance; and scarcely had the blood- 
 seeking Tories grace to turn aside and weep for 
 Nelson, so exorbitant was their joy in this 
 new naval triumph of the hereditary Ruler of 
 the waves ! 
 
 It was, perhaps, because accustomed from 
 his boyhood to behold the battles of the war-
 
 1 1 6 SELF. 
 
 party fought o'er again at his father's table by 
 partizans resembling those Chinese warriors in 
 calico petticoats and wooden shoes, whose utmost 
 heroism is visible to the bystanders, that the 
 sympathies of Philip were waywardly enlisted 
 under the opposite banner. Who could believe 
 in the infallibility of such a pope as Lord 
 Askham ! Who accept the faith of such a col- 
 lege of cardinals as his pottering uncles ! 
 And now that his Uberal tendencies had space 
 to expand in the rarefied atmosphere of a more 
 intelligent society, — now that he found wit and 
 beauty (at five-and-twenty a sufficient substitute 
 for wisdom,) engaged on his favourite side, it 
 was somewhat difficult to bear in mind that he 
 was Indebted for his present happiness to a man 
 who voted with the Tories ! 
 
 By degrees, his cheers for the pilot who was 
 weathering the storm, and conveying into har- 
 bour only a shattered hulk, subsided into 
 silence ; till at length, the silence was involun- 
 tarily broken by cheers for his great antagonist. 
 The Marquis had insisted on his taking a 
 decided line in politics i and there was nothing
 
 SELF. 117 
 
 in their relative position by which Philip felt 
 deprived of his full liberty of conscience in de- 
 ciding ivhich line it should be. 
 
 Among his colleagues in his new office, was 
 an old Eton chum, the son of a man of some 
 influence in the Whig party ; by the grace of 
 whose hospitalities he enjoyed a capital op- 
 portunity of studying in the inner sanctuary 
 of private life, some of the greatest illustrations 
 of an illustrious epoch ;— and Phihp, the slender 
 structure of whose Toryism had crumbled into 
 dust, in the senate, before the eloquence of 
 Fox, — 
 
 Lampo nel fiammeggiar, — nel romor tuono, — 
 Fulmini nel ferir, — 
 
 found his proselytism completed, in society, by 
 the saUies of the fascinating Sheridan. Like a 
 visitor to the Gobelins' manufactory, he was 
 equally charmed by the imposing beauty of the 
 tapestry, and the ingenuity displayed in its 
 reverse. 
 
 His new friend took especial delight in con- 
 firmingthe conversion of the political novice. His
 
 118 SELF. 
 
 fathor. Sir James Hardynge, who had occupied 
 a high legal post under the Whigs, now occupied 
 nothing but a charming villa at Wandsworth, one 
 of the favourite resorts of the liberals of the 
 day. Unembarrassed by the dignified responsi- 
 bilities of Chiswick or Dropmore, Eske Hill 
 presented in its highly flavoured mactdoine of 
 wits and politicians, one of those brilliant banquets 
 where prussic acid is imbibed under the name 
 of noyeau ; — a bureau d' esprit, where the gravest 
 interests of life are disposed of by a pun or an 
 epigram. As the pyrotechnists pretend to ex- 
 hibit in fireworks the Fate of Orpheus and 
 Eurydice, or the Siege of Troy, the feats and 
 the defeats of the administration were comme- 
 morated in the political arsenal of Eske Hill, by 
 a series of squibs and crackers. 
 
 The flashy brilliancy of such a coterie was 
 the very thing to subjugate a mind blinking out 
 of the muzzy atmosphere of Eden Castle ! — The 
 keen unsparing wit which, like a highly-tempered 
 blade, cut to the bone ere the victim felt him- 
 self wounded, imposed conviction on his startled 
 senses ; and like a lark, he was taken in a
 
 SELF. 119 
 
 springe baited with glitter. Even with older 
 heads than Philip Askham, however, the best 
 table, the best wines, and the best small talk, 
 are apt to pass for the best side of the argument. 
 The literature of the country was just then 
 at a discount. Prophets had appeared, indeed, 
 but they prophesied in the wilderness. Those 
 great writers, whose names are now inscribed 
 on corner-stones of the temple of fame, — 
 Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, — were damned 
 by an epithet; while Moore, like a frisky lord in 
 a police office, was fain to shelter his irregulari- 
 ties under an assumed name. The uproar of 
 war's alarms had somewhat deafened the ear of 
 the public to the music of Apollo's flute ! — 
 
 The fashionable world, accordingly, restricted 
 its literary enjoyments to laughing at the wag- 
 geries of the Anti-Jacobin, or shrieking at the 
 diabolisms of Monk Lewis ; — dim foreshowings 
 of the Romantic school, on the eve of its crea- 
 tion by Scott, — or gurglings of the vitriohc 
 Hippocrene about to start from the earth on the 
 stamping of the Pegasus of Byron. The belles 
 ettres, which, for two centuries past, have re-
 
 120 [self. 
 
 ceived their impulsion from France, bad under- 
 gone a stanfsrerinof blow at the revolution, under 
 the effects of which they still languished ; and, 
 behold, as in the case of other extenuated pa- 
 tients, hysteria supervened. 
 
 Of such a state of things, irony is the hatu- 
 ral offspring, — the false spirits arising from a 
 disorganized constitution. " A chaque epoque 
 donnte,'" says Hegel, " il y a toujours correspon- 
 dance parfaite entre Vttat dn monde a cette 
 epoque.) et la ph\losophie qui en est la conscience 
 et la pensee ;"' — and as in France, melodrama 
 with her matted locks and reeking poniard had 
 sprung out of the excesses of the revolution^ 
 (like one of the crime-engendered monsters de- 
 scribed by Ariosto,) in England, the Edinburgh 
 and Quarterly Reviews were attempting to banter 
 into a sense of its deficiencies, that sullen pub- 
 lic which refused to listen to the charming of a 
 wiser charmer. 
 
 The pleasant society collected round Sir 
 James Hardynge, whose notions had been ren- 
 dered somewhat more elastic than those of his 
 neighbours by a winter passed in Paris in the
 
 SELF. 121 
 
 Consular court, was on the whole a favourable 
 specimen of the new school. At Eske Hill, 
 Phihp Askham perceived, for the first time, the 
 enhancement conferred on convivial pleasures 
 by " flashes of merriment " kindled by the 
 sparkle of wit. — The erudition of the Hardynge 
 set was luckily not beyond the digestive powers 
 weakened at Eden Castle by a prolonged 
 diet of pap ; and he accordingly suffered him- 
 self to be led captive by the brilliant Brins- 
 ley and his associates, — a coterie just then let 
 loose upon society by the pecuniary and domes- 
 tic embarrassments of the Prince of Wales. 
 The resplendent constellation of Carlton House 
 being broken up, its component parts were 
 scattered, like falling stars, to become the lumi- 
 naries of a lower sphere. 
 
 To the recluse of Edenbourne, their lustre 
 might have been almost oppressive, but that 
 its intensity was modified by the presence of 
 Lady Hardynge; a mild pleasing woman de- 
 void of offence or pretence, whose feminine 
 pursuits and friendships introduced a softer 
 medium into the conversation, and prevented 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 SELF. 
 
 • 
 
 the great wits from clashing, — like the bran or 
 sawdust used in packing hardware. Bob Har- 
 dynge, the only son and spoiled child of the 
 house, — a wild enthusiast for the fine arts, — pro- 
 fited by his influence over his mother, and the 
 lessons he had imbibed in Paris, to complete 
 her circle of guests by the most distinguished 
 painters, musicians, and actors of the time; 
 and, as on collar days at court every knight 
 appears in his badge of chivalry, every man of 
 them assumed his laurel, and every muse struck 
 her golden lyre, to diversify the enjoyments of 
 hospitable Eske Hill. 
 
 Philip Askham was content to adopt, with- 
 out much scrutiny, the dogmas so pleasantly 
 expounded under its roof. As on the stillest 
 mill-pond, the reflection of circumjacent objects 
 becomes vivid as reality, the torpor to which his 
 mind had been reduced at home, rendered it 
 peculiarly susceptible of new impressions. 
 
 The only drawback on his comfort, was the 
 prospect of his family's return to town. Though 
 resolved to make a sturdy stand against moles- 
 tation, he foresaw a disagreeable struggle. But
 
 SELF. 123 
 
 his fears were premature. Other objects en- 
 gaged their attention. The approaching con- 
 finement of the Marchioness of Uppingham, and 
 impending presentation at court of her se- 
 cond daughter, absorbed the meagre sympathies 
 of Lady x\skham ; while those of his lordship 
 were distracted between the increasing extrava- 
 gance of his eldest son, and the rebellion of one 
 of the younger ones ; who, Trafalgar-bitten at ten 
 years old, had tormented even his tutor into 
 admitting that he was fit for nothing but the 
 navy ! 
 
 Lord Askham, however, was ingenious enough 
 to invent a new species of torture for his echappe 
 des hagnes. — Like Nero, he chose to convert his 
 freedman into a friend ! Instead of pretending 
 to renew his tyrannies over Philip, he sought 
 to make him the confederate of his tyranny over 
 others ; and so far from rebuking the luxurious- 
 ness of the bachelor den in St. James's Place, 
 had nothing to complain of but the profligacy of 
 Percy, and refractoriness of Claude. Philip, 
 with his hands full of government business, and 
 
 <} 2
 
 124 SELF. 
 
 pockets full of government money, had become 
 an object of respect ! 
 
 If anything could have more amazed him than 
 this unnatural deference, it was Lord Askham's 
 manifesto of the present state of things at Eden- 
 bourne. 
 
 " We have had an unusually j. ay autumn," 
 said he. " The flattering manner in which I was 
 supported by the neighbourhood, indeed, I may 
 say, by the whole county, at the Agricultural 
 Meeting, rendered it indispensable to offer some 
 civility in return." 
 
 Philip, finding himself appealed to, replied by 
 an assenting bow. 
 
 " A ball is the most comprehensive compli- 
 ment on such occasions," resumed his lordship, 
 in an argumentative tone : "and on a ball I de- 
 cided. Your sister Emma, who (though not pre- 
 sented) made her first appearance on the occasion, 
 was the belle of the evening ; — though some peo- 
 ple by-the-bye, Philip, assigned the palm to Mrs. 
 Saville." 
 
 « To Mrs. Saville ?" faltered Philip, unable to 
 conceal his surprise at hearing viva voce from
 
 SELF. 125 
 
 his father, a name which, even in the depths 
 of his heart, he seldom permitted himself to 
 pronounce. 
 
 " We have seen a good deal of her lately," re- 
 sumed his lordship, as unconcernedly as if talk- 
 ing of Simprems or Sir Erasmus L'Estrange. 
 " A very deserving young woman, I find. — You 
 should have explained to us, Philip, when I 
 objected to the acquaintance, that her husband 
 was the son of Sir Herbert Saville of Bayhurst, 
 and she herself, one of the Monsons of Kent. 
 Her social position was completely misunder- 
 stood at Edenbourne." 
 
 " Of Mrs. Saville's social position, my lord, 
 I know nothing — of herself very httle," retorted 
 Philip, with some bitterness : convinced that no- 
 thing but certainty of the young widow's indif- 
 ference towards himself, would have obtained 
 indulgence for her from his father. 
 
 "We met her at dinner at Hexham, and 
 Emma persuaded me to invite her to the ball,"* 
 added Lord Askham, in explanation. 
 
 « When /had the honour of her acquaintance," 
 observed Philip, with growing indignation, " she
 
 126 SELF. 
 
 professed a determination to live in complete 
 retirement." 
 
 " The very circumstance that rendered her an 
 object of suspicion!" — cried his father. "However, 
 she was wise enough to perceive her error ; and 
 if accidentally compelled to submit to the visits 
 of the Gwatkins, and that grotesque old man 
 at Edenbourne Lodge, the honour of admittance 
 to the circle at Eden Castle has aflForded some 
 compensation." 
 
 Philip dared not give vent to his feelings in 
 reply. But in the depths of his heart, he mur- 
 mured a quotation, more classical than kind, 
 touching the mutability of the sex, — paraphrased 
 in the venomous Richard of Gloucester's apo- 
 strophe to the inconsistency of " shallow chang- 
 ing woman !" 
 
 But while Lord Askham's dispositions to- 
 wards him underwent this miraculous mollifica- 
 tion, those of his brother-in-law were beginning 
 to wax somewhat hard. Conscious of having 
 transgressed against Lord Uppingham's inten- 
 tions, and schooled by the former oppressions of 
 Eden Castle to assist all indication of undue
 
 SELF. 127 
 
 authority, — Philip resolved to place himself 
 on his guard against the reprehensions of the 
 Marquis, by the assumption of a dignified re- 
 serve. — It was not difficult ! — For twenty years 
 had he lived with a model of such accomplish- 
 ments before his eyes, — it was only, however, 
 to his idolized wife. Lord Uppingham allowed 
 himself to express his dissatisfaction. 
 
 " I cannot exactly make out Philip," said he 
 to the Marchioness, — as they were enjoying to- 
 gether an airing in the King's Road, one sun- 
 shiny December day. " He has lost that sub- 
 dued manner I thought so pleasing. — He has 
 been living lately, 1 find, with an equivocal set of 
 people." 
 
 " Equivocal .?"' — repeated Lady Uppingham, 
 who had noticed in her brother only a favourable 
 change in health and spirits. 
 
 " I scarcely know how to describe them, — half 
 castes, as regards society, — in political life, ad- 
 venturers ; — authors, artists, actors, — the scum 
 of the effervescence of Carlton House !" — replied 
 the Marquis, between whose solid nobility and
 
 128 SELF. 
 
 the wind, an olla podrida like that of Eske Hill 
 had never a chance of interposing. 
 
 "My aunt Middlemore and Helen were telling 
 me last night, in Mansfield Street, that he was 
 quite the rage," observed Lady Uppingham. 
 
 " The rage /" reiterated the Marquis, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders ; " the very phrase for a flashy 
 girl like Helen, as indicating the madness pre- 
 valent ' when the dog star rages.' But rage or 
 not, I fear poor Philip is deficient in the self- 
 possession and steadiness of purpose indispen- 
 sable to all success in life." 
 
 " Your steadiness of purpose, my dear hus- 
 band, has bespoken his success !" replied Lady 
 Uppingham, feelingly. — " Thanks to you, Phi- 
 lip's fortune is made. — What can he want more 
 than your kindness has procured ?" 
 
 " A position of his own creation, — if he have 
 the spirit of a mouse!" cried her lord. "The 
 superstructure of our fortunes, Margaret, should 
 be in proportion to the foundation aiForded us. — 
 Beginning life as Philip has begun it, he might 
 work his way to eminence."
 
 SELF. 129 
 
 " And you think him too indolent for the at- 
 tempt P""" 
 
 " I think his way already missed ! He has 
 flung himself, without rhyme or reason, out of 
 our sphere ; or rather, in running after rhyme, 
 has lost sight of reason ! — Philip hovers 
 like a bat, between the two parties ; and like 
 other amphibious animals, creates enemies in 
 either element. — By the Tories, his connexions 
 will cause him to be mistrusted ; by the Whigs, 
 his conduct. But don't look so much alarmed, 
 dearest Margaret, "—added he, on seeing her 
 change colour, — " I make the most of his de- 
 hnquencies, that you may use your influence 
 with your brother, (and your influence, who 
 could withstand!) to induce him to assume a 
 more explicit position." 
 
 " He is probably enjoying the passing hour, 
 without regard to the future or the past," ob- 
 served Lady Uppingham, in a gentle tone of de- 
 precation. 
 
 " The very thing I complain of ! — That airy 
 nothing called the present, is the subtle essence 
 of human existence, — the thing that creates our 
 
 G 5
 
 130 SELF. 
 
 reputation, and decides our fortunes. — The fres- 
 coes of some grand Italian cupola, viewed face 
 to face, present a confusion of blurs and blotches ; 
 yet at a distance, resolve themselves into a ma- 
 jestic design. So should the daily trivialities of 
 life be studiously adjusted;— whereas such de- 
 sultory habits as Philip's, remain unmeaning 
 blotches, contemplated from whatever point of 
 view." 
 
 « I will speak to him. — Let us hear what he 
 has to say for himself !" said Lady Uppingham. 
 — " Like other creatures tamed by long confine- 
 ment, he may have been puzzled, on emerging 
 from his cage, to determine what road to take." 
 
 She did accordingly speak to Philip. But he 
 who answered her, was no longer the humbled 
 Philip of Eden Castle! The bird had lost its 
 natural notes, and could at present repeat only 
 imperfect snatches of airs learned from its bird- 
 organ. Like the bewildered Sacristan in the 
 Monastery after his interview with the White 
 Lady, he replied to his sister's admonitions by 
 incoherent echoes of the incantations of Eske 
 Hill!
 
 SELF. 131 
 
 " O ye Edenbournians !" — said he, " how 
 hard do I labour to obtain your applause ! — And 
 that it should be labour lost after all ! — A year 
 ago, Margaret, I was abused among you for my 
 apathy ; — pointed at as a hypochondriac, — 
 scouted as a sneak. — Now, because I have pro- 
 fited by my independence — to form friendships 
 and opinions of my own, you hint that I shall 
 come to the gallows !" — , 
 
 " I have hinted nothing of the kind, my dear 
 brother, that I am aware of," replied Lady Up- 
 pingham, confused by his tone of levity. " I 
 only eptreat you to remember the fate of Percy ! 
 See to what a destiny his flightiness has betrayed 
 him !" 
 
 " And what better, pray, could your ladyship 
 expect of your brothers ?" — said Philip, rising 
 to settle his cravat in the glass, with an affec- 
 tation of affectation. " We do but follow the 
 example of our excellent parents. ' As crows 
 the old cock, so crows the young;' and Lord 
 Askham is, without exception, the most in- 
 consistent man of my acquaintance. — Like the 
 Hottentots, he carves unto himself idols of
 
 132 SELF. 
 
 wood ; and when the skies don''t rain to his 
 liking, chastises his divinities by traihng them 
 in the dust. — If you could only hear him talk of 
 Percy !" 
 
 "I am afraid my brother's conduct is such as 
 to cause him some uneasiness," said Margaret, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Had Percy's home been made pleasanter to 
 him, he would not have gone round by Tou- 
 louse !"" — retorted Philip : " As it is, his debts 
 and Catholic widow, will have to be brought be- 
 fore the House of Commons, one of these days, 
 like those of other heirs-apparent! — But consi- 
 dering all my father used to say of my incapa- 
 city, I see no reason why he should take up 
 hours a day of my time, (which is the public's,) 
 in consultations about his family affairs; ay, 
 and without booking up his six and eight-pence 
 per item for my excellent advice !" — 
 
 " He concludes, probably, that in your pre- 
 sent responsible situation, you have acquired 
 habits of business,"' observed Lady Uppingham. 
 " What inconsistency in that?" 
 
 " Know then this truth, my dear Margaret'
 
 SELF. 133 
 
 (enough for man, or woman, to know,)*" said 
 Philip, attempting to conceal his embarrass- 
 ment by taking admiringly from her hands the 
 tiny cap she was embroidering ; — " after forcing 
 me to break off my intimacy with — with — the 
 lady at Eastfield, — of whom last year you spoke 
 so kindly, — my father has actually invited her 
 to Eden Castle, and taken her to his heart of 
 hearts !"— 
 
 " I heard from Emma they found in Mrs. 
 Saville a charming acquaintance. — But is such 
 your ground of complaint against my father ? 
 and can you really treat so lightly a circum- 
 stance that ought to be highly gratifying to 
 your feelings ?'■* 
 
 " Would you have me fool enough to cry for 
 joy, when I am able to laugh ?" — retorted her 
 brother ; "mirth being, in my opinion, the highest 
 exercise of our intellectual powers. Man is 
 the only laughing animal in creation ; for the 
 laugh of the hyaena is a vulgar error, expunged 
 from all modern editions of Buffon. — Sir 
 Erasmus L'Estrange will attest that he spent 
 some time in the desert, among those much
 
 134 SELF. 
 
 misrepresented quadrupeds, without extracting 
 from them more than a broad grin." 
 
 " How can you be so childish !" — exclaimed 
 his sister, — discerning the hollowness of his 
 spirits in all this rodomontade. 
 
 "How, rather, can I be otherwise?" rejoined 
 Philip. " When I was a child, I was forced to 
 put away childish things ; and having been 
 made at five years old grave as a judge, at 
 five-and-twenty let me enjoy the privilege of 
 which I was defrauded." 
 
 To argue with him seriously in his present 
 mood, Lady Uppingham saw would be useless. 
 It was pleasanter therefore to discuss those 
 family interests which provoked no dissen- 
 sion. 
 
 " Eden Castle seems to have grown more 
 sociable since our time," said she. — '* Emma 
 has better spirits than I ; and Henry exercises 
 a certain influence over my father." 
 
 "Like the Roman knight who gave up 
 the best of the argument to CaBsar, not 
 caring to dispute with a man having fifty 
 legions at his command, / knew better than to
 
 SKLF. 1 35 
 
 attempt opposition !" — rejoined Philip. " As to 
 Henry, contention is his cue ! — A fight with my 
 father is good professional practice for him. 
 Henry, you know, is for the bar ; and about to 
 be brought into parliament over my head. My 
 father swears by his eloquence !" 
 
 " You were never at the trouble of exerting 
 yours. Even in the case of INIrs. Saville, you 
 scarcely raised your voice." 
 
 *' A quoi bon ? Did you never hear of the 
 man, who, when Charles the First was king, was 
 whipped by order of the Star-Chamber for 
 calling the crest on his master's carriage a goose 
 instead of a swan ? — / should have undergone 
 similar fustigation at Eden Castle, for persist- 
 ing that my geese were swans ! — But between 
 ourselves, my dear sister," continued he, in 
 deprecation of her wrath, " I attribute the 
 recent gaiety of Eden Castle to less ostensible 
 causes than the influence of Henry or Emma. 
 Percy's demands from Verdun are becoming 
 heavier than is compatible with an entailed 
 estate ; and, retrenchment being the order of 
 the day, my father's pride chooses to put a good
 
 136 SELF. 
 
 face upon the matter. His ball purported 
 only to divert attention. The old story ! — The 
 tail of Aleibiades' dog." 
 
 " You really think my father embarrassed in 
 his circumstances ?" said Lady Uppingham, in 
 a tone of deep regret. " Perhaps so ; for his 
 family is indeed a large one, and the demands 
 upon him considerable, — How fortunate, Philip, 
 that we two are provided for !" 
 
 Afraid perhaps of a more direct reference to 
 his obligations towards her husband, Philip 
 instantly looked at his watch, and rose to take 
 leave. 
 
 " Any commands for Saint James's Street ?"' 
 said he. " I fear I must be off to Brookes's !" 
 
 " To Brookes's ? — I thought my father had 
 got you into Boodle's ?"" — said the simple-hearted 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Heaven preserve me from his lordship's 
 club ! — I should as soon think of employing 
 his tailor !" said Philip, about to quit the 
 room. " But by the time my little nephew in 
 expectation is old enough to profit by my 
 example, I promise you, my dear good sister, to
 
 SELF. 137 
 
 twaddle down to the level of Boodle's. By that 
 time I shall have become a model man ! — 
 As poet Pye said or sang to us the other 
 night,— 
 
 Fired with a sacred flame 
 
 For Albion's cause, and Freedom's glorious name, 
 Firm in the House of Commons will I stand, 
 Petitions from constituents in my hand ; — 
 Hurl bolts of vengeance on Oppression's head, 
 While living honoured, and revered when dead ! "
 
 138 SELF. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Debout sur des debris, I'orgueilleuse Angleterre, 
 La menace a la bouche, et la gloire a la main, 
 Reclame encore la guerre et veut du sang humain, 
 Elle, dont le trident, asservissant les ondes, 
 Usurpa les tresors et les droits des deux mondes. 
 
 M. J. Chenier. 
 
 Nodigan que es menester 
 
 Mucho tiempo para amar. 
 Que el amor que ha de motar 
 
 De un golpe ha de ser. 
 
 Marques des la Navas. 
 
 Luckily, perhaps, for the Marquis of Up- 
 pingham, his mind was just then diverted 
 from the aspect of public affairs, by the ab- 
 sorbing interests of home. — For it was a 
 black moment for the Pittites ! — Lord Ask- 
 ham, in the virulence of his Anti-Gallicism, 
 was forced to retire daily into his lair, to brood in 
 gloomy silence over the victories and conquests 
 attributed by even the most passive of papers
 
 SELF. 139 
 
 to the valour of France, and blunders of Aus- 
 tria: — the newly-fledged eagles of the Brum- 
 magem Emperor being everywhere triumphant 
 over 
 
 L'aquila grifagna 
 Che per piu divorar, duoi rostri porta ! 
 
 As in the reign of Julian, the prodigious 
 consumption of white bulls for sacrifice, com- 
 pelled the priests to shave the black spots from 
 speckled ones, in order to supply appropriate 
 victims for the altar, the choristers of Notre 
 Dame were said to be hoarse as ravens, from the 
 perpetual chanting of " Te Deuni !" — 
 
 At length, came the unkindest cut of all ; — 
 that fatal battle of Austerlitz, — the Pavia of 
 Francis II., — the Mantes of William the Con- 
 quered ! Just as Lord Uppingham was render- 
 ing thanks to heaven for the birth of a son and 
 heir and the safety of his young Marchioness, 
 his exultation was painfully mbdified by the loss 
 of his venerated friend. 
 
 The death of Pitt was followed by a change 
 of administration. The Marquis was bereaved 
 not only of his friend, but his place :— nor did
 
 140 SELF. 
 
 he repine at a privation which left him at 
 liberty to retire into private life, for the cultiva- 
 tion of his newly-acquired domestic joys. But 
 he was too good a patriot, or too strenuous a 
 party-man, not to survey with intense interest 
 the struggle that ensued. 
 
 For the politicians of Europe were playing a 
 desperate game, — knee-deep in blood, with 
 human hearts for counters ; and the measures 
 of such a moment are somewhat more exciting 
 than maundering debates upon a new rate of 
 postage, or old tax on leather. Millions of 
 men and millions of money, lay at the mercy of 
 a division ; and the scales wherein fluctuated 
 the destinies of Europe, were balanced in the 
 parliament of Great Britain. 
 
 Infatuated by party-spirit, aggravated in the 
 present instance by the recent loss of his 
 friend. Lord Uppingham was goaded out of his 
 usual statesman-like moderation, by the trium- 
 phant attitude of the Whigs ; and it was fortu- 
 nate, perhaps, that the straw still spread before the 
 gates of Uppingham House, and the consequent 
 exclusion of company, secured him against col-
 
 SELF. 141 
 
 lision with his brother-in-law. Philip, a mem- 
 ber of Brookes's, — Philip, fresh from the 
 prompting of Bob Hardynge, and stimulated 
 by the nine-times-nine of Eske Hill, — would 
 have been insupportable ! — Already Sir James 
 Hardynge had been restored to his office by 
 the new administration, and the patent of his 
 peerage was in progress ; while Robert wrote 
 himself down M.P. under favour of a govern- 
 ment borough. 
 
 Philip himself might have regarded with a 
 jealous eye this sudden advancement of his col- 
 league, had it been easy to entertain injurious 
 sentiments towards Bob. But he was such a 
 frank, off-hand fellow, that enmity was out of 
 the question ! Idolized by his parents, he could 
 not conceive himself an object of displeasure to 
 any living mortal ; and so peremptory were his 
 demands on the sympathy of his friends, that 
 denial was impossible. — His bright eyes seemed 
 to kindle brightness in the eyes they looked 
 on : his warm heart to create warmth in those 
 with whom he consorted. — While Philip Askham 
 remained "Philip" with everybody but his
 
 142 SELF. 
 
 coaching cousin, Robert was " Bob Hardynge " 
 with all the world. Those who abhorred the 
 liberalism of Sir James, and dreaded his latitu- 
 dinarianism, had a corner in their hearts for 
 Bob! 
 
 Though PhiUp had abstained from requiting 
 the hospitalities of Eske Hill, by presenting 
 his young colleague to his family in return, it 
 was less because afraid that his free and easy 
 manners, and saucy Gallomania might offend 
 the pragmaticality of Lord and Lady Askham, 
 than from reluctance to expose to his quizzing 
 the tedious inanity of the house. By comparison 
 with the cultivated brilliancy of the Hardynge 
 set, his home was an owl's nest ! 
 
 One day, however, as they were driving 
 together in Hardynge's phaeton towards the 
 House of Commons, a glimpse of the family 
 coach of all the Askhams, stopping before the 
 gates of Uppingham House, reminded Philip 
 to make formal inquiries after his sister and the 
 little Earl, to whom his lady-mother appeared 
 to be paying a visit. 
 
 " And who was that lovely girl in the corner 
 
 6
 
 SELF. 143 
 
 of the carriage ?"" demanded Bob, starting his 
 horses with renewed spirit, as soon as Philip 
 had obtained at the carriage-window more par- 
 ticular "particulars " than the stereotyped "As 
 well as can be expected " of the porter. 
 
 " One of my sisters." 
 
 '• You have other sisters, then, than the 
 Marchioness of Uppingham ?" 
 
 " Two ! — nay, by Jove, three I — Emma, whom 
 you saw me speaking to just now, was presented 
 at the last drawing-room." 
 
 " Strange that I should not have noticed her ! 
 — I never saw a more piquant countenance !" 
 
 " One seldom notices the countenances of 
 one's sisters," replied Philip, coldly. 
 
 " Does not one ? — 1 ask for information, 
 being an only child. It strikes me, however, 
 as difficult to overlook that of Miss Askham !" 
 
 *' Emma's ?" repeated his companion, in an 
 absent manner, — his thoughts still engrossed by 
 Uppingham House. 
 
 " By your leave, Miss Askham s !" — persisted 
 Hardynge, with a smile; " though proud to be 
 called ' Bob' by any member of your august
 
 144 SELF. 
 
 family, as the moon said to the sun, * Sir ! I 
 know my distance !' " 
 
 He knew it so well, apparently, as to be de- 
 termined on its diminution. Reminiscences of 
 the fair face he had discerned in Lady Askham's 
 carriage so haunted his mind, that an irresistible 
 attraction seemed to place Uppingham House 
 in the direct road to every place he had to visit. 
 Whatever Philip's engagements, Bob and his 
 phaeton were always at his disposal ; till at 
 length, one afternoon, as they were traversing 
 the dreary wilds of Portland Place, Hardynge 
 reminded his friend, as if a Viniproviste, of a 
 long-standing promise to take him to Mansfield 
 Street for the sight of a fine Cuyp, which 
 Philip had cited as the companion to a land- 
 scape by the same master, adorning the dining- 
 room at Eske Hill. 
 
 Impossible to refuse ! Thanks to the spirit 
 of Hardynge's horses, in a moment, they were at 
 the door ; and a great relief was it to Philip, 
 to learn from the solemn butler, that my lord 
 was gone to Downing Street, and my lady to 
 Uppingham House.
 
 SELF. 145 
 
 " The pictures, however, must be at home !" 
 cried Bob, who flattered himself he could dis- 
 cern the outline of a slender form behind the 
 muslin curtains of the drawing-room ; a suspi- 
 cion agreeably justified when, having followed 
 Philip up stairs, they were welcomed by a tall 
 graceful girl, whom he recognized as his angel 
 of the family coach, even previous to the slight 
 introduction vouchsafed by his friend of, " Miss 
 Askham — Mr. Hardynge." 
 
 To his great surprise, however, her formal 
 curtsey in acknowledgment of her new acquaint- 
 ance was followed by an equally formal request 
 that he would introduce his companion. 
 
 " His name may be Askham," as you assure 
 me," said she, with affected gravity : " but be- 
 lieve me, he is a total stranger in this house !" 
 
 " I am sorry my visits make so little impres- 
 sion !" retorted Philip, in the same spirit. " It 
 strikes me I have dined here occasionally since 
 your return to town." 
 
 " I hope you do not mean to impose the 
 deaf and dumb gentleman who sat by papa at 
 dinner on Thursday last, as the charming Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 SELF. 
 
 Askbam, of whom I have heard such wonders 
 lately, from my cousin Helen — and others T 
 added she. in a significant tone. 
 
 Philip cared little for the praise of his cousin 
 Helen. The mysterious supplement piqued his 
 curiosity. But he was not allowed to pursue 
 his inquiries. Bob Hardynge was scarcely the 
 man to be defrauded of his share of attention. 
 
 By way of attracting towards himself one of 
 the beaming looks at present monopolised by 
 her brother, he expressed a hope that Lady 
 Askham's visit to Uppingham House was not 
 occasioned bv an unfavourable change in the 
 state of the Marchioness. 
 
 " Do I look as though my sister were in 
 danger?" — said Emma, with precisely the sort of 
 smile he hoped to elicit. — " No ! mamma 
 is only gone to hold a cabinet council with Mar- 
 garet and the head nurse, concerning the number 
 of yards of Valenciennes indispensable to bring a 
 baby's cap to the dimensions of a bishop's wig. 
 I, of course, am not on the matronly committee. 
 By tbe way, gentleman in the blue and buff, 
 whom I cannot call brother of mine ! — are you
 
 SELF. 147 
 
 aware that Margaret is trying to decoy Lord 
 Uppingham from town, to spend the spring at 
 the Manor?" 
 
 " That she may not make her dehut in the 
 beau monde in the dowdy character of a 
 nurse ?" 
 
 " When did you ever know Margaret in- 
 fluenced by selfish motives ?"■ cried Miss Ask- 
 iiam. " Her object is simply to secure her 
 husband from the mortification of witnessing 
 the defeat of his party. She is distracted, poor 
 soul, between her dread lest he should stay in 
 London, and expire under the slow fever of 
 parliamentary debate ; or the country be lost for 
 want of his omnipotent protection !" 
 
 " And she applies to my mother for advice in 
 such a dilemma?" — demanded Philip, with a 
 sarcastic smile. 
 
 " No ! — for comfort in her afflictions !" was 
 Miss Askham's reproving rejoinder. " No 
 balm so healing to a woman's wounds as mother- 
 love ; nor are we grown too fine to be fond of 
 each other, dear Philip, like certain great men 
 
 H 2
 
 148 SELF. 
 
 of our acquaintance. The humdrum hearts of 
 Edenbourne are still ' open as day to melting 
 charity !' And, by the way," continued she, 
 warned by his overclouded face to change the 
 conversation, " 1 have a present for you, which 
 I had not courage to offer to the supercilious 
 gentleman who dined here on Thursday last." 
 
 " A present ?" repeated her brother, imme- 
 diately adding an assurance of the pleasure he 
 should feel in receiving any token of her af- 
 fection. 
 
 " My affection !" cried Miss Askham, " mine ? 
 The poor, stupid little Emma, on whom you 
 used to cast such contemptuous glances at 
 Eden Castle, when in disgrace six days in the 
 week, with Miss Harrison, for not knowing her 
 tables? No, Philip! the promised cadeau is 
 from one far dearer to you. So, at least, I pre- 
 sume, or she would not talk of you with an 
 earnestness of enthusiasm more than rivalling 
 that of my cousin Helen." 
 
 With all his apathy, inherent and acquired, 
 Philip could not listen to all this without emo-
 
 SELF. 149 
 
 tion. He made no answer, however, unwillins 
 to risk the steadiness of his voice in pronouncing 
 the name of Mrs. Saville. 
 
 " Askham is a lucky fellow," observed Har- 
 dynge, a little puzzled by the discomposure o 
 his friend. " Offerings are laid upon his shrine 
 in all parts of the kingdom at once ! Like the 
 sun, his smiles exercise their influence over a 
 thousand dials! Had \ou seen him, Miss 
 Askham, last night at Lady Grandison's drum, 
 even you, who do not appear a very partial 
 judge, would have pronounced him the most 
 favoured of his sex " 
 
 " He was at Lady Grandison's, then ?" — cried 
 Emma, with a heightened colour. " The ques- 
 tion was discussed at breakfast, between mamma 
 and papa ; who, in the teeth of that most au- 
 thentic organ of fashion, the ' Morning Post,, 
 denied the possibility that a son of theirs should 
 have caused the family name to be announced 
 in the head-quarters of the enemy." 
 
 " But your present, Emma !" interrupted 
 her brother, anxious lest she should betray to 
 his companion the narrow bigotry of his pa~
 
 150 SELF. 
 
 rents. — " Have a little mercy, child, on my 
 patience." 
 
 Miss Askham, who had already opened a 
 little ebony desk standing on the table beside 
 her, now carefully drew forth a small packet, 
 enveloped in silver paper. 
 
 " If you could only have seen her blush, 
 when she entrusted it to my hands," — said she, 
 placing it in those of her brother. And while 
 Philip, with pretended unconcern, proceeded to 
 open the mysterious packet, he could scarcely 
 breathe, under the agitation of finding himself 
 laid open at such a crisis to the cross-fire of his 
 companions. Emma was not to be pardoned 
 for her indiscretion in thus exposing his weak- 
 ness. 
 
 A moment afterwards, he was still further 
 provoked by a peal of girlish laughter from his 
 giddy sister, produced by the air of consternation 
 with which he surveyed his prize — a clumsy 
 pocket-book of straw-work, evidently the first 
 effort of a child. 
 
 " Selina's own performance !" cried Miss Ask- 
 ham, in explanation; "dear, darUng, little 
 Selina !"—
 
 SELF. 151 
 
 " Darling and dear, if you will, but certainly 
 not adroite comme une fee f interposed Har- 
 dynge, repressing his merriment when he saw 
 an angry spark kindle in the eyes of Philip. 
 
 " Whatever the blemishes of Selina's handi- 
 work," observed the latter, struggling to recover 
 his composure, 
 
 ' Look in her face, and you forget them all !' 
 
 Selina is the prettiest little creature in the 
 world !" 
 
 " And the truest-hearted !" added his sister, 
 with enthusiasm. " An unflinching advocate 
 of yours, Philip ! — No one ever ventures to 
 attack you in presence of Selina !" — 
 
 " I am sorry any one should have attempted 
 it, in presence of my sister !" was the bitter 
 retort. 
 
 " Would you have me do battle in your be- 
 half against a whole county ?" — cried Emma, 
 unmoved by his indignation. " However im- 
 bounded your popularity just now in London, 
 be assured you are no favourite at Eden- 
 bourne !" —
 
 15'2 SELF. 
 
 Philip shrugged his shoulders, with an air of 
 contemptuous resignation. 
 
 " It is painful to betray his failings before a 
 friend, INIr. Hardynge,'"' resumed the gay girl ; 
 " but, alas ! ray brother has left behind him at 
 Eden Castle, a reputation far from chivalrous ! 
 Our neighbourhood contains but three young 
 ladles, — not much sillier or more tiresome than 
 young ladies in general ; yet it is on record that 
 Mr. Philip Askham was never known to address 
 to either, one civil word ! As to his mental 
 accomplishments, we have a be-knighted author, 
 — a tourist of many quartos, — who accuses him 
 of being so to seek in his geography as to fancy 
 
 that Monte Video was But what answer am 
 
 I to send to Selina?" — said she, abruptly inter- 
 rupting herself, on perceiving that angry clouds 
 were gathering on the brow of Philip. 
 
 " The eloquence of a box of sugar-plums 
 would surely be the most acceptable reply," 
 interposed Hardynge, perceiving that his friend 
 was in no mood to be gracious ; on which, 
 Philip, apprehensive, perhaps, that Lady Ask- 
 ham might return, and wax wroth on find--
 
 SELF. 153 
 
 ing a stranger of Bob Hardynge's appearance 
 so familiarly installed in the company of her 
 unchaperoned daughter, suddenly alluded to the 
 purport of their visit, which he proceeded to 
 explain to his sister. 
 
 " Since Mr, Hardynge is fond of pictures," 
 said she, as they were going down stairs to visit 
 the Cuyp, " why not show him, first, the Claude 
 in the back drawing-room ?" — 
 
 " Because it is not an original." 
 
 " I will not try to convict you by my fathers 
 favourite argument, that it ' must be an original 
 because my uncle gave two thousand pounds for 
 it at Sir James ThornhilFs sale.' But original 
 or not, it is a noble painting." 
 
 Prepared at all risks to coincide in her opi- 
 nion, Hardynge followed her light footsteps into 
 an adjoining room, containing several adm.irable 
 works of art, dimly perceptible by the misty 
 light of a dreary February day, in a narrow 
 London street. 
 
 " Claude, for a ducat !" — cried Hardynge, 
 affecting to examine with the eye of an artist 
 the picture she pointed out, (and he would pro- 
 
 H 5
 
 154 SELF. 
 
 bably have said the same of some group of 
 animals by Snyders or Hondekgeter.) " There 
 cannot be a doubt of its originality !" 
 
 " De Irs cosas mas seguras, 
 Lo mas segura es dudar !" 
 
 sang Emma, with sprightly grace, — not a little 
 amused by the air capable with which her 
 visitor delivered his verdict. 
 
 " In this confounded light, what matters the 
 utmost merit of a picture?" cried Philip. 
 " My father ought to remove these things to 
 Eden Castle !" 
 
 " As if any one had a right to bury the chef- 
 doeuvres of the ancient masters in his country- 
 seat !" — retorted his sister, " No, no ! Papa 
 cannot do better than immure the grim visages 
 of his ancestors, or sullen faces of his chil- 
 dren. But paintings like these should remain 
 within reach of the public !" 
 
 " That sentiment was never conned out of the 
 Pandects of the house of Askham !" — observed 
 her brother, amused in his turn by her venturing 
 to have opinions of her own. — " But come
 
 SELF. 155 
 
 along, Bob ! your phaeton horses, not being 
 cognoscenti like yourself, appear to be getting 
 fidgetty." 
 
 As they passed through the hall, Robert 
 Hardynge took care not to remind his compa- 
 nion, (who, since the production of the pocket- 
 book, had remained, like Pantagruel, 'perplex et 
 esbahi,) that the object of his visit was still 
 unaccomplished, — that they had seen nothing 
 of the Cuyp ; hoping, perhaps, to insure a pre- 
 text for a second visit to the family mansion, 
 containing among its valuable works of art a 
 child of nature so much more valuable, as the gay 
 and gracious Emma. 
 
 " Lucky dog that you are, Philip," cried he, 
 as they drove from the door, " to possess such 
 sisters and such pictures, yet afford to make no 
 boast of them ! — In your place, I should climb 
 the old bronze horse at Charing Cross, and 
 proclaim my good fortune by sound of trumpet ! 
 What beauty — what animation, — and what an 
 exquisite Claude !" — added he, as if afraid of 
 betraying the whole measure of his enthusiam. 
 
 " Emma seems to have grown up a lively 
 
 8
 
 156 SELF. 
 
 girl !" v/as the nonchalant reply of his compa- 
 nion, " Her disposition resembles Percy's, 
 rather than mine. So much the worse for her. 
 A will o"" the wisp is not a more dangerous 
 guide to a traveller, than high spirits to a 
 woman ! Emma appears thoughtless enough to 
 say more in an hour, than in a year she would 
 find leisure to repent. — Emma is just the girl to 
 create a host of enemies." 
 
 " And troops of friends !" — added Bob Har- 
 dynge, with spirit: "open-hearted, — clear- 
 headed, — what can you want more i"' 
 
 " The feminine serenity of ray elder sister ! 
 Margaret is so sedate, so gentle, so attaching !" 
 said Philip, his thoughts reverting to another 
 person, — no sister of his, — who was also gentle, 
 attaching, and sedate. 
 
 " You have seen more of Lady Uppingham, 
 as nearer your own age,"' pleaded Bob, resolved 
 not to be seduced from the cause of the 
 hazel-eyed beauty, which he had instinctively 
 adopted. " But you often allude to the high 
 spirit?; of your brother Percy ; and at Eton, he 
 certainly left the reputation of being the merri-
 
 SKLF. 1 57 
 
 est dog in the upper school. Yet the frag- 
 ments you read me from his letters, abound in 
 doleful dumps." 
 
 " Percy's accounts of himself are not always 
 to be trusted,"" replied Philip. " To suit his 
 convenience, he goes into deep despair or a deep 
 decline, without scruple or ceremony. When 
 required to live in England, nothing agreed with 
 him but France. Now that France is his home, 
 English air has become vital to his health," 
 
 " Askham's letters are framed, perhaps, to 
 meet the surveillance of the French police." 
 
 " More likely to meet the surveillance oi Eden 
 Castle. I would give much for a little unre- 
 strained intercourse with him," added Philip, 
 with a sigh. " All I hear from other quarters 
 of his pursuits, is far from satisfactory. Ver- 
 dun is a terrible school; and Percy is said 
 to be equally a victim to the allurements of 
 rouge et noir, and red and white." 
 
 " Why does not Lord Uppingham interfere 
 to effect his exchange?" — inquired Hardynge, 
 more gravely.
 
 lo8 SELF. 
 
 "When in power, his efforts were unavailing; 
 what possible chance now f " 
 
 " But you, Philip, —you have friends high in 
 the confidence of the present administration ; — 
 and a veord from Mr. Fox to the Emperor would 
 surely suffice ?" — 
 
 " Of course it would ; but who could ask it of 
 him, for my father's son ?" — 
 
 " Your friend's father to be sure !" was the 
 prompt rejoinder of Hardynge. " I will men- 
 tion it to him directly ; and the first time you 
 come to Eske Hill, you can talk it over toge- 
 ther." 
 
 Philip made suitable acknowledgments : — 
 though without much expectation of a favour- 
 able result. For some time past, his assiduity 
 at Eske Hill had insensibly relaxed. The place 
 was not what it had been. Since Sir James's 
 accession to office, he had resided in town — in 
 the Pajjs Latin, or rather pays perdu of the 
 lawyers, — the isthmus of Bloomsbury, uniting 
 the great continents of court and city ; a rusty 
 grappling iron between business and plea-
 
 SELF. 159 
 
 sure. — It was only on Saturdays he now visited 
 his rus in urbe, to luxuriate in the two days' 
 holiday of the oflScial week. 
 
 The spell of continuity was consequently 
 broken. The establishment was disorganized ; 
 and worse than the establishment, the society 
 itself was out of joint. 
 
 No greater mistake than to attribute a double 
 charm to the recreations snatched in the intervals 
 of a busy life. A school-boy alone is young 
 enough to enjoy his vacation with a vague con- 
 viction that it is morrowless. On the mind of 
 Sir James, the weighty duties of a responsible 
 post cast their shadows before, even while pre- 
 siding over his convivial board : — nay, the board 
 itself had become less convivial. Topics once 
 freely discussed there, would have been out of 
 place in presence of the law advisers of the 
 Crown ; and diatribes regarded as an excellent 
 joke by members of the opposition, had become 
 sad earnest, to government men. Often, when 
 some literary guest, over whom the change of 
 administration had exercised no positive influ-
 
 1 60 SELF. 
 
 ence, hazarded a fling at la chose puhlique, such 
 as aforetime would have set the table in a roar, 
 silence and consternation ensued. 
 
 Even Bob Hardynge was conscious of the 
 change. Some weeks after his memorable visit 
 to Mansfield Street, having persuaded Philip to 
 accompany him to Eske Hill to enjoy the first 
 outburst of spring in the form of violets and 
 jonquils, he could not repress his murmurs 
 on their way back, on the Monday morning, to 
 town. 
 
 " We are getting deadly lively here," said he, 
 as they quitted his father's gate; "dull and 
 donkeyfied as other great people!— No fun 
 going on among us now. Nothing but after- 
 dinner debates, drowsy enough to drive even 
 the House of Commons to its night cap. 
 Instead of squibs and crackers, we fire off only 
 four-and-twenty pounders, — solemn as the mi- 
 nute guns at a royal funeral ! — My father, so 
 brilliant a few months ago, proses, as if eter- 
 nally on the bench ; — colons and semi-colons, 
 by Jove, in every sentence ! — I am beginning
 
 SELF. 161 
 
 to believe, Philip, that no public man obtains a 
 bronze statue from posterity, unless, in his life- 
 time, he become a statue of lead !" 
 
 Philip Askham's unadvised rejoinder was not 
 flattering. 
 
 " Sir James is not at ease in his new 
 habiliments," said he ; " the armholes are still 
 tight, — the buckram of office is stiff." 
 
 " Not stiffer for him than for his colleagues." 
 " The transition from private to public life, is 
 greater, perhaps, to a lawyer."" 
 
 " Why, what more public than a life spent in 
 court ?"— cried Hardynge, eagerly. 
 
 " A life spent at court !" — was the cool re- 
 joinder of Philip. " What difference, for in- 
 stance, does it make to my brother-in-law, whe- 
 ther in or out of office ? — From his cradle to his 
 coffin, his life must be a life of representation !" 
 
 In spite of himself, Bob Hardynge felt ex- 
 ceedingly nettled. A few weeks before, and he 
 would have retorted with playful frankness, " Is 
 it because we are parvenus, then, that we are 
 all bores?" — But now, convinced that his admi- 
 ration of Emma had not escaped the notice of
 
 162 SELF. 
 
 her brother, he fancied that the disparity of 
 condition between them was purposely pointed 
 out. Else, why this gratuitous allusion to " my 
 brother-in-law ?" 
 
 A moment afterwards, his suspicions received 
 further confirmation. 
 
 " Emma has written to bespeak my influence 
 with my father and mother," said he, " to ob- 
 tain leave for her to accompany the Upping- 
 hams to the North."" 
 
 " To Uppingham Manor ? — At this season of 
 the year?" — 
 
 " Absurd — is it not ? — I suspect she wants to 
 get out of the way of Middlemore ; who has 
 taken it into his empty head that, next to his 
 team and black retriever, Emma is the finest 
 thing in creation !" 
 
 "The brute!"— 
 
 " My cousin-german — be pleased to remem- 
 ber; and one day, perhaps, to be my brother- 
 in-law." 
 
 " You surely do not think Miss Askham 
 would accept him !" — cried Hardynge in dismay. 
 
 " What girl of eighteen has strength of mind
 
 SELF. 163 
 
 to refuse Hurstwood Castle and fifty thousand 
 a-year? Besides, Middlemore, though no Solon, 
 is the best-natured creature breathing. Emma 
 might do what she liked with him. More than 
 might be the ease with others, in essentials far 
 his inferior." 
 
 Again did Bob Hardinge wince, — fancying 
 himself talked at. 
 
 " What do you mean by ' essentials ?' " — said 
 he, looking straight between the ears of his off 
 horse. 
 
 " Rank — fortune — a fitness of things and 
 compatibiUty of condition between them. In 
 short, she has my consent to marry him, if she 
 can obtain her own ; and I shall, therefore, 
 strongly oppose her desire to leave town with 
 the Uppinghams." 
 
 " With all his professions of liberality, Ask- 
 ham is as much encrusted with aristocratic mor- 
 gue as the rest of his caste !" — exclaimed 
 Bob, when, half an hour afterwards, he quitted 
 his companion ; and, with tingling ears, pro- 
 ceeded to the discharge of his official duties. 
 "The indelible sign of the beast!" continued
 
 164 SELF. 
 
 he, with a gesture of impatience, on recalling to 
 mind the unwarrantable caprice recently ex- 
 hibited by the Askhams towards his father, in 
 the matter of Percy's exchange. 
 
 For the services of Sir James had not only 
 been rejected, but under circumstances to com- 
 promise his own character for consistency. 
 Connected with Mr. Fox by the silken ties, of 
 private life as well as by the chain-cable of po- 
 litical confraternity, on learning the negotia- 
 tions for the exchange of the Earl of Yarmouth 
 and other detenus of consideration, Sir James 
 had not hesitated to request the insertion in the 
 ministerial list of the name of the Honourable 
 Percy Askham ; and having been the com- 
 panion of Fox's visit to Paris, on the peace of 
 Amiens, and shared his introduction to the First 
 Consul, by whom both were received with 
 signal distinction, the recommendation of Sir 
 James Hardynge had been especially appended 
 to the request. 
 
 All was in auspicious progress ; and Philip 
 had the satisfaction of conveying the welcome
 
 SELF. 165 
 
 news to his father, and receiving the acknow- 
 ledgments of Lord Askham in return ; when, 
 by the gossiping of Lord Askham's lady, the 
 intelligence was unluckily conveyed to Upping- 
 ham House. 
 
 The Marquis, just then at the crisis of his 
 party fever, — confounding Napoleon, Fox, and 
 Sir James Hardynge in a common detestation, — 
 treated the whole transaction as a political in- 
 trigue. 
 
 " A snare, my dear lord," cried he to his 
 father-in-law, — " a palpable snare ! In this age 
 of coalitions, a shrewd fellow^ like your republi- 
 canized special pleader, thinks to entrap you by 
 an obligation. —All he wants is to secure' the 
 future member for Edenbourne." 
 
 "If I thought so, I would instantly decline 
 his interposition," cried Lord Askham, whose 
 sullen mind was ever prompt to adopt suggestions 
 of mistrust. 
 
 " The whole thing is a cunning cabal," per- 
 sisted Lord Uppingham. " These people have 
 got hold of Philip, and hope to get hold of you !
 
 166 SELF. 
 
 Believe me, you would stand grievously com- 
 mitted with our party, by trafficking with the 
 Whigs." 
 
 . " It is not too late ! Nothing has yet been 
 done/' — cried LordAskham, staggered and con- 
 fused. " Philip must acquaint his friends that 
 I wish matters to stand as they are. He 
 can put it upon the state of Percy's health, 
 — or upon — no matter what ! Since such the 
 object of this Whig lawyer's interested offici- 
 ousness, I care little whether he be affronted 
 or not !" 
 
 By Philip, accordingly, the ungracious task 
 of refusal was reluctantly performed ; and though 
 Sir James, an experienced public man, had 
 little difficulty in assigning the impertinent 
 caprice of Lord Askham to the dictation of his 
 arbitrary son-in-law, Robert, inspired by the 
 susceptibility of a dawning passion, chose to 
 infer that the Askhams could not make up their 
 minds to accept a favour from a family whose 
 alliance and origin they despised. 
 
 " If a son or brother of mine were a detenu 
 in the hands of the enemy," murmured he, with
 
 SELF. 167 
 
 growing bitterness, " methinks I should accept 
 his Uberation at the claws of Belzebub himself! 
 But from Belzebub, people of the Askham class 
 would rather accept it, than from a man like 
 my father, — le fits de ses ceuvres — and uncon- 
 nected with their self-seeking- order." 
 
 The antipathies inseparable from ignoble 
 birth had been fostered by his visit to the 
 French metropolis ; where a glimpse of consular 
 fame in all her glory, had enamoured the heart 
 of young Hardynge of her republican institu- 
 tions. Dazzled by the showy surface of the 
 Mosaic, lie had no time to detect that its 
 brilliancy was produced by well-adjusted parti- 
 cles of coloured glass ; and neither his schoolboy 
 friendship with Philip Askham and other 
 Etonian items of nobility, nor even his dawn- 
 ing passion for Emma, availed to obliterate 
 from his nature the democratic tendencies of the 
 parvenu. 
 
 Little did Bob surmise, however, that at the 
 very moment he was indulging in his philippic, 
 his noble colleague was giving utterance to in- 
 vectives nearly as vehement, against the folly
 
 168 SELF. 
 
 and ingratitude of his family, in having declined 
 the friendly interposition of Sir James, which 
 would have preserved them from new misfor- 
 tunes. 
 
 The first thing that met Philip Askham's eye 
 on repairing to his office, was a letter in Percy's 
 handwriting; and inferring from the unusual 
 circumstance of its being addressed to Somerset 
 House that it might contain matters too con- 
 fidential to be intrusted to the rest of the family, 
 he tore it open with warmer interest than he had 
 latterly bestowed on anything bearing the post- 
 mark of Verdun. 
 
 But though the sequel confirmed his con- 
 jectures, he would far rather have found himself 
 in the wrong. Percy had not only confidences 
 to make, but services to demand ; appealing 
 to the aid of his brother, as to that of a good 
 Samaritan; — for he also "had fallen among 
 thieves." 
 
 Not a syllable of those flippant allusions to 
 the dulness of home and denseness of his family 
 circle, anticipated by Philip. — No romancing— 
 no rodomontade ! — For once, Percy was in ear-
 
 SELF. 169 
 
 nest; For once, Percy wrote to the point: — for 
 his interests were staked on his sincerity ! 
 
 " Adopt the best mode that circumstances and 
 your experience suggest," wrote he, "of break- 
 ing to my father what, smooth it over as you 
 will, must be a startling blow. — I need not 
 tell you, my dear Phil, that, in this accursed 
 place, play is our sole resource against the heavi- 
 ness of time. — It is no fault of ours ! — Our lives 
 are a very burthen to us ; and the excitement of 
 cards has preserved more than one of my un- 
 fortunate fellow-prisoners from cutting his throat. 
 Let my father inquire of Lord Yarmouth, (who, 
 having been so fortunate as to procure his ex- 
 change, will shortly be among you,) whether we 
 are not forced to have recourse to some such 
 ' pungent interest, to lose sight of our wretched 
 situation ! 
 
 " In short, my dear fellow, my usual ill-for- 
 tune has attended me ; and, as the devil would 
 have it, I am in for no less a sum than £16,000 ! 
 for more than half of which, I have been com- 
 pelled to give bills at sight, and for the re- 
 mainder, three months' acceptances. For these, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 SELF. 
 
 my father must instantly provide. Not alone 
 is my own credit at stake, but that of my coun- 
 try. Were I in England, instead of exposing 
 Lord Askham to inconvenience, and myself to 
 his Jeremiads, Jews and post-obits would be 
 the mark ! — Here, accommodation to such an 
 amount, is out of the question ; and I have, 
 therefore, no means of suspending the domestic 
 storm, the explosion of which I do not envy 
 you! 
 
 " Say what you can, and promise what you 
 will for me to the old gentleman. Tell him I 
 will join in mortgages to double the amount, 
 which would cover all he has paid for me during 
 the last three years. 
 
 " Above all,>Phil, lose not a moment ! Write 
 to me, if possible, by return of post ; and 
 see that the first eight thousand is paid 
 instanter through Coutts's house to my credit 
 at Perregeaux's, or all is up with 
 
 " Your affectionate brother 
 
 P. A." 
 
 " Confound his cool selfishness !" — was the first 
 ejaculation of Philip, after pausing the letter.
 
 SELF. 171 
 
 " And trebly confound the obstinacy of Lord 
 Uppingham in rejecting Sir James Hardynge's 
 interference !" the second. To waste time, how- 
 ever, in fruitless recrimination, was weakness 
 equal to their own. — Something must be in- 
 stantly attempted. 
 
 But how — and where — and when ? Philip 
 admitted the limitation of his father's resources. 
 The hardness of the times had curtailed a third 
 of Lord Askham's income. Ill-paid rents and 
 well-paid taxes left as small a floating capital at 
 his disposal, as usually graces the banker's book 
 of a peer of the realm, whose family is large 
 and cerebral development, moderate. There 
 would probably be as much difficulty in pro- 
 ducing at a moment's notice the alarming sum 
 squandered by Philip, as in negociating an 
 Austrian loan ! — 
 
 " How unlucky that the Uppinghams should 
 have left town," cried he. " The Marquis 
 might have given me useful advice ; and Mar- 
 garet's good sense and good feeling would have 
 assisted me to place the matter before my 
 
 I 2
 
 ] 72 SELF. 
 
 father, in the manner least irritating to his 
 feehngs." 
 
 A moment later, and he congratulated himself 
 that the Uppinghams were out of the way. It 
 would have annoyed him to expose the frantic 
 rage of his father to a man so much the master 
 of his temper, as his brother-in-law ; nor could 
 he be certain that, when weary of abusing 
 Percy's extravagance, Lord Askham might not 
 turn upon him by whose injudicious advice he 
 had been tempted to perpetuate the injurious 
 exile of his son. 
 
 " Not a soul in my own family to whom I 
 can turn for counsel!" cried he; after passing 
 in review, like files of leaden soldiers, the heavy 
 brigade of his noble relations. — " Not a human 
 being in whom I can confide !" 
 
 Then, seizing his hat and gloves, in a fit 
 of desperation, he left the business of the country 
 to take care of itself; and hoping to find Lord 
 Askham before he went out for the day, pro- 
 ceeded in blind haste to Mansfield Street.
 
 SELF. 173 
 
 CHAPTER VI II. 
 
 Hie vivimus ambitiosa 
 
 Paupertate omnes. 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
 Ye see yon birkie ca'd a' lord, 
 Wha* struts and stares and a that, 
 
 Though hundreds worship at his word 
 He's but a coof for a' that. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Precisely as Philip had prognosticated from 
 the regular habits of the family, before his 
 father's door stood a ponderous family coach, 
 bearing on all its panels the pompous emblazon- 
 ments of the house of Askham ; its pair of 
 broad-backed bean-fed horses, strong and heavy 
 in proportion, dozed over by a portly body- 
 coachman, whose gravity tvould have be-
 
 174 SELF. 
 
 come the woolsack equally with his bullioned 
 hammercloth. 
 
 On the opposite side of the street, was sta- 
 tioned, what was then considered, "a clever turn 
 out," — a light barouche with four greys, whose 
 heads, the box being vacant, were held by natty 
 grooms in the Middlemore livery ; towards whom 
 glances were ever and anon directed from under 
 the bushy eyebrows of the body-coachman, con- 
 veying as strong an impression of disgust as was 
 compatible with a frame as fleshy as Falstaff's, 
 and a nature as jovial. 
 
 Lord Middlemore was evidently paying his 
 daily visit to his cousin Emma, wooing her, as 
 Desdemona was courted by the Moor, with ac- 
 counts of his hair-breadth scapes, in racing to 
 Bedfont or Staines with his co-mates of the 
 barouche club, — his bets at the Fives' Court, or 
 miUing-bouts with Molyneux or Cribb. 
 
 For such fooling, Philip had just then nor 
 bent nor patience ; but the urgency of the case 
 determined him at all events to enter the house; 
 and, if unable to obtain a private audience of
 
 SELF. 175 
 
 Lord Askhara, communicate his painful intel- 
 ligence by a letter, which he could indite in his 
 lordship's study. 
 
 The first object, however, that struck him on 
 entering the sanctum sanctorum, was his father 
 in proper person; deeply ensconced in his library 
 chair, with a French dictionary in one hand, and 
 in the other a copy of the Emperor's recent 
 speech to the Legislative body ; trying to make 
 out, as well as his preparatory-school proficiency 
 in the language of the " Corsican blackguard " 
 would allow, the exact temperature of his im- 
 perial majesty's intentions towards Great Britain, 
 as by Charles Maurice de Talleyrand ex- 
 pounded. 
 
 On the entrance of Philip, he attempted to 
 explain what he had been vainly trying to un« 
 derstand; for between his desire for a Whiar 
 peace, that his son might be rescued from the 
 hands of the Philistines, and his delight in the 
 Tory war of extermination, by which Europe 
 might be rescued from the clutches of Napoleon, 
 he was completely puzzled !
 
 176 SELF. 
 
 To wait for the lucidation of his lordship's 
 intellects, was, at a crisis like the present, im- 
 possible. In a few words, therefore, Philip ex- 
 plained the painful purport of his visit, — satis- 
 fied that words, on his lordship^'s part, would 
 not be wanting. 
 
 Still, he was not prepared for the torrents 
 of indignation that burst forth, after learning the 
 onerous misdoings of his son. 
 
 Lord Askham protested, with frantic vio- 
 lence, that, already embarrassed by Percy's 
 extravagance, this new demand was a fiat of ruin 
 to the family ; and, not content with announcing 
 it to Philip, rushed up to the drawing- room 
 into the midst of his assembled family, and re- 
 peated in hoarse and struggling accents all he 
 had learnt and all he had been saying. 
 
 Regardless of young Middlemore's presence, 
 he denounced Percy as lost to all sense of de- 
 cency and honour, — as a scoundrel, a spend- 
 thrift, a gambler ! — " Percy was bringing his 
 family to the workhouse, — Percy was taking 
 the bread out of the mouths of his brothers and 
 sisters. Percy had obtained leave to go abroad
 
 SELF. 177 
 
 by an ungentlemanly imposture ; and, when 
 summoned back to England by his parents, had 
 chosen to go round by Toulouse !" 
 
 Scared by his uncle's vituperations, Lord 
 Middlemore slunk sheepishly away. But even 
 when left alone again with Philip, the exasper- 
 ated man could not be persuaded to turn his 
 thoughts to remedial measures. On this occasion, 
 he would not speak to old Coutts ; — he would 
 7iot consult his man of business, he would not as- 
 certam'what funds were at his disposal. Satisfied 
 that Percy's vicious propensities would reduce 
 him sooner or later to beggary, he chose to 
 fancy himself ruined at once. — " He had no 
 longer a guinea in the world. — They were all 
 paupers !" 
 
 In his total ignorance of the state of the fa- 
 mily affairs, Philip began to fear that his father's 
 denunciations might be only too well-founded. 
 When he talked of timber. Lord Askham made 
 it clear that with thousands of acres of wood- 
 lands, he had not a tree to cut down ; and when 
 he spoke of mortgages, it was explained that 
 Percy's co-operation could not be afforded un- 
 
 i5
 
 178 SELF. 
 
 less on the spot. As a last resource, he 
 suggested the name of his wealthy brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " Rather than that Percy should be thrown 
 into prison, might not temporary aid be ob- 
 tained from the Marquis, on security valid be- 
 tween peer and peer, or father and son, though 
 insufficient for bankers and usurers ?" 
 
 It needed but this hint to renew the parox- 
 ysms of Lord Askham ! The name of Lord 
 Uppingham suggested that but for liim^ Percy 
 might be now at liberty ! But for his 
 evil counsel, instead of hazard and rouge 
 et noir, lansquenet, and roulette, Percy 
 might have been enjoying his domestic pool of 
 commerce in Mansfield Street, and the dolce 
 far niente of representing the borough of 
 Edenbourne ! — Next to Percy therefore, the 
 greatest enemy Lord Askham possessed at that 
 moment was the most noble the Marquis of 
 Uppingham. 
 
 To bring him to listen to reason was like 
 preaching moderation to " the vexed Bermoo- 
 ihes !" So profusely and publicly had Lord
 
 SELF. 179 
 
 Askham attributed to his absent son every 
 christian grace and manly virtue Ukely to make 
 a martyr of the young detenu in the eyes of 
 the king and his ministers, that it seemed a 
 relief to his conscience, as well as to his temper, 
 to proclaim the tardy truth ; and Philip was be- 
 ginning to apprehend that, in default of other 
 auditors, the old butler and housekeeper might 
 be rung for to learn the real character of the heir 
 of their master's house, when Emma, who had 
 quitted the room half an hour before with her 
 mother, to commune over the family misfortune 
 in their chamber, suddenly reappeared on the 
 threshold, holding an open letter in her 
 hand. 
 
 The sight of open letters was becoming sicken- 
 ing to Philip ! — But with the one in question, it 
 would have been hypercritical to find fault, 
 though the writing was bad, the spelling worse, 
 and the style more than indifferent. 
 
 " A noble fellow ! — a most generous ofl'er !" 
 cried he, after running over the contents. 
 
 Then, perceiving that Lord Askham was un- 
 equal to the task of decipherment, he explained
 
 180 SELF. 
 
 in terms somewhat more succinct than those of 
 the letter, that Lord Middlemore had enclosed 
 an order upon Baring for the sum in demand ; 
 entreating that Emma would " persuade her 
 father to make use of the balance lying idle in 
 his banker's hands." 
 
 It was as natural for Philip to hope, as for 
 Emma to fear, that the offer would be thank- 
 fully accepted, and all immediate difficulty at an 
 end. But they were mistaken. Lord Askham 
 was not going to be cheated in that way out of 
 his privilege of being the most unfortunate man 
 and ill-used father in the universe. After pro- 
 fiting by his nephew's assistance, what right 
 would he have to weary his family by perpetual 
 murmurs, to harass them by his economies, to 
 revile the interference of Lord Uppingham, or 
 Percy's predilection for Toulouse ? — No ! — he 
 chose to be a victim to his heart's content. 
 Like Jaffier, " he was in love, and pleased 
 with ruin !" — 
 
 ' Emma was requested therefore to inform 
 Lord Middlemore that her father intended 
 *' to trust to his own resources ;" and in the
 
 SELF. 181 
 
 overflowing of her joy at not being forced to in- 
 cur so great an obligation towards one she liked 
 as a kinsman, but as a companion for life must 
 have despised, she prepared herself to clothe the 
 intelligence in somewhat more gracious terms 
 than were dictated by Lord Askham. Her 
 warm heart was really touched by the good- 
 nature and generosity with which her coaching 
 cousin had hurried off to place his fortune at her 
 disposal. 
 
 " In node consilium !" thought Philip. "To- 
 morrow may bring forward better fruit. Com- 
 municate with my brother by this day's post, I 
 cannot ; and the suspense will afford him a use- 
 ful lesson. But by the morning, my father will 
 have stormed himself into a calm, and be pre- 
 pared for rational expostulation." 
 
 The morrow, however, brought only a tran- 
 sition from rage to sullenness. 
 
 " All was over for him," Lord Askham said, 
 " in this world. His lawyers assured him no- 
 thing could be done towards raising money by 
 mortgage, in the absence of the heir in tail ; and 
 his balance at his banker's did not amount to
 
 182 SELF. 
 
 a quarter of the sum demanded with such cool 
 audacity by Percy." 
 
 " My brother must prepare, then, for the 
 worst," muttered Phihp, after a dismal pause, 
 wondering in what words to convey this fatal 
 fiat to the detenu. " There is nothing further 
 to be done." 
 
 " Who told you there was nothing more to 
 be done ?" — cried Lord Askham, with rekind- 
 ling anger. " Of course there is something to 
 be done, — however humiliatina", — however vexa- 
 tious. We must discharge the greater portion 
 of our establishment, — we must resign the 
 luxuries, not to say comforts, of life ! — We must 
 live, in short, like beggars, in order that this 
 ungrateful profligate may be supported in his 
 career of vice !" 
 
 " But even all these sacrifices, my lord, pain- 
 ful as well as gratuitous as they may be," 
 pleaded Philip, " will require time for their 
 fructification ; and before you are able to lay by 
 the sum indispensable to the security of my 
 brother " 
 
 " Well, sir?" interrupted Lord Askham, 
 
 10
 
 SELF. 183 
 
 wondering to what further insult was about to 
 be exposed the most injured parent since the 
 days of Lear. 
 
 " I observed, my lord, that before you could 
 provide the money, or one half of it, some years 
 must elapse." 
 
 " You suppose me, then, utterly devoid of 
 friends or resources ?" — exclaimed Lord Ask- 
 ham, livid with rage. " No, sir, the first moiety 
 of the enormous sum squandered by your un- 
 principled brother has already been remitted to 
 Messieurs Perregaux. I am just come from 
 the Strand. I have made an arrangement with 
 Coutts. On my note of hand, the money was 
 instantly advanced." 
 
 Philip was unable to repress a cry of exulta- 
 tion. He soon found, he had done amiss. 
 
 " What are you so glad of ? — Is it a matter, 
 pray, for rejoicing, that I am to be driven out 
 of town at this season of the year ; at a time, 
 too, so momentous to the interests of the 
 country, and the prospects of your sister ?" 
 
 " Surely it would be as easy to effect such 
 reductions in your estabhshment as you consider
 
 184 SELF. 
 
 indispensable, in London as in the country ?" 
 remonstrated Philip, in a respectful tone. 
 
 " No, sir ; it is neither so easy nor so palata- 
 ble," retorted his father. " Do not deny me the 
 poor comfort of burying the disgraces of my 
 family in a spot where I am entitled to sympa- 
 thy. At Eden Castle, I may at least seclude 
 myself from the slights of the world.*' 
 
 Philip offered no further opposition. In Lord 
 Askham's present frame of feeling, he was capa- 
 ble, if detained in town, of haranguing Boodle's, 
 day after day, on the misdemeanours of his son 
 and disorder of his finances ; or even memorial- 
 izing the treasury, or petitioning parliament, 
 concerning the demoralization of loyal British 
 subjects, by the contagion and example imbibed 
 during their detention in France. Better, 
 certainly, that he should proceed to Eden 
 Castle. 
 
 All was speedily arranged. The family might 
 quit town as for the Easter holidays, and for- 
 bear to return. No surprise would be excited. 
 Lord Askham had no public part to play in 
 politics, and his private position was too insig-
 
 SELF. 185 
 
 nificant to render his comings or goings of 
 much importance. 
 
 " As regards my nephew jNIiddlemore," ob- 
 served Lady Askham, confidentially to her son, 
 on the eve of the journey, " as one of the 
 family, he of course can visit Edenbourne, as 
 easily as Mansfield Street; and I have invited 
 my sister and Helen to spend Easter-week with 
 us, to give a colouring to his visit. Depend 
 on it, Phihp, we shall soon have him at Eden 
 Castle." 
 
 As this expectation afforded balm to her 
 maternal wounds, Philip refrained from intreat- 
 ing she would depend upon the contrary. For 
 already Emma had deputed him, as plenipo- 
 tentiary and intermediary general of the family, 
 to explain to her cousin the impossibility of re- 
 quiting his generous services by other than 
 cousinly regard; nor had Philip's remon- 
 strances availed more against her determination 
 to refuse his hand, than they had done against 
 Margaret's acceptance of Lord Uppingham's. 
 It was clear he was not intended by providence 
 to become conscience-keeper to his sisters.
 
 ] 86 SELF. 
 
 " Since you are so bent on having Hurstwood 
 Castle in the family," said Emma, after listen- 
 ing patiently to the reproaches which he called 
 arguments, — " persuade my cousin to wait a year 
 or two for Susan. Susan will be just the wife 
 for him. Susan has the same tastes, the same 
 warm-hearted, blunder-headed generosity. Susan 
 outrides and outruns the bravest of her bro- 
 thers ; and whenever Miss Harrison can be got 
 out of the way at Eden Castle, will catch the 
 wildest of the foals loose in the park, and witch 
 the deer and the nursery-maids by her noble 
 pony ship. At some future time, Susan will 
 mount the box with poor Middlemore, and be 
 thankful.^' 
 
 " And Emma might, even now, bring him 
 down from it, and be happy !" retorted Philip. 
 
 " On the contrary, were I fated to become 
 his wife, (which not the worst possible beha- 
 viour of all my brothers united shall effect !) I 
 would have him nailed to his barouche-seat for 
 the remainder of his days. Never should I 
 wish to see him otherwise than with the reins 
 in his hands."
 
 SELF. 1 87 
 
 " In short, Miss Emma Askham, like Miss 
 Lydia Languish, pleads guilty to the soft im- 
 peachment of choosing to marry for love !" 
 
 « Why not add (as your friend, ]\Ir. Har- 
 dynge, did the other day) that first love is 
 the convulsion incident on our second teeth- 
 ing? — Why not invent something pungent on 
 the indelicacy of selecting a husband by the 
 heart, rather than the head ? — Can you devise 
 no striking epigram on the childishness of pre- 
 ferring a crust of bread and liberty, to Hurst- 
 wood and the society of a man as companionable 
 as the mastiff in his court-yard ?" 
 
 *' I perceive, my dear Emma," said her bro- 
 ther, gravely, " that Miss Harrison has been 
 got out of the way lately, oftener than when I 
 was a state-prisoner with you at Eden Castle, 
 — Margaret looked upon these things with other 
 eyes than yours." 
 
 " We see accordinor to the instincts God 
 has given us !" — replied Emma ; " and the 
 spectacles affixed to my eyes by Miss Harrison, 
 have not rendered me short-sighted. My incli- 
 nations are not as Margaret's ! If I did not
 
 ] 88 SELF. 
 
 love my husband — love him very differently, 
 too, from her regard for her dictatorial Marquis, 
 — I will not answer for myself, Philip, that, — 
 one day or other I might not " 
 
 She paused, and fixed her eyes portentously 
 on her brother. 
 
 " Might not — what ?"" persisted Phihp, some- 
 what alarmed. 
 
 ^^ Poison him!'"' — replied Emma, in a hoarse 
 voice, distorting her pretty face by a melo-dra- 
 matic grimace ; " particularly," added she, 
 laughing heartily at the sudden recoil of Philip, 
 " particularly if addicted to coaching, — boxing, 
 — rat hunting, — gin-punch, — and the other en- 
 nobling predilections of my cousin Middle 
 more !" 
 
 " And pray, my little Emma," resumed her 
 brother, — amused in spite of himself by her 
 petulance, — " to whom are you indebted for this 
 prodigious insight into the mysteries of the 
 human heart ? — Whom have you had lately at 
 Eden Castle, to lecture you on a branch of the 
 fine arts in my time so scrupulously interdicted, 
 that we used to read out a family Shakspeare,
 
 SELF. 189 
 
 — a family Homer, — a family Milton ;— nay, if 
 I remember, even Hannah More and Miss 
 Edgworth were Bowdlerized out of all allusion 
 to the tender passion, ere they were suffered 
 to enter the school-room ! — Have the Miss 
 Gvvatkins been showing you their Valentines 
 or has Sir Erasmus L'Estrange turned Romeo 
 in his old age ?" — 
 
 " Sir Erasmus has turned Romeo, though 
 not to find a Juliet in me," — cried Emma. 
 " But I must be as dense as poor Middle- 
 more himself, if, on such a subject, I applied 
 for instruction to raw girls and boys, like the 
 old Gwatkins, or our trusty knight of Eden- 
 bourne Lodge. — No, dearest Philip, if you 
 must needs know the origin of my proficiency, 
 learn that I am indebted for it to Mrs. Sa- 
 viUe !"— 
 
 " I ascribed better taste to her," rejoined 
 Philip, drily, " than to indulge in conversation 
 of such a nature, with a girl of your age." 
 
 " Of such a nature ! — of what nature ? Do 
 you imagine, my good brother, that on accom- 
 panying mamma to call at Eastfield, or when
 
 190 SELF. 
 
 Mrs. Saville dined at the castle, I addressed 
 her in the tone of Miss Harrison, and the style 
 of Joyce's Scientific Dialogues, with, " You in- 
 formed me at our last meeting that first love 
 was a combination of the neutral salt, youth, 
 with oxymuriate of idleness. Let me hear 
 what you have to say about interested mar- 
 riages !" 
 
 Irresistible was Emma Askham's mimicry 
 of the shrill voice and pinched air of the gover- 
 ness; yet Philip was angry with himself for 
 laughing. 
 
 " Give me credit, dear brother," she resumed, 
 " for cleverer management. To come at the 
 result of Mrs. Saville's married experience, I 
 talked to her of the beauty of her children, — 
 the sacrifices she was making for their sake, — 
 and, above all, of the duty of encouraging the 
 devotion of her superanuated swain, Sir Eras- 
 mus (for Edenbourne Lodge, you know, is 
 Hurstwood to the tenant of Eastfield) ! Thus 
 it was I drew from her the confessions I wanted. 
 She owned that, amid all her troubles, she had 
 never repented her imprudent match ; — that
 
 SELF. 191 
 
 her married life had been a day of unclouded 
 happiness ; — and that not all the treasures of 
 this world would induce her to give to Edward 
 Saville's orphans, a father unworthy to supply 
 his place ! From the intensity of love with 
 which she talked of them, Philip, I was able to 
 surmise the warmth of her attachment to her 
 husband !" 
 
 Miss Askham paused; but this time her 
 brother made no rejoinder. It was perhaps in 
 pity to his confusion that Emma resumed her 
 explanations. 
 
 " I could never love poor Middlemore with 
 that sort of devotion !" said she. *' For him 
 I could not submit to bury myself in faithful 
 widowhood at Eastfield : and it is consequently 
 out of my power, to become Emma, Lady Mid- 
 dlemore.'* 
 
 Philip Askham seemed to think so too; 
 though in truth he was thinking of something 
 else. In a hurried absent manner, he promised 
 to deliver her message to her cousin, and keep 
 his rejection a secret from her parents (so as to 
 spare her their fruitless remonstrances;) and
 
 192 SELF. 
 
 away he went, to indite his letter of congratula- 
 tion to Percy, and ponder over the life and 
 opinions of Evelyn Saville. 
 
 Less lax of counsel than his friend Har- 
 dynge, he judged it unnecessary to apprize 
 him of all that had occurred. — Verdun was a 
 topic he scrupulously avoided at Eske Hill; 
 and there was nothing more extraordinary to be 
 accounted for in the untimely visit of Lord and 
 Lady Askham to Eden Castle, than in the 
 previous departure of the Uppinghams for the 
 Manor. 
 
 Still, the consciousness of disingenuousness 
 imparted a suspicious degree of embarrass- 
 ment to his air, when announcing that they had 
 left town. 
 
 " Leave town in March ? — Leave town be- 
 fore Easter? — Leave town, with a hundred 
 pleasant fetes in prospect ?" — was all the disap- 
 pointed lover found to utter in reply ; and when 
 Philip, instead of meeting the question with 
 frankness, changed colour and looked uncom- 
 fortable, the young Lovelace of the Pays Latin 
 felt as convinced that his passion was evident to
 
 SELF. 193 
 
 all the world, and that Lord Askham had with- 
 drawn his family from London to secure himself 
 against the annoyance of an impertinent proposal, 
 as Philip that the letter of advice (advice not 
 eo?wmerciff% speaking) which he had that morn- 
 ing despatched to his brother, would be laid 
 aside unread till a more convenient season; 
 or, like other vexatious questions, adjourned 
 sine die. 
 
 Thenceforward, there were two despairing 
 Thyrsises, instead of one, to deface the govern- 
 ment blotting-paper with initials, in his Ma- 
 jesty's public offices of Somerset House ; and 
 as it was just then the fate of Robert Hardynge 
 to flesh the maiden sword of his eloquence in 
 the debate on the Order in Council for the 
 detention of the Prussian ships, it is more than 
 probable that the waspish tone of his speech, 
 (which elicited the compliment of an ironical 
 cheer from Canning,) was indebted for some 
 portion of its gall to abhorrence of Tory noble- 
 men, thrown into the system. It was not to 
 his Eton chum, he could express all he felt 
 towards Eden Castle. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 SELF. 
 
 Meanwhile the progress of the family into 
 the country, was much as if following a hearse 
 escutcheoned with their hereditary emblazon- 
 ments. His lordship sat " nursing his wrath to 
 keep it warm ;" his lady, who was in the habit 
 of taking her tribulations cold, or at least with 
 the chill off, remained silent as a mute ; and 
 between her father's bursts of exasperation, and 
 her mother's frigid taciturnity, Emma had a 
 pleasant time of it ! Already, like her brother 
 Philip before her, she was looking forward to 
 the kindly warmth of Eastfield, as the solace 
 of her cares ! 
 
 Edenbourne, on the other hand, was more 
 puzzled than ever what sort of a face to put on, 
 in welcoming its lawful authorities ! However 
 cautiously great people may seal their letters or 
 close their doors, their secrets are sure to 
 transpire ; and the losses at play of Mr. Ask- 
 ham, magnified of course from fifteen thousand 
 pounds to thirty, forty, and in remote parishes 
 to fifty, — engrossed the attention of the neigh- 
 bourhood. The family were said to be ruined,
 
 SELF. 195 
 
 — the borough was whispered to be in the 
 market. — Lady Askham was about to lay down 
 her carriage, — and his lordship to apply for the 
 poor nobleman's pension. 
 
 Still, as the intelligence was at present 
 marked private and confidential, (no one being 
 prepared to assert that it had been authenti- 
 cated by the family,) it was decided in commit- 
 tee by the Gwatkins, Rackets, and Sim- 
 prems, that no allusion should be hazarded to 
 the subject, till it pleased Eden Castle to open 
 its mouth and solicit their sympathy. 
 
 Any one in the secret, must have been 
 amused to watch the eagerness with which, 
 while pretending to impart the news of the 
 parish and accept such items of fashionable 
 small-talk as Lady Askham condescended to let 
 fall in return, they examined the countenances 
 of their noble hosts, for encouragement to put 
 on a doleful face, and own that they knew the 
 worst ! 
 
 When Lord Askham, who, so far from in- 
 tending to keep his sorrows to himself, was 
 
 k2
 
 196 SELF. 
 
 prepared to exhibit his wounds in the market- 
 place, — Uke Coriolanus 
 
 Show them the unaching scars whieh he should hide, — 
 
 and psalmodify his woes, as if proud of them, 
 like some beggar of his blindness, — proclaimed 
 his parental disappointments, and gave the 
 signal to the Edenbourne orchestra for an 
 overture in a minor key and five flats, the 
 change of countenance of his auditors was in- 
 stantaneous ! 
 
 They had waited only his sanction to expand 
 into their former chorus of ohs ! and alases ! 
 (" the original powerful cast ;") and right wel- 
 come was it to the fractious old man, to find 
 people who had still patience to make the 
 responses in the proper places to his chapter of 
 lamentations respecting Torquay and Toulouse ; 
 and to whom Lord Yarmouth and Sir James 
 Hardynge were new dramatis personce in the 
 Askham tragedy. So comforted was he, in 
 fact, by the polite attention of his auditory, 
 that the families accustomed to dine once a year
 
 SELF. 1 97 
 
 at the castle, during its palmy days, were 
 thenceforward bidden once a week, to its Lenten 
 entertainments. 
 
 Among those who expressed least on the 
 occasion, perhaps because of all the neighbour- 
 hood alone really interested in the welfare of 
 the famil}^, was Mrs. Saville. Her ladylike 
 nature would have recoiled from vociferous 
 condolences, like those of Mrs. Gwatkin or 
 Simprems. But she shuddered at the idea of 
 parents arrived at the age of the Askhams, 
 being reduced to personal privations by the 
 misconduct of one of their children ; and was 
 equally shocked that persons of their rank and 
 education, had not the decency to keep it 
 to themselves. 
 
 That her charming young friend at the 
 castle should have been curtailed of her Lon- 
 don pleasures, was also a subject of regret. But 
 the worst grievance of all, — the only i-eal 
 grievance to Mrs. Saville, — was -the fact an- 
 nounced by Emma at their first meeting, that 
 Philip was now an established man-about- 
 town ; wholly disconnected from his family, —
 
 198 SELF. 
 
 immersed in other friendships, acquaintance- 
 ships, and neighbourships, — devoted to opposite 
 politics, and pretending to a line of frivolous 
 distinction exclusively his own. 
 
 " Philip has brought himself to consider 
 Eden Castle a chateau en Espagne, — ' the 
 baseless fabric of a vision ' he never wishes to 
 find realized !" said the gay girl. " I shall be 
 surprised if we see him here again, within the 
 next ten years ! — Indeed, I doubt whether his 
 proneusCi Lady Grandison, allows him to 
 extend his absences from London further than 
 Fulham P' 
 
 Pleasant intelligence this, for a woman to 
 whom the prospect of his return had been as a 
 far-oif beacon, enabling her to traverse with 
 courage a dreary morass ! 
 
 For, though long blind to the nature of her 
 sentiments towards Philip, and enlightened at 
 last only by the void created in her heart by the 
 loss of his society, after the first shock of dis- 
 covery she never attempted to deceive herself 
 
 agam. 
 
 Few struggles, perhaps, are more painful to the
 
 SELF. 199 
 
 human heart, than the first perception of its 
 inconstancy to the memory of the dead. When 
 faithless to the living, excuses are usually to be 
 found, in their own conduct, or some moral or 
 physical change. We are always entitled to say, 
 (as the song does,) concerning those to whom 
 we have " plighted an eternal vow, 
 
 ■>■) 
 
 So altered are thy face and mind 
 'Twere perjury to love thee now ! 
 
 But there is no such pretext as regards those 
 holy memories consecrated by the stillness of 
 the tomb. The sweet face we beheld en- 
 shrouded for the grave, cannot si7ice have 
 frowned upon us ; the manly hand that wrung 
 our own in its parting agony, cannot since have 
 pressed the hand of another. The change is in 
 our infirmity of nature. We have violated a 
 solemn pledge. We have transferred to flesh 
 and blood, the tenderness sacred to a shade ! 
 
 Such were the compunctions of Evelyn Sa- 
 ville, on first ascertaining that the young man 
 whose visits she had fancied herself bearing 
 with, for the sake of diversion to her children.
 
 200 SELF. 
 
 had become an object of affection scarcely 
 secondary to themselves ! 
 
 Had Philip remained by her side, uncertainty 
 as to the nature of his sentiments would have 
 enabled her to combat the feeling. But as he 
 was gone, — gone for an indefinite period, — gone 
 perhaps never to return, — she did not refuse 
 herself the solace of reverie, that most fatal 
 among the many intoxications of the human 
 heart ! 
 
 The momentary interview which united 
 them on his flying visit to Edenbourne previous 
 to inauguration in office, had completed at a 
 blow the mischief slowly proceeding during 
 eishteen months. For his emotion on that oc- 
 casion was not lost upon her ; and she had 
 almost flattered herself it might arise from reci- 
 procation of those feelings which had become 
 the dearest companions of her solitude. But 
 on the morrow, Philip quitted the castle with- 
 out so much as a word of farewell ; and the 
 fairy palace created by a moment of enchant- 
 ment, in another moment wholly disappear- 
 ed !
 
 SELF. '201 
 
 Such was the motive of her acceptance of the 
 ohve-branch soon afterwards extended by the 
 Askhams. As the only means of obtaining 
 news of the family, she had submitted to the 
 intrusion of the Gwatkins and Sir Erasmus 
 during the sojourn of Lord and Lady Askham 
 at Weymouth ; and now, satisfied that she had 
 seen the last of him who was beginning to 
 occupy every thought of her mind, she fancied 
 it would comfort her to visit the scenes where 
 his cheerless youth had worn away; and become 
 acquainted with the brothers and sisters, among 
 whom, perhaps, some feature or turn of expres- 
 sion, might serve to wake into more vivid reality 
 the image imprinted on her heart. 
 
 There was possibly some portrait of Philip at 
 Eden Castle, — some childish sketch, still serv- 
 ing to recall his altered looks. Or he might 
 have left behind him a favourite dog ; or, at all 
 events, there was the room he had inhabited, 
 (the elder-son apartment inherited from Percy,) 
 containing his books, his gun, his inkstand. 
 He had too often described it to her during the 
 
 K 5
 
 202 SELF. 
 
 eight months of their intimacy, to leave her 
 ignorant of a single detail. 
 
 The result gratified her expectations. In 
 Emma Askham, she found a joyous, open- 
 hearted girl, eager to forestal her inquiries ; 
 and even Lord and Lady Askham, to whose 
 acquaintance she had looked with dread as the 
 arbiters of Philip's destinies, by whose asperi- 
 ties his early life was made so cheerless, 
 had too much tact not to discern the dis- 
 tinction of Mrs. Saville's air, and welcome so 
 agreeable an acquaintance to their circle with 
 a degree of courtesy that made her feel herself 
 at home. 
 
 No reason to repent the reluctance she had 
 overcome ! — No cause to repent her introduc- 
 tion at Eden Castle ! — And yet, in securing the 
 means of satisfying herself concerning the health 
 and happiness of Philip, she had completed the 
 destruction of her own ! 
 
 From the unguarded pleasantries of a girl 
 like Emma, it was easy to ascertain the mis- 
 conceptions to which her mysterious seclusion
 
 SELF. 203 
 
 had given rise. The strangeness of Philip's 
 deportment towards her under the interdictions 
 imposed by his father, was now explained. But 
 from the elucidation, arose a dilemma, more 
 perplexing than all the rest. Had the attach- 
 ment imputed to him by his family really existed; 
 and was his present estrangement the result of 
 the peremptory prohibitions of Lord Askham ? 
 
 Oh ! troubled, troubled dreams, that emanated 
 from that tormenting uncertainty ! — Oh ! reve- 
 ries more and more enthralling, which thence- 
 forward wrapt in Elysium her bewildered soul I — 
 From the moment of her first ramble with 
 Emma Askham in the shrubberies of Eden 
 Castle, poor Evelyn became, hke Othello, a 
 victim to the 
 
 Damned moments counted o'er by one 
 
 Who doats, yet doubts, — suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 Even Sir Erasmus L'Estrange, the most 
 patient of earth's tourists, who had submitted 
 without repining to have his skin peeled off 
 by the fervid suns of Congo, and a toe frozen 
 from his foot by the icy grasp of Nova Zem- 
 bla, — was beginning to perceive that the
 
 204 SELF. 
 
 temperate zone of Eastfield was far less equable 
 than of yore. 
 
 He did not tell it in Gath, — that is, he did 
 not whisper it at Hexham Hall, — but he was 
 sadly afraid some miasmatic influence had dis- 
 tempered the angelic frame of his dear Mrs. 
 Saville !
 
 SELF. 205 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Be curst and brief, no matter how witty, so it be eloquent 
 and full of invention. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Does any here know me ? This is not Lear ! Does Lear 
 walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are his eyes ? Either his 
 notions weaken, or his discernings are lethargied. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Among the mental delusions of our self-suffi- 
 cient little island, — untirable in hymning paeans 
 in its national honour as though paid to be its 
 own poet laureat, — is the conviction that the 
 English are the most hospitable people in the 
 world. Not that England is the most hospitable 
 country. The French are prone to glorify 
 la belle France, — the English to glorify them- 
 selves ; a Frenchman adoring his sol natal
 
 208 SELF. 
 
 under some ideal emblem, — the fleur-de-lys 
 or Cog Gaulois ; — while the Englishman wor- 
 ships his own gross image, typified under 
 the form of John Bull ! — 
 
 There is not (we repeat it that our meaning 
 may be unmistakeable) a greater blunder than 
 to attribute hospitality to Great Britain ; and it 
 should be seen to in the next Useful Know- 
 ledge edition of the Vulgar Errors of Sir Thomas 
 Brown. 
 
 We may have been hospitable, perchance, in 
 the days when we had only hips, haws, and 
 acorns to set before our guests, and wolf-skins 
 for their wedding garments ; for our wattled 
 cabins possessed no door for the exclusion of 
 strangers. But the moment the Angle became 
 a cooking animal, and above all, from the mo- 
 ment the patrician Englishman became a French 
 cooking animal, and knockers and street-doors 
 intervened between private life and the public, 
 our sense of hospitality was as that of an eagle 
 in its eyry ! 
 
 Set not thine arms a-kembo, excellent public, 
 {statua gentilissima !) nor fling back the accusa-
 
 SELF. 207 
 
 tion in our teeth. We deny not that thou art a 
 mighty giver of feasts, — that thy banquets, from 
 Lord Mayor's Day all the year round, are 
 savoury to the palate and ponderous to the ma- 
 hogany. For thou givest dinners to thy friends, 
 as dismissal to thy servants, at a month's warn- 
 ing; and at Christmas time, or throughout the 
 hunting season, as thy thousands per annum 
 admit, fillest thy best beds with guests, and thy 
 steward's room with the strange menials within 
 thy gates. Thou settest thine ale abroach, 
 taking care that thy county paper shall note the 
 measure of its overflowing ; and biddest to the 
 rich viands of thy many courses, those who have 
 ■ rich viands to offer in return. 
 
 But we say again, that, as regards the genial 
 spirit of hospitality, thou art a very churl ! Thy 
 flesh-pots simmer only for those who are ready 
 with an equivalent ; and even they must feed at 
 thy own time, and the suggestion of thy good 
 pleasure, or seek elsewhere for entertainment ! 
 
 Let a guest but keep thy dinner waiting half 
 an hour, and he will see ! How much more, if 
 he pretend to claim a meal, when thine ostenta-
 
 "208 SELF. 
 
 tions are laid on the shelf! Thou offerest him 
 turtle and venison in due season; but let him 
 ask a slice of mutton of thee at his need ! 
 While affecting an openness of hospitality 
 worthy the tents of Arabia, thou wouldst erase 
 from thy list of friends a man capable of request- 
 ing a crust of bread and glass of Madeira, when 
 luncheon time was past. 
 
 The Askhams, for instance, accounted hospi- 
 tality among their hereditary virtues, from 
 seeing, in the country, the hundred weights 
 of beef and pudding crammed into their 
 poor on state occasions, advertised in their 
 county paper; — and in London, their weekly 
 hecatombs, (in repayment of the daily hecatombs 
 offered to themselves,) recorded in the " Morn- 
 ing Post." 
 
 Though there was no more of the virtue that 
 shares its bread and salt with a fellow-traveller 
 in the desert in their frigid hearts, than in the 
 catacombs of a metropolitan cemetery, they felt 
 legitimately entitled, under their recent misfor- 
 tune, to the sympathy of Hexham Hall and 
 Edenbourne Lodge, by the nachharrecht of mu- 
 7
 
 SELF. • 209 
 
 tual hospitality ; and Lady Askham, who had 
 so long repudiated Mrs. Saville as a cast- away, 
 and who, even now, would have less resented 
 the entrance of a burglar through one of the 
 windows of Eden Castle than that of the gentle 
 widow, uninvited, through the door, assumed the 
 privilege, whenever she drove to Edenbourne, 
 of bestowing the weight of her tediousness upon 
 Eastfield, if she failed in securing, at the 
 rectory, ears for her querimonious discontent. 
 
 Never had her ladyship felt so in want of an 
 auditory ! A spring in the country was foreign 
 to her habits, and out of her reckoning. No 
 family connexions, now, to fill the castle with 
 repetitions of her own mediocre feelings and 
 features, a thousand-fold repeated. No noble 
 aunts or sisters to join their crewels with those 
 on her work-table, or maunder with her over 
 the decline of India muslins and rise of mecha- 
 nical lace. Even Lady Middlemore played her 
 false : Eden Castle being too remote from tov.n 
 to justify a mere Easter visit to a family whose 
 eldest son was beyond the reach of Helen's spe- 
 culations; and Lady Askham, who regarded
 
 210 SELF. 
 
 Emma as a prating child, would have been 
 often destitute of a victim on whom to vent her 
 vain-glory when a letter arrived from Margaret 
 with accounts of the increasing beauty of Up- 
 pingham Manor and the infant Earl, but for 
 the humble latch-gate among the cliffs of the 
 Eden. 
 
 There were others at the castle, however, 
 to whom it afforded a still more valuable re- 
 source. Young and apparently thoughtless as 
 she was, Emma was the only member of the 
 family alive to the influence exercised over the 
 health of Lord Askham by his recent vexations. 
 
 The prolonged excitement of a mind unused 
 to contrariety, was wearing the life-springs of a 
 frame roc.ked during the first forty years of its 
 existence by the monotonous ease of an uninci- 
 dental life. His looks were becoming haggard, 
 his articulation imperfect. When harassed by 
 the details of domestic economy, which his ex- 
 aggerated zeal for retrenchment brought down 
 in judgment on his head, he was often painfully 
 incoherent. 
 
 Unwilling to alarm her mother, Emma
 
 SELF. 211 
 
 pointed out the change to Miss Harrison ; but 
 the governess had not an idea beyond her gram- 
 mars and lexicons. She next addressed herself 
 to the tutor, who was too much startled at being 
 spoken to by one of the young ladies, to afford a 
 rational answer. At length, she pretended in- 
 disposition (after the example of Percy,) to ob- 
 tain an interview with Simprems ; who, after 
 hearing her details of Lord Askham's symptoms, 
 assured her no other remedy was needful but to 
 amuse his lordship's mind by cheerful compa- 
 nionship, and invigorate his lordship's frame by 
 daily exercise. 
 
 From that day, Emma devoted herself so per- 
 tinaciously to his amusement, that Lord Ask- 
 ham found it impossible to throw her off. 
 
 Affecting to have imbibed the tastes of her 
 sister Susan, she became the daily companion of 
 his ride, or persuaded him to drive her in the 
 pony-chaise to Edenbourne. She even per- 
 mitted herself to practise on his vanity, to secure 
 the benefit of a visit to Eastfield ; by reminding 
 him what a blessing it must be to a well-bred 
 woman like Mrs. Saville, to be relieved by his
 
 2 1 2 SELF. 
 
 society, from the burthen of that old man of the 
 sea, Sir Erasmus L'Estrange. 
 
 Tt was not to gratify her own inclination, 
 Emma Askham condescended to these manoeu- 
 vres. But she knew that, atEastfield, the weak- 
 nesses of her parents were safe from condemna- 
 tion ; — that the absurd confidences of Lord Ask- 
 ham would not be sneered at, as at Hexham 
 Hall, or repeated from house to house, as by the 
 gossipping Simprems. Mrs. Saville listened so 
 mildly to his frantic ebullitions of rage, on the 
 failui-e of Lord Lauderdale's mission ! — Mrs. 
 Saville consoled him so humanely, when the 
 brilliant debut of young Hardynge in parliament, 
 reminded him that, for a year to come, his fa- 
 mily borough must remain a monosyllable ! — 
 And though Emma knew, as well as if it had 
 been told her, that this exercise of neighbourly 
 charity was amply repaid by hearing, in return, 
 that Philip was well and happy, — a guest at Carl- 
 ton House, — or a cheerer in the gallery of the 
 House of Commons, — she was not the less thank- 
 ful for the benefit conferred. Even Selina was 
 beginning to look forward to their daily visits,
 
 SELF. 213 
 
 as she had formerly done to those of her dear 
 Philip. 
 
 Lady Askham took little heed of their grow- 
 ing intimacy. The change produced in her hus- 
 band's character by the vicissitudes of the last 
 four years, had produced in its turn tacit 
 estrangement between them. His violence 
 alarmed her — his peevishness Vv'earied ; — nay, 
 she began to misdoubt the excellence of a sys- 
 tem which had brought forth nothing but evil. 
 
 The recent reduction of her establishment, 
 moreover, had thrown a thousand interests into 
 her jurisdiction, more than were dreamed of in 
 her want of philosophy. She now knew to a 
 guinea the value per head of laundry-maids, and 
 cost per dozen of grooms ; and what was worse, 
 could appreciate the surliness of a second table 
 curtailed of its wine, and the discontents of a 
 nursery docked of its double ale. Even Miss 
 Harrison had something to complain of on the 
 score of abridged wax-lights ! — "If Miss Susan 
 and Miss Sophia were to practise by candle-light 
 her ladyship mast be aware that a lamp was not 
 sufficient."
 
 21 4 SELF. 
 
 No wonder that a woman accustomed for five- 
 and-forty years to roll through life in an easy- 
 chair, moving on golden castors, (like the gates 
 euphoniously revolving on golden hinges de- 
 scribed by Milton,) should become deadened in 
 perception by petty persecutions of this nature, 
 to the infirmities of her liege lord and the filial 
 devotion of his daughter. 
 
 On the other hand, the greatest annoyance ex- 
 perienced by poor Emma in the discharge of her 
 adopted duties, arose from the unjust revilings 
 of Lord Askham against the fickleness of his 
 nephew. 
 
 " He had expected better things of Middle- 
 more ! — Middlemore had shown, in the first in- 
 stance, so much heart ! — Middlemore was not 
 an ordinary young man ! — He might not have 
 taken honours in Cambridge, like his cousin 
 Henry. He was not qualified to figure among 
 authors and actors, like his cousin Philip. 
 But at all events, he had spurned the example 
 of his cousin Percy; and accompanied Dr. Dactyl 
 quietly back to England, instead of running his 
 head into jeopardy by going round by Toulouse.
 
 SELF. 21.5 
 
 From all which, by some strange process of logic, 
 Lord Askham seemed to infer that it was his 
 duty to offer his hand to his cousin Emma ! — 
 
 Scarcely fair, perhaps, on the part of Miss 
 Askham, to leave him thus disposed against his 
 nephew ; whose nature was in truth as free from 
 the meanness of sordid calculation, as that of a 
 Newfoundland dog. But it required some mag- 
 nanimity to transfer to herself the blame now 
 vented on her cousin ; and Emma reconciled to 
 her conscience her want of candour, by the cer- 
 tainty that, if her drives and rides with Lord 
 Askham were harassed by perpetual objurga- 
 tion, they would impart less benefit to his 
 health. 
 
 There w^ould come a time hereafter for the 
 vindication of Lord Middlemore ! Meanwhile, 
 it was an act of charity to Percy, as well as to 
 herself and Philip, to enlist another whipping- 
 boy as a butt for the animosities of Eden Castle. 
 
 We have stated this to be Miss Askham's 
 " worst" annoyance, because, as young ladies 
 seldom speak truth on these points, such would 
 probably have been her own statement. But a
 
 216 SELF. 
 
 far worse " worst" was it to hear Lord Askham 
 enumerate to Mrs. Saville, among his numerous 
 family tribulations, the political opinions of 
 Philip. 
 
 "Philip considers himself ill used, I am told," 
 said he, " that I do not bring him into parlia- 
 ment. As if with his views he could ever re- 
 present a borough of mine ! My son-in-law, 
 Lord Uppingham, cannot speak of him with pa- 
 tience ; and looks upon him as a contemptible 
 turn-coat !" 
 
 "A turn-coat, dear papa?" — interrupted 
 Emma, whose buoyant spirit had not adopted 
 the habits of passive obedience she had seen so 
 irksome to her brother and sisters. " When did 
 Philip ever wear his coat on any other side than 
 the present? — The utmost he can be accused 
 of, is having failed to assume, as in duty bound, 
 the hereditary livery of the family." 
 
 " And of having, under such circumstances, 
 solicited office from the Tories!" — 
 
 '' Solicited omce?''— 
 
 "At all events, accepted.''''
 
 SELF. 2 1 7 
 
 " Surely the place he holds is wholly discon- 
 nected from politics?" — observed Mrs. Saville. 
 
 " The person who procured it for him, is not 
 disconnected from politics !" 
 
 " The person who procured it, was his brother- 
 in-law, Lord Uppingham, — not Lord Upping- 
 ham, the minister !" pleaded Miss Askham. 
 
 " A distinction without a difference V re- 
 torted her father, with acrimony ; — " mere so- 
 phistry, mere pretence. The fact is," resumed 
 his lordship, turning towards Mrs. Saville, as 
 though Emma were unworthy to be argued 
 with, " Philip was too cautious to embark in a 
 sinking vessel ! Philip knew what he was 
 about. Philip foresaw that, with the death of 
 Mr. Pitt, the good cause must founder ; and took 
 care to keep his head above water." 
 
 " I trust and believe you wrong him," expos- 
 tulated Mrs. Saville. « His opinions always 
 tended to the liberal side. Surely, my lord, he 
 made no secret of them, from the moment he 
 was released from the restraints of depend- 
 ence ?" 
 
 " Exactly !— Just what I complain of!— The 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 SELF. 
 
 moment he quitted my roof, and was able to dis- 
 pense with my protection, he allied himself with 
 the abettors of the Corsican blackguard, by whose 
 monstrous violation of the rights of nations, his 
 unfortunate brother has been exposed to the se- 
 ductions of a sink of iniquity like Verdun !" 
 
 " I understood," insinuated Mrs. Saville, 
 " that, by his interest with the present govern- 
 ment, overtures had been made for the release 
 or exchange of Mr. Askham !" 
 
 The indignant father^s fury now burst forth. 
 
 " You have heard it, have you ?" cried he. 
 " The story is doubtless public ! Everything 
 connected with my family misfortunes is as no- 
 torious as if it had passed through the Court of 
 Bankruptcy ! I trust, however, madam, that 
 those who informed you of Lord Askham's hav- 
 ing declined a service at the hands of the present 
 ministry, apprized you also of the ignominious 
 channel through which it was offered?" — 
 
 " I heard only vague rumours on the subject," 
 replied his hostess, perceiving by the embar- 
 rassed countenance of Emma, that she was ap- 
 prehensive of being denounced as the informant.
 
 SELF. 219 
 
 " / am not like Philip !" cried Lord Askham, 
 impetuously. " / do not incur obligations with- 
 out considering the consequences they entail ! 
 Learn, madam, that the people by whose inter- 
 vention my son's release was to have been ef- 
 fected, are a set of intriguing parvenus, ambi- 
 tious of extending their connexions in society, — 
 no matter at what cost, — or at whose cost. By 
 their insidious manoeuvres was Philip seduced 
 from the party to which he naturally belongs. 
 Their house, the resort of fiddlers and buffoons, 
 has perverted his principles and weakened his 
 understanding. Among these Hardyuges, he is 
 flattered and fawned upon, till he believes him- 
 self something and somebody ; whereas the true 
 object of their servility is to link themselves with 
 his family, as a stepping-stone to their entrance 
 into fashionable life." 
 
 " Mrs. Saville will scarcely be induced to infer 
 from such a picture, dear papa," said Emma, 
 (with difficulty repressing her indignation,) " that 
 Sir James Hardynge is a man of eminence, for- 
 tune, and education ; about to take his seat in 
 
 L 2
 
 220 SELF, 
 
 the House of Peers, and already of the Privy 
 Council !" 
 
 " And what then?" — angrily interrupted Lord 
 Askham. " It is precisely this sort of profes- 
 sional advancement which, by thrusting a man 
 out of his sphere, induces him to cling, without 
 decency or ceremony, to every object above his 
 level, in order to secure a footing ! Sir James 
 Hardynge, or Lord Hardynge, or Lord Eske 
 Hill, or Lord Nisi Prius, or by whatever name 
 this new law lord is to be called, would be glad 
 enough, I fancy, to grapple his insignificance to 
 the consequence of Lord Askham of Eden 
 Castle, or the Marquis of Uppingham of Up- 
 pingham Manor !" 
 
 " Was not the son of Sir James a schoolfellow 
 of the Mr. Askhams ?" inquired Mrs. Saville, 
 hoping to give time for his lordship to recover 
 his breath, and Emma her self-possession. 
 
 "Of course he was ! Sir James is just the 
 ambitious man to send his son to Eton, with the 
 hope of improving his connexions." 
 
 " My brothers were not sent to Eton to im-
 
 SELF. 221 
 
 prove their connexions," said Emma, gathering 
 courage from his injustice. " Why ascribe such 
 an object to the Hardynges?" 
 
 " Because their motives are self-evident ! 
 Who and what is this Sir James Hardynge, I 
 should like to know ?" — 
 
 " One of the ablest men in the kingdom, if 
 the judgment of our gracious sovereign is to be 
 trusted : since he has been twice selected for an 
 office of the highest honour and responsibility !" 
 arcrued Emma in a firmer voice. 
 
 " But by whom, pray ? — By the Whigs ! who 
 would select a chimney-sweeper to carry out 
 their treasonable policy, if it served their ends ! 
 Sir James Hardynge is not the only man they 
 have advanced, who has risen from the dregs of 
 the people !" 
 
 " Surely the papers, in noticing Sir James's 
 preferment, stated him to be the son of a re- 
 spectable clergyman ?" inquired Mrs. Saville. 
 
 " The papers ! Ay, no doubt, the Whig 
 papers take care of his interests !" retorted Lord 
 Askham. " They are paid for it. It was to be 
 expected. It is part of their system ! Defeated
 
 222 SELF. 
 
 in their iiopes of revolutionizing the country, 
 their surest way to vilify and destroy the aris- 
 tocracy, is by introducing into the Order such 
 people as these Hardynges ; who, a few years 
 after their elevation to the peerage, are con- 
 founded by the vulgar with the ancient nobility 
 of the realm !" 
 
 Lord Askham, whose Irish barony was a 
 bribe of the Newcastle ministry to his grand 
 uncle, about the middle of the last century, 
 assumed, as he spoke, an air of as much impor- 
 tance as though all Magna Charta were breath- 
 ing through his nostrils ! 
 
 " Surely, some of our best considered peer- 
 ages have been the reward of civil service?" 
 said Mrs. Saville. " Surely it is only in France 
 that la noblesse de robe is secondary to la no- 
 blesse d'epee ?" 
 
 The proposition was hazardous ; for his lord- 
 ship instantly burst into execrations against a 
 country where nobility, whether of the first or 
 second order, had been swept from the surface 
 of the earth. " A country," said he, " on whose 
 heinous example the Whigs are grounding
 
 SELF. 223 
 
 their innovations. Such fellows as this Sir 
 James Hardynge, (Robespierres in their soul,) 
 would fain have exterminated the whole race of 
 that aristocracy of which, since unable to accom- 
 plish their horrible purpose, they are now hcking 
 the feet !" 
 
 " If Philip can be believed," said Emma, 
 more shocked than frightened by his vehemence, 
 " some portion of the aristocracy pays its court 
 to them ! My brother has met at Sir James 
 Hardynge's table, many of the most distinguished 
 members of our great Whig families, — the Dukes 
 of Burhngton, Woburn, Bulstrode." 
 
 "Of course, of course!" — cried her father. 
 " For party purposes people will go any where, 
 or any lengths." 
 
 " You admit tlien, at least, dear papa, that 
 Sir James is a man of influence in his party ?" 
 
 " So was Wilkes — so is Home Tooke ! But 
 enough of this. Do not let me suppose, Emma, 
 that the example of your parents has been so 
 lost upon you, or the excellent education you 
 have received so thrown away, as to admit of
 
 224 SELF. 
 
 your contracting the vile opinions of your bro- 
 ther ! It is affliction enough that two of my 
 sons should have disgraced me. Let me not 
 have to blush for my daughters !" 
 
 Emma herself was at that moment blushing 
 deeply, lest her father should have formed in- 
 ferences, from the warmth of her defence, con- 
 cerning her clear-sightedness to the merits of 
 the Hardynges ; an apprehension considerably 
 increased, when Lord Askham added, in his 
 most peremptory tone, " If ever it be in 
 ray power again to reside with my family in 
 London, not one of Philip's upstart friends shall 
 ever cross my threshold ! — He has a house of his 
 own to entertain such incendiaries ! and mine 
 they shall never enter l" 
 
 To this denunciation, Miss Askham was duti- 
 ful (or prudent) enough to offer no rejoinder. 
 A smile exchanged with Mrs. Saville, unobserved 
 by her father, sufficed to convey her opinion that 
 his lordship's stability in such matters, was not 
 immutable as the laws of the Medes and Persians* 
 That Lord Askham was now seated by the fireside
 
 SELF. 225 
 
 at Eastfield, conveyed a consolatory hope that 
 Robert Hardynge might, at some future day, 
 assume his place beside that of Eden Castle ! 
 
 She was, however, more alarmed than grati- 
 fied when, only a week after this stormy con- 
 versation, Lord Askham fell fiercely on poor 
 Simprems, for giving utterance to a faint echo 
 of his sentiments. — It was a very mild dose of 
 Toryism ; one grain of Askham to twenty of 
 Simprems, made up with quantum stiff, of bread- 
 crumb, i. e. the twaddle of a country apothecary 
 in daily attendance on a valetudinarian peer. Yet 
 Lord Askham asked him " What he meant by 
 such illiberality ? Whether, in a great country 
 like England, merit ought not to make its way? 
 Whether Mr. Pitt had not conferred peerages 
 on individuals of meaner origin, than those in- 
 eluded in the recent creation !" 
 
 Uncertain whether this strange inconsistency 
 arose from conviction, or mental infirmity, or 
 disgust at the presumption of the pill-driver in 
 administering his opinions as well as his senna 
 at Eden Castle, she adhered religiously to her 
 determination of abstaining for the future from 
 
 L 5
 
 •226 SELF. 
 
 the discussion of any subject at Eastfield, likely 
 to discompose the soothing influence of its stag- 
 nant atmosphere. 
 
 "You are Paraclete the comforter!'' whis- 
 pered she to Mrs. Saville, one day, at parting. 
 " You pour balm into the wounds of our whole 
 family ! No matter which of us gambles away 
 his fortune or his fame ; no matter how many of 
 us set our affections on things above, or below 
 us. Eastfield is always at hand with its vulne- 
 rary, to assuage the anguish of our contusions !" 
 
 A sigh modified the smile with which Evelyn 
 acknowledged the compliment. She thought it 
 hard, perhaps, that the benefit was not reci- 
 procal ; for as yet, Eden Castle had done little 
 to remedy the wounds of its infliction ! 
 
 But alas ! poor Emma's projects for the tran- 
 quillization of her father's mind were easier to 
 form than to realize. Every day, the arrival of 
 the newspapers sufficed to re-agitate his feelings. 
 Lord Askham's stake on the event of the 
 pacificatory negociations pending between Eng- 
 gland and France, was in fact too great to 
 admit of composure ; and when the moment ar-
 
 SELF. 227 
 
 rived for the discharge of Percy's remaining 
 liabiUties, without bringing the smallest hope of 
 his rescue from temptation into further excesses 
 by release from banishment, his lordship's irri- 
 tation became so alarming, that Emma took 
 courage to communicate her fears to Philip in 
 London, and the Marquis at Uppingham 
 Manor. 
 
 Alas! both were so selfishly absorbed, — Lord 
 Uppingham, in his domestic happiness, — Philip, 
 in the complicated interests of public life, — that 
 they were not to be startled by her evil au- 
 guries. Like Caesar, they defied the sooth- 
 sayer ! 
 
 The Marquis, from whom the extent of 
 Percy's imprudence had been carefully con- 
 cealed, assured his sister-in-law, in reply, 
 that what she took for despondency, was mere 
 ennui ; — that Lord Askham had merely mistaken 
 his tastes by attempting a spring in the country; 
 — while Philip, still more cavalierly, ascribed his 
 father's indisposition to the reaction of political 
 spleen. 
 
 " Do not fancy, my dear little Emma," wrote
 
 228 SELF. 
 
 be, " that Eden Castle contains the only bilious 
 Tory in the three kingdoms. Not a day of my 
 life, but I descry in the window at Boodle's 
 faces quite as elongated as you describe that of 
 Lord Askbam ; and were T to hasten down to 
 you, as you propose, I should only magnify the 
 evil ; for I could but confirm, thank Heaven, bis 
 lordship's fears, that, for some time to come, the 
 country is safe from the yoke of bis party. 
 
 " But on all accounts, a visit to Eden Castle 
 is just now impossible. My engagements, both 
 private and public, will detain me in town till 
 the close of the session ; when 1 am off with 
 Middlemore to the Moors. 
 
 " In a week, however, Henry will be at liber- 
 ty. It is Henry's turn to make himself useful ; 
 and if you really think my father in want 
 of one of us, — Henry is your man ! For him, 
 there are not, as for me, antecedents that 
 render insupportable a sojourn at Edenbourne ; 
 and Lord Askbam would thus secure an oppor- 
 tunity of examining and approving the political 
 principles of its future representative. Write 
 immediately to Henry, and bespeak his services 
 for the summer.
 
 SELF. 229 
 
 " We had a charming dejeuner yesterday, at 
 Eske Hill, including the Prince, the Duke of 
 York, and everything most in fashion. Lord 
 and Lady Hardynge have contrived to conci- 
 liate the great world, without affronting the 
 little, — having made new friends by their ad- 
 vancement, without forsaking the old. 
 
 " I am afraid, however, that the brilliancy of 
 their fete, yesterday, owed less to their intrinsic 
 merits than to the patronage of the all-puissant 
 Lady Grandison ; who has taken up my friend 
 Bob, as an eagle carries off a lambkin, and in- 
 tends to marry him, they say, to the lovely 
 Lady Anastasia, I fear, poor fellow, his head 
 must be a little dizzy, on finding himself in so 
 etherial an altitude ! 
 
 " Since you all left town, my dear Emma, I 
 have enjoyed Middlemore's society two hours 
 out of every twenty-four; and of those twain, 
 at least one and a half is devoted to the 
 discussion of your charming self. I sincerely 
 wish he loved you less, or that you liked him 
 more ; for 'tis a good beast, and very general 
 favourite. According to Helen's account,
 
 230 SELF. 
 
 Hurstwood Castle is desperately besieged by 
 the match-hunters, — a branch of the female art 
 of war in which few have more experience than 
 our fair cousin. 
 
 " Of the Uppinghams, I hear nothing, nor 
 do I expect it ; unless, indeed, the Gazette 
 should have to announce that, as a reward for 
 their domestic virtues, they have been trans- 
 lated to a higher sphere, and made into a con- 
 stellation,— like some loving couple of pagan 
 times. 
 
 " By the way,, if you do not think it too 
 much for my father's nerves, let him know, my 
 dear Emma, that one of the Bonapartes, — 
 Louis, I think, — has been ' created' king of 
 Holland ! One should as soon expect to hear 
 of a ' Prince of Lincolnshire !' Lord Askham, 
 however, need not object. There can scarcely 
 be too many sovereigns in Europe to please so 
 strenuous an advocate of crowns and sceptres ! 
 
 " Of what use, however, to send messages in 
 a letter which you inform me is to be kept a 
 profound secret in the family ? A clandestine 
 correspondence ! — Fie, Miss Emma Askham !
 
 SELF. 231 
 
 What would Miss Harrison say to such a 
 breach of decorum ? — I admit that it is only 
 with a brother. But precedents (we office-men 
 are instructed to say) are dangerous. 
 
 " Seriously, my dear child, dismiss from your 
 mind all further uneasiness about my father ! 
 You are only abominably bored at Eden Castle, 
 and falling fast into hypochondriacism. 
 
 Weak though I am of limb, and short of sight, 
 Far from a lynx, and not a giant quite, 
 
 I beg you will rely on my judgment rather 
 than your own in this matter, and put your 
 trust in the speedy recovery of Lord Askham, 
 as well as in the good will of your affectionate 
 brother, 
 
 " Philip." 
 
 " It was scarcely to be expected that Mr. 
 Askham should be very fondly attached to his 
 parents!" observed Mrs. Saville, when Emma, 
 with tears in her eyes, and bitter accusations 
 on her lips, placed this flippant letter in the 
 hands of her friend, the first time they wece
 
 '232 SELF. 
 
 alone together. " He was so little cared for 
 at Eden Castle ! — He was so little favoured by 
 Lord and Lady Ask ham !" — 
 
 " Philip was not a spoiled child, I admit. 
 But his parents did their duty by him, as they 
 have done by us all ! Our interests have 
 been, through life, their first object ; and they 
 have sought no other than domestic pleasures. 
 But even were it otherwise, is a child to calcu- 
 late its filial duty as though the mere repay- 
 ment of a debt ? — Dearest Mrs. Saville, — Philip 
 is colder-hearted than a stone !" 
 
 But " dearest Mrs. Saville" would not say 
 " Amen !" While Emma resented the cool 
 mention of his friend Hardynge's flirtation with 
 Lady Anastasia Grandison, she had been 
 deeply touched by the allusion to " antece- 
 dents" which rendered insupportable to him a 
 sojourn at Edenbourne. Of late, she had begun 
 to think those antecedents utterly forgotten; 
 and what woman would not rather be remem- 
 bered with bitterness, than wholly dismissed 
 from recollection ! 
 
 Even in the incredulity of Philip concerning
 
 SELF. 233 
 
 his father's indisposition, she saw much less to 
 blame than the anxious daughter. Phihp was 
 leading the life of a man of the world, — stunned 
 by the tumults of public life, — enthralled by 
 the fascinations of private. It was easy to con- 
 ceive him the fieur-despois of London, — the 
 observed of all observers at the Eske Hill 
 dejeuner^ — the successful rival of young Har- 
 dynge with Lady Anastasia, — or the Satan-re- 
 buking-sin of his coaching cousin ! 
 
 After deprecating his sister's displeasure at 
 his levity by a thousand arguments, about as 
 much to the purpose as the arguments of 
 women in general respecting the object of their 
 affections, she found herself so much in conceit 
 with everything of the name of Askham, that, 
 though the frettul old man from Eden Castle 
 tried her patience severely on the morrow, and 
 the morrow's morrow, by wandering into her 
 cheerful drawing-room, and sitting there for 
 hours, — sad, silent, and surly, as though at 
 home, — instead of resenting so provoking an 
 interruption to her avocations, she exerted her- 
 self doubly for his amusement; then, finding
 
 234 SELF. 
 
 him utterly unamusable, and nearly uncon- 
 scious of her presence, she stationed herself 
 in observant and pitying silence by his side. 
 
 " How glad I am he is gone at last !" cried 
 little Edward, clapping his hands for glee, 
 when released from the stillness imposed upon 
 him during the long visit of their guest. 
 
 '* How cross Lord Askham always looks, 
 and how very tiresome he is !" — added Selina. 
 
 " Hush, hush !" — remonstrated the gentle 
 mother, taking the little girl affectionately on 
 her knee. " We should always be indulgent, 
 darling, towards the failings of those we love, or 
 even of those connected with them. — Never for- 
 get, Selina, that this cross-looking, tiresome old 
 man, is the father of your own dear Philip."
 
 SELF. 235 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Pictures like these, dear madam, to design, 
 Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line ; 
 Some wandering touches, some reflected light, 
 Some flying stroke alone can hit them right. 
 For how should equal colours do the knack ? 
 Cameleons, who could paint in white and black ! 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Or stimandomi Achille, ed or Tersite. 
 
 Alfibri. 
 
 The extenuating circumstances pleaded by 
 Mrs. Saville in behalf of Philip's seemingly 
 heartless letter, were not altogether supposi- 
 tious. Unwilling to aggravate the fears of 
 Emma by owning himself alarmed, still more 
 reluctant to hazard annoying his father at such 
 a juncture, by arriving uninvited at Eden 
 Castle, as if to parade the triumphs of his
 
 236 SELF. 
 
 political friends, and introduce an obstacle into 
 the intercourse of the family with Eastfield, — 
 while addressing his sister with studied uncon- 
 cern, he had applied privately to Simprems for 
 his professional opinion touching the condition 
 of Lord Askham. 
 
 The position of Philip in his family was one 
 of peculiar delicacy. The obligations he was 
 supposed to have violated by his political defec- 
 tion, — the adverse confidences forced upon him 
 by his father and brother, — and, above all, the 
 still unscarred wounds of his days of depend- 
 ence, — rendered frankness with his family impos- 
 sible, even had frankness been in his nature. 
 
 From Verdun, still emanated the bitterest 
 complaints against Eden Castle. Mr. Askham 
 could not forgive the grudging spirit in which 
 his difficulties had been relieved, or the aus- 
 terity with which his offence was visited. 
 
 " This unfortunate affair mi^ht have been 
 converted into an eternal tie upon my grati- 
 tude," wrote Percy ; " instead of which, my 
 father has conferred such cruel publicity on my 
 follies, as to extinguish all sense of obligation.
 
 SELF. 237 
 
 So much the better ! I stand relieved from a 
 thousand scruples ; and, mark my words, Philip, 
 one day or other my family will bitterly repent 
 their want of forbearance !" — 
 
 Though unable to interpret this mysterious 
 menace, Philip did not peruse it without un- 
 easiness. Enough had transpired through the 
 exchanged detenus concerning the habits of 
 Verdun, to convince him that Percy, if driven 
 to desperation, might irremediably injure his 
 future fortunes. Yet to remonstrate with Lord 
 Askham, or even remotely suggest the nature 
 of his fears, would only bring down persecution 
 on himself, and provoke one of his lordship's 
 unseemly paroxysms, without benefiting the 
 cause of Percy. 
 
 It was consequently a great relief to be exo- 
 nerated from all necessity for a visit to Eden 
 Castle, by a letter from Simprems, announcing 
 that he saw nothing alarming in the symptoms 
 of his noble patient. 
 
 " A course of alteratives and attention to 
 diet, will restore the epigastric functions to their 
 pristine strength," wrote the country apothe-
 
 '238 SELF. 
 
 cary. " His lordship, like other dyspeptic per- 
 sons, is only a little nervous." 
 
 Cheered by such a bulletin, without pausing 
 to consider whether Simprems possessed suffi- 
 cient skill to " minister to a mmd diseased," or 
 even interpret its diagnostics, Philip felt entitled 
 to eat drink, and be sleepless, as usual, at the 
 brilliant balls and pleasant dinner parties just 
 then enlivening a metropolis, for whose decima- 
 tion " grim-visaged War" was whetting his thou- 
 sands of swords, and Miles Peter Andrews 
 manufacturing his barrels of gunpowder. 
 
 Though the health of Fox was already such 
 as to excite the uneasiness of his friends, his 
 party closed their eyes to his precarious condi- 
 tion ; nor was PhiHp so nearly connected with 
 the former in private hfe, or with the latter in 
 public, as to experience a very poignant inte- 
 rest in the result. Like Lord Hardynge, and 
 other sanguine members of the liberal govern- 
 ment, he behevedthe Whigs to be fixed in office, 
 whatsoever king might reign, or whatsoever 
 Lord of the Treasury retain the seals. 
 
 At six-and-twenty, he could not lock up his 
 
 8
 
 SELF. 239 
 
 feelings, compact and hard, in a despatch-box, 
 like Lord Uppingham, at fifty-six. He had not 
 OLithved the age when " cakes and ale," and 
 " ginger in the mouth," have power to beguile a 
 man out of the House of Commons even were , 
 Demosthenes himself upon his legs ; and, not 
 being chained to the oar, like Bob Hardynge, 
 he was able to enjoy the pleasant parties at 
 Grandison House and other fashionable resorts, 
 while his friend remained at his post, as became 
 one of the janisaries of the administration. 
 
 Chiefly, at Grandison House ! — Seldom had so 
 attractive a circle enlivened the pompes futitbres 
 of aristocratic life, as was collected round the 
 handsome mother of Lady Anastasia. It could 
 not boast of possessing, or rather, it boasted of 
 not possessing, those political Gogs and Magogs 
 — those judicial tetes a perruque which imparted 
 substance to the coterie at Eske Hill; but its 
 surface was smooth as glass, and soft as satin. 
 No importunate buffoons, — no sturdy citizens of 
 the republic of letters. Its liturature was 
 written on curl-papers, its politics were steep- 
 ed in rose-water. To Grandison House, in
 
 240 SELF. 
 
 short, may be traced the germ of that refined 
 but flimsy order of society, which expanded 
 into full luxuriance under the regency, and died 
 a natural death with George the Fourth. 
 
 The Countess of Grandison was a woman 
 belonging to a species which has happily no type 
 in Great Britain. Many creeping things are 
 indigenous among us ; but such noxious insects 
 as scorpions, tarantulas, moschetos, cavaliere 
 serventi, chevaliers d'industrie, and mamans 
 galanfes, are the growth of Italy or France. A 
 middle-aged matron so blinded by vanity as to 
 overlook the grown-up daughter by her side, is 
 in England a rara avis ! 
 
 But as when a white swallow or blue spoon- 
 bill is accidentally shot, the phenomenon is sure 
 to be proclaimed to the public by the semi- 
 scientific slipslop of some provincial paper, it 
 behoved the Morning Post to announce in the 
 spring of 1803, that an Englishwoman of high 
 degree had returned from her travels, encrusted 
 with gorgeous Parisianism, as a rusty key is 
 converted into a golden one, by the process of 
 electro-typic gilding; the homely wife and
 
 SELF. 241 
 
 mother being obliterated by the woman of 
 fashion. 
 
 Lady Grandison had completed her edu- 
 cation in the finishing school of those recondite 
 salons of the Faubourg St. Germain, where the 
 ancien regime reconcentrated its bon ton, like 
 crystallised odour of roses in a gilded flask, dur- 
 ing the vulgarisms of the republic ; — intent on 
 proving that if its head had fortuitously escaped 
 the guillotine, there was still, to borrow the ex- 
 pression of Sir Erasmus L'Estrange, " nothing 
 in it;" and pursuing its victoires et conquetes 
 with as little principle or compunction, as the 
 omni-victorious emperor it took the impertinent 
 liberty of despising. 
 
 Emerging from such an academy. Lady Gran- 
 dison's object, like theirs, was to come, see, and 
 conquer. Somewhat late in life, indeed, to enter 
 the field ! But the Prince of Wales had brought 
 full-blown beauty into fashion ; and her lady- 
 ship, like the royal favourite, was " fat, fair, and 
 forty ;" nay, very fair, very fat, and very forty, — 
 for, to the knowledge of many, she had remain- 
 ed so for the last five years ! Her merit con- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 SELF. 
 
 sisted in good-nature and good-breeding ; — a 
 somewhat aerial balance against recklessness, 
 even to the breaking of the law ! 
 
 What better, however, was to be expected of 
 a woman whose husband took less heed of her 
 welfare, spiritual or temporal, than of the con- 
 dition of the least promising of his colts entered 
 for the Houghton or Leger? For Lord Gran- 
 dison was as specifically English in his habits, 
 as his lady was inordinately foreign ; — a man 
 only to be met with in this our great hippodrome 
 of the civilized earth ! — Lord Grandison devoted 
 twice as many thous^ands a-year as had ever 
 been in his possession, to the improvement 
 of the breed of horses in Great Britain ; — such 
 being, if acts of parliament are to be credited, 
 the highly patriotic purpose of our great na- 
 tional institution — the Turf ! Yet no one would 
 have inferred from the distinction of his air and 
 address, that his birth as a peer of the realm, 
 had deprived the country of an experienced 
 horsedealer. 
 
 The marriage of the Grandisons was a made- 
 up match, — a take in of the''knowing ones. As
 
 SELF. 243 
 
 the inmate of a ducal residence in Yorkshire 
 during the Doncaster race-week, his lordship 
 had been betting deep and drinking deep, though 
 deep in no other particular ;— when lo ! one 
 morning at breakfast, he was assailed on all 
 sides with congratulations by the party stay- 
 ing in the house, on having been accepted, 
 the preceding night, after his third bottle of 
 claret, by the lovely Lady Anastasia Treby. 
 Too gentlemanly a man and staunch a sports- 
 man, to appeal to Grandison sober from Gran- 
 dison when in his claret cups, the match came 
 off; and Lord Gi'andison, who had remem- 
 bered nothing of the proposal, soon seemed to 
 remember as little of the marriage. 
 
 The new countess took care not to remind 
 him. It would really have been a shame. For 
 so long as he remained oblivious, Lord Grandi- 
 son was the happiest of (sporting) men, — at 
 Melton all the winter, — at Epsom, Ascot, Eg- 
 hara, Doncaster, York, Tattersall's, Milton's, 
 wherever men and horses are gathered toge- 
 ther throughout the remainder of the year : — 
 while his lady followed, — in London or Brigh- 
 
 M 2
 
 244 SELF. 
 
 ton, — Paris or Rome, — the fashion and her own 
 devices; — whereas, had the happy couple been 
 compelled to run in harness together, an upset 
 was inevitable. 
 
 With the decent regularity of domestic life, 
 such a mtnage must always be at issue ; and 
 Lady Grandison, who, like the other light sub- 
 stance called amber, had the faculty of attract- 
 ing straws, lived surrounded by admirers ; to 
 whom the world, ever apter to conceive the ex- 
 istence of vice than folly, — assigned a harsher 
 name. But the world outshot its mark. Through 
 life, her ladyship had been absorbed by a single 
 and engrossing passion, — Lady Grandison alone 
 having possession of the tender heart of Lady 
 Grandison. Adoring her own sweet face and 
 lovely form, she encouraged a crowd of fashion- 
 able fops, only as an attestation to the public 
 that her attachment was not misplaced. 
 
 It was a startling thing to a woman of this 
 description, who had been pretty so long that 
 she knew not how to leave it off, to find the 
 little daughter, so long a plaything at her feet, 
 shot up to the intrusive growth of seventeen
 
 SELF. 245 
 
 years, and claiming her lawful share of admira- 
 tion. Lady Grandison, who by her recent so- 
 journ in France had grown fifteen years 
 younger, could not stand the test of such a 
 rivalship. Dear Stasy must be married off out 
 of the way ; — well, if possible, at all events mar- 
 ried ; — and her mother prepared for the achieve- 
 ment, with the sort of fussiness certain to defeat 
 its object. 
 
 Nothing, however, could exceed her ladyship's 
 surprise on finding, at the close of the third 
 season, her daughter still established in perma- 
 nent rivalry at her side ! Nobody could guess 
 why. It would have been difficult to point out 
 a prettier or more pleasing person than Lady 
 Anastasia ; or, according to her insight into the 
 duties of life, a more amiable. She was fondly 
 attached to the Countess, who, though desirous 
 of her early establishment, was an indulgent 
 mother and good-humoured companion ; testi- 
 fying her love for "dear Stasy" at twenty, 
 much as she had done for "dear Stasy" at two, 
 by gifts of toys and gewgaws, and bewildering 
 her with a double allotment of the pastimes of 
 life.
 
 246 SELF. 
 
 But if Lady Grandison felt deeply mortified 
 that her daughter should remain her satellite, 
 instead of shining as the planet of another 
 sphere, — society was the gainer. The flirting 
 chaperon being determined to have her opera- 
 box to herself, the fetes of Grandison House 
 became every day more brilliant ; and the Coun- 
 tess more eager for popularity and assiduous to 
 please. It did not occur to her that she was 
 too popular and pleasing for a mother-in-law ; 
 or that the young men of the day might be ac- 
 customed to hear her spoken of in terms fatal 
 to the interests of her daughter. 
 
 Meanwhile, if her influence in society failed 
 to marry Lady Anastasia, it availed for almost 
 every other purpose. If it be true, that " A 
 King's face gives grace," the countenance of 
 Lady Grandison was almost equally potential. 
 Her bow was a fiat of fashion ; and as a mo- 
 mentary gleam of sunshine unfolds the blossoms 
 of the mesembrianthemum, a passing smile from 
 her ladyship sufficed to confer beauty and bloom. 
 
 Her caprices became the caprices of the 
 town. On her arrival from Paris, attired in a
 
 SELF. 
 
 247 
 
 tunic and zone, — a Roman matron in all but 
 decency and virtue, May Fair soon swarmed 
 with Cornelias and Agrippinas, manquees, like 
 herself; and as it was part of her system, on 
 marking out some happy man as a desirable 
 match for Lady Anastasia, to talk up the class 
 or chque to which he belonged, and proner his 
 style of dress or person till no other was tole- 
 rated, no end to the gusts and disgusts into 
 which the world of fashion had been betrayed 
 by its aptitude in copying Lady Grandison ! 
 
 While flattering herself, for instance, that 
 Hurstwood Castle and its coaching lord were 
 waiting for her daughter to seize the reins, the 
 full effulgence of her ladyship's patronage was 
 poured on the barouche club ; and the cubbish- 
 ness of Lord Middleraore was thenceforward 
 ■cited as manly spirit, till box coats became your 
 only wear. 
 
 Sir Henry Lenitive, the puny offspring of 
 Lord Askham's Torquay dowager, succeeded to 
 all the honours ; and so long as there was hope 
 of securing his slender person and overgrown 
 fortune, Grandison House was never without
 
 •248 SELF. 
 
 pectoral lozenges on its table. A new hall- 
 stove raised the temperature of the house to 
 fever heat ; and in its menu, chicken-broth suf- 
 ficed pour tout potage. An eighth deadly sin 
 had been discovered by Lady Grandison in the 
 vulgarity of robust health ! — 
 
 The fine arts had next their turn of favour, 
 in deference to a cognoscente Marquis ; till the 
 fortunes of Phillips and Christie were raised 
 cent, per cent., by the throng of fashionable 
 fools that followed the Grandisons to their auc- 
 tions, to bid for pictures they did not want, and 
 statues they did not understand. 
 
 Science and the Royal Institution followed ; 
 in conjunction with the young Duke of Nor- 
 cliffe ; who was undergoing a course of douches 
 of knowledge under the keepership of Dr. 
 Dactyl, (whose stock of learning seemed undi- 
 minished by the transfer of any portion of it to 
 Lord Middlemore or his cousin Percy !) But 
 when it became apparent that his grace's eyes 
 were absorbed during the lecture by the experi- 
 ments of Sir Humphrey Davy, or closed in a 
 ducal doze, and that all Lady Anastasia and her
 
 SELF. 249 
 
 train of imitators gained by the loss of an hour 
 a day in a close lecture-room, was the head- 
 ache, she fell back upon duncebood in good 
 earnest ; protesting (because Sir Robert De 
 Lacy was wild for private theatricals, and a 
 parti) that all the world was a stage, and that 
 all the men and women of fashion ought to be 
 "merely players."" 
 
 Soon after the elopement of Sir Robert 
 with the soiihrette of a minor theatre, who had 
 won his affections by prompting him in the 
 part of Tony Lumpkin, (which he was murder- 
 ing for the benefit of a public charity to which 
 it would have been as easy for the baronet to 
 contribute the two hundred pounds realized by 
 his self-exposure,) Phihp Askham having made 
 his appearance in the London world, with the 
 reputation of being heir presumptive to a peer- 
 age and thirty thousand a year, vu the preca- 
 rious state of an elder brother far gone in a 
 decline, was immediately marked down by Lady 
 Grandison. 
 
 Now, Philip was a man of a thousand ; that 
 is, a man undistinguishable by any peculiar 
 
 M 5
 
 250 SELF. 
 
 cachet from the thousand idlers of fashion- 
 able life ; so that her ladyship, having in his 
 instance no crotchet or mania to conciliate, for 
 once condescended to be herself! 
 
 She could scarcely be a better thing, in the 
 estimation of the frivolous class of whose suf- 
 frage she was ambitious. Grace and liveliness 
 of no common order imparted a charm not only 
 to the showy fetes of which she and Lady Anas- 
 tasia were the life and soul ; but to the well- 
 composed society frequenting the well-furnished, 
 well-lighted, well-ventilated apartments of Gran- 
 dison House. For, by never pretending to be 
 better than well, every thing pertaining to Lady 
 Grandison was excellent. Exonerated by her 
 high position from the vulgarity of exorbitant 
 refinetnent, or lion-feeding, or any other mode 
 of " unparalleled attraction," there was perfect 
 harmony and unison between herself, her 
 guests, and the means provided for their enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 The Grandisons were Whigs (in that one 
 particular, in deference to his vote in the House 
 of Peers, let us include his lordship in the
 
 SELF. 
 
 251 
 
 family !) not from conviction, — not even by inhe- 
 ritance ; — but simply because liberal opinions 
 were the fashion. The court of the aged sove- 
 reign being in decadence, the political princi- 
 ples of the heir-apparent were courtieresquely 
 adopted, in common with the cut of his coat and 
 habits of his household, by those who, having no 
 ideas of their own, are fond of aping the highest 
 in the land ; and all the Graces, as well as all 
 the talents being with the Whigs, Lady Grandi- 
 son was not far off. 
 
 It was, perhaps, on this account that, on per- 
 ceiving that Philip Askham was more disposed 
 to listen to Lady Grandison than talk to Lady 
 Grandison's daughter, — or perhaps after ascer- 
 taining that the health of Percy had been im-- 
 proved though his morals were injured, by a 
 lesidence abroad, — the Countess became sud- 
 denly bitten by the rage of politics. 
 
 For what were dukes and marquises, — con- 
 sumptive baronets or stage-struck lordlings, — 
 compared with the greatness of one whose mis- 
 sion might be made to comprehend the master- 
 ship of the public mind, and grand-mastership
 
 252 SELF. 
 
 of the destinies of Europe ; — a self-created 
 Colossus, a heaven born minister, without any 
 " mortal mixture of earth's mould," — a hazard- 
 proof Fox, — a Pitt who could weather the storm 
 without fear of shipwreck in port. — In a word, 
 Robert Hardynge had made his bow at Grandi- 
 son House ! — ^ 
 
 That the only son of the future chancellor of 
 the future sovereign, would prove a most satis- 
 factory substitute for the impracticable Philip, 
 soon became apparent. On this hint. Lady 
 Grandison condescended to solicit the acquaint- 
 ance of Eske Hill. On this hint, unaccustomed 
 as she was to private prosing, she invited the 
 new Lord and Lady Hardynge to her house ; 
 and (apparently measuring their tastes by the 
 solemnity of his lordship's wig), gathered toge- 
 ther in their honour all the potent, grave, and 
 reverend signors she could think of, as con- 
 ferring dulness on the House of Lords or pro- 
 fundity on the British Museum ! 
 
 I-ord Hardynge, the pleasantest of compa- 
 nions and most buoyant of human beings, hav- 
 ing always heard Grandison House described as
 
 SELF 2g3 
 
 the resort of every thing that was light in 
 fashionable levity, scarcely knew what to make 
 of so cogitative an assemblage. For a moment, 
 he almost hoped the men in buckram might 
 throw off their disguise at some appointed 
 moment of the feast, and appear in their appro- 
 priate suits of harlequinade. Such antics had 
 often been played in his own merry-making 
 establishment, by an amusing knot of his asso- 
 ciates connected with the management of 
 Drury Lane Theatre. But, alas ! they did 
 these things differently at Grandison House ! 
 
 Nor was the Countess more judicious in her 
 management of Bob, than in catering for the 
 entertainment of his parents. Bob Hardynge 
 was what is called a rising young man, — clever 
 and ambitious, — his confidence in his own powers 
 equalling his desire of distinction. Now, Lady 
 Grandison, convinced by her one-sided logic 
 that an object must be the same, by whatever 
 means accomplished, conceived that, since all 
 he ambitioned was the attainment of social dis- 
 tinction, it would be pleasanter to reach the 
 apex of the pyramid at a single step, as the son-
 
 254 SELF. 
 
 in-law of the high priestess of fashion, than to 
 attain it by his own slow efforts like a Curran, 
 a Sheridan, or a Horner. No occasion, there- 
 fore, was left unimproved of vaunting the high 
 antiquity and alliances of the House of Gran- 
 dison — the favour she enjoyed at Carlton House 
 — and the personal influence and popularity, 
 which rendered even that favour unimportant. 
 Nay, she almost expressed in words, (so clear 
 was the inference,) that the husband of a Lady 
 Anastasia Grandison would be able to dispense 
 with the paltry dignity of a law barony; and 
 might be spared the trouble of speechifying 
 himself into notice, by breaking stones upon 
 the beaten track of the House of Commons. 
 
 To have his motives laid bare, or rather to 
 have ignoble motives unjustly imputed to him, 
 was not likely to subdue a heart, whose aspir- 
 ings rose far above the standard of fashionable 
 notoriety; and whose desires were unfathomable 
 by the or-moulu gauging-stick of a right ho- 
 nourable patroness of Almack's. 
 
 But on discerning the impertinent calculations 
 of Lady Grandison, instead of allowing himself to
 
 SELF. 255 
 
 be piqued into the loss of a charming acquaint- 
 ance, he coquetted with her negociations, as 
 Talleyrand was doing with those of Lord Lau- 
 derdale : so as to enjoy to the utmost her lady- 
 ship's brilliant parties, capital dinners, comfort- 
 able opera box, and shady villa, on the strength 
 of matrimonial intentions which had never 
 entered his head. — A trompeur, trompeur et 
 demi ! — Lady Grandison was, for once, out- 
 Machiavelized. In dealing with a worldly 
 woman, men are apt to lay their consciences on 
 the shelf I 
 
 He entertained no fear that his attentions 
 might create an impression on the heart of the 
 lovely Lady Anastasia, — having good reason to 
 suspect that her affections were placed else- 
 where; and considered the smiles she deigned 
 to lavish on him amply repaid by his assiduity 
 in increasing her cortege on those public occa- 
 sions of shawl-fetching and carriage-calling, 
 which enable the fashionable Sultana to hu- 
 miliate, by the extent of her guard of honour, 
 the pride of some rival queen. 
 
 The coterie of Grandison House, meanwhile,
 
 256 SELF. 
 
 was sorely puzzled to decide whether Hardynge 
 or his friend Philip Askham were the favoured 
 adorer. When two young men are constantly 
 seen together, like "the kings of Brentford 
 smelling at one posy," — driving in the same 
 phaeton, or lounging neck and neck along Con- 
 stitution Hill, — people take it for granted that 
 they are as fairly matched in capacity, as the 
 pair of horses in their harness. 
 
 That Johnson had his Bozzy, or Queen Anne 
 her Duchess of Marlborough, or that a seeming 
 level unites the majestic lion with the puppy 
 dog in his cage, — inspires no mistrust of the 
 intimacies arising from schoolboy chumship, or 
 the propinquities of official life. 
 
 Yet the connexion between Hardynge and 
 Askham was purely adventitious. No natural 
 affinity united them, no real confidence. The 
 ruling passion of either (of Philip, for a woman 
 who despised him, — of Bob for one whose family 
 paid him the same compliment,) was fated to 
 remain a secret to the other. Their very cha- 
 racters were uncongenial: — Askham delighting 
 in still water, — Hardynge in the running
 
 SELF. 257 
 
 stream ; — the delight of the former in purple and 
 fine linen being derived from the gratification of 
 his epidermis ;— of the latter, from its influence 
 on the vulgar eye. 
 
 The head and heart of the young parvenu 
 were at once of finer texture, and improved 
 by higher cultivation, than those of his com- 
 panion. In Bob Hardynge, there was the 
 making of a great man. Twenty to one but 
 the efforts of nature to that effect, might be 
 defeated by the force of circumstances. Be- 
 tween the metal bubbling in the furnace, and the 
 round, puissant, and polished statue it has been 
 fused to create, the chances of casting inter- 
 vene ; and few in number are the " mute inglo- 
 rious Miltons" commiserated by Gray, com- 
 pared with those who, after indications of a 
 Milton's genius and power, are dwarfed by some 
 sinister influence, or overpowered by contempo- 
 raneous competition. In these days of uni- 
 versal education, the germs of hundreds of 
 Chathams are developed, for one that comes to 
 perfection ! 
 
 No one was more sensible of this than Robert
 
 258 SELF. 
 
 Hardynge. He was aware, too, that he had 
 fallen upon days when the ablest combinations 
 of the statesman had no chance against the 
 coup de main of the hero. He had heard the 
 voice of parliament oppose a public funeral for 
 Pitt; and beheld a weeping population follow 
 spontaneously the remains of Nelson. By 
 such schooling, the presumptions aspirations of 
 his boyhood were held in check, instead of 
 lying crushed under his ambition, like the Mac- 
 cabee under his elephant, he kept the monster 
 firmly in subjection ; pretending only to that 
 federative or fractional glory, which suffices the 
 desires of the wise. 
 
 Even the most infinitesimal dose of fame, 
 however, is not to be attained without working 
 for. To say so much as " ay" or " no " appropri- 
 ately in the House, demands the most assiduous 
 application. But the son of Lord Hardynge 
 had every encouragement to diligence, in the 
 honours his father had achieved, and the happi- 
 ness he trusted to attain ; and to render him- 
 self worthier the favour of his sovereign and 
 smiles of Emma Askham, poor Bob was con-
 
 SELF. 259 
 
 tent to slave all day as a practical public man, 
 and all night as a deliberative. 
 
 Of such materials, how was a woman like 
 Lady Grandison to create, by the magic of a 
 few sweet words and smiles, a puppet to be set 
 up among the Dresden shepherdesses and 
 Chinese bonzes,adorning her ladyship's boudoir! 
 
 "Commend me to the coolness," said Hardynge 
 to his friend Philip, — (as they were discharging 
 their duty to the country by lounging together 
 in a window seat of their office, overlooking the 
 Thames, — " commend me to the coolness with 
 which our friend at Grandison House appropri- 
 ates the faculties of the most eminent men of 
 the day to her ridiculous purposes, — like some 
 armourer arranging in whimsical devices the 
 deadly weapons under his charge ! — But let her 
 look to herself ! Dear Stasy may chance to cut 
 her fingers among so many implements of de- 
 struction ; which, though betrophied for the 
 nonce into a fan or a sun-flower, retain their 
 power of life and death." 
 
 Phihp responded to this lengthy illustration 
 by a provoking laugh. He could not quite
 
 260 
 
 SELF. 
 
 forgive his friend the sajigfroid with which he 
 had obtained and retained his footing in a 
 spot where « angels feared to tread." 
 
 « Since when have you thought yourself so 
 dangerous ?" said he, still holding his sides. 
 
 "'AtSws ovK aya.6rj\ Away with your false 
 modesty .'" cried Hardinge, unabashed. 
 
 "'Envy doth merit like its shade pursue ;' 
 and you and others are kind enough to afford 
 me a shadow, fully authenticating ray sub- 
 stance." 
 
 " You would not be quite so saucy," retorted 
 Philip, in the same tone of persiflage, " if you 
 had accompanied the Grandisons last night 
 to Carlton House. There was a certain rich 
 man — " 
 
 He paused : but Bob Hardynge was not ^to 
 " gagged by a mystery.'' 
 
 "A certain rich man at Carlton House?" 
 cried he. « Did they sit him down to whist, or 
 piquet? For French hazard, I conclude, the 
 house is not licensed?'' — 
 
 "There was a certain rich man," resumed 
 Philip in continuation, "in honour of whose
 
 SELF. 261 
 
 acres in Sussex, Lady Grandison has already 
 assumed the advocacy of the landed interests. 
 — She hunted poor Windham, last night, 
 into a corner, and favoured him with her dia- 
 mond edition of theories on poor laws, land-tax, 
 and corn, till I was afraid he might be pestered 
 into dealing with her as summarily as with 
 some twaddler of the opposition benches." 
 
 " And who is the rustic knieht she has taken 
 under her protection.'^" — inquired Bob, amused 
 that Philip should so little understand his feel- 
 ings towards the Grandisons. 
 
 " I think the clodhopper was called de some- 
 thing or other ; but he has a princely place 
 somewhere on the borders of Sussex." 
 
 "My friend Sir Hugh de Bayhurst, for a 
 thousand !" cried Hardynge. " Surely you 
 must have often seen him speaking to my 
 father ?" 
 
 " I see many people talking to Lord Har- 
 dynge, of whom I know nothing." 
 
 "Ay, 'people' who are mere ' populace ' in 
 the estimation of Eden Castle ! But Bayhurst 
 is a name that might have been familiar to its
 
 262 SELF. 
 
 castleship's august ears, any time since the first 
 crusade, — if there were then Askhams in the 
 land ! It was I that introduced the ' clodhop- 
 per' to Lady Grandison, and bespoke her civi- 
 lities. But perhaps you know him better as 
 Sir Hugh Saville ? — The family changed its 
 name for an estate, in the time of William and 
 Mary ; and the present baronet lias just obtained 
 the royal sanction to resume it. — Quite right ! 
 — I hate the name of Saville ! — Its historical 
 associations are far from flattering !" 
 
 Philip Askham answered not a word. He 
 was absorbed in reflecting, not upon his friend's 
 antipathy to the name of Saville ; but on his 
 own indiscretion in accepting overtures of 
 acquaintanceship from a man of whose antece- 
 dents he knew nothing. But who could have 
 conjectured that this Sussex baronet with the 
 lofty title, was no other than the " cruel uncle" 
 of little Selina ? , 
 
 In spite of his pretended ignorance of the 
 " Sir Hugh de something or other," Philip had 
 become sufficiently famiUar with Lady Grandi- 
 son's protege, to feel thoroughly uncomfortable
 
 SELF. 
 
 263 
 
 at the discovery. The introduction had oc- 
 curred some days before at a water-party, 
 ending in one of those scrarabUng Richmond 
 dinners, to which mammas of the Grandlson 
 order have recourse, towards the close of the 
 season, when all other matrimonial ambushes 
 have failed ; and they had been thrown together 
 too familiarly, and renewed their acquaintance- 
 ship too speedily at Carlton House, to admit of 
 future disavowal. 
 
 Already, a thousand wild surmises were pass- 
 ing ' through the flustered mind of Philip. 
 Aware of Lord Askham's residence in the 
 neighbourhood of Edenbourne, Sir Hugh had 
 perhaps sought his acquaintance for the purpose 
 of obtaining an insight into the habits and pur- 
 suits of his banished sister-in-law ; or, sharing 
 the general impression that Philip was a first 
 favourite with Lady Anastasia Grandison, might 
 intend, by a sudden allusion to Eastfield, to 
 denounce in her presence the pre-engaged affec- 
 tions of his rival ! 
 
 Overlooking, in the perplexity of the mo- 
 ment, the Cuyp'hunting visit to Mansfield 
 
 7
 
 264 SELF. 
 
 Street, which, while exercising so potent an 
 influence over the feelings of Hardynge, had 
 rendered him cognizant of the existence of 
 Selina, he pursued, with assumed nonchalance 
 his inquiries respecting Sir Hugh de Bay- 
 hurst. 
 
 " Do you dine to-morrow at Grandison 
 House ?" said he. " If so, you will meet this 
 old friend with a new name." 
 
 "I am not asked. With the Irish question 
 before the House, Lady Grandison knows it 
 would be an empty compliment." 
 
 " We shall 'have a member or two, howe^'err 
 besides Sir Hugh de Bayhurst." 
 
 " Members a foisoyi, — for the division will be 
 a late one. — /have to speak! — Of Sir Hugh 
 de Bayhurst I see enough elsewhere, to dis- 
 pense with meeting him at Lady Grandison's.""^ 
 
 " Do you happen to know whether he has 
 any brothers ?" demanded Philip, abruptly, 
 fixing his eyes on the river below, as searchingly 
 as if fishing for whitebait. 
 
 None now surviving. There was one, I fancy, 
 in the army, who died during the father's lifetime.
 
 SELF. ^65 
 
 I never saw Ned Saville ; but my mother de- 
 scribes him as the handsomest and most charm- 
 ing fellow in the world, " 
 
 " Sir Hugh is a handsome man," observed 
 Philip, with a short cough. 
 
 " Handsome, but not charming. Edward, 
 they say, was worth a dozen of him. He was 
 with the Guards in that unlucky Dutch expe- 
 dition, and distinguished himself at Valen- 
 ciennes." 
 
 "And was it there he met with his death ?" — 
 
 " He died of a decline, when I was at Christ* 
 church. Poor fellow ! — he had made a foolish 
 match !" 
 
 The eyes of Philip were now following the 
 course of the river, as if to decipher the name 
 of a wherry passing under the last arch of 
 Westminster Bridge, while carelessly adding, 
 " A love match, — of course !" — 
 
 "Desperately so, I presume; for it^was in 
 the face of the fiercest family prohibition. Old 
 Sir Herbert swore he would never give him 
 another guinea, and kept his word." 
 
 VOL. I, N
 
 '266 SELF. 
 
 " What you call a decline, therefore, was 
 perhaps starvation ?" 
 
 " More likely a broken heart ! The girl 
 had something, on which they lived, or, as you 
 wisely observe, starved. But he was obliged to 
 sell out of the Guards, poor fellow ! and a man 
 never gets over being forced out of his position 
 m life. In little more than a year, there was an 
 end of him. He left a little girl, — and, unless I 
 am mistaken, another was born after his death." 
 
 " The family, then, were reconciled to the 
 widow ?" 
 
 '■ Not that I ever heard of! — Strange, if they 
 were, — considering that the match was the cause 
 of poor Edward's banishment." 
 
 " His wife was perhaps a woman of disre- 
 putable character?" — added Philip, with a slight 
 renewal of his cough. 
 
 " Horrible ! a very monster of iniquity !" — 
 
 Philip Askham's blood ran cold in his veins. 
 
 " The daughter of some half-pay colonel, 
 with a fortune of five thousand pounds! — 
 What can you desire worse for your second
 
 SELF. 267 
 
 son ? — Though blameless in every other parti- 
 cular, I quite agree in the anathema of Sir 
 Herbert Saville ! However, as poor Ned was 
 fated to die young, it did not much signify ; and 
 by this time, I dare say they have all forgotten 
 his name." 
 
 " The easier to be accomplished, since they 
 have changed their own, " said Philip, more 
 cheerfully, as if a load were taken off his breast. 
 " Thank you for initiating me into the family 
 history. Sir Hugh being fated to make la 
 pluie et le beau temps at Grandison House for the 
 remainder of the season, it is as well to be on 
 one's guard. When shooting in the dark, one 
 is sure to hurt a man's feelings bv some random 
 shaft." 
 
 " Which is the greatest bore in the world !" 
 rejoined Bob Hardynge, starting up to take his 
 departure from the oflBce, on catching the dis- 
 tant signal of the postman's bell; very little 
 surmising the smart which, during the last 
 quarter of an hour, his random arrows had been 
 inflicting on the susceptible bosom of his 
 friend ! — 
 
 N 2
 
 268 SELF. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 My apprehensions come in crowds, 
 
 I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
 The very shadows of the clouds 
 
 Have power to shake me as I pass. 
 I question all, and do not find 
 One that will answer to my mind. 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 
 Solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 Pre- OCCUPIED in mind by his growing ambi- 
 tions, as in heart by the bright image of the 
 lovely sister of Philip Askham, Hardynge 
 had heard with unconcern that he was super- 
 seded, as absent without leave, in the favour of 
 Lady Grandison. But, on reflection, he became 
 curious to ascertain whether, in his case as in 
 Philip's, she would enlist, as an advantageous
 
 SELF. 269 
 
 dangler for herself, the man on whom she no 
 longer entertained designs for Anastasia. 
 
 " Lady Grandison has so much tact, " argued he 
 with himself, "and is so thorough a proficient in 
 the wisdom of what calls itself the world, that she 
 may serve as a fashionometer to determine not 
 only my value, but my father's, in the apprecia- 
 tion of the sworn appraisers of the heau monde." 
 
 He was careful, therefore, not to absent him- 
 self from the conversazione held the following 
 Sunday evening at Grandison House. For the 
 Countess, among other Parisian importations, 
 had established a weekly At-home, that rivalled 
 the popularity of the Royal-Terrace-mob at 
 Windsor Castle ; nor was her sporting lord 
 more assiduous in his devotions every Sabbath 
 morning at Tattersall's, than were, every Sab- 
 bath night, under his roof, the friends, adorers, 
 and disciples of his lady. 
 
 On the present occasion, Hardynge entered 
 those brilliant portals with less than the glad- 
 some anticipations they were wont to inspire. 
 He had been dining with his father, whom he 
 left deeply depressed by the illness of one whom
 
 270 SELF. 
 
 he loved as a man as much as he reverenced as 
 a minister ; and having been cautioned by Lord 
 Hardynge against uttering a word at Grandison 
 House confirmative of the flying reports of Fox's 
 indisposition, the clouds upon his face were 
 naturally attributed by the idlers of the set to 
 jealousy of the distinction suddenly transferred 
 to Sir Hugh de Bayhurst. 
 
 " Devilish good-looking fellow, this new man, 
 — isn't he, Hardynge?" whispered Lord Middle- 
 more, whom his sister Helen had with some 
 difficulty pressed into her service as chaperon, 
 (the dowager having scruples about attending 
 Sunday parties, with which, in her daughter's 
 case, she found itconvenient to dispense, — as 
 though Helen were not arrived at a time of life 
 to be rigidly righteous !) 
 
 " Handsome, certainly !' interposed Miss 
 Middlemore, hoping to engage the attention of 
 Hardynge; — " but his countenance is far from 
 prepossessing. Whatever Lady Anastasia may 
 think of him, he is not to be spoken of in 
 the same day with my cousin Philip," added 
 she, trusting that, at some future time, Hardynge
 
 SELF. 271 
 
 might report her generous panegyric to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Phil is ten years younger, to begin with !" 
 cried her brother ; " and Phil has been in 
 better training, and shows cleverer paces. But 
 De Bayhurst is a fine figure of a man, for all 
 that !" 
 
 " A fine figure of a yeoman !" replied Har- 
 dynge, slightingly. " He makes a splendid 
 exhibition at the head of his Bayhurst volun- 
 teers." 
 
 " What ! is he the fellow who raised that 
 cavalry regiment in Sussex, after whose uniform 
 the Prince is said to have altered the regi- 
 mentals of the Tenth ?" — exclaimed Lord Mid- 
 dlemore. " By George ! then he is something, 
 after all !" — 
 
 " Could vou not infer as much," said his 
 sister, with a significant smile, " from the at- 
 tentions bestowed on him by Lady Grandison ?" 
 
 " I never make my book on Lady Grandison's 
 information!" retorted he. "Ware false war- 
 rantry and forged pedigrees ! — Lady G. is apt
 
 272 SELF. 
 
 to get bad intelligence. Why she wasted 
 nearly as much time on Phil Askham, as would 
 have netted a duke, only because I hummed 
 her into the belief that he was as good as an 
 eldest son !" 
 
 Hardyiige could not altogether repress a 
 contemptuous glance towards the coaching 
 cousin, who pretended to be more than a cousin, 
 to his divine Emma. 
 
 " Your lordship's intelligence may have had 
 due weight with Lady Grandison," said he ; 
 " but the favour bestowed by Lady Anastasia 
 on my friend Philip would, I am certain, be 
 unchanged, whether he were heir to Hurstvvood 
 Castle or son to a Welsh curate." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo, Mr. Hardynge !" cried Miss 
 Middlemore, eager to establish, for hsr own 
 sake, the disinterestedness of young-lady-kind. 
 
 Yet when Sir Hugh de Bayhurst approached 
 them, a moment afterwards, she became spas- 
 modically affected by those galvanic influences 
 too often exercised by single men of large for- 
 tune over single women of moderate ; agitating
 
 SELF. 273 
 
 her eyes and fan, as if no longer mistress of 
 herself in presence of a parti great enough to 
 be booked by Lady Grandison. 
 
 Yet of her manoeuvres, the saturnine Sussex 
 Baronet saw no more than if they had been 
 enacted by the invisible girl! — 
 
 " I was in hopes of meeting Lord Hardynge 
 here to-night," was his mode of accosting Bob, 
 " in disproof of the sad news I heard last night 
 at the opera from Mr. Askham, concerning the 
 health of Mr. Fox." 
 
 " My family are old-fashioned people,' re- 
 plied Bob, evading the dangerous part of the 
 question. " To them, parties must appear to 
 be hard work, for they class them with Sabbath - 
 breaking ! — Even at Paris, they refrained. — But 
 where is Askham ? I do not see him here to- 
 night."' 
 
 " You see plain enough that he is iiot 
 
 here!" cried Lord Midilemore, with a laugh; 
 
 " and what's more, I bet a pony that he is not 
 
 coming. Dear Stasy is looking so deucedly 
 
 down in the mouth !" 
 
 " To me. Lady Anastasia looks, as she ever 
 
 N 5
 
 274 SELF. 
 
 does, all loveliness I'"* observed Hardynge, more 
 disposed than the coaching peer to favour the 
 sentiments and pretensions of his successor in 
 Lady Grandison's man-trap. 
 
 " Deuced civil of you to say so !" rejoined his 
 lordship; " for, by George, she has looked our 
 way, and been guilty of three great yawns, since 
 you came into the room !" 
 
 " Which you attribute to my having ventured 
 hither, unescorted by my Pylades?" — replied 
 Hardynge, with good-humoured irony. 
 
 " I know nothing about Pylades," retorted the 
 cubbish lord; "but I'm certain she'd see the 
 whole room of us flung into the Serpentine, to 
 save Philip's dog from drowning !" 
 
 " I trust my cousin may arrive, later in the 
 evening," observed Miss Middlemore, in her 
 blandest tones — to encourage Sir Hugh into 
 asking for an introduction, " for I have a mes- 
 sage for him from mamma." 
 
 " What ! has the old lady a dinner on the 
 stocks?" demanded her brother. " If so, I 
 owe it to Philip to put him on his guard. My 
 mother's dinners are what no man should be
 
 SELF. 275 
 
 tempted to risk, who has a young family unpro- 
 vided for. All dowager dinners ought to be 
 labelled ' poison' by act of parliament." 
 
 " My message regards nothing so pleasant as 
 a dinner-party," observed Helen, turning a 
 stone-deaf ear to his impertinence. " Mamma 
 desired me to tell him, — and Mr. Hardynge, 
 who is certain to see him, will perhaps under- 
 take the commission, — that she had a letter 
 yesterday from Eden Castle, and that my aunt 
 is seriously alarmed about the health of Lord 
 Askham." 
 
 " The deuce she is !" interrupted the un- 
 silenceable Lord Middlemore. " If the old 
 gentleman were to slip off the hooks, I can tell 
 you, it would be a famous bad thing for the 
 family. Nine younger children, and Percy as 
 fast in the stocks as Bony and a Whig ministry 
 can make him !" 
 
 Hardynge was proceeding to make further 
 inquiries respecting the state of Lord Askham, 
 (though, of the nine younger children, his 
 Pylades was certainly not the first object of his 
 solicitude,) when Lady Grandison, a little fidgettv
 
 276 SELF. 
 
 at seeing Sir Hugh de Bayhurst linger so long 
 beside a handsome girl like Helen Middlemore, 
 made her way towards the group. She was 
 sufficiently versed in her calling, however, to 
 render her purpose inostensible, by addressing 
 herself first to Mr. Hardynge. 
 
 " Did you see poor Mr. Askham before he 
 set off?" — said she, in a plausible tone of sym- 
 pathy, which elicited only a look of blank wonder 
 in return. " I received his note of excuse 
 just as we were sitting down to dinner," — added 
 her ladyship ; " and if, by the mercy of provi- 
 dence, Lord Grandison had not invited Sir 
 Harry Sweepstakes this morning at Tattersall's, 
 we should have been literally thirteen at table ! 
 However, dear Stasy (who cannot bear to see 
 me annoyed) would probably have insisted on 
 dining in her own room. Luckily, that fif- 
 teenth man of Lord Grandison's saved us !" 
 
 " But what possible excuse had Askham for 
 exposing your ladyship to such a hazard ?" in- 
 quired Hardynge, perceiving by a side-glance 
 that her purpose was fulfilled, De Bayhurst 
 having already stolen off towards Ladv Anas-
 
 SELF. 277 
 
 tasia, whose side she had designedly left un- 
 guarded. 
 
 " Is it possible that you have not heard ?" 
 said his hostess, with suitable gravity of counte- 
 nance. " Mr. Askham has been sent for ex- 
 press to Eden Castle ! — Poor Lord Askham is 
 not expected to live ! — Poor Lord Askham has 
 had a paralytic stroke !" 
 
 The first impulse of Hardynge was to turn 
 towards the Middlemores. But they were 
 already out of hearing ; the wary Helen having 
 drawn off her brother in pursuit of the hand- 
 some Baronet, on pretence of paying her com- 
 pliments to Lady Anastasia. 
 
 " I am deeply concerned to hear it. I knew 
 nothing of the matter. I shall probably find a 
 letter from Askham on my return home," said 
 he, addressing Lady Grandison. 
 
 " It is very provoking !" she replied. " For 
 I had counted up Mr. Askham for our Green- 
 wich dinner, next week; and I fear he will be 
 detained some time in the country." 
 
 Then, perceiving, by the reflection in an op- 
 posite glass, that her end was accomplished,
 
 278 SELF. 
 
 and apprehensive of being detained by Har- 
 dynge with a long discussion of Lord Askham's 
 condition, she exclaimed, as she prepared to 
 move off, " Most likely we shall not see him 
 again this season I In the absence of his elder 
 brother, the charge of the family will of course 
 devolve on your friend." 
 
 The deep sigh with which Bob responded to 
 the observation, was naturally attributed by 
 Lady Grandison to sympathy in Philip's im- 
 pending cares ; for how was she to surmise that 
 the new member, who was supposed to be chin- 
 deep in the hot-mud bath of politics, was lament- 
 ing only that this change in the administra- 
 tion of theAskham family would effect nothing in 
 advancement of his projects ; the brother of 
 Emma Askham being the avowed advocate of 
 her coaching cousin. 
 
 Far from satisfactory, meanwhile, were the 
 reflections of Philip, on his hurried journey to- 
 wards Wales, accompanied by Sir Henry Hal- 
 ford, (then known under the modest name of 
 Dr. Vaughan,) whom he had been charged to 
 convey with the utmost speed to Eden Castle.
 
 SELF. 27 y 
 
 Though the affections of Philip had been pain- 
 fully estranged from his parents by the austerity 
 of their early discipline, he trembled at the pos- 
 sibility that his neglect of Emma's warning 
 might be the origin of the recent catastrophe. 
 He felt completely in the wrong. He ought to 
 have known, by long experience, that Simprems 
 was an ass. He ought to have trusted to his 
 sister ! 
 
 To the reproaches of his own conscience, 
 moreover, would shortly be added the recrimi- 
 nations of the Uppinghams, — the sententious 
 admonitions of his brother Henry, — the accusa- 
 tions of the whole neighbourhood! If Lord 
 Askham's attack should prove fatal, it was him- 
 self rather than the guilty Percy, who would be 
 taxed with parricide ! 
 
 Under such apprehensions, he proceeded to 
 cross-question his learned fellow-traveller, con- 
 cerning the nature, progress, and results of 
 paralytic attacks, with a circumstantiality that 
 would have done honour to an Oxford pro- 
 fessor, or the College of Physicians. But the 
 fashionable physician, who knew no more of the
 
 280 SELF. 
 
 constitution or habits of the noble patient con- 
 cerning whom he was required to prognosticate, 
 than could be learned by occasionally meeting 
 him on the stairs when in attendance on the 
 nursery in Mansfield Street, was cautious not 
 to commit himself in reply. The account for- 
 warded by Simprems stated the attack to be 
 slight ; that indited by Miss Harrison under 
 Lady Askham's directions, afforded little hope 
 that they should find him alive ; and the London 
 physician, with suitable contempt of the judg- 
 ment of a country apothecary, was consequently 
 inchned to anticipate the worst. 
 
 But Philip would not despair. Philip did his 
 best to believe that his father was in no sort of 
 danger, — that his inertness had done no harm, — 
 that the family were unnecessarily alarmed. 
 The idea of a long sojourn at Eden Castle was 
 sufficiently disagreeable to him to redouble his 
 interest in poor Lord Askham's condition ; and 
 already he had determined, if circumstances af- 
 forded a decent pretext for returning to town, to 
 insist upon the duties of his office, and hasten 
 back with Dr. Vaughan. Collision with the
 
 SELF. 281 
 
 neighbours would be too annoying ! — Why dis- 
 compose his temper by the sight of Sir Erasmus 
 L' Estrange, — or his feehngs by a visit to East- 
 field ?— 
 
 The lapse of a summer night and day spent 
 on the journey, soothed by a purer atmosphere 
 as well as by the fair landscapes passing rapidly 
 before his eyes, served to promote a happier 
 frame of mind. — Twelve months had passed 
 since he beheld the country face to face; the 
 real, right-earnest country of wood smoke, 
 barley-bread, and sunburnt faces, — golden plains 
 and forest-clothed acclivities ; (so different from 
 the meritricious suburban region of villas and 
 lawnlets, — picnics and water parties !) and its 
 noble horizon, its sweeping woodlands, and ma- 
 jestic parks, served at once to ennoble his feel- 
 ings and dignify in his estimation his own 
 position and the hereditary endowments of his 
 family. 
 
 To be an estated peer of such a land as lay be- 
 fore him, afforded indeed grounds for assump- 
 tion ! — In Philip, as in others, the struggle 
 of London life had produced a considerable
 
 •282 SELF. 
 
 abatement of self-esteem. But the old leaven 
 was rising again ; and the sight of corn-fields and 
 forests reminded him with welcome flattery of 
 the vast disproportion being the menue fretin of 
 professional life, and such magnates of the land 
 as the Askhams of Eden Castle, The life or 
 death of a man possessing such a stake in the 
 country as his father, proprietor of a borough, 
 patron of fifteen livings, and commanding a 
 rent-roll of thirty thousand a year, was a matter 
 of moment! — 
 
 Nothing doubting that, on this point, the 
 borough aforesaid coincided with himself, Philip, 
 recalling to mind his last triumphal entry with 
 his family into Edenbourne, prepared himself, as 
 they approached the little town, to interpret its 
 mournful physiognomy as trustworthily indica- 
 tive of the progress of events at the castle. As 
 the carriage rattled through the market-place, 
 he gazed earnestly from the window; hoping to 
 greet some well-known face, on the look out for 
 his arrival, whose expression would forewarn 
 him at a glance. 
 
 But alas ! no eye responded to his own !
 
 SELF. 283 
 
 With the exception of a group of ragged boys 
 playing at hopscotch in the summer dust, who 
 set up a shout derisive rather than comphment- 
 ary as the vehicle effaced their boundaries, not 
 a soul was visible in the street. The brass-plate 
 on the door of Simprems shone bright and glar- 
 ing as usual ; and the acacia trees in full bloom 
 in the vicarage garden, were as fair and pleasant 
 to look on, as though no sickness of greater con- 
 sequence than the workhouse fever, prevailed 
 within twenty miles round. Unapprized of his 
 coming, Edenbourne had prepared no parade of 
 sympathy in token of allegiance. 
 
 On reaching the toll-bar from whence the 
 shrubbery-belt of Eastfield was discernible, Phi- 
 lip carefully averted his head ; but at the point 
 of the road sacred to his own and Percy's unfihal 
 apostrophes, he fixed his eyes wistfully on the 
 faQade of the grand old family mansion it brought 
 in view, trusting that its aspect might afford 
 surer anguries than that of the ungrateful bo- 
 rough. On this occasion, though more than 
 ever justifying the epithet, he forbore to salute 
 it as a "dreary pile !"
 
 284 SELF. 
 
 But if the arrival of the travellers were iin- 
 looked for at Edenbourne, at the Castle they 
 were expected with breathless anxiety. Without 
 pausing to interrogate the old servants awaiting 
 them with grave faces on the threshold, Philip 
 proceeded at once to usher his companion into 
 the sick chamber ; where Simprems stole for- 
 ward on tiptoe to greet them with details of his 
 noble patient far from satisfactory, and details 
 of the remedies he had applied, satisfactory only 
 to himself. 
 
 While Dr. Vaughan betook himself to the bed- 
 side, to examine the pulse and countenance of 
 the sufferer, Philip withdrew hastily to the win- 
 dow. He had not courage to witness an investi- 
 gation that might end in a sentence of death. 
 
 Sentences of death, however, are seldom 
 orally administered by the life-preserver of a 
 court. After a silence of many minutes, during 
 which all was so still in the muffled chamber 
 that Philip could hear the ticking of the doctor's 
 chronometer, Dr. Vaughan approached the 
 window with noiseless footsteps and well- 
 schooled solemnity of countenance, silently
 
 SELF. 285 
 
 conveying the fatal decree with due deference 
 to the rank and fortune of the sufferer. 
 
 " My father's state, then, is hopeless?" mur- 
 mured Philip, forestalling the afflicting com- 
 munication. 
 
 " Hopeless, as regards the restoration of his 
 faculties," replied the oracle, in the proper 
 sick chamber whisper. "As regards the mere 
 functions of life, Lord Askham may survive for 
 weeks, for months, perhaps for years. But 
 he will drag on a miserable existence, lost to 
 himself and his family. — 1 regret to say that 
 his lordship's mind is irrecoverably gone." 
 
 Philip had not breath to inquire whether pre- 
 ventative measures, adopted in time, might have 
 averted the evil. At the impulse of his startled 
 feelings, he was already beside the bed of his 
 father, contemplating the vacant stare and dis- 
 torted countenance of the unfortunate man thus 
 prematurely effaced from the list of responsible 
 beings. It was impossible to bhnd himself to 
 the fact, that paternal affliction had done the 
 
 deed ! 
 
 As an aggrieved father, the situation of Lord
 
 '286 SELF. 
 
 Askham, deplorable as it was, became invested 
 with a sort of dignity; and while the compli- 
 cated causes of the mischief recurred to the 
 mind of his son, Philip could scarcely refrain 
 from exclaiming, as he pondered upon the fatal 
 influence of Percy's indiscretions, — " What on 
 earth took him round by Toulouse ?" 
 
 The involuntary reminiscence, however, was 
 out of place ; for 
 
 FeAws aKaipw eu fSpoTOL's Setvov kukov. 
 
 and the heart of Philip was sincerely touched 
 by the solemnity of the scene. 
 
 To the rest of the family, meanwhile, the de- 
 cree of Warwick Lane, rapidly promulgated 
 through the house, conveyed considerable relief. 
 The weeping school-room and panic-struck 
 servants' hall dwelt only upon the fact that his 
 lordship's life might be spared for years. — No 
 matter his state of imbecility, — no matter his 
 being bed-ridden ! — Any thing rather than the 
 grave : — 
 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
 Is paradise to what we fear of death ! 
 
 and, as the lady's maid whined consolingly to
 
 SELF. 287 
 
 Lady Askham, while administering a copious 
 draught of camphor julep after the profes- 
 sional decree, "Her ladyship had no need 
 to take on, for while there was life there was 
 
 hope r 
 
 If Philip saw little cause for gratulation in 
 his father's helpless state, for a lesser mercy he 
 was sincerely thankful. Not a syllable was 
 uttered by the kind and judicious Emma, when 
 he folded her in his arms, in allusion to her 
 neglected warnings. Though her hollow eyes 
 and wasted cheeks avouched the anxieties she 
 had undergone, she adverted only to the future. 
 Of what avail to aggravate their present misery 
 by allusions to the past ! 
 
 All she entreated was that Phihp would not 
 think of leaving them. Dr. Vaughan had been 
 forced to return immediately to town. But, 
 though Lord and Lady Uppingham, who had 
 been sent for, were expected in the course of 
 the day, it was impossible to dispense with 
 Philip. 
 
 " It is to you we all look for instructions," said 
 she. " My poor mother is too much over-
 
 288 SELF. 
 
 powered to act ; and during Percy's absence, to 
 you belongs the supreme authority here." 
 
 He, — Philip the drudge, — Philipthe contemn- 
 ed younger son, invested with supreme autho- 
 rity at Eden Castle ! — There was mockery in 
 the very idea. But no ! all was sad and sober 
 earnest. The tyranny of the place was over- 
 past. There lay before him, extended on the 
 bed from which he was never more to rise, the 
 proud man humbled — the angry man subdued — 
 the selfish man, dependent for the remainder of 
 his maimed and disabled existence, on the 
 mercy and sympathy of other people. Already, 
 Lord Askham, of Eden Castle, was as any other 
 mortal clod ! — 
 
 Poor Simprems who, during the brief sojourn 
 of the courtly Esculapius, had crept about 
 the place with drooping ears and tail between his 
 legs, hazarded a slight attempt after his depar- 
 ture to renew his former twaddle about "■ forti- 
 fying the epigastric region by alteratives and a 
 change of diet." 
 
 But he might have spared his pains. Lord 
 Uppingham was now arrived ; who, fixing his
 
 SELF. 289 
 
 eagle-glance on the confused apothecary, made 
 it apparent by a few authoritative questions and 
 comments, that half the evil was the result of 
 his incompetency ; and that all he could do in 
 atonement, was to attend strictly to the sug- 
 gestions of a judgment sounder than his own. 
 
 For the Marquis was come, as usual, to ad- 
 vise and govern, not merely to deplore. Though 
 deeply touched by the self-accusing tears of his 
 beloved Margaret as she surveyed the altered 
 form of her helpless father, his predominant 
 concern was lest the welfare of his lordship's 
 equally helpless family should thenceforward 
 lie at the mercy of the unstable and selfish 
 Philip; and remembering the state of subjec- 
 tion to which he had seen his brother-in-law 
 reduced by the former oppressions of Eden Cas- 
 tle, he rashly attempted with him the same 
 course of stern cross-examination to which he 
 had submitted the apothecary. 
 
 But Pope Sixtus had long since flung away 
 his staff; and stood upright in the conclave- 
 The Marquis might as well have attempted to 
 bend the mainmast of the Victory, as bully the 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 SELF. 
 
 new and improved edition of Philip Askham. 
 Forewarned and forearmed against one who 
 claimed over him the superiorities of a bene- 
 factor, he encountered his dictatorial brother-in- 
 law with an impassible dignity of reserve, such 
 as would have made the fortune of his diploma- 
 tic career. 
 
 There was every excuse, however, for the 
 anxieties of Lord Uppingham. Still ignorant 
 of the details of Percy's rash improvidence, he 
 knew not what to make of the reduced esta- 
 blishment at Eden Castle, so different from his 
 own princely household, and its former method- 
 ical array ; and, dreading that Lord Askham's 
 seizure might have been produced by the pres- 
 sure of pecuniary diflBculties, and the family of 
 his precious Margaret be on the brink of ruin, 
 there was no one but Philip to whom he could 
 apply for information. 
 
 His own poor little wife, spell-bound the 
 moment she crossed the threshold of her former 
 prison, was devoting all her thoughts and mo- 
 ments to her mother ; and as to Lady Askham, 
 her faculties seemed scarcely less impaired than
 
 SELF. 291 
 
 those of her lord ! After living five~and-twenty 
 years with one who was bone of her bone, and 
 flesh of her flesh, by the law of nature as well 
 as by sacramental grace, she felt herself so com- 
 pletely identified with him, that, since it was 
 proved in his case that paralysis was in the 
 blood, she felt convinced her own turn was 
 coming; and having communicated her fears to 
 Siraprems, so anxious was he to make amends 
 for former lack of zeal, that already he had 
 prepared for cupping, and talked of sinapisms 
 to the feet. 
 
 Deprived of his usual companion by all this 
 ill-timed folly, and finding it as impossible to 
 extract information from Philip as from his un- 
 conscious father-in-law, the Marquis of Upping- 
 ham went wandering about the desolate place, 
 sorely in want of some one over whom to exer- 
 cise his ascendancy, (an operation which lie 
 called taking into his confidence !) and great was 
 the relief to his feelings when Henry Askham 
 made his appearance from Cambridge, — to enter 
 into his grievances, and assume a place behind 
 him on the opposition benches. 
 
 o 2
 
 292 SELF. 
 
 Henry Askham, a cleverish but priggish 
 young gentleman, still dizzy on the stilts of his 
 university honouns, and inflated with ambitions 
 generated by the discovery that a family 
 borough was keeping warm for him in the oven, 
 was overjoyed to receive overtures of friendship 
 from one of whom he had hitherto regarded Philip 
 as the exclusive p/'o/e^e ; and whom he venerated 
 as a Tory and borough-holder far more than 
 as a marquis or a brother-in-law. A league 
 off'ensive and defensive was speedily entered 
 into between them ; on the grounds of many 
 national alliances, that, being devoid singly of 
 power or information, and two negatives being 
 supposed to make an affirmative, their weak- 
 ness and ignorance united, might produce en- 
 lightenment and strength. 
 
 In every numerous family where diversities 
 of interest prevail, parties are as certain to 
 arise, as in the body politic of the state. Be- 
 fore three days were over its head and that 
 of Lord Uppingham, Eden castle was irre- 
 concileably divided against itself. The vidual 
 seclusion of Lady Askham's chamber afforded a
 
 SELF. 293 
 
 gathering point for the malcontents; while 
 Emma, who had been thrown out of her 
 mother's good graces by her coldness towards 
 Lord Middlemore and friendship for Mrs. Sa- 
 ville, remained the solitary ally of Philip ; in 
 common with whom, she devoted herself to the 
 care of the invalid. 
 
 "I can understand my being in their black 
 books," said Philip, as they sat together at the 
 dressing-room window adjoining Lord Askham's 
 room, enjoying the dewy twilight of a sultry 
 July day, while discussing the family politics ; 
 " but what have you done, dear Emma, to 
 offend them? You have neglected no duty 
 towards your parents, — you do not dine at Carl- 
 ton House, — you are not the friend of Lady 
 Grandison " 
 
 " But I am the friend of Mrs. Saville !" in- 
 terrupted Emma ; — " a far less pardonable of- 
 fence !'' 
 
 "I fancied," replied Philip, lowering his 
 voice, though they were alone, and the ears of 
 the sick man in the adjoining room would iiave 
 remained insensible to a park of artillery, — " I
 
 294 SELF. 
 
 fancied that she had of late become a favourite 
 here ?'' 
 
 "Yes, so long as you remained in London." 
 
 " Why, what influence have / in the ques- 
 tion ; — I, who have neither seen nor thought of 
 her for years." 
 
 « You will see her often enough now : unless, 
 indeed, Lord Uppingham should instigate mam- 
 ma to a new declaration of war." 
 
 " Lord Uppingham ?" — reiterated Philip, with 
 some hauteur, "I should not advise him to 
 interfere." 
 
 " I have heard papa assert, a thousand times, 
 that it was only to break off your intimacy at 
 Eastfield, my brother-in-law applied for your 
 appointment." 
 
 Indignant to find that he had been dealt with 
 as a puppet, Philip expressed in stronger terms 
 than ever, his determination to rebut all future 
 intermeddling on the part of the Marquis. 
 
 " If Lord Uppingham often exhibit as much 
 defect of sagacity as in anticipating danger to 
 me from a passion for Mrs. Saville," said he 
 with bitterness, " it strikes me that his reputa-
 
 SELF. 295 
 
 tion as a public man, must be somewhat 
 usui'ped ! " 
 
 " Perhaps the danger he apprehends, lies in 
 Mrs. Saville's passion for yourself?" — remon- 
 strated Miss Askham. 
 
 " Her passion for me f — cried Philip, with 
 a gesture of impatience. — " How can you 
 utter such absurdities ? — I could forgive Mar- 
 garet, who never had an idea — unless suggested 
 by Miss Harrison, and is now enslaved by her 
 husband's opinions. But you, Emma, who are 
 more observant, and have had opportunities of 
 judging the case, you know the indifference with 
 which I was always regarded at Eastfield !" — 
 
 " Always is a wide word !" replied his sister, 
 smiling at his vehemence. " I suppose, how- 
 ever, there was a time when you visited there 
 as a mere acquaintance." 
 
 " Certainly ! and since that time, I have not 
 visited there at all."" 
 
 " Absence is no great security against the 
 growth of an attachment !"" rejoined Miss Ask- 
 ham, with a sigh that seemed to bear some
 
 296 SELF. 
 
 personal reference ; — " and as regards Evelyn's 
 affection for vourself — " 
 
 "Emma!" — interrupted her brother, with 
 deep emotion, — " you are choosing a strange 
 moment and a strange subject, to practise upon 
 my feelings ! — On such points I never distressed 
 you ! — From the moment you convinced me of 
 your antipathy to Middlemore, I refrained from 
 mentioning his name !" 
 
 " You are not, I trust, so ungrateful," said 
 Miss Askham, with spirit, "as to compare my 
 contempt of that foolish fellow with your feel- 
 ings towards Mrs. Saville? — I wonder whether 
 all men endeavour to excuse the levity of their 
 hearts, by pretending to disbelieve in the attach- 
 ment of which they are the object !" 
 
 " Do you persist, then, in asserting me to 
 be regarded at Eastfield as more than a com- 
 mon acquaintance?" 
 
 " As an object of adoration /" — replied 
 Emma, " I can solemnly assure you that little 
 Selina" — 
 
 ^'SelinaP' interrupted Philip, half frantic
 
 SELF. 297 
 
 with disappointment. " Just now, you seemed 
 to be alluding to Mrs. Saville !" 
 
 " And so I was ! What but her attachment 
 to your ungracious self, has kept her still a 
 widow .?" 
 
 "Her attachment to the memory of her hus- 
 band ! — Had you seen her as / did, in her first 
 broken-hearted days of widowhood — " 
 
 " Hearts tender enough to be broken by such 
 losses," interrupted Emma, " are tender enough 
 to love again. But you exact too much in re- 
 quiring me to explain the why, when, and 
 wherefore of her affection. All I know is, that 
 it sufficed to prevent her forming a most advan- 
 tageous marriage." 
 
 " Do you call a match with Sir Erasmus 
 L'Estrange a most advantageous marriage ?" 
 
 " Had poor Simprems been in sufficient 
 favour with you to venture upon gossip, you 
 would not be still ignorant that, after the ball 
 here last year, my poor father's protege, Sir 
 Henry Lenitive, who was staying at Eden 
 Castle, placed his splendid fortune at her 
 feet." 
 
 o 5
 
 298 SELF. 
 
 *' A man far gone in a consumption !" 
 
 *' Helen Middlemore assured us that was 
 a recommendation in the eyes of your fine lady 
 friend, Ladv Grandison !" 
 
 " But who told you, my dear Emma, that he 
 had been refused by Mrs. Saville ?" 
 
 " Himself ! — Half mad with disappointment, 
 he confided to me, as the friend of Evelyn, 
 that, in order to set the matter at rest for ever, 
 she admitted her aflPections to be engaged." 
 
 "But not to me? — She never said they were 
 engaged to me ?" — cried Philip, gasping for 
 breath. 
 
 " Urge me no further on the subject," replied 
 his sister. " I cannot say more without violat- 
 ing the confidence of Mrs. Saville. But where 
 are you going, Philip.?" — cried she, perceiving 
 that he had started up, and was looking for his 
 hat and gloves. 
 
 " Merely to take a turn in the park. I have 
 scarcely been out to-day; and the evening air is 
 so refreshing !" replied her brother, about to 
 quit the room. 
 
 " Stay a moment, and let me fetch my bonnet
 
 SELF. 
 
 299 
 
 to accompany you," cried Miss Askham, 
 alarmed by the impetuosity of his movements. 
 
 " One of us must remain here to make a 
 report by-and-by to Simprems," said PhiUp, 
 evidently resolved that it should not be himself. 
 " You have been with my father the greater 
 part of the day, and can give the most detailed 
 account of him." 
 
 And away he hurried; leaving Emma to 
 muse over his selfishness ; — for, as he truly 
 asserted, she had spent the greater part of the 
 day in the sick-room. 
 
 Nevertheless, when Simprems made his ap- 
 pearance, she was forced to admit that 
 Philip must have been indeed in want of air 
 and exercise ; for it appeared that he had gone 
 in pursuit of them, literally as far as Eden- 
 bourne ! 
 
 After the discharge of his professional duties, 
 the gossiping apothecary could not refrain from 
 mentioning that he " had not expected to find 
 Mr. Philip at home, having met him about an 
 hour before on the high road, within a stone's 
 throw of Eastfield."
 
 300 bELF. 
 
 - At that moment, Emma agreed with all the 
 world except the turnpike-man, that it was 
 strange her brother should prefer a dusty high 
 road in the dog-days, to the fragrant shrub- 
 beries of Eden Castle! —
 
 SELF. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In a house full of children, you shall see tlie eldest re- 
 spected, and the youngest made wantons : but in the midst 
 some that are as it were forgotten, who, many times prove the 
 best. 
 
 Bacon. 
 
 Satis magnum alter alteri theatrum sumiis. 
 
 V 
 
 ,PIC. 
 
 In the course of the ensuing three weeks, the 
 London journals more than once informed the 
 public, (doubtless profoundly interested in the 
 event,) that " the state of Lord Askham's health 
 was such as to afford to his medical attendants 
 and afflicted family, no hope of his recovery ;"" 
 and for a wonder, the London journals spoke 
 truth. A second consultation of physicians had 
 decided that his lordship's mind was utterly 
 gone, and his body soon to follow.
 
 302 SELF. 
 
 A considerable change had occurred, how- 
 ever, in the prospects and poUtics of the family. 
 The Uppinghams had returned to the North, — 
 Margaret being of opinion that a helpless infant 
 had stronger claims on her maternal care than a 
 helpless father, on her filial; and previous to 
 their departure, Lady Askham, as if arming 
 herself against all opposition, by the support 
 of her son-in-law, summoned into her sick 
 chamber the members of the family council. 
 
 In the capacity of her attorney-general, the 
 Marquis opened the proceedings ; and though, 
 in any other, the deep feeling with which he 
 adverted to the calamity of his noble contempo- 
 rary, and exhorted all present to make the com- 
 fort and credit of the head of the family their 
 first object, would have excited as strong an 
 interest in the mind of Phihp, as the loyal burst 
 of Lord Thurlow, in the case of his afflicted 
 sovereign, had done in that of the whole king- 
 dom, — yet, viewing him in the light of a bene- 
 factor aspiring to become an oppressor, — or of a 
 Tory out-of-place, seeking to assume the reins of 
 government wherever they were hanging loose,
 
 SELF. 303 
 
 Philip Askham hardened his heart. Having now 
 ascertained that the service rendered him by 
 Lord Uppingham was the result of a cold- 
 blooded desire to part him from the woman to 
 whom he was supposed to be attached, all tie 
 of gratitude was at an end. 
 
 " Were it likely," said the Marquis, at the 
 close of his exordium, "that the life of poor 
 Lord Askham would be of long continuance, 
 it would be necessary to apply to Chancery to 
 appoint a curator of his person and estates. 
 But the annoyance and publicity of such a pro- 
 ceeding may be spared. His medical attend- 
 ants are unanimous in opinion that his days are 
 drawing to a close ; and Lady Askham is com- 
 petent, under such circumstances, to execute all 
 minor acts in his name. By the deed of Wil- 
 liam, first Lord Askham, a sum not exceeding 
 five thousand a year, was fortunately set aside 
 out of the estates, for the express maintenance 
 of Eden Castle ; to be enjoyed by the head of 
 the family for the time being, or such members 
 of it as he shall appoint, on condition of resid-
 
 304 SELF. 
 
 ing there six months in the year ; — a provision 
 which forestalls all necessity for judicial inter- 
 ference." 
 
 " Quand Vorgueil donne des conseils" says 
 Helvetius, " Vorgueil les fait repousser : Veii- 
 clume fait rehondir le marteaiu' The autho- 
 ritative tone assumed by Lord Uppingham 
 would have rendered unpalateable the wisdom 
 of Solomon ; and though the clause to which 
 he referred had been kept a secret by 
 Lord and Lady Askham only to make a 
 virtue of their enforced adherence to home, 
 Philip chose to make his brother-in-law ac- 
 countable for their hypocrisy. — It was not to 
 him, — unkindred with the Askham blood, — that 
 the mystery should have been first entrusted ; 
 and on his proceeding to lay down the law, in 
 his usual decisive tone, concerning the treatment 
 to be adopted towards the invalid, Philip lifted 
 up his voice to intimate, in a tone equally 
 overbearing, that " it was his intention to be 
 solely guided by professional advice." 
 
 " 1 am merely signifying the pleasure of
 
 SELF. 305 
 
 Lady Askham," was the stern reply oi the 
 Marquis. " Your mother's authority, Philip, 
 is still paramount here." 
 
 " And I, my lord, am maintaining the rights 
 of my brother Percy," rej oined Philip, with 
 firmness; " of whom, during his absence from 
 England, I am the representative."" 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir ; his parents are his 
 natural representatives," rejoined Lord Upping- 
 ham, with increasing hauteur. 
 
 " His natural representatives," retorted Phi- 
 lip, " but not his legal ones !" And having 
 laid upon the table a power of attorney, for- 
 mally executed by Percy, investing him with 
 the fullest powers, he had the satisfaction of 
 seeing a glance of dismay exchanged between 
 his mother and her dictatorial son-in-law. 
 
 " You have lost no time !" said the latter, 
 refolding the parchment, after examining the 
 signature, and ascertaining that it was of a 
 week's date. " But, with such legal advisers 
 as Lord Hardynge, and such couriers as a 
 secretary of state, all difficulties of time and 
 place are easy to overcome !"
 
 -C, 
 
 06 SELF. 
 
 " It was your lordship's suggestion on your 
 arrival here that active steps ought to he 
 taken," rejoined Philip, with an air of defiance : 
 " and I have received from Lord Hardynge, as 
 Si friend, only such counsels as you have been 
 seeking in behalf of others, from the profes- 
 sional advisers of my father." 
 
 Had Lord Uppingham at that moment pro- 
 voked him by further sarcasm, Philip might 
 have been tempted, perhaps, to produce the 
 letter by which the transmission of the power 
 of attorney was accompanied ; in which Percy, 
 after the bitterest invectives against the officious 
 counsellor who had induced his father to with- 
 draw his name from the list of prisoners selected 
 for exchange, so as to excite specifically against 
 him the animosity of the Emperor, and render 
 impossible all future negociations in his favour, 
 appealed forcibly to his brother, as his steady 
 friend, — his only real friend in the family,— to 
 adopt his interests as his own, and repudiate all 
 interference in his concerns, in the event of his 
 father's decease. 
 
 *' It may perhaps suit the projects of one
 
 SELF. 
 
 3o: 
 
 who has spent his life on the back-stairs, and 
 among the intrigues of the court," added Percy, 
 " to prolong my banishment for life, as, thanks 
 to the universal triumphs of the French army, 
 will probably be the case. But, by Jove, he 
 shall not profit by my loss I — On ijou^ my dear 
 Phil, I can wholly depend. You are my repre- 
 sentative at Eden Castle; and I adjure you to be 
 on your guard against the craft of those whose 
 wits have been rendered sharper than ours 
 only by longer contact with the hard whetstone 
 of the world. " 
 
 But the Marquis of Uppingham was too 
 high-bred and self-possessed a man to provoke 
 useless altercation. Sufficiently versed in 
 human physiognomy to see that Philip was 
 armed with the strength of his obstinate selfish- 
 ness, as well as with an efficient power of attorney, 
 he foresaw clearly, on quitting Eden Castle, 
 that his first visit would be his last. Having 
 recommended the interests of Lady Askham to 
 her son Henry, (in confidential terms, which so 
 tickled the young man's vanity, that for the 
 remainder of the day he stalked about the
 
 308 SELF. 
 
 castle, mysterious and consequential as Mal- 
 volio,) he turned his face joyfully toward that 
 happier home ; where for him the best joys of 
 life were commencing, while of Lord Askham, 
 though his junior, the mortal race was run I - 
 
 Meanwhile the secret of Philip's assumption 
 of consequence soon transpired in the neigh- 
 bourhood, as was plainly to be inferred from 
 the deferential tone of Simprems's application to 
 him for instructions, and Dr. Racket's for 
 tidings of his noble father, interlarded with 
 scriptural texts, as became a note addressed to 
 the patron of fifteen livings. But what was 
 far more satisfactory, whenever either of them 
 now descried him walking towards Eastfield, 
 he took care to have immediate business in 
 the opposite direction ; or was so lost in reverie, 
 as to pass him by unobservantly on the other 
 side. But this was not the greatest wonder 
 accomplished by the sovereignty of Philip. If 
 the rector and apothecary were struck blind. 
 Lady Askham was miraculously restored to 
 health ! Her nervous panic subsided under the 
 shock of a real grievance.
 
 SELF. 309 
 
 Had Lord Askham died a sudden death, his 
 cousin-wife, — his companion of a quarter of 
 a century, — would doubtless have experienced 
 the sentiments of affliction becoming her widow's 
 weeds. — But his mode of attack and present 
 condition, excited terror rather than pity. — 
 She had scarcely courage to look upon her 
 second self, disfigured and idiotized ; and was 
 in the position of the horror-struck victim chained 
 by Mezentius to a corpse. 
 
 As usual when the fine sensibilities of the 
 heart are blunted, meaner feelings found room to 
 expand. Touched on the tender point of her 
 interests, she discovered that she had no leisure 
 to cultivate symptoms of a flying palsy ; that, 
 to protect the seven younger children still un- 
 provided for, against the encroachments of 
 Philip, she must be vigilant as Argus. For 
 though, had her ladyship been cornpelled to 
 reside at Eden Castle, she would have com- 
 plained of the insufficiency of the means as- 
 signed to keep up the place, and the hardship 
 of being tethered to a spot connected with re- 
 miniscences of her earlier and happier days, — 
 
 10
 
 310 SELF. 
 
 no sooner was it clear that, on Percy's attain- 
 ment of title and fortune, she must be reduced 
 to the insignificance of dowagerhood, and dis- 
 missed from her olden home, than she began to 
 feel herself ill-used ! 
 
 Never till now had she been duly sensible of 
 the beauties of Eden Castle, or the merits of 
 her country neighbours ! When glancing from 
 her dressing-room windows towards the un- 
 sightly outline of Hexham Hall, which stood 
 regarding her with neighbourly compassion from 
 the opposite hill, she admitted with a sigh, that 
 there could not be a more friendly woman than 
 Mrs. Gwatkin, or a more harmless old gentle- 
 man than Sir Erasmus: then, as her eyes de- 
 scended from the Hexham chimney-tops to the 
 verdant glade of the home-park, an exclama- 
 tion burst from her lips, resembling in humble 
 prose the apostrophe of Milton's hero, — 
 
 " And must I leave thee, Paradise !" 
 
 Hard, indeed, to find her career of domestic 
 prosperity cut short, full twenty years before 
 the allotted age of man — or nobleman !
 
 SELF. 31 1 
 
 Such sentiments as those of Lady Askham it 
 may be necessary to describe at length, for they 
 were sentiments proper to Lady Askham, But 
 in the confident hope of possessing among our 
 readers fifty young, generous, and tender souls 
 for every selfish dowager, it appears less urgent 
 to relate that the paradise she was preparing 
 to lose, was already gained by others better 
 qualified to do it honour. The sympathy of 
 the attentive reader cannot but have forestalled 
 the announcement, that, from the first evening 
 of Emma's revelations, the road through Eden 
 Chase had resumed its former attractions in 
 the eyes of Philip ; and strange to relate, 
 though his visits to Eastfield were now daily 
 repeated and daily prolonged, not a soul had a 
 word to say in reprobation ! 
 
 Mrs. Saville had become as much an object 
 of respect in the neighbourhood, as she had 
 always been of admiration. Her pleasing man- 
 ners, and sterling virtues, had won golden 
 opinions for her on every side. Aware of her 
 having forborne to monopolize the splendid 
 fortune of the devoted Sir Erasmus, Mrs. Gwat-
 
 312 SELF. 
 
 kin revered her as the friend of her family ; 
 while the rector, aware how large a portion of 
 her narrow income and bespoken time was de- 
 voted to charitable purposes, respected her as 
 the friend of the poor : nay, the passion of Lord 
 Askham's son, which, so long as she passed for 
 an adventuress, had doubled her opprobrium, 
 centupled her merits now that she had pro- 
 gressed into an angel ! 
 
 The saint in crape was twice a saint in lawn 1 
 
 But what mattered, at that moment, either to 
 Philip or herself, how she was talked of, or 
 what degree of sympathy their courtship was 
 exciting ? — So happy were they in themselves, 
 so happy with the exuberant happiness of an 
 attachment long thwarted by interference and 
 long harassed by misunderstandings, that the 
 livelong summer day would not have sufficed 
 for mutual explanations and protestations, even 
 had the day been wholly at their disposal. But 
 alas ! how limited a fraction of it could be 
 snatched by Philip from his painful duties at 
 Eden Castle !
 
 SELF. 313 
 
 After all, though five years had elapsed since 
 their accidental encounter, their probation had 
 not extended to a very advanced period of life ! 
 Mrs. Saville was scarcely three-and- twenty ; 
 and the calm seclusion of her recent life having 
 counteracted the effects of early care and early 
 maternity, she retained the almost girlish air 
 imparted by extreme fairness of complexion 
 and slenderness of form. — Philip Askham was 
 justified in exclaiming, under the fascination 
 of the beaming smiles no longer withheld 
 from him, that among the daughters of fashion 
 as among the dowdies of Edenbourne, not one 
 was comparable in beauty with his future 
 wife. 
 
 Under the delicate circumstance of the family 
 at Eden Castle, their engagement was for the 
 present kept a secret ; their union being post- 
 poned till Philip should be released from attend- 
 ance on his father. — Whom had they to con- 
 sult? — Whose displeasure had either of them to 
 deprecate ? Philip wisely foresaw that rejected 
 by her nearest connexions, Mrs. Saville would 
 become wholly dependent on his will. And how 
 
 VOL. 1. p
 
 314 SELF. 
 
 pleasant it was, now that their fears and per- 
 plexities were at an end, to go over, step by 
 step, and hour by hour, the past, so pregnant 
 with vexation ; to account mutually for their long 
 bhndness and gradual enlightenment to the 
 nature of their sentiments, — the sleepless nights, 
 — the repining days, — produced by the alter- 
 nations of hope and fear symptomatic of un- 
 happy love ! 
 
 When mirth was wanting to relieve the op- 
 pression of their overcharged hearts, it was easy 
 to find amusement in the absurd jealousy con- 
 ceived by Philip of the nankin-coloured Romeo 
 of Edenbourne Lodge. Nay, when the fillip of 
 a lover's quarrel seemed desirable, there was 
 good ground for a mimic war, in the widely- 
 bruited flirtations of Philip Askham with the 
 young beauty of Grandison House. 
 
 But no such stimulants were necessary. The 
 sands in the hour-glass of the lovers were all of 
 gold. Impossible to be happier, whether in 
 themselves or each other. Eastfield was at that 
 season of the year a bower of roses ; and now 
 that Philip experienced no nervous vertigo to
 
 SELF. 
 
 315 
 
 attribute to their fragrance, he admitted the little 
 nook to be indeed the " Garden of Eden,"— espe- 
 cially since the old serpent, Sir Erasmus, was 
 crawling in the sun elsewhere. 
 
 Next to the peaceful-hearted woman who sat 
 hand-in-hand with Philip, enjoying the summer 
 atmosphere and letting the pleasant hours go 
 by, the happiest person at Eastfield was Selina ! 
 As the day-and-night companion of her mother, 
 the child instinctively imbibed her attachments ; 
 and having no remembrance of the father lost 
 in infancy to qualify her aiFection for one 
 who petted her so kindly, and whose personal 
 fascinations were so considerable, the Uttle girl 
 welcomed him back with as rapturous a joy, as 
 though aware of the heartfelt delight experienced 
 by her mother in his return. 
 
 Little Edward, a year younger than herself, 
 and endowed with twice her animation and 
 half her sensibility, — content to be amused, 
 no matter by whom, and noisy no matter 
 where,— still preferred the lodge, the pony, the 
 terrier and Sir Erasmus, to the long explana- 
 tions and silence, almost equally prolonged,— be-
 
 316 SELF. 
 
 tween the daily visitor and mamma. But 
 Selina, skipping about the lawn at Eastfield 
 like the guardian fairy of the place, was no 
 obstacle to the confidences between the happy 
 pair ; and so truly did the little creature enjoy 
 the company of her dear Philip, (even, when he 
 had no attention to bestow on herself, as was 
 now usually the case,) that she would loiter 
 for hours beside the garden-gate, listening for 
 his coming footsteps ; — a post of observation, 
 which, but for the shame of detection, Mrs. 
 Saville might have been occasionally tempted to 
 share. 
 
 The happiness of the loving couple in each 
 other was perhaps all the greater, that they had 
 no confidants on whom to expend the expression 
 of their joy. Sole survivor of her own family, 
 and disavowed of her husband's, Evelyn Saville 
 had none but her children to divide her affec- 
 tion with Philip; while he, restrained by the 
 fear of creating family discussions from allowing 
 Emma more than a guess at the origin of his 
 auspicious change of humour and mysterious 
 absences from the castle, and prevented by the
 
 SELF. 317 
 
 intimacy between the Hardynges and De Bay- 
 hurst from confiding his altered prospects to his 
 friend, was all in all to her whose future life was 
 to be all his own. 
 
 From Bob, indeed, he received frequent 
 letters, on pretence that, in the melancholy se- 
 clusion to which he was condemned, news of 
 the London circles might be acceptable ; but, in 
 reality, because it was easy to insinuate into 
 every epistle some ridiculous anecdote of Lord 
 Middlemore. Nor was his account of his own 
 engagements and pursuits framed with a view 
 to depreciate himself in the eyes of Emma ; to 
 whom he took care to despatch such long and 
 intricate messages, as, with a person so indolent 
 and averse to explanations as Philip, insured 
 that the whole letter would eventually be placed 
 in her hands. 
 
 Graver subjects, however, than the bets and 
 boobyism of Lord Middlemore, or the coquettings 
 of Lady Anastasia Grandison, soon occupied 
 his pen. To Philip, he made no secret of the 
 precarious situation both of Fox and the Whig 
 
 p 3
 
 318 SELF. 
 
 administration ; and the depression of his father 
 under this double cloud occasionally communi- 
 cated itself even to his buoyant spirits. 
 
 But though Philip fulfilled Bob Hardynge's 
 unexpressed purpose by the regular communi- 
 cation of his news to Emma, (perhaps as some 
 atonement for his reserve on other matters,) he 
 carefully avoided in reply all allusion to the 
 happy events which rendered Grandisoa House, 
 and the Middlemores, and all the other shreds 
 and patches of London fashion, altogether vanity 
 in his sight. 
 
 Cheered, on the other hand, by the political 
 prospects so unsatisfactory to Philip and his 
 friend, Henry Askham, the embryo man of 
 genius, was already off to the north, to con- 
 federate with Lord Uppingham touching their 
 mutual prospects, in the event of a change of 
 of ministry. 
 
 The state of his mother was no longer such 
 as to require his support, nor of his father his 
 assistance. Lady Askham was absorbed in 
 gathering together her household pelf, that she
 
 SELF. 
 
 319 
 
 might be prepared for immediate departure from 
 the castle, " in case of the worst ;" and though 
 poor Lord Askham had recovered sufficient 
 strength to be wheeled into an adjoining cham- 
 ber for change of air, he was incapable of dis- 
 tinguishing between the attendance of his sons 
 and that of his servants. 
 
 Emma, indeed, untirable in her assiduities, 
 often spent hours by his side; protesting 
 that he was aware of her presence, and had 
 several times made efforts to address her — But 
 that this was impossible^ Simprems proceeded to 
 demonstrate by all the rules of art; and by dint 
 of much obstinacy and much Latin, he succeeded 
 in convincing Lady Askham, that his noble 
 patient was as morally and physically dead, as 
 though the marble tablet were afiSxed in form 
 over his lordship's sepulchre, and her ladyship's 
 weeds already rusty. 
 
 What therefore was the surprise, almost the 
 dismay, of Philip, when, one afternoon, as he 
 was inditing a letter to Verdun, acquainting 
 Percy with the progress of events at Eden 
 Castle, he was hurriedly summoned by the 
 
 5
 
 320 SELF. 
 
 nurse in attendance on his father, " My lord 
 had recognized her, — my lord had spoken, almost 
 distinctly, — my lord had asked for my lady !" 
 
 If the grave had given up its dead, he could 
 not have been more startled ; and it was difficult 
 to subdue his amazement into a more becoming 
 sentiment, when, on entering the chamber where, 
 propped in his easy chair, sat Lord Askham, still 
 gaunt and ghastly, but conscious of all that was 
 passing around him, — his affectionate greetings 
 were answered by a fixed stare of some moments' 
 duration ; at the close of which, he marked his 
 recognition of his son by faintly articulating the 
 name of " Phihp." 
 
 The delighted Emma was addressed with 
 tenderer recognition ; and from the few words 
 to which he gave utterance, it was clear that 
 his impressions remained at the point where 
 they were arrested by his paralytic seizure. He 
 not only called for the favourite dog by which, 
 on that occasion, he was accompanied, but in his 
 incoherent words to his daughter, alluded kindly 
 to Mrs. Saville ! 
 
 Marvellous to relate, the person who, it
 
 SELF. 
 
 321 
 
 might have been supposed, would experience 
 the greatest triumph in this resuscitation, seem- 
 ed far from overjoyed. 
 
 Lady Askham, panic-struck by his attack, 
 V7as panic-struck by his recovery ! — Had Ed- 
 ward Saville suddenly made his appearance at 
 Eastfield, he could scarcely have produced 
 greater consternation, than poor Lord Askham, 
 the despot of Eden Castle, by suddenly, after 
 six weeks abeyance of his faculties, venturing 
 to " ask for my lady !" 
 
 For my lady was conscious of having sinned 
 against him ! — My lady had unceremoniously 
 ransacked his private papers in search of a will, 
 and invaded his secret sanctuaries, to hunt for 
 title-deeds. Many of his letters were destroyed, 
 — many of his treasures demolished, — many os 
 his plans rendered abortive. But it was all the 
 fault of Simprems ! — Had not Simprems as- 
 sured her, in the most positive manner, that 
 the mind of Lord Askham was as irreparably 
 gone as though he had been dead a tvvelve- 
 month, she should have been more careful in 
 her proceedings, — anglice, more scrupulous in
 
 322 SELF. 
 
 her spoliations ! — She made her appearance, in 
 short, in presence of the dead-alive, as though 
 summoned before the quarter-sessions. 
 
 That day was a day of stupid wonderment 
 at Eden Castle! — Philip, not venturing to 
 be a moment out of call of his father, so far 
 from enjoying his usual expedition to Eden- 
 bourne, could not find a moment to dispatch an 
 explanatory line to Mrs. Saville; and when 
 Simprems made his appearance in his turn, so 
 overpowered was he by the unlooked-for rever- 
 sal of his sentence of death, that, with his usual 
 precipitation of judgment, he fell into a con- 
 trary extreme ; — hinted that a miracle had been 
 accomplished, (perhaps in requital of the prayers 
 of the most virtuous of wives !) and, after feeling 
 the pulse of his patient, protested that nature 
 having operated so great a crisis, there was no 
 reason why, in some days' time. Lord Askham 
 might not be refreshed by carriage exercise ! In 
 a few weeks, God willing, (and the healing art 
 permitting,) all might be at Eden Castle as here- 
 tofore. 
 
 In the course of the day, this marvellous in-
 
 SELF. S'23 
 
 telligence was communicated by letter from 
 Emma to Uppingham Manor, — from Philip to 
 the lady of his love, — and from Lady Askham 
 to her man of business. The very newspapers 
 were instructed to acquaint the world with 
 Lord Askham's miraculous recovery. — Death and 
 the doctor were distanced ! 
 
 But the result of such shallow and short- 
 sighted hopes is easy to anticipate. The expir- 
 ing lamp had brightened only at the moment of 
 extinction ; and Mrs. Saville was awoke next 
 morning, after a night of feverish restlessness, 
 by a strangely lugubrious sound, — the great 
 bell of Edenbourne tolling the knell of Lord 
 Askham ! — 
 
 Sad omen ! — that her first intimation of the 
 event securing her marriage, should be a passing 
 bell ! — Sadder still, that when, two months after- 
 wards, on the removal of the widow and family 
 from the castle to Mansfield Street, her wed- 
 ding really took place, the parish church was 
 gloomy as night with the funeral altar and 
 pulpit-cloths of its deceased patron ; — the very 
 pew-opener exhibiting a suit of sables !
 
 324 SKLF. 
 
 Nay more, — as the carriage conveying 
 the newly-married couple entered the qua- 
 drangle of Eden Castle, the first object that 
 met the eyes of the bride, on raising her 
 head from the shoulder of her husband to 
 salute the scene of her future happiness, 
 was the achievement of Lord Askham re- 
 cently fixed over the gateway, with its em- 
 blazoned mockery of skulls and cross-bones ! — 
 
 "In Coslo Quies !" involuntarily repeated 
 the gentle bride of Philip Askham, as, with a 
 swelling heart, she crossed the threshold of her 
 future home! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BV G. J. PALMKR, SAVOV STRKEX, STRAND.
 
 ) 
 
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