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 '/ 
 
 TREMAINE, 
 
 OR THE 
 
 MAN OF REFINEMENT. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 1^ . P. Ocv^d 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1825.
 
 PRIKTKO BY COX AND BAYI.IS, GREAT QUF.EN STa«BT.
 
 v./ 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 WILLIAM STURGES BOURNE, M.P. 
 
 4'c, Sfc. i^c. 
 Of Testivood Park, Hampshire. 
 
 If it should be asked why I have recorded the 
 series of retired scenes, and sometimes abstruse 
 caonversations, which compose the following narrative, 
 my answer is a very simple one : in the present state 
 of the world, they may possibly do good, and cannot 
 do harm. Not that I think the world worse now 
 than it has been for perhaps the last hundred 3^ears. 
 The upper and lower classes I should say are cer- 
 tainly not so ; I am not so sure of the middle. The 
 wide sprearl of that luxury which is consequent on 
 wealth, by extinguishing the modest style of living 
 which once belonged to us, has undermined our 
 independence, and left our virtue defenceless. All 
 Would be Statesmen, Philosophers, or people of 
 fij fashion. All, too, run to London. The woods and 
 fields are unpeopled; the plain mansions and plain 
 A 2
 
 IV AUTHORS PREFACE. 
 
 manners of our fathers deserted and changed; every 
 thing is swallowed up by a devouring dissipation ; 
 and the simplicities of life are only to be found in 
 books. 
 
 Yet it is the proper blending of the simplicities of 
 life with its elegancies, the wholesome union of 
 public and private duty, the golden moderation re- 
 commended by Horace (all which you, Sir, under- 
 stand and practise so well), that can alone enable us, 
 whether we are politicians or private gentlemen, to 
 act up to the real design of our nature, and be 
 happy with dignity, or prosperous (if prosperous) 
 without losing our virtue. 
 
 Ambition is indeed a great, and, under due regu- 
 lation, a noble passion ; but, for the most part, it is 
 interminable. Few, like you, after shewing how 
 iitted they are for the administration of public affairs, 
 think of retiring from them in time; or, if they do 
 retire, they are pursued into their retreat by the 
 spectres of what they have left, and know not how 
 to use the leisure which perhaps they have courted. 
 
 Yet ambition is at least as full as ever of falsehood 
 and treachery ; of the cajoleries of honest men by 
 confidants in office ; of the sacrifice of friends, and 
 the pre valency of upstart influence. 
 
 To fly from such evils is the obvious immediate 
 remedy ; but often the remedy is so little understood, 
 as to be worse than the disease. Hence the very
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE. V 
 
 dangerous mistakes about solitude, which ai'e noticed 
 in this work. 
 
 Again, — there is in the world a spread of instruc- 
 tion, as well as of luxury ; and also, I think, more 
 zeal, more lively attention to duty, in our religious 
 instructors. Yet I question if there is, either in th^ 
 higher or middle ranks, that regard for the religious, 
 or even the moral feelings and principles of one 
 another, which would check either man or woman in 
 the choice of friends, or in forming the nearest and 
 dearest of connexions. 
 
 How sweet is the passion of Love ! But I ques- 
 tion, as now felt (if indeed it is felt, or an indis- 
 criminating luxury have not demanded it a sacrifice 
 to its ravenous selfishness), whether it ever found 
 difficulty from opposing opinions on the points 1 
 have mentioned. The truth is, most women, of 
 whatever rank, are, or would be, fine ladies; and 
 a fine lady has on these points (thanks to her 
 education !) no opinion at all. 
 
 In duller days, now long gone by, we both of us 
 may indeed remember a tale, which was thought 
 pathetic, of a certain Clementina, who really sa- 
 crificed her love to her religion. But her religion 
 was not pure ; it was founded in superstition ; and 
 her firmness was not her own, but supported by 
 the craftiness of priests. And besides, she wag not 
 an English fine lady. 
 
 a3
 
 VI AUTHOR S DEFACE. 
 
 Once more, and I have done. With the spread 
 of luxury, there is a spread of infidelity; I say 
 luxury, because God forbid it should arise from 
 instruction. The efforts indeed of infidelity have 
 been well met by the exertions of our best and highest 
 rank of instructors; by a Watson, a Paley, a Tom- 
 iine, and a Porteus ; and, last in order, not least in 
 merit, by a Rennell. Yet scepticism has again laid 
 hold of us ; and if there are more saints among us 
 than formerly, there are also more infidels ; most of 
 all, perhaps, persons who never inquire. How 
 should it be otherwise, when all-absorbing ambition 
 or all-absorbing pleasure, attended by a dissipation 
 which is nothing less than frantic, consume our 
 youth, and harden their hearts 1 
 
 With all these convictions, perhaps no apology 
 is necessary for relating a story which, though it is 
 simple and domestic even (I fear) to tameness, dis- 
 plays, in practical colouring, the evils I have ima- 
 gined; while, at the same time, it endeavours to 
 supply an antidote to them. To be sure, this 
 antidote is offered under a dress which may appear 
 extraordinary, and little suited to the gravity of 
 many of the subjects discussed. I can only say, 
 it was the dress in which the subjects were presented 
 to me; and I was not willing to separate them from 
 the narrative, from a feeling that the lighter and 
 more tender parts might enliven or interest the
 
 Vll 
 
 mind, while they would not derogate from the deeper 
 points brought forward for investigation. — How I 
 came by the story itself, is of no consequence. 
 
 It remains to explain why I have been ambitious 
 to address this work to you. Sir. Simply because I 
 believe you agree with me on almost every one of 
 the subjects discussed ; for it is my pride as well as 
 pleasure to think I may apply to you a sentiment 
 uttered, on a very different occasion, to very differ- 
 ent persons, — " tibi eadem quae mihi, bona malaque 
 esse intellexi." In a word, without glancing at your 
 high public character, which might well deem itself 
 above the patronage of a mere private story, no name 
 I might have fixed upon could be more appropriate 
 to a work, the object of which is to recommend good 
 sense, proper moderation, and sound Theology, in 
 opposition to all extremes, whether of ambition, 
 refinement, or dangerous scepticism. 
 
 To return to the work itself, — if it detach but one 
 man, or one woman, from the headlong career which 
 most are pursuing, and induce them to look for a 
 while into themselves, as God and nature intended 
 them to do, its end will be answered. 
 I am. Sir, 
 With unfeigned esteem. 
 
 Your very faithful servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 THE EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The world would be little interested in knowing 
 how the manuscript of the following pages came into 
 the Editor's hands ; for there was neither romance 
 nor sentiment attending it. It was in the most ordi- 
 nary and every-day manner that he was called upon 
 to pronounce his opinion, as to the advisableness of 
 giving it to the public, and was afterwards en- 
 trusted with the province of preparing it for the 
 press. 
 
 This, however, amounts to a confession, that the 
 responsibility of publishing the work belongs to the 
 Editor, and not the Author. He thinks it necessary, 
 therefore, to explain, that the manuscript, as it came 
 into his own absolute and unrestricted possession, to 
 do with it as he pleased, came also with the name 
 of the Author studiously concealed. Whether the 
 Author be dead or alive, what was his situation in 
 life, his politics, his connexions, his country, or his 
 habits, — all this can only be distantly guessed at.
 
 X EDITOR S PREFACE. 
 
 The internal evidence, combined with a few other 
 circumstances, induces the belief that he was a person 
 once not unknown to the world. 
 
 But all this is of small importance ; for it was the 
 work itself, not the Author, that influenced the 
 Editor in deciding upon its publication. He is how- 
 ever by no means sanguine of its success, and owns 
 that he does not think it will please the many, if he 
 is not doubtful even of the few. 
 
 Whoever expects a novel, will be disappointed. 
 Variety and incident are equally wanting : the Edi- 
 tor had almost said interest, but that his own feelings 
 forbade. Yet what can be expected from mere dor 
 mestic occurrences and conversations, among three or 
 four individuals attached to one ^lother, in a remote 
 corner of the kingdom ? There is, however, a history 
 of mind, as well as of heart, together with a manner 
 of relating it, which those who like it at all will not 
 quit, oome of the subjects, too, are of the very first 
 consequence to the reason and the soul of man : and 
 if it should seem strange that these are mixed up 
 with the history of a very sweet passion, and with 
 one or two episodes approaching to downright 
 romance ; if poetry and feeling peep out amid the 
 gravest, and, as some may think, the coldest dis- 
 cussions ; this only serves to shew that reason an^l 
 love are not such incompatible things as they have 
 been supposed.
 
 EBTTOR S PREFACE. Xl 
 
 A question has arisen in the Editor's mind, whe- 
 tlier the work is one of fiction, or whether it is not 
 a reaHty. It is at all events very inartificially con- 
 structed ; and this is one reason for supposing it to 
 be not fiction. We do not know which of two is the 
 hero ; and if he who gives his name to the work may 
 be supposed to be so, he is full of faults, many of 
 which make him appear weak, and sometimes ridicu- 
 lous. He is irresolute, splenetic, changeable, and 
 always in extremes ; full of prejudice, a spoiled child, 
 an epicure, and a dupe. 
 
 What then could possess the Author (if he was 
 really in the regions of fiction, and had a power over 
 facts) to choose such a man for his hero ? 
 
 And yet, with all his faults, there is a sense of 
 honour, a loftiness, and a real refinement about 
 Tremaine, which, blended as they are with his dis- 
 appointments, and allied to a kind nature, make him 
 an object of sincere regard. 
 
 But is the work then not a fiction ? Were there 
 ever such persons as Tremaine and his friends ? such 
 conversations as are here related ? and such places 
 as Woodington, Evelyn Hall, or St. Jules ? 
 
 As to all this, the Editor himself (like the reader) 
 can only be allowed to guess ; and if his guesses do 
 not mislead him as to the author, the scenes and per- 
 sons represented may be considered as any thing but 
 imaginary.
 
 Xll EDITOR S PREFACE. 
 
 One thing seems certain — that if the author was 
 correct in his half-jesting, half-serious supposition, 
 that he was writing a treatise on moral philosophy, 
 not a novel, his morals and his philosophy were 
 practicable, not speculative. His exposure of the 
 mistakes about solitude, when a man is not properly 
 prepared for it, seems in particular to be founded on 
 accurate experience. 
 
 There is one thing, and one only, which really 
 does puzzle the Editor. He cannot make out whe- 
 ther the Author himself sat for either of his two cha- 
 racters, Evelyn or Tremaine : or, if he did, whether 
 he was a father or a lover ; a satisfied Christian, or a 
 reclaimed infidel.
 
 T R E M A I N E, 
 
 MAN OF REFINEMENT. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 AN ARRIVAL IN SOLITUDE. 
 
 Oh ! Jupittr ! how weary are my spirits I" 
 
 SHAKSPfAEE. 
 
 It was the middle of August ; the great gates of 
 Belmont were thrown open by the obsequious por- 
 ter at the lodge; a barouche and four, well ap- 
 pointed, drove in at a gallop, and rapidly neared 
 the hall, the steps of which were lined with servants ; 
 and every thing denoted the arrival of a man of 
 consequence, at his seat in the country. 
 
 It was Tremaine ; a name known in the politi- 
 cal world for talents and integrity; in the fashion-. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 TREMAINE. 
 
 able, as an ornament of the higher circles; and 
 in the female, as belonging to a man whom all 
 prudent mothers wished to obtain for their daugh- 
 ters, and many a daughter for herself. He was in 
 truth a person of great polish, refined taste, and 
 high reputation. 
 
 He was alone, and alighted from his carriage with 
 a jaded look, and the air of a person little pleased 
 with himself; yet he had come the whole way from 
 London without stop or accident, through a fine 
 country, and in delightful weather. 
 
 To the salutations of his servants of the upper 
 class, he replied as if he received their attentions 
 kindly, but was too much self-absorbed to think 
 about them. At the same time he complained of 
 fatigue, said the roads were execrable, and the 
 weather hot. 
 
 Now the roads had been very good, and the 
 weather temperate. His housekeeper, a respectable 
 woman who had lived with his mother, and with 
 whom he usually interchanged a few words of kind- 
 ness on his arrival at home, lingered behind the rest. 
 " I have no orders for you, Watson," he said, " but 
 that dinner should be served at eight." The house- 
 keeper slowly moved off, wondering, if not hurt, at 
 the reserve of a master, whose affability had always 
 been uniform to his servants, and flattering to her- 
 self.
 
 TREMAINE. 3 
 
 " And how to pass the time till then ?" continued 
 he to himself; "how to find here what London 
 cannot afford ?" (and he paced the room in serious 
 musing) ; " these are questions after all : yes ! after 
 all " (and he laid stress upon the words), " not easily 
 settled. Yet serenity " (throwing up the sash, which 
 opened upon a diversified country) " seems to live 
 in these woods; and equally" (turning to the inte- 
 rior of the apartment) " in these rooms." 
 
 The pictures of his grand and great grandfathers, 
 their wives, and a train of uncles and aunts, — some in 
 hunting coats, with dogs and fowling-pieces, some 
 in full suits of velvet, some with distaffs, and some 
 with crooks, — caught his eye as he said this. The}' 
 seemed all to partake of the general quiet. All the 
 little cares and vexations of life were over with 
 them ; if indeed they had ever had any ; so composed 
 was their air, and so placidly did they appear to look 
 upon their descendant. 
 
 " 'After life's fitful fever, they sleep well!' "saidTre- 
 maine, as he moved slowly along, and contemplated 
 them one after the other. " Without dying, I will 
 endeavour to do so too : and here will be the best 
 chance for it. And yet," continued he, after u 
 pause, and returning to the prospect, " there are not 
 wanting persons who think woods and fields dulness, 
 and a palace in the country a prison." 
 
 He paused again, but added, " thank God ! I am 
 B 2
 
 4 TREMAl^TE. 
 
 not of that opinion : on the contrary, it is the world 
 that is dull and uninteresting: or where it is other- 
 wise, only so because it is wrangling, knavish, and 
 false." 
 
 The thought did not please. " Here, however," 
 lie went on, " I can retire into myself — here keep 
 the designing, the treacherous, and the vulgar, all 
 at an equal distance." At this he threw himself on 
 a sofa, and a profound reverie seemed gradually to 
 subside into a doze of several minutes ; so that, in 
 figure at least, though not in placidity, he gave one 
 the idea of that happy prelate, who 
 
 Muni d'un dejeuner. 
 
 " Dormant d'un leger somme, attendoit le diner,"* 
 
 But no ! it was not un leger somme. He had, in 
 fact, dozed almost the whole way from London ; 
 having scarcely opened his eyes to the prospects he 
 had passed through, though the harvest, in all the 
 pride of ripeness, had courted him to cheerfulness. 
 
 In truth, he had not felt his interest awakened 
 during a single mile of the journey ; a fault perhaps 
 owing to the necessity he had imposed upon himself, 
 of getting to Belmont as fast as the horses could 
 carry him. 
 
 He continued on his couch for some minutes, 
 
 * Lutrin.
 
 T R E M A I N E. 5 
 
 when his valet entered, and asked if he would dress, 
 " No!" was the reply (and a sort of sigh escaped 
 him), " there is nothing here, I apprehend, worth 
 dressing for." The interruption, however, roused 
 him. " I will go," said he, " to the library." 
 
 It was a very magnificent room, and had lately 
 received a considerable accession from an expen- 
 sive new purchase, which had been ranged in the 
 modern taste by a fashionable architect. He was 
 charmed with the effect, and throwing himself into 
 a reading chair of exquisite invention, " I will 
 here," said he, " pass the greatest part of my time; 
 the treasures of science are at my command, and he 
 who has them, has every thing. How flat and un- 
 profitable would seem this same world, which we all 
 of us so strangely court, if man but knew his own 
 nature, and could live up to its dignity. But to 
 do this he must do as I have done; — retire from 
 the forwardness of upstart impertinence, or the 
 caprice of those whom we may have most loved and 
 trusted." 
 
 A volume of Shaftesbury lying open before him, 
 he looked over its pompous engravings and classical 
 emblems — representations of his Lordship's library, 
 and of his Lordship's self. " He was an elegant 
 man," said Tremaine, turning over the pages, " and 
 a real philosopher ; and if he did not discover trutli, 
 he at least detected falsehood. I shall delight, like
 
 b TREMAINE. 
 
 him, to appreciate the value of things, and view the 
 world at a distance ; and shall be able to do so more 
 exactly now than when plunged in its tumults. J, 
 too, may not discover truth ; but at least I shall 
 have leisure to make the attempt. I am impatient 
 to begin." 
 
 The sight of a distant temple of his own rearing, 
 in a beautiful wood, here caught his eye. It reflect- 
 ed the rays of the setting sun, and the whole pros- 
 pect was burnished with splendour. He was pleased 
 with the effect; and it gave an additional compla- 
 cency to his brow as he viewed, from a favourable 
 point, this work of his own taste. " Here," conti- 
 nued he, " Philosophy may really be exercised, and 
 Contemplation prune her wings." 
 
 " Hie gelidi fontes, hie mollia prata, 
 " Hie nemus." 
 
 He went on planning in his own mind hours of 
 enjoyment, in a place dedicated, as it should seem, 
 to wisdom and happiness. His temple recalled an- 
 cient Greece to his mind, and the groves of Acade- 
 nms rose to his view. " How different," exclaimed 
 he, " from a trifling or slippery world, where all is 
 vulgarity, envy, or ennui !" 
 
 He then again fell into musing; from which he 
 was lightly disturbed, not by " leaves and fuming 
 rills, Aurora's fan," but by a servant announcing
 
 TREMAINE. I 
 
 dinner, a summons for which, with all his philoso- 
 phy, he secretly craved : so that a minute more found 
 him seated at table. 
 
 His repast was recherche in the extreme ; yet his 
 senses were not pleased, and his palate scarcely 
 excited. Every thing was ill-seasoned, and either 
 too much or too little done. In fact, notwithstanding 
 his craving, he had either waited too long, or was 
 not hungry. In fact, too, however strange it may 
 seem, although he had now come sixty miles to be 
 alone, he was almost surprised, and to a cursory 
 observer might have appeared not pleased, to find 
 exactly what he came for. His dinner forced upon 
 his memory (involuntarily, indeed, but not the less 
 strongly) the companions of his banquets in London ; 
 and the conversation, the interchange of idea, the 
 lively sallies of polite fellowship, were thought of at 
 least, though not (he said) with regret : on the con- 
 trary, as he poured out a bumper of Burgundy, he 
 indulged again in a mental soliloquy upon the de- 
 lights of solitude, and the unfitness of a man to live 
 who could not live alone. 
 
 " The world," said he, " is so entirely, even in 
 its banquets, a mere vulgar crowd, that the true 
 play of mind is seldom indulged. How different is 
 the noisy contest for pre-eminence in conversation — 
 the impatience of interruption — the struggle for wit 
 that will not come — from this calm and happy re-
 
 S TREMAINE. 
 
 past ! It is in solitary reflection alone that we fi^el 
 ourselves men ; and that is the best feast which least 
 interferes with it. Let others bear the burthen of 
 the world ! / view it at a distance." 
 
 These reflections were diluted with more Bur- 
 gundy ; though neither that, nor any French wine, 
 agreed with his constitution : an inconvenience, how- 
 ever, which he never would allow. As for Port, 
 and all Spanish vintages, they were nothing ])ut 
 liquid fire, and had long been made to yield to this 
 more elegant beverage; to carry off* which, it was 
 only necessary to throw in a little coffee ; which he 
 now drank in its quintessence, fuming from a silver 
 lamp on the table ; while he crowned the latter with 
 no inconsiderable quantity of liqueur, the fire of 
 which, he said, was so subdued that it never annoyed 
 him. This, together with having, without appetite, 
 tasted of almost every dish before him, made him at 
 midnight feel heated and uneasy; and he retired to 
 a bed of down, where, not having subdued his body 
 with any fatigue, he was surprised to find that he 
 could not sleep.
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE HISTORY OF A MAN OF REFINEMENT. 
 
 " The Courtier's, Soldier's, Scholar's eye, tongue, sword." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Thus passed the evening of the arrival of Tre- 
 maine at his retirement; that retirement which he 
 had SO sighed for, amidst many a scene of tumult 
 and vexation, in the world where he had taken a 
 lead. It is true, he thought of it most when least 
 successful in any object he might be pursuing. But 
 still his mind dwelt often with genuine pleasure on 
 the charms of tranquillity, and the usefulness, the 
 independence, and even the necessity of frequent 
 seclusion. Accordingly, at Court, in the Senate, or 
 in the heat and crowd of assemblies, particularly 
 when things went ill, he always consoled himself 
 with the notions of that happy life, which, in a 
 philosophical retreat, and with unbounded leisure, 
 he was sure of commanding. His friends, indeed, 
 told him (and he was not displeased at the liberty) 
 that he had yet no right to such an indulgence; that 
 B 5
 
 10 
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 the world still wanted him, — either to oppose the 
 most corrupt of administrations,* or to become a 
 minister himself. But, in reply, he used to say that 
 he must live for himself, as well as his country ; and 
 that it was in the meridian, not in the wane of life, 
 that man could best assert the dignity of retreat. 
 He was fond, on these occasions, of quoting the 
 philosophic Temple, of whom it had been said by 
 Hume, " that he was a man whom philosophy had 
 taught to despise the world without rendering him 
 unfit for it." He would dwell, too, upon that 
 exclamation of King Charles H. when he found Sir 
 William too restless to give his mind to a great 
 public question: " So, get ye gone to Shene ! 
 we shall have no good of you till you have been 
 there." 
 
 Sir William Temple's, indeed, was a full mind. 
 Was Tremaine's, then, a vacant one? Certainly not; 
 for his real character must not be inferred from the 
 little traits we have hitherto related of him, but from 
 the history which we shall have occasion to give of 
 his past life, and of that portion of it which followed 
 the scene in which we have just exhibited him. 
 
 We have said that Tremaine was in the meridian 
 of his age. He had formerly read much, and he 
 had lived a great deal in the world ; though chiefly 
 
 * Tlie administration of the time being is always the most corrupt 
 of administrations.
 
 TREMAINE. H 
 
 ill the highest circles of it: a sort of natural or 
 early-acquired fastidiousness having, even as a 
 younger brother, forbidden much mixture with any 
 other. 
 
 Being the younger son of a younger brother, he 
 was designed, having much quickness of parts, for 
 a learned profession. There was a considerable fa- 
 mily living which might have made him easy in for- 
 tune; and, accordingly, he gave some little time to 
 Divinity. But this pursuit did not prevent the cul- 
 tivation of those high acquaintance among whom 
 his own connexions threw him, and whose man- 
 ners and notions were particularly pleasing to his 
 frame of mind. He indeed at first loved the court, 
 for the sunshine with which it often dazzles a young 
 bosom ; and he thought at one time of pursuing a 
 court life ; but soon drew back, from finding that his 
 heart had need of better things. In short, if fashion- 
 able society had charais for him, literature and re- 
 flection had more; or at least it was always doubtfid 
 to which he was most devoted. This disposition at 
 once to refinement and sensibility, pushed as far as it 
 would go, formed at length a peculiarity in his cha- 
 racter, which never quitted him ; nor was it at all 
 diminished by his being, at the same time, not only 
 peculiarly alive to the charms of female society, but 
 fastidiously nice in his notions of female character. 
 That with much susceptibility, therefore, he was. stili
 
 12 TREMAINE. 
 
 a bachelor, though approaching the middle of life — 
 that he should even have seemed to take his leave 
 of the sex — is not at all inconsistent. His fastidious- 
 ness, though always allied to integrity and feeling, 
 coloured, indeed, all his pursuits; his earlier conduct 
 scarcely more than his subsequent fate. 
 
 Finding, therefore, many of his tastes promoted 
 by the pursuit of the ecclesiastical profession, and 
 none of them thwarted, he listened to the advice 
 given him by his friends, and the advantage held out 
 by the head of his family, in the promise of the living 
 before-mentioned. 
 
 Tremaine's first impressions in Divinity delighted 
 him. A great first cause, with all its million of con - 
 sequences;— a deep research into antiquity, tradition, 
 criticism, and even poetry; — these held possession 
 ; of his soul for a time. But at length metaphysics 
 came; and, what was worse, metaphysical jargon. 
 His mind was appalled, more perhaps through his 
 taste than his understanding ; and having left his 
 landmarks, he betook himself to Bolingbroke and 
 < Voltaire, instead of proceeding with the Bible. In 
 short, he dabbled with, instead of studying " Provi- 
 dence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate ;" till, Uke the 
 devils who had dabbled before him, he 
 
 *' Found no end, in wandering mazes lost." 
 
 He embraced, indeed, a kind of Epicurean notion
 
 TREMATNE. 13 
 
 of the Deity ; which, while it confessed his exis- 
 tence, by denying every thing else, rendered it of 
 little consequence whether he existed or not. And 
 after trying a little, and but a little, to unravel 
 the difficulties in which he had enwrapped himself, 
 and which task the subtlety of his own mind only 
 rendered a more hopeless one, he thought it right 
 to refuse the living, and renounce the church. 
 
 Had he been contented with this, he might have 
 been rewarded by the approbation which at least 
 his disinterestedness and principle deserved. But, 
 unfortunately for himself, he was not sufficiently 
 decided against the tenets he had rejected, to render 
 his satisfaction perfect in the sacrifice he had made. 
 An amiable and sincere clergyman, apparently 
 happy in the performance of his duties, always 
 made him doubtful; and he was disposed to seek 
 refuge, at last, in an opinion which he took pains 
 (though here also without success) to render as fixed 
 as he could, — that all church ceremonies were use- 
 less, and almost all churchmen insincere. 
 
 He was indeed too naturally just not to feel uii- 
 easy at this ; for he had a disposition, particularly 
 in his youth, to feel 
 
 *' All various Nature pressing on the heart ;** 
 
 and he was always happiest when most under that 
 influence. At the same time, a listless temper.
 
 14 TREMAINE. 
 
 operating upon an over-delicate taste, made him too 
 often reject, what, if not rejected, might have made 
 him happy. 
 
 Tremaine's unsatisfied mind having induced him 
 to reject the church, he endeavoured to find an- 
 chorage in the certainty of the law. Accordingly, 
 for about twelve months, he studied its philosophy in 
 the moralists — its antiquities in the historians — and 
 its rewards in the splendour which attends upon 
 the eloquence of counsel, and the honours of the 
 Bench. But he studied them in his lodgings in 
 May Fair, not at the Temple : for except at the 
 only dinner he ate in the Temple Hall, when he 
 endeavoured to keep a term, he never was known to 
 have been in an Inn of Court. He once, indeed, 
 heard the Chancellor from the woolsack in the 
 House of Lords, on a great constitutional question ; 
 and he once heard a distinguished popular advocate, 
 in mitigation of the crime of a young woman of high 
 birth, who, sacrificed by her family to a man she 
 could not love, and who did not love her, fell, after 
 a struggle, into the arms of a man who had always 
 possessed her heart. 
 
 It was the impression produced by these speeches 
 that sent him to the law ; but the bent of character 
 above described soon sent him back again. His 
 over-delicate and sickly fancy could not endure law 
 society. The hard sense, indeed, which he there
 
 TREMAINE. 15 
 
 met with, sometimes arrested his understanding; 
 but the pedantry in which it was attired absolutely 
 petrified him. Spoiled by his prejudices, he stayed 
 not to discover, as he might have done, the genius, 
 taste, and real elegance of mind which belong to 
 many who are yet the most learned at the bar. 
 
 As to their females, — having once ventured to 
 one of their assemblies in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, he 
 escaped, after an hour's purgatory, vowing never to 
 see another; and no arguments of his friends could 
 persuade him that happiness of any kind could be 
 found in what he called such a second-rate pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Though his patrimony was now almost exhausted, 
 he betook himself to arms, and entered the Guards. 
 Here at least he was sure of finding honourable feel- 
 ing, polished manners, and gallantry of spirit. He 
 made a campaign, and obtained distinction; that 
 is, such distinction as a captain of a company 
 could acquire. But from the lateness of his entry 
 into the army, he had the mortification to find 
 himself commanded by persons some years his 
 juniors. It is true, his family interest placed him 
 at head-quarters. But it was not there that he was 
 always likely to feel satisfied. He was indeed re- 
 marked as a sort oi frondeur^ who was ever com- 
 mending merit which others did not choose to allow, 
 and advocating the claims of officers who had
 
 16 TREMAINE. 
 
 nothins: but their friendlessness to recommend them. 
 Yet he was often forced to confess, that even these 
 by no means reached, in personal qualifications, 
 the high notions he had formed of the military cha- 
 racter ; and some of them at last, abandoning him 
 as their protector, got before him by the lowest arts 
 of flattery, and the most vicious complaisance. 
 This excited new disgusts. " The whole constitution 
 of the army," he said, "was wrong ; it was a mistake 
 to suppose it composed of gentlemen ; it neither 
 rewarded nor ennobled its members." 
 
 In this state of things, he came to a downright 
 quarrel with his general (a relation of his own), for 
 sending home one of his slaf!* with the intelligence 
 of a victory, when another had distinguished him- 
 self more in the battle It was in vain the general 
 condescended to point out, that, in order to avoid 
 invidious distinction, a rule had been adopted to 
 send home officers in their turn. He served out the 
 campaign, and at the end of it quitted the army, 
 with some addition to his reputation on the score of 
 gallantry, and not a little on the score of discontent. 
 
 Thus situated, his mind soured, his hopes crossed, 
 his youth wasted, and liis fortune spent, an employ- 
 ment of some consequence was offered him about 
 the court : but as it was also a political employment, 
 which required its possessor to support the minister, 
 And as the politics of his family had ever led them to
 
 T REMAINS. I7 
 
 Opposition, he unhesitatingly declined it ; assigning 
 the true reason. This gave him considerable eclat ; 
 particular!}' as he was known to be poor : and it was 
 under these circumstances, that, by the death of an 
 imcle and cousin nearly at the same time, he suddenly 
 found himself master of an immense estate. 
 
 Tremaine was now not far from thirty, and his 
 heart beat high at the prospects before him. He 
 resolved to be happy : and if the indulgence of a 
 disposition boundless in generosity, and naturally 
 kind, could confer happiness, he ought to have 
 found it ; for it were endless to recount the instances 
 of his active bounty to all who stood in need of it. 
 
 But with all this, he was more spoilt than ever. 
 Though no longer in the heyday of youth, he 
 might yet be called young ; and all things seemed to 
 court him. Yet his temper grew more and more 
 delicate ; and as to his natural fastidiousness, never 
 having discovered that, he of course took no pains 
 to correct it. 
 
 At the same time, he had formed to himself 
 strange notions (not, indeed, arising from personal 
 vanity, but from* feelings less likely to make him 
 happv) of the power of his situation, combined witli 
 his acquirements, always to make his mind suffice 
 to itself, without the least dependence upon tlie 
 world.
 
 18 TREMAINE. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 / 
 
 THE AMOURETTES OF A MAN OF REFINEMENT. 
 
 Full many a lady 
 
 " I have eyed with best regards, and many a time 
 
 " The harmony of their tongues bath into bondage 
 
 " Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 
 " Have I liked several women ; never any 
 
 •' With so full a soul, but some defect in her 
 
 " Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, 
 
 " And put it to the foil." 
 
 SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 Were the fair, then, neglected by Mr. Tremaine 
 all this time ? or did they neglect him ? — Not so on 
 either side. The sort of reputation he had made, 
 even before his accession to fortune ; his manners, 
 figure, and features, — in all which there was a cer- 
 tain loftiness ; his very finery itself (to use the term 
 often applied to it in the world of fashion) had 
 made him a person of no small consideration among 
 the ladies. What must he be now, that he was one 
 of the best matches in England? The daughters 
 had courted him before ; the mothers courted him
 
 TREMAINE. 19 
 
 now. At this, not only his integrity was disgusted, 
 but his self-love was alarmed. There was nothing he 
 dreaded so much as the chance of not being beloved 
 for his own sake. 
 
 Yet as we have said he was susceptible (and he 
 certainly was so), one would have supposed there 
 had been opportunity of putting this out of doubt, 
 before his hopes were, as he said, marred by his 
 attainment to wealth ; they were marred, however, 
 by himself; for his own nice breeding and habits 
 prevented his inclinations, for the most part, from 
 going beyond a certain point. His enemies, or 
 rather his enviers (of whom he had not a few), gave 
 an air even of ridicule to some of what they called 
 his amourettes : for they said he was too fine for an 
 amour. It was said too (and in this there was some 
 truth), that in his youth he had conceived apassionfor 
 the handsome daughter of the head of the college to 
 which he belonged; that the inclination was even 
 mutual, and that all expected a marriage ; but that 
 the whole affair was put an end to in a moment, by 
 the unhappy accident of a windy walk up Head- 
 ington hill. It was not that the fair one's leg was 
 either thick or crooked : for it was even remarkably 
 well shaped. But the scandal went on to say, that 
 a garter, which happened to fall on the occasion, was 
 considerably the worse for wear. Certain it is that 
 the aifair was broken off immediately ; nor could all
 
 20 TREMAINE. 
 
 the kind and graceful looks, nor the real merit of 
 the lady, afterwards move him ! 
 
 Another growing passion was reported to have been 
 nipt in the bud, by the fair one being not sufficiently 
 sentimental ; a third, by her being too much so ; a 
 fourth, by his detecting her in reading Tom Jones ; 
 a fifth, by her having eaten her peas with a knife ; 
 and scandal added that one of his predilections for a 
 young lady of the very first quality in France, was 
 sickened to death, by her telling him one day qu'elle 
 avail pris medecine ! 
 
 Had this sensible though fastidious heart never, 
 then, met with an object which he thought really 
 worthy its attachment ? Yes ! and the event coloured 
 much of his life. It is rather a long story, and the 
 reader might possibly be content to escape it ; but 
 as it developes much of the character and heart of 
 this refined, yet romantic man, we must afford a few 
 minutes to its relation. 
 
 It was on a May evening, in the province of 
 Auvergne in France, that Tremaine found himself 
 on the banks of the little river Allier ; which, after 
 watering this beautiful province, falls into the 
 Loire. It was after his accession to fortune. The 
 sun had just set; and those who have ever known 
 the climate of the countries adjacent to the Loire, 
 are acquainted with the impressions made on the 
 senses by the softest air in the world, tempering the
 
 TREMAINE. 21 
 
 glow of the retreating day. The rippling of the 
 stream, a wooded bank, a thousand flowers, a thou- 
 sand birds — all seemed to speak to the heart. 
 
 Tremaine was alone : he had left his carriage and 
 servants at Limoges, in the Limousin ; and in a fit of 
 musing, but not of moping melancholy — and, it may 
 he added, in a fit of exertion not over common with 
 him — he had resolved to explore this part of France 
 on horseback, — where, however, the landscapes were 
 much more beautiful than the roads were good. 
 
 He took with him only a French guide lor a 
 servant. His loneliness soothed but did not oppress 
 him; for he had lately been plunged in the very 
 depths of French dissipation; and a solitary walk in 
 such a scene seemed at this moment the most suited 
 to his taste of any thing in the world. His heart 
 expanded to the touch of nature; but yet there was 
 a void in it. 
 
 'Is it not strange," said he to himself as he 
 surveyed the landscape, " that I should alvrays be 
 viewing these scenes by myself, and that, at eight 
 and twenty, the loveliest part of the creation should 
 to me still be as nothing ?" 
 
 He thought over all the fair beings to whom he 
 had ever felt inclined, regretted none of them, and 
 began to think (to him a strange speculation) that 
 in the upper ranks, though there was more ele- 
 gance of manner, there was less of that real feeling
 
 22 TREMAINE. 
 
 which constitutes the love he sighed to meet with. 
 He seemed even to think there might be more 
 probabihty of finding it in the middling, perhaps 
 even in the lower classes of society. " What sig- 
 nifies it," continued he, " where I meet with it ? 
 Will not my own rank elevate and illustrate whom- 
 soever I please ?" 
 
 The murmur of the water had now subsided a 
 few minutes, when from the other side of an hedge 
 of sweet shrubs, which enclosed a small garden, his 
 ear was struck with sounds which in that place ab- 
 solutely astonished him. 
 
 It was the voice of a young female reading Milton 
 in English, with a tone and feeling which, even in 
 England, would have been charming. Another 
 voice now and then interposing, shewed that the 
 reader was not alone; and the few sentences that 
 passed, proved the persons to be mother and 
 daughter. 
 
 The passage which Tremaine last heard, was that 
 so well known, beginning with, 
 
 " Sweet is the breath of morn," &c. 
 
 The young unknown read it with a tenderness 
 which did not fail to strike on the heart of the 
 hearer, any more than the observation that followed. 
 " Oh ! my dear mother, what happiness is here 
 described ; and how does my heart swell whenever
 
 TREMAINE. 23 
 
 1 think of such conj ugal tenderness ! If ever I have 
 a husband, oh ! how I shall love him !" 
 
 " *Tiswell, my dear," replied the mother, " that 
 we are alone : else such a speech, though the most 
 natural in the world, might subject you to ill-na- 
 tured interpretations. You are so naive and so 
 young, that people who did not know, might not 
 understand you. But Heaven forbid, my dear Eu- 
 genia, that you should not express your feelings 
 before yonv mother." 
 
 " Ah !" replied Eugenia with a sigh, " how can 
 it be wrong to express one's feelings before any 
 one ?" 
 
 Deeply did these words impress themselves on 
 Mr. Tremaine, and willingly would he have heard 
 more ; but while a vague thought struck upon his 
 mind, that here was a pure unsophisticated being, 
 such as his fancy had coveted, he felt himself in the 
 situation of a listener; and therefore, merely with a 
 view to shew that some one was nigh, he began to 
 call aloud in English to a spaniel he had with him. 
 
 His voice alarmed the two recluses, who imme- 
 diately left their seats; yet struck with curiosity to 
 know how a countryman could be so near them in 
 s\ich a part of the world. 
 
 The curiosity was at the v'ery least partaken ; 
 and no wonder, therefore, as the ladies had to cross 
 the road from the garden to their house, that no
 
 24 TREMAINE. 
 
 designed retreat on either side prevented their 
 meeting. Tremaine, indeed, seeing them at the 
 little gate which led from the" garden, hastened to 
 open it for them ; and the politeness of his air, as 
 well as his animated manner, struck both the ladies. 
 But as they curtsied their thanks, and were retreat- 
 ing to the house, he began to think he should lose 
 them; so without ceremony (a thing not at all 
 surprising in France), he accosted them in English. 
 
 " Is it possible," said he, " that I have the plea- 
 sure of seeing two of my countrywomen, and two 
 such countrywomen, in a village in Auvergne ?" 
 
 The air and look of interest with which he ut- 
 tered this were not lost upon either lady. The 
 elder, though pleased, regarded it as common gal- 
 lantry; but it went deep into the very heart of the 
 younger, whose cheek it suffused with blushes. It 
 was a very lovely cheek, and fancy might revel 
 long before it created its fellow. With a simplicity 
 which seemed to make concealment of any one 
 emotion impossible, there was yet a bashfulness, 
 about this young person, which appeared to demand 
 protection and encouragement; and what it de- 
 manded was asked in a manner so gentle, and at 
 the same time so frank, that Tremaine was perfectly 
 charmed by it. 
 
 With his admiration, too, all his faculties were 
 called forth; and as few exceeded him in good.
 
 T R E M A I N E. d^ 
 
 breeding, and both mother and daughter were of a 
 character peculiarly alive to it, a very little, and 
 very common conversation, on such topics as the 
 occasion of their meeting and the beauty of the 
 place inspired, made the three parties better ac- 
 quainted in ten minutes, than the common scenes of 
 the world could in a week. 
 
 They entered a little court before the house 
 (which was a sort of moderate chateau in the old 
 French style), full of flowers, en parterre, backed 
 by espaliers, and beds of strawberries; and while 
 Tremaine was complimenting them on the agreea- 
 bleness of their retreat, two very young, sprightly, 
 and pretty girls, ran out to greet mamma, telling 
 her that their supper of fruit and cream was ready. 
 
 The admiration which these lively children drew 
 from Tremaine won still more upon the elder lady ; 
 while his whole manner and language, and par- 
 ticularly the softness which seemed naturally to 
 accompany every thing he addressed to her, made a 
 deep impression upon the sensitive heart of the 
 younger. 
 
 In the conversation, her mother of course took 
 the lead. Indeed, Eugenia said very little, but 
 seemed to defer, with the modesty natural to her, 
 to what fell from her seniors. But though she was 
 silent, it was not an unobserving silence ; and the 
 changeful traits of a countenance that absolutely 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 T R E M A I N E. 
 
 spoke, marked an attention, more gratifying perhaps 
 to those who conversed, than if she had joined in the 
 discourse. 
 
 The place prompted the subject of retirement, 
 and something was said by Tremaine on the in efficacy 
 of the world to ensure happiness, and the better 
 chances there seemed to be of finding it, by living 
 up to the dignity of nature in such a retreat. 
 
 Eugenia's eyes were fixed upon his all the time he 
 was speaking, — fixed as if fascinated, yet seemingly 
 embarrassed. But when he took his leave to go, sne 
 broke through her restraint, as if impelled by a 
 superior power, and involuntarily exclaimed, " Oh ! 
 stay, and go on with your beautiful conversation." 
 
 Such naivete, in his then humour, touched the 
 very soul of Tremaine. He gazed upon his new 
 acquaintance, as if anxious to mark the real cha- 
 racter of such a speech ; and perceiving nothing but 
 sincerity in a face that appeared to be candour itself, 
 his sparkled in its turn with a pleasure that more 
 and more impressed in his favour not only Eugenia, 
 but her mother herself. 
 
 In short, he thought no more of going ; he was 
 in form invited to stay ; and he supped that evening 
 in the garden of Mrs. Belson, with her and her 
 children.
 
 TREMAINE. 2T 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 THE AMOUR OF A MAN OF REFINEMENT. 
 
 '* Sweet, good night : 
 This bud of love, l>y summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 When Tremaine consented to the invitation of 
 Mrs. Belson, the looks of her daughter seemed to 
 flash with pleasure. Her bosom heaved with what 
 we should call consciousness, but that we should be 
 really at a loss to say of what she was conscious, 
 unless of present, and surely of innocent enjoyment. 
 Suddenly, however, rising up, she said she would 
 desire her sisters to pick the freshest stawberries 
 for their repast, and would herself go to the dairy 
 for cream. 
 
 Tremaine intreated she would not leave them. 
 " Oh !" said she, " I shall be back in an instant ; 
 only do not talk much till I return, particularly 
 about England. Do not let him. Mamma." 
 
 She then sprang like a doe across the lawn, and 
 v/as out of sight in a moment, 
 c 2
 
 28 
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 " I think," said Tremaine, " I never saw such 
 alacrity of kindness ; such apparently genuine 
 feeling; or such delicious naivete in shewing it. 
 Perhaps, too, I might add, if it were not to her 
 mother, I never saw such beauty — certainly such 
 expression." 
 
 " She is all she seems," said Mrs. Belson ; " but 
 she is particularly animated just now, from meeting 
 a countryman so unexpectedly ; and this will, I hope, 
 explain to you the appearance of a frankness of 
 manner, which in England could only belong to an 
 old acquaintance." 
 
 Then changing her tone a little, she added, " In- 
 deed, I feel as if I stood in need of the same apology 
 myself, for this sudden invitation to a person of 
 whose existence I knew not a few minutes ago, 
 and with whose very name I am even now unac- 
 quainted." 
 
 She said this inquiringly: and Tremaine found it 
 necessary to announce his name, — intimating that 
 he was of Northamptonshire, and travelling for 
 amusement; but carefully concealing his situation 
 in the world. 
 
 Mrs. Belson, who had heard of his family, found 
 he was at least a gentleman ; and felt that all he had 
 said, looked, or done, bespoke the man of fashion. 
 Her civilities, therefore, were not lessened by the
 
 T R E M A I N E. 29. 
 
 knowledge of his name, which she communicated to 
 Eugenia as soon as she returned. 
 
 " What a beautiful name !" said Eugenia, fixing 
 her eyes again upon his. 
 
 A very animated conversation now ensued, in 
 which Mrs. Belson shewed both talent and cultiva- 
 tion, and in which, it may be supposed, Tremaine 
 was not deficient. He frequently appealed to his 
 new acquaintance, as if desirous of drawing her out ; 
 and though she was too bashful to hazard much of 
 remark, it seemed to him (and it gave him pleasure) 
 that her mind was disposed to be the very echo of 
 his own. 
 
 In truth, all the three were animated with a ro- 
 mantic spirit ; the ladies, perhaps, even more than 
 the gentleman ; and of the ladies, the elder scarcely 
 less than the younger. The only difference between 
 them on this point seemed to be, that the habits of 
 the world had taught Mrs. Belson a little (and but 
 a little) wariness, in the expression of feelings, which 
 her daughter was only restrained by modesty from 
 indulging to the utmost. 
 
 At any rate, the evening was a charming one to 
 Tremaine, and the village clock had struck ten (a 
 late hour in France) before he judged it necessary 
 to take his leave. 
 
 Eugenia gave a sigh when he motioned to go ; 
 and, as the moon shone bright, proposed to her
 
 aO TREMAINE. 
 
 mother to accompany their guest to the end of the 
 lane that led from their house to the auberge. Mrs. 
 Belson smiled ; Tremaine was delighted ; and giving 
 each lady an arm, felt more interested than he had 
 for years. 
 
 When they came to the end of their walk, Tre- 
 maine, on taking leave, said, "My dear madam, how 
 is it possible for me to thank you for perhaps the 
 most charming evening I ever spent !" 
 
 Eugenia's heart throbbed at the words, and she 
 was not a little pleased at her mother's answering, 
 with good-humoured ease, " By trying whether the 
 morning may not prove as pleasant as the evening. 
 I should be sorry tliat the first should be also the 
 last day of our acquaintance." 
 
 On Tremaine's expressing his intention of profit- 
 ing by her kindness, Eugenia exclaimed, — " Oh ! 
 then we shall see him again !" and she actually 
 clapped her hands with pleasure. 
 
 Her mother smiling, said, " 'Tis the strangest 
 girl ! She knows not how to conceal an emotion !" 
 
 " Heaven forbid she should," exclaimed Tre- 
 maine ; and the parties separated for the night.
 
 TREMAINE. 31 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 I pray, Sir, tell me — is it possible 
 
 That love should of a sudden take such hold ?" 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Returned to his inn, it was late before Tremaine 
 could seek his bed, and then not to sleep. 
 
 " She is by far the most interesting young crea- 
 ture," said he to himself, " I ever met with. If 
 nature ever yet spoke in person, she is here." 
 
 He turned, and turned again in his bed, and at- 
 tempted to close his eyes; but Eugenia was ever 
 before them. Who she was, and what she was, were 
 questions he did not fail to ask himself. But it 
 mattered not, he said; it was evident that both 
 mother and daughter were, in mind and manners, 
 far removed from vulgar life, if they might not 
 belong to his own sphere. He went on to hazard a 
 hundred conjectures of another nature. Eugenia 
 seemed all sensibility; had she ever loved, or was 
 her heart virgin ? It seemed made for love ! But 
 could she love him ?
 
 32 TREMAINE. 
 
 It must be owned, he had gone very far indeed 
 when he reached this topic. Not that it was very 
 distinct even to his own mind. It however floated 
 there, with a thousand other vague thoughts; the 
 only thing certain to his consciousness being, that 
 he had met with a person, who, to the most lovely 
 beauty he had ever seen, appeared to join all that 
 simplicity and truth of nature which his heart had 
 so long and so fondly coveted. 
 
 Eug iuia, on her part, was scarcely less restless* 
 She loitered long with her mother, to talk of their 
 extraordinary adventure. " Was there ever any thing 
 so elegant, so noble, as their guest ! such propriety, 
 yet such softness ! so perfect a gentleman ! so fraught 
 with good taste, and every virtioe / " 
 
 " That last is going very far," said her mother ; 
 " we must see much more of him before we can 
 judge of that." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm sure" of it," said Eugenia. " What 
 happiness to be his friend ! and to be called his 
 friend ! How kind to a mere cottage girl ! Oh, mo- 
 ther, if he stays here, I shall love him too well — 
 I already prefer him to all the world !" 
 
 The next morning brought Tremaine to their gate. 
 His young friend was there already. " I have been 
 looking for you all the morning," said she, " and 
 am so glad." 
 
 Tremaine again felt a little amazed ; but perceiv-
 
 TREMAINE. 33 
 
 ing, as she said this, a glowing cheek, a sparkling 
 eye, and a form evidently agitated with pleasure, he 
 could only give credence to this flattering appear- 
 ance, and bless his good fortune for having thrown 
 in his way such a study for his heart, in its pre- 
 sent pursuit. 
 
 It is needless to pursue the detail of this part of 
 the narrative. It is sufficient that the day afforded 
 the same delight to all the party as the preceding 
 evening had done; and that Tremaine passed it, 
 and the day after that, and the next, and the next, 
 with his new friends, in a manner to confirm all 
 his notions of Eugenia's sensibility, as well as his 
 conviction that he alone was the absorbing object 
 of that sensibility. He gathered, however (con- 
 trary to the course of romance), that there was 
 nothing very remarkable either in Eugenia's situa- 
 tion or history. Mrs. Belson was in fact the widow 
 of a gentleman of merit, but in middle life. She 
 had made herself what she was by the force of her 
 own talent and observation, and had retired to this 
 province, in order the better to conduct the ediica- 
 tion of her children. 
 
 To do Mr. Tremaine justice, this weighed either 
 nothing, or very little with him. He had all his 
 life long sought for a virgin heart, and an unsophis- 
 ticated mind, which he might be able to attach to 
 his own, for his own sake, without aiiy view to his 
 
 c 5
 
 34 TREMAINE. 
 
 rank and situation. Without such demonstration, 
 he thought he never could count either upon the 
 actual existence of the feelings themselves of which 
 he was in search, or the fidelity of the heart which 
 might seem to possess them. To be sure he would 
 have wished to have found his object in the midst of 
 elegance and splendour; but, exclusive of his hav- 
 ing sought it there in vain, his being every where 
 known to possess many thousands a year, prevented 
 all possibility of making an experiment on the reality 
 and extent of the affection he wished to prove. 
 He, therefore, as we have before hinted, had for 
 some time past turned from the rich and great, 
 without much immediate plan as to any others, 
 when chance threw this daughter of nature and 
 retirement in his way ; and if Eugenia's mind 
 answered his as a companion, all the rest, he ima- 
 gined, was completely out of doubt. He therefore 
 willingly gave some days to the farther contempla- 
 tion of this great object; and his pleasure was com- 
 plete on finding that, while her heart seemed framed 
 to carry love to its most romantic excess, her mind 
 was of so plastic a nature that he might mould it to 
 what he pleased. An amiable yielding to the opinion 
 and wisiies of those she loved, was evidently its 
 characteristic. But as yet he had made no actual 
 experiment on her affections ; and, indeed, such was 
 the glow of her friendship, as Eugenia called it,
 
 TREMAINE. 35 
 
 (and took no pains to conceal it, either from him, 
 her mother, or herself), that no other man would 
 perhaps have thought of making any. 
 
 He had represented himself to Mrs. Belson merely 
 as a man of good connexions ; and so far he was 
 relieved from the fear that his fortune stood in the 
 way of a free decision, should his own heart prompt 
 him to go on. But he wished still more ; and in his 
 romance, his eccentricity, or his refinement — call it 
 what we please — he conceived the strange design 
 of experimenting upon the strength of his young 
 friend's attachment to him, removed from all ex^- 
 traneous influence, even of hope. 
 
 Nothing was ever perhaps more difficult, or more 
 unfair ; yet he both resolved and contrived to execute 
 it. To inquire into the justice of the attempt never 
 struck him as necessary. 
 
 It was in the third week of their acquaintance, 
 that, in hinting more of his history to Mrs. Belson, 
 he gave her to understand that the whole soul of 
 an uncle, on whom was his sole dependance for any 
 thing like fortune, was fixed upon his forming a 
 high matrimonial connexion : he was, therefore, any 
 thing but his own master, as to the disposal of his 
 hand ; and though nothing had yet passed in form 
 between himself and the lady, yet his uncle had 
 insisted upon carte blanche being left with him on the 
 subject, before he allowed him toproceedonhis travels*
 
 36 TREMAINE. 
 
 Mrs. Belson received this confidence with evi- 
 dent disappointment, as well as surprise ; and 
 changing to a cold seriousness, asked if she might 
 be allowed to communicate the information to Eu- 
 genia. 
 
 " I can have no wish to withhold it," said Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 To his great joy, it seemed to make no difference 
 in the feelings of that young lady, or if any, only 
 to release her from the little restraint she had hitherto 
 imposed upon her expressions of admiration and re- 
 gard for him. 
 
 But this did not satisfy her more prudent mamma ; 
 who, with no unreasonable caution, expressed so 
 much anxiety at an intercourse, which she said 
 might destroy her daughter's peace, while it never 
 could crown her affection as it deserved, that, as a 
 price almost for permission to remain, Tremaine 
 was forced to beat a parley, and come to terms. It 
 was therefore settled that after a little time he should 
 return to England, and obtain the release of his 
 promise to his uncle, of giving him the disposal of 
 a heart which was no longer his own. 
 
 Mrs. Belson was prudent enough to be very par- 
 ticular in endeavouring to sift out how far he was 
 in this likely to succeed; but she could learn no 
 more than that he had the best hopes ; failing in 
 which, he would still beg to present himself to
 
 TREMAINE. 37 
 
 Eugenia with such chances as his own very small 
 fortune might afford him. Mrs. Belson balanced 
 some time upon this, as any good mother would, 
 and talked of the proper authority of relations on 
 whom we depend; but Eugenia coming to Tre- 
 maine's aid, and declaring that she would rather be 
 his friend, than even the wife of a richer man, she 
 yielded, and Tremaine gave himself up to happiness 
 without allov. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 " Then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love ! 
 None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
 Which makes me fear the enjdying of my love!" 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 An incident, however, now occurred, critical to 
 the happiness of our man of refinement. He could 
 not be so much in the family of Mrs. Belson, nor so 
 pointedly the favourite of that lady and Eugenia, 
 without feeling his interest extend to her younger 
 sisters. Lavinia, the next in age, though not above
 
 38 TREMAINE. 
 
 thirteen or fourteen, was of peculiar vivacity, and 
 possessed great powers of observation. She often 
 rallied them both upon their friendship — laying a 
 particular emphasis upon the word; and, in mere 
 girlish spirits, would sometimes exclaim, " Poor 
 Captain Monson !" and then, as if conscious of 
 having done wrong, would run away, and appear no 
 more for some time. 
 
 Tremaine, from the first curious, became in the 
 end alarmed at this; and at length requested to 
 know of Eugenia what the espiiglerie meant ;— who 
 Captain Monson was, and what interest he had in 
 connexion with hers ? 
 
 Eugenia with firmness enough, and a sincerity 
 of manner which calmed much of his fear, said it 
 was due to his friendship that he should know. 
 " He was a ward of my father," said she, " a very 
 few years older than myself; bred up from infancy 
 with me ; of great worth : and who once gave me 
 his love." 
 
 " And for no return?' asked Tremaine, in an 
 agitation he could not conceal. 
 
 " Ah ! what can I say ?" exclaimed Eugenia. 
 " You do not like me for this confession !" 
 
 " I have heard none," answered Tremaine, " and 
 I wait an honest avowal." 
 
 " You shall have it," said Eugenia — " I did love 
 him, to a degree,^
 
 TREMAINE, 39 
 
 " To a degree ! could you then measure love so 
 exactly ? You ! so young, so enthusiastic, and so 
 sincere !" 
 
 Eugenia did not notice, or perhaps did not un- 
 derstand, Tremaine's quibble on her girlish expres- 
 sion of " to a degree," but proceeded: — " I have 
 told my mother, who questioned me on this subject, 
 that my heart is now so full of my friend, that I 
 have forgotten, ah ! for ever forgotten, my former 
 childish attachment." 
 
 At these words she turned a pair of soft blue 
 eyes, filled with tears, on Tremaine, — who, though 
 he felt much penetrated, was also evidently much 
 troubled. 
 
 " You are agitated, Miss Belson !" 
 
 " Miss Belson ! oh, heavens ! I have lost your 
 kindness !" 
 
 " Not so ! But give me leave to ask, did Captain 
 Monson know of this love of your's to a degree ?" 
 
 " He did," said Eugenia, with fresh agitation at 
 the gravity of Tremaine's manner. 
 
 " And has any thing lately passed, that your 
 mother questioned you ?" 
 
 " Alas ! yes ! He has succeeded to much pro- 
 perty, and is coming here; but it will be of no use." 
 
 " And why not?" asked Tremaine, evidently 
 softened, yet with a distance of tone he could not 
 prevent.
 
 40 themaine. 
 
 " Ah, cruel friend ! you know, yet are dis- 
 pleased;" and her agitation became so great, that 
 she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 " My dear Eugenia," said Tremaine, quite brought 
 round, "let us not afflict each other; if you love 
 this young soldier " 
 
 " Oh ! 1 do not ! Every thing is broken off, and 
 you have taught me what alone I can love. I may 
 not be your's, but never shall I be found the wife of 
 Monson." 
 
 " Ah ! if it were so !" exclaimed Tremaine, some- 
 what off his guard ; and then bursting from her, he 
 retreated to his inn, where he shut himself up for the 
 rest of the evening. 
 
 He passed it in the most cruel state of anxiety ; 
 a cup filled with Nepenthe seemed dashed from his 
 lips; the virgin heart, which had appeared ready 
 to bless him, was no longer virgin. The image of 
 another was, or at least might be mingled with his ; 
 and this child of nature was not so much a child, but 
 that she could take exact measure of the affection 
 she bore to different people. 
 
 " Well ! and why not?" said he, recovering a little 
 from the agony he had been in — " 'Tis true her heart 
 is not absolutely maiden ; but what heart at seven- 
 teen has not been touched by love? And her 
 honesty is at least unimpaired; it has even shone
 
 TREMAINE. 41 
 
 out the more for this questioning. And why am I 
 not to believe myself preferred ? A friend, supposed 
 to be tied up by engagement, is preferred to the free 
 and offered lover !" 
 
 The thought pleased. 
 
 The night brought a strange, though generous 
 resolution. It was strange ; because, if Monson 
 was coming to address her, one would suppose 
 nothing short of madness could induce Tremaine 
 voluntarily to place himself on such unequal terms 
 with his rival, as would be the effect of his persisting 
 in the representation he had made of his engagement. 
 It was generous, because he thought it but right 
 that Eugenia should have full play for her heart, 
 and see this lover again, unshackled by pledge or 
 engagement. For his pride was most essentially 
 concerned, that the professions which had blessed 
 him should not be the effect of a momentary en- 
 thusiasm, but the result of free choice, and with 
 the objects of choice fairly before her. In short, he 
 did not choose to owe his success to the absence of 
 his rival. 
 
 His resolution, however, fell into the opposite ex- 
 treme ; for he decided upon his own absence, which 
 certainly was not demanded, even by his own prin- 
 ciples. He resolved to quit the field for a time, and 
 leave all free to the exertions of Captain Monson ; 
 in which, we are compelled to own, that there was
 
 4^ TREMAINE. 
 
 neither common sense, nor, to himself, common 
 justice. 
 
 He resolved then to depart, without releasing 
 himself, even with Mrs. Belson, from the self-im- 
 posed disadvantage, that he was to be considered 
 still as a man not free : nor did the altered manner 
 of that lady tend to shake his resolution; though 
 the tears of Eugenia — amounting to a passion of 
 grief — put his firmness to a much severer trial. 
 
 CHAP. vn. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 " Was this the idol that you worship so ?" 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine took the road to Limoges, and had 
 scarcely proceeded a mile, before he met a young 
 man, attended by a servant, riding a franc etrier, 
 who by his air and costume was English, and whom 
 he rightly judged to be Monson. He surveyed him 
 with interest, as Monson himself stopped to inquire 
 the road to Valence; which Tremaine politely
 
 TREMAINE. 43 
 
 shewed him : pointing out the very smoke of Mrs. 
 Belson's chimneys on the other side of the valley. 
 
 There was an intelligent soldier-like air about 
 this young man, but nothing which in Tremaine's 
 tlioughts ought to excite his fear, with even all the 
 aid which he had so strangely afforded him against 
 himself. " It will be curious, however," said he, 
 " if I have shewn ii;iy rival the very road which he 
 may be taking to ruin me." 
 
 From Limoges, where he joined his suite, after 
 above two months* absence, he wrote to Mrs. Bel- 
 son and Eugenia, announcing his safe arrival, and in 
 express terms asking leave to correspond with his 
 youthful friend. 
 
 He received answers from both. Eugenia's was 
 sufficiently characteristic, and partly satisfied him; 
 for it made no mention whatever of Monson, and 
 spoke tenderly of himself It was remarkable, how- 
 ever, that she made no mention of his request to 
 correspond with her. 
 
 Mrs. Belson's letter was more collected, and cer- 
 tainly more cool. She said she had allowed Eugenia 
 to answer him, but earnestly hoped it would be the 
 last letter he might receive from her. 
 
 " The more I think," said she, " of your want of 
 freedom, and your duty to your relative, the more I 
 regret our late intimacy. Had you been free, you 
 know how agreeable you were to us ; but because we
 
 44 TREMAINE. 
 
 have sinned, do not let us sin on. I have every 
 reason to think Mr. Monson's regard for my daugh- 
 ter is not merely undiminished, but increased: his 
 attentions are most close; and though I am no 
 worldly mother, you must not be surprised, that I 
 endeavour to bring my daughter's mind to a state 
 different from that in which you left it. As it is, she 
 thinks she is sure she still doats upon her friend.'* 
 
 " Thinks she is sure ! still doats /" exclaimed Tre- 
 maine, as he smiled in bitterness at this letter. " No 
 worldly mother ! Excuse me, good madam, if I dis- 
 trust your account of that point !" 
 
 Upon this he again wrote to Eugenia, and, in 
 evident agitation, requested to take his answer only 
 from herself. 
 
 To his mortification, it was a fortnight before he 
 received a reply, and then, such a one as filled him 
 with the most cruel suspicions. The younger, as 
 well as the elder lady, had now begun to see all the 
 impropriety of their former conduct. 
 
 *'. Still are you too dear to me," said Eugenia; 
 " but as to the correspondence, your engagement 
 would present too many impediments to the free 
 course of my heart, to allow of my acceding to it." 
 
 Tremaine nearly cursed the whole sex when he 
 read this letter; but recollecting the angelic inge- 
 nuousness of the countenance that had charmed him, 
 and ^11 those professions so sweet to his soul, " No !"
 
 TREMAINE. 45 
 
 said he, striking his forehead, " I'll not believe it. 
 She is not herself. It is her mother has done this." 
 
 With this consolingthoyghtjhesalliedintothetown, 
 to examine a present he had ordered for Eugenia, as 
 rich as fancy and money could make it ; and finding it 
 finished, despatched it with a letter to her, which was 
 purposely calculated to bring things to a decision. 
 
 In this letter he scrupled not to tell her his fears, 
 that his predictions had been already accomplished, 
 and that Monsor. had succeeded in his object. His 
 whole style depicted a bosom torn with the most 
 affecting anxieties. 
 
 An answer was received as soon as time would 
 permit, but not from Eugenia. She was too much 
 affected, her mother said, to write to him ; but Mrs. 
 Belson transmitted to him a note she had written to 
 herself, as the best account she could give of her 
 mind. In this note, after referring to his beautiful 
 present^ — which she should ever keep, she said, in 
 remembrance of a man whom she never would deny 
 she had fondly loved, — she owned that Captain 
 Monson's attentions were not disagreeable to her. 
 " Who," said she, " can see his merit, and feel his 
 constancy, and not be alive to them ?" 
 
 The letter dropped from Tremaine's hand when 
 he read this declaration. He trembled from head to 
 foot ; his lips quivered, and a pang seized his heart, 
 which agitated it almost to death.
 
 46 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Dupe, and fool!'* exclaimed he, on recovering 
 a little, " ever to trust the simplicity of nature ! It 
 makes me sick ! My Eugenia ! Monson's Eugenia ! 
 any body's Eugenia !" 
 
 The impression sunk deep, and lasted long; for 
 he found he had dearly and honourably loved this 
 child of romance. To have been so played with, so 
 duped by baby sweetness, even though she might 
 have amused and duped herself at the same time, 
 was a blow which he could not easily forget. But 
 that, with the apparent openness of heaven, with 
 such a charming ingenuousness of temper, she should 
 be so deliberately false in her love, cut him to the 
 heart. Too proud to reproach her, however, and 
 indeed too much ashamed of himself to enter on the 
 subject at all, he in the end contented himself with 
 simply enclosing her own letter, in a blank cover, 
 and immediately left the Limousin. 
 
 The sequel of this adventure is no longer con- 
 nected with Tremaine's history ; but the reader may 
 still like to know what became of the speculation 
 to which our hero felt he had been sacrificed: I 
 will therefore relate it as he learned it from Monson 
 himself. 
 
 Returning over the Pyrenees from the tour of 
 Spain, and stopping at Pau to view the birth-place 
 of Henri Quatre, he observed within the precincts 
 of the castle an English gentleman, seemingly on the
 
 TREMAINE. 4-7 
 
 same errand as himself, whom he presently found to 
 be Monson. Though they had met but for a minute 
 in the rencontre that has been mentioned in Au- 
 vergne, their interest about each other had been so 
 great, that upon this second meeting they could not 
 help giving signs of mutual recognition. At first 
 they were formal ; but this wearing off, they passed 
 the evening together at the inn, en vrais compatriotes ; 
 during which, Mrs. Belson and her daughter being 
 naturally made the subject of conversation, Tre- 
 maine was astonished to learn that Monson, who had 
 come to France for the express purpose of seeking 
 his early love, had himself broken off with her, upon 
 discovering what had passed between her and Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " My heart," said Monson, " was shocked at the 
 sudden transfer of her affections, not merely from me 
 to you, but from you to me ; and though I attributed 
 much to her mother, and believed that her incon- 
 stancies to us both proceeded more from a temporary 
 ebullition of romance than a want of principle or 
 sordid design, yet, feeling this was not a character 
 that could make me happy, I gave up my pursuit, 
 and left her, in sorrow for her weakness, but with 
 my affection quite cured." 
 
 Tremaine could not help admiring his new ac- 
 quaintance for the delicacy as well as firmness of his 
 character ; and when they separated, set it to his own
 
 48 TREMAINE. 
 
 heart as an example which it needed, in recovering 
 itself from the wound it had received. For though 
 forced to withdraw all regard from Eugenia, the 
 affection he had given her had been so pure, so 
 founded in what he thought her unsophisticated 
 nature, that it was long, and not till after all esteem 
 for her had ceased, before his heart finally parted 
 with her image. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 TRAVELLING. 
 
 *' I rather would entreat tiiy company, 
 
 *' Tm view the wonders of the world abroad, 
 
 " Than living dully, sluggardized at home, 
 
 '* Wear out your youth in shapeless idleness." 
 
 SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 The immediate effect of this adventure was to 
 throw Tremaine back upon high and polished life, 
 with an increased favour towards it, produced by the 
 disappointment his hopes had just received amidst 
 the simplicities of a humbler station. Hence, when 
 some one had praised the flowers of the valley, he was 
 heard to say.
 
 TREMAINE. 49 
 
 . " Give me the diamonds of the court; they are 
 quite as pure, and a thousand times more brilHant ! 
 The flowers, too, will fade, and are then even offen- 
 sive ; the purity of the diamond lasts for ever." 
 
 Is it not strange, that, with all his powers, attain- 
 ments, and habits of philosophizing, he had not 
 till now perceived that simplicity is the growth of 
 no particular soil, and attached to no particular 
 rank ; that it depends upon character alone ; and 
 that, although the chances are against it in a court, 
 the obscurity of the remotest village will not exempt 
 its inhabitants either from disingenuousness, weak- 
 ness, or falsehood ? 
 
 Cured of love, and particularly of village love, 
 he now commenced what he had long meditated, 
 and partly had begun, — the tour of Europe; and 
 he betook himself with vigour to the study of the 
 men, manners and institutions, the arts, policy and 
 resources, of foreign countries. 
 
 Still, however, whatever his pursuit, — whether 
 in morals, politics, or arts — his dear romance never 
 abandoned him ; and of all the hours that he passed 
 away from his native land, those which were oc- 
 cupied in floating in airy visions on the Rhine, or 
 Lake Leman, were those which he most seemed to 
 enjoy. 
 
 In the end, however, the courts of Europe, and 
 all its princes, its eminent men and celebrated 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 TREMAINE. 
 
 women, became known to him ; though, with re- 
 gard to the latter, while he bowed to the super- 
 eminent genius, and revelled in the brilliant elo- 
 quence of a Stael, he personally preferred the un- 
 pretending sense, the genuine humour, the amiable 
 and beneficent practical virtues of an Edgeworth. 
 
 Indeed, every thing masculine, even though it 
 were her sense, he held to be a derogation from 
 the female character. 
 
 " We would forgive you," he has been known 
 to say to the daughter of Necker, " being so much 
 wiser than ourselves; but with such wisdom, we 
 cannot forgive your petticoats." 
 
 As it was, however, the study of men, not women, 
 which now engaged Tremaine's attention, it signified 
 little under what appearance the feminine character 
 was clothed. 
 
 It is true, his politeness in female society never 
 abandoned him ; but his heart no longer expanded 
 to female worth; and by degrees the avidity with 
 which politics and war were followed all over the 
 Continent, communicated itself to him, and his 
 correspondence with his political friends at home 
 was pursued with an energy not inconsiderable. 
 
 This threw him, on his return to England, into 
 party, and, as he was in parliament, into opposi- 
 tion ; for, besides that his connexions were most of 
 them on that side, the minister, whether it was that
 
 TREMAINE. 51 
 
 lie knew not Tremaine's value, or despaired of 
 fixing him, or that he trusted too much to his own 
 popularity, did not take sufficient pains to acquire 
 his support. 
 
 Tremaine, indeed, forbade all possibility of even 
 making the attempt; for he was at pains to have it 
 believed that he stood by himself, owned fealty to 
 no one, and would take it as an affront to be solicited 
 into party. It so happened, however, that he 
 thought this independence could only be shewn by 
 invariably voting, and frequently speaking with his 
 vote, against every measure, good, bad, or indiffe- 
 rent, which the government brought forward. 
 
 The minister, a man of spirit and talents,* at- 
 tacked him for this with a ridicule he could not 
 forgive ; and this drove him into the arms of oppo- 
 sition, as many a man had been driven before him, 
 contrary to his original intention. In short, he 
 fancied himself a patriot, and that he w^as associated 
 with patriots; and with a profession, in which he 
 believed himself sincere, that he would never be 
 found in the ranks of an vmdiscriminating oppo- 
 sition, and that measures, not men, were always the 
 object to which he looked, he yet ran breast-high 
 into every measure, not only of opposition, but of 
 faction itself. 
 
 * From the dates, I presume Mr. Percival is the minister alluded 
 to.— Ed. 
 
 D 2 
 
 /^jr 
 
 ILL
 
 52 TREMAINE. 
 
 The opposition, indeed, held out terms to him 
 which could not be refused; for they not only 
 practised upon his proneness to think things wrong, 
 but upon his equally strong proneness to believe that 
 he was born to set them right. 
 
 He caught at this, and in a little time was ad- 
 mitted into their councils. But though his station, 
 his attainments, and his integrity, entitled him to a 
 place in those councils, in other respects he soon 
 found himself less qualified than he had supposed. 
 Some of the leaders played double; others went 
 farther than he intended to go with them ; and some 
 entered the opposition merely to enhance their price 
 with the government. 
 
 As he was sincere in his wish to act up to his 
 principle, he complied with the demands of his party 
 to give them his voice as well as his vote; and 
 for this in many things he was excellently qualified : 
 for he had a very noble air, and a manner not 
 either less interesting or less commanding from its 
 being tinged with melancholy. His voice was both 
 sweet and sonorous, his language polished, and his 
 taste classical. Perhaps it was too much so ; for he 
 sometimes failed from the mere circumstance of 
 being too anxious not to do so. 
 
 He was, in fact, too easily disgusted with himself, 
 as well as with others; and was frequently not a 
 little piqued at seeing a coarse, and even a vulgar
 
 TREMAINE. 53 
 
 orator succeed in arresting the attention of the 
 liouse, in consequence of the total indifference he 
 felt as to whether he succeeded or not. It was 
 under these circumstances, in connexion with others 
 of a similar nature, which need not be particularized, 
 that Tremaine had long meditated a retreat from 
 public life. We will not, however, say that this 
 measure would have been so soon adopted as it was, 
 but for some pecuKar mortifications and disappoint- 
 ments, both to his feelings and his principles, which 
 his ill fate had destined him still to undergo. 
 
 It has been said, indeed, by some, that about this 
 time he suffered new disappointments in another 
 " affair of the heart;" by others, that he was the 
 disappointer, and that he had used a young lady of 
 rank — what is called ill. Of this, perhaps, more 
 hereafter. As to the fact, it is certain, that though 
 his heart w^as a sufferer, and a cruel one, it was in a 
 manner and with a party far different from what is 
 usually understood when an affair of the heart is 
 mentioned ; for the disappointment was with one of 
 his own sex ; and politics and friendship, not love, 
 sustained the wound. 
 
 In a w^ord, one of the leaders of his party, a man 
 not only of the highest rank and attainments, but 
 of a nature seemingly, and perhaps really, so amiable 
 and sincere, that to enjoy his confidence, and be 
 distinguished by his friendship, was the pride
 
 54 TEEMAINE. 
 
 and honour of Tremaine's life, — this man failed 
 him. 
 
 It was in one of those negociations for an arrange- 
 ment of the government, which the highest power 
 in the state fondly thought might reconcile all 
 jarring interests, and heal the wounds of his dis- 
 tracted country, that a blow was given to Tremaine's 
 best feelings, which finally sickened and disgusted 
 him with public life. What is worse, it turned even 
 his private friendship into bitterness, and made him 
 renounce his confidence in man, as before he had 
 renounced it in woman. 
 
 And yet, so great had been his love for this man, 
 that he almost shed tears on discovering (as he did 
 within a week of professions which went to the 
 bottom of Tremaine's heart) that he had misrepre- 
 sented him to the Regent, undervalued his weight 
 and services, and coolly appropriated to an upstart 
 flatterer that which he had actually promised to the 
 independent Tremaine. 
 
 Let not the reader misunderstand. These were 
 not sordid feelings. Tremaine's grief was not oc- 
 casioned by the loss of a praspect of office, the 
 emoluments of which were as nothing to him. 
 But his heart loved the man who had deceived him. 
 Had he been the victim of a common-place cha- 
 racter (as indeed he was of the intrigue of a subal- 
 tern time-serving parasite), he could have laughed
 
 TREMAINE. 55 
 
 at the paltry excuses that were made in answer to 
 his just remonstrances on this ill treatment* But, 
 as we have observed, he had loved the injurer for 
 many real virtues, for long- tried honour in the 
 world, and long-tried friendship towards himself; 
 and when he found that even such a man had failed 
 and forgotten him, it went to his very heart. At 
 first, he thought he had fallen into some error con- 
 cerning him, or at best that he was merely capri- 
 cious; and, being open and confiding himself, he 
 sought explanations, which he thought would in- 
 stantly restore things to their old level. But he was 
 shocked to find that the man he had so loved took 
 refuge from his advances in coldness ; and the few 
 explanations he condescended to make were of a 
 nature so frivolous, so bordering, indeed, upon 
 equivocation, that something very like indignation 
 and haughty reproach on Tremaine's part marked 
 their separation. The feeling was not diminished 
 by seeing this person fall immediately under the 
 government of the upstart above-mentioned, who 
 had wound about his naturally honourable mind, 
 by a train of the most obsequious flattery, to which, 
 it need not be observed, Tremaine neither would 
 nor could condescend. 
 
 The result was, that he almost pitied while he 
 renounced him: and though, we repeat, he might 
 have been disposed to laugh at a person less richly
 
 56 TREMAINE. 
 
 endowed tlian the one in question, yet, when he re- 
 flected on who had deceived him^ he 
 
 " Wept to think that Atticus was he." 
 
 In the end, the negociation for power which 
 produced this separation failed, and the deceiving 
 parties were themselves disappointed. But Tre- 
 anaine never forgot their treatment; and from that 
 Jiour, as has been said, to effect a retreat from a 
 world in which he seemed to have been betrayed 
 .both by man and woman, became his favourite 
 wish. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 HE RESOLVES TO RETIRE. 
 
 " This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 
 " I better brook than flourishing peopled towns." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine's w^ish for retirement was not a little 
 fostered by the course of his former reading, and, 
 as far as he could understand himself, by the incli-. 
 nation of his taste. He had been bred a scholar. 
 Homer, Horace, Virgil, and Theocritus were famihar 
 to him ; and in the closet of the student of divinity
 
 TREMAINE. 57 
 
 and of law, and even in the tent of the soldier, they 
 had soothed and flattered his imagination. 
 
 Horace, in particular, had always been a conge- 
 nial favourite; especially as, besides being a poet, 
 he also gave himself to politics, and associated with 
 public men: and many an alarm to Tremaine's 
 pride had been assuaged, and many a fit of virtuous 
 indignation encouraged, by the Sabine Field, and the 
 
 " Oh! rus, quando ego te aspiciam!" 
 
 But the " Tusculanum Fundum " of Cicero, and 
 the magnificent " Laurentinum " of Pliny (both of 
 whom, at times, were retired statesmen as well as 
 philosophers), charmed his imagination still more than 
 " Lucretilis," or the " Tiburni Lucus :" and as his 
 habits had become expensive, not to say voluptuous, 
 and in the extreme of modern elegance, he resolved 
 upon combining the mental philosophy of Horace 
 with the personal magnificence of the Roman consuls. 
 
 He pitched, therefore, upon Belmont as his re- 
 treat; and with this view enlarged and decorated 
 it at considerable expense, as more romantic and 
 picturesque in situation, and fitter therefore for his 
 purpose, than the more ancient and respectable, 
 but less elegant mansion, in a more distant county, 
 which had always been the seat of his fathers. 
 
 There have not been wanting persons who said 
 that it was to this distance in the latter, rather than 
 D 5
 
 58 TREMAINE, 
 
 to the natural beauty of the former, that the choice 
 was owing ; for Yorkshire was too far removed from 
 those scenes of politics after which he still hankered, 
 and to which he thought it possible he might still 
 be forced to return ; this, however, is what was said 
 by others. 
 
 Be this as it may, he announced Belmont as the 
 seat of his retirement from a world he was resolved 
 to abandon ; and felt no diminution of his resoki- 
 tion, in planning, at an enormous cost, the elegant 
 scene of his future studies, future independence, and 
 future happiness. It was here he resolved, in his 
 favourite phrase, to view the world at a distance, and 
 act up to the dignity of a patriot, free from the 
 tumults and vexations of patriotism. As to the 
 softer passions, he had entirely done with them. 
 
 With these prospective pleasures, duties, and oc- 
 cupations, Tremaine gave a farewell dinner to a 
 large yet select company of his friends, in which 
 professors of politics, professors of belles-lettres, and 
 professors of good breeding were pleasantly mixed. 
 The savoir vivre shone out on this occasion with a 
 i^plendour seldom equalled; and it was observed that 
 the master of the feast was never less listless or sple- 
 netic, and never seemingly in such good-humour 
 ^vith the world, as while thus in the act of taking 
 leave of it, perhaps for ever. 
 
 Two days after, he arrived at Belmont.
 
 TREMAINE. 59 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 THE FIRST MORNING OF RETIREMENT. 
 
 ** Omitting tlie sweet benefit of Time." 
 
 SHAKSrEARE. 
 
 We left Tremaine on a sleepless and feverish 
 pillow; which he thought was peculiarly unfortunate, 
 as it might defeat the purposed commencement of 
 his happiness the next day. Not that early rising- 
 had been one of his habits, particularly after his 
 accession to fortune. The morning, therefore, after 
 his arrival at Belmont, found the sun up, and the 
 business of the house begun, several hours before he 
 was stirring. 
 
 This threw every thing else behind-hand. But 
 as he had nothing but what he forced himself to do, 
 it was of little consequence, he conceived, to himself, 
 and still less to others, at what time it was done. 
 If, indeed, by chance or necessity, he rose earlier 
 than usual, he confessed that the early morning 
 was a fine thing; but a rule upon it defeated the 
 freedom, and therefore the happiness of man, par-
 
 60 TREMAINE. 
 
 ticularly of philosophic man; and he was often 
 known to wonder at the general, but what he called 
 the unreal, cheerfulness of many of his inferiors, 
 who had ready-made rules for the employment of 
 their time, and were forced to rise, eat, and sleep 
 as others commanded. If there was a command in 
 the case, he said, he knew no difference as to 
 whether it was imposed by one's-self or by others. 
 
 At the moment we speak of, after sleeping little, 
 he arose late, and complained of indisposition. 
 This was always a reason for lying long; but this 
 did not cause the indisposition to go off. A medical 
 friend had assured him, indeed, that his system was 
 wrong, and that in these cases, if he rose early and 
 tasted the morning air, it would do him more good 
 than all the drugs in the world. In vain ! — His 
 imagination told him this was beautiful in poetry, 
 but, like most of the simple pleasures, it was only 
 there that it was beautiful. 
 
 Hence it was unusually late v/hen he appeared at 
 breakfast, where his valet informed him that his 
 steward had been in waiting all the morning, to take 
 his orders, and give in his accounts. 
 
 These accounts were of considerable magnitude, 
 and the steward attended at the very moment by his 
 express order, sent before he left town; one of his 
 resolutions being, by a prompt and decisive exertion, 
 to put an end to a complicated business, which by a
 
 TREMAINE. 61 
 
 large arrear had fallen into difficulties, and which 
 in London, he said, he had neither time nor patience 
 to unravel. 
 
 His valet also informed him that his principal 
 bailiff, who presided over a farm of a thousand 
 acres, which he had taken into his own hands, 
 waited, at the same time, to make report and take 
 directions. 
 
 " It's very vexatious," said he, " that Fm always 
 indisposed when these men come. I've no head for 
 figures just now ; nor can I understand farm reports, 
 without being an eye-witness." 
 
 Wilson, the steward, was therefore appointed the 
 next day ; and Nutting, the bailiff, was ordered to 
 wait till his master should know whether he could 
 ride or not. 
 
 The bailiff, it is true, ventured to propose a re- 
 monstrance, or rather petition, that the inspection 
 might be deferred, as it would take some hours ; and 
 he was to meet a grazier by appointment, at North- 
 ampton, who was ready to contract for some cattle, 
 which it had hitherto been difficult to dispose of, and 
 which were now there for sale. But Monsieur Du- 
 puis refused to take any such message from a man 
 whom he considered and often called un tas defumier^ 
 in the same spirit as he bestowed upon Wilson the 
 epithet of cue de plomb. He indeed indignantly told 
 Nutting, that his master could not wait the time of
 
 62 TREMAINE. 
 
 a grazier. The cattle, therefore, were not sold, and 
 the bailiff remained in attendance. 
 
 The elegance of Tremaine's breakfast did not 
 tempt him to eat ; but this he laid upon his feverish 
 night, without much inquiry how he came by it. 
 He said, however, he would read it off, and enjoy 
 himself immediately in that learned retirement, for 
 which in London he had so long sighed. He there- 
 fore proceeded to the library. 
 
 Arrived in the library, Tremaine feasted his eyes 
 with the sight of all the admirable contrivances of 
 desk, cushion, &c., by which men who profess read- 
 ing endeavour to court themselves into a liking for 
 what they profess. He had done this for some time, 
 and given much praise to his upholsterer, as well as 
 his bookseller, before he recollected that he had 
 made a small omission, in not having settled any 
 particular subject to which he might give his mind. 
 But as he was in no very good humour with the 
 world, moral philosophy was his ostensible aim ; and 
 the ancient philosophers, in splendid editions, all 
 lying before him, with a sensation of some pleasure 
 he opened a Laertius. 
 
 " It is delightful," said he, " to pursue the varieties 
 in which these men displayed their wisdom ; to con- 
 template and unravel with them the nature of man !" 
 He turned over the pages for some time, and read 
 something of several very contending systems : but
 
 TREMAINE. 63 
 
 though occupied, and therefore comparatively happy, 
 he hurried over, rather than examined, the tenets 
 that were explained ; found faulty as he had done 
 an hundred times, with all that was said of virtue 
 or developed of nature, by Pythagoras, or Plato, or 
 Epicurus ; thought Aristotle not sufficiently precise ; 
 and ended, as he had often done before, in the satis- 
 faction of scepticism. 
 
 His conclusion was not pleasant, though he had 
 taken such pains to come to it. '* Arcesilaus, and 
 Carneades, and Cicero," said he, closing the book, 
 " were certainly right; and the only true thing on 
 earth is, that there is no such thing as truth." At the 
 same time it did not escape him that he had not 
 quite consumed three hours in coming to this con- 
 clusion, and that the systems which he then con- 
 demned remained exactly in the same state of super- 
 ficial examination in which he had left them many a 
 time before, promising his own mind to return to 
 them when he had more leisure. In particular, it 
 did not escape him that all the modern theories, 
 founded on a more exact knowledge of nature, and a 
 more clear revelation of all that is held sacred by 
 man, had been entirely and almost purposely avoided. 
 His eye grew a little bilious as he thought of this, 
 and glanced cursorily over the volumes of Boyle, 
 Butler, Sherlock, and Clark, which were arranged 
 in their places on his ample shelves. " I have not
 
 64 TREMAINE. 
 
 time at present," said he, " to push this subject," biit 
 I shall have full leisure for it while in this happy re- 
 treat. Leisure !" (continued he, looking at a Milton 
 that lay open before him) " yes ! ' retired leisure' 
 
 " * That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.' 
 
 This room is, after all, too dark, and the wealher is 
 close. Give me sweet poetry and a garden ! these 
 are at least more certain in their impressions. I 
 will pass the rest of the morning in the alcove !" At 
 these words he left the house by a private w^ay, with 
 a Milton under his arm; meaning, as he said, not 
 merely to read, but to study the greater poem of 
 that author once more ; a thing he had not done for 
 -fifteen years. His finger, however, remained at the 
 passage in the Penseroso, which had involuntarily, 
 as it were, caused his last sensation. It was therefore 
 by no means unnatural, before he underwent the 
 task of taxing his imagination in heaven or hell, to 
 rest a little in the sweet fields of familiar description, 
 which first brought the author to his mind. In a 
 word, he had read over the Penseroso, and part of 
 the Allegro, when he found, though his faculties of 
 vision read, his thoughts wandered ; and instead of 
 the tale of the shepherd, the song of the lark, and 
 Thestyllis and Phillis, both his eye and his ear were 
 in the House of Commons. 
 
 " Strange !" said he, " that what once could
 
 T R E M A I N E. 65 
 
 please, even to rapture, should not please again ! 
 A-VTience is it, that in London, surrounded by a 
 vexatious crowd, I sighed for such a retreat as this, 
 where I might suspect no man's sincerity, and study 
 nature in her most pleasing attire ; and here, where 
 I have her, and can compare the delightful original 
 with the copy, that the banquet should fail. Alas! 
 how has every banquet failed me through life !" His 
 brow clouded, he left the alcove, and striking into a 
 covered walk, seemed lost in no pleasing meditation ; 
 when he beheld at the end of it several of his ser- 
 vants in noisy mirth, from sheer and absolute want 
 of employment. " The boors !" said he, " they 
 and their amusement are fitted for one another ; and 
 very fit it is they should not know more happiness 
 than is their present lot." He did not, however, 
 interrupt their occupations, but turned to a gate 
 which led to some fields. 
 
 They were pleasant fields, and in the full joy of 
 the harvest; but on the same principle he avoided 
 these also ; observing to himself, that what belonged 
 to the mere animal man was not what he had come 
 to seek. Yet the cheerfulness they presented in the 
 troops of labourers of both sexes, many of whom 
 sang as they loaded the wains with the subsistence 
 of the coming year, might have unbent a mind less 
 sensitive than his. 
 
 At one time, indeed, he had nearly entered one
 
 66 TREMAINE. 
 
 of the fields, (no great condescension in its master, 
 one would think !) when he turned off, murmuring 
 something of " riot, and ill-managed merriment, 
 stirred up among loose unlettered hinds," and jus- 
 tified his want of interest in this simple scene, by 
 asking himself why he had made these lawns, these 
 private glades, if, after all, he was to pace the rough 
 uneven fields. 
 
 " ' The dull swain' (said he), 
 ' Treads on them daily with his clouten shoon !— ' " 
 
 Thus wandered, and thus seemed lost, Tremaine, 
 in a paradise of his own creating. 
 
 His eye now moved to the lofty scite of Belmont, 
 and at first he was pleased with its grandeur; but 
 observing that its white buildings glared too much 
 in the sun, which was not sufficiently softened by the 
 extensive but young plantations, which immediately 
 surrounded it, " It would have been better, per- 
 haps," said he, " if I had built lower down in the 
 old wood." 
 
 That thought was not pleasant either, for thou- 
 sands had been spent in enlarging a seat originally 
 small, and where the family, as we have said, had 
 never regularly lived. 
 
 The soil on the summit was of sand, and bore 
 nothing but pines ; and some naked rock, upon which 
 pines refused to grow, gave it thus early a very
 
 TREMAINE. 67 
 
 bleak and exposed appearance. What it would be 
 in the winter, Tremaine did not like to ask himself. 
 
 "If I had gone to Yorkshire !" said he, with 
 the air of a man who thinks that he has made a false 
 step ! — 
 
 The ample and venerable seat he had abandoned, 
 — ancient indeed, but where every thing was in 
 character, every thing sheltered, a rich soil, and 
 oaks of two hundred years, — all came before him. 
 
 He did not much like to pursue the train ! never- 
 theless it haunted him. The village where he had 
 passed much of his youth, its old church, and, above 
 all, several old families that attended it, who had 
 always been linked with his ; these unaccountably 
 thronged on his fancy. He recollected the hilarity, 
 at least, if not the happiness of those days, and some 
 honest faces met his mind's eye, to which, though he 
 had not thought of them for many a year, he had 
 always, when he did think of them, annexed the ideas 
 of friendship towards his family and himself. 
 
 " How small is my acquaintance in this country !" 
 observed he, looking at the horizon, and casting his 
 eye over a paling, which he had now reached. 
 
 The loneliness of an extended and sandy plain, 
 which Belmont on one side overlooked, particularly 
 struck him ; for the roads led to places with whose 
 very names he was not familiar. 
 
 " Yet, what if it is small," — he continued, turn-
 
 68 TREMAINE, 
 
 ing up into a dark walk — " how weak and ignoble 
 is'man if he cannot suffice to himself! The people 
 I am thinking of in Yorkshire may be all in reality 
 boors, who have never been out of their own country, 
 and know nothing of the world. It is certain our 
 ideas of all things change, and why not these ?'' 
 
 At this time, a servant, who had sought him, 
 announced a visitor in Mr. Melcombe, a gentleman 
 of moderate estate, who had scarcely ever been out 
 of the neighbourhood, and who lived only a few 
 miles off. 
 
 " Is it possible," said Tremaine, " that I am to 
 be plagued already with the natives !" 
 
 He would have excused himself; but the servant 
 told him he had said he was at home, and Mr. 
 Melcombe was at that instant searching for him. 
 " Ill-bred enough," said Tremaine, peevishly. 
 Mr. Melcombe was one of those characters which 
 are still to be found among the gentry of this 
 country, and which prevailed formerly much more 
 than at present. He was born to a competent estate, 
 on which he lived, and on which his ancestors, to 
 a remote degree, had lived before him. His father 
 cultivated almost the whole of it himself, and he 
 exactly followed the steps of his father. 
 
 Tremaine, who knew merely that he was a neigh- 
 bouring Squire, almost trembled when he observed 
 him on the lawn. A single-breasted riding coal,
 
 T R E M A I N E. 69 
 
 narrow brim and high -crown to his hat, very long 
 breeches with plentiful strings, and very short boots 
 with plentiful straps, designated, beyond mistake, 
 this first visitor of the refined Tremaine. It need 
 scarcely be said how ill-suited such a pair as this 
 were to each other ; and after a not very long col- 
 loquy, which, however, seemed any thing but short 
 to both, they separated, each impressed with no 
 very favourable opinion of the other. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" said Tremaine, as he shut 
 his library door after the disappearance of his self- 
 invited guest, " is this my nearest neighbour, and to 
 be one of my companions !" 
 
 " A queer fellow this, for all his fine house !" said 
 Melcombe, as he trotted home ; " however, don't let 
 us judge too hastily; they say he's an honest man." 
 
 And so he was, and so was Melcombe. Which 
 had the advantage in other respects, is a problem 
 I must leave the reader to solve.
 
 70 TREMAINE. 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 OCCUPATION. 
 
 My librarj', a dukedom large enough !" 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine, now alone, and the full master of 
 the rest of his time, was yet forced to debate how 
 to dispose of it. 
 
 " The train of reflection," said he, " once 
 broken, it is not always so easy to recover one's 
 thoughts ;" and he walked up and down the room 
 in vexation. 
 
 What the reflections were into which this in- 
 road had been committed, he did not ask himself; 
 and though it wanted full three hours to dinner, 
 although Nutting still waited, and he was actually 
 at a loss how to employ the interval, he declared 
 that Melcombe had utterly ruined his whole day. 
 The farm inspection was therefore postponed, and 
 the bailiff" dismissed. The rest of the day, or rather 
 daylight, was spent in planning a different arrange- 
 ment of his books ; to which he resolved to apply
 
 TREMAINE. 71 
 
 with redoubled ardour as soon as that arrangement 
 should be completed ; and with this to invigorate 
 expectation, the evening again fixed him at table, 
 from which, though alone, he did not rise till mid- 
 night. 
 
 During the morning, his eagerness to take full 
 possession of his independence, together with his 
 recent arrival, had made him indifferent to the 
 contents of his post : an indifference which I know 
 not whether he properly characterized in calling it 
 philosophic. Certain it is, that his coffee now re- 
 ceived additional zest from being accompanied by 
 the newspapers, which he perused with more than 
 usual interest : particularly some well-written invec- 
 tives against the minister, and the hopes held out of 
 a truly patriotic (that is, of a ne.w) administration. 
 
 The next day, however, and two days afterwards, 
 were entirely devoted to the new classification of his 
 library, during the arrangement of which, we may 
 suppose that reading was not the use which he made 
 of his books. Yet of prospective reading he thought 
 so much, particularly as great and interesting subjects 
 were classed in a sort of ordre raisonne under his 
 hands, that no amusement, and even no duty, could 
 tempt him from the urgent employment. His farm 
 and his accounts were alike neglected ; his grounds 
 were looked at from the windows, and his horses 
 exercised by the grooms.
 
 72 TREMAINE. 
 
 And was lie happy ? — By comparison he was, for 
 he was interested ; and though his temper seemed 
 unaccountably tried in the trifling difficulties he 
 encountered from incompatible subjects and dis- 
 cordant sizes in the objects of his labours, still the 
 day passed rapidly off; and over the evening libation 
 (for the libation was repeated), and particularly over 
 the evening Gazettes (a variety of which, on all 
 sides of the question, it was observed, he collated 
 with great exactness), he congratulated himself upon 
 the full enjoyment of his purpose, — of viewing the 
 world at a distance. 
 
 A fortnight had now seen him at Belmont, but, 
 with the exception of Mr. Melcombe, had seen 
 nobody else; for since the inroad of that gentle- 
 man, his orders were, to be generally denied. 
 Nevertheless, he condescended to a daily inspection 
 of a visiting-book, which, being so lately arrived,; 
 he had directed to be kept. The entries, indeed, 
 were few; but (as he observed) this was more 
 fortunate for his wishes than he could have hoped, 
 particularly as it saved much trouble in returning 
 visits. 
 
 In all this he was to himself sincere ; and in the^ 
 last remark, really so ; for not only fastidiousness, 
 but indolence, increased ; for which latter it must 
 be owned, as time passed on, there was but too 
 much opportunity. His horses, indeed, were re-
 
 TREMAINE. 73 
 
 gularly brought to the door, but the least cloud was 
 sure to send them back again; and at length, the 
 trouble of pulling on his boots growing formidable, 
 they were altogether laid aside. 
 
 We may suppose that this total abstraction from 
 every thing but his books, was at least crowned 
 with the acquisition of the philosophic knowledge 
 he sought, and that his inquiries were profound, 
 his discoveries certain. But truth lay deeper than 
 he imagined; or, Proteus-like, she put on various 
 shapes; and when he thought, as he sometimes did, 
 that he was on the point of binding her captive, 
 she was sure always to elude, and tempt him, under 
 a new form, into a new pursuit. 
 
 Perhaps he embarrassed himself with too great a 
 variety of subjects. He had planned (for he was 
 fertile in plans) a comparison of the whole philo- 
 sophy of the ancients with modern theology; in 
 which latter, as we have hinted, his tenets were by 
 no means happy. Natural and moral evil forced 
 him to natural philosophy, which he had formerly 
 neglected, because Boyle, he said, prosed. Some 
 of the divines, too (for it was necessary to examine 
 divines), sent him to the fathers, and to ecclesiastical 
 history, — the uncertainties and discredits cast upon 
 some parts of which he, with his usual felicity, ex^ 
 tended to all. 
 
 He endeavoured for a time to take refuge in Bo- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 T4 TREMAINE. 
 
 lingbroke and Shaftesbury, in Bayle and Voltaire. 
 But though they easily helped him to pull down, 
 there was something within him that prevented his 
 building up, at least on such foundations as they 
 were able to lay. In short, all was doubt and un- 
 certainty ; and as to doubt is not always to be happy, 
 the subject gradually became distasteful. And yet 
 he was ashamed to relinquish it altogether, — which 
 would have looked like defeat; and was mortified 
 and displeased with himself to find that, with all 
 his pains, he could not make out what others assured 
 him in their theories they understood perfectly 
 well. 
 
 In the wanderings, too, which he found himself 
 frequently obliged to make, he often discovered that 
 he was in the midst of the world again ; for Boling- 
 broke and Swift took him by the half-hour at a time 
 into the vortex of Queen Anne's reign ; and the life 
 of Walpole, and a collection of party tracts, were 
 at least as frequently open before him, as Plato or 
 Tully, Leibnitz or Locke. Shakspeare, too, and 
 still oftener Ariosto, — as more suited in method (or 
 rather in want of it) to his roving taste, — were the 
 objects of his desultory visits. But his mind became 
 fatigued, without being filled; and this, added to the 
 humours of increasing indolence, generally left him, 
 at the close of the day, ill in health and peevish in 
 temper.
 
 TREMAINE. 75 
 
 At length he shut up his hbrary altogether; but 
 only, as he had sometimes said before, for a time, — 
 meaning to return to it with redoubled application, 
 after he had given the necessary attention to some 
 affairs which had long called for his inspection, and 
 would be put off no longer. These were his farm, 
 and a lawsuit connected with it. 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 THE CHARMS OF AGRICULTURE. 
 
 *' And now hath he land and beeves." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The farm we have alluded to in the last chapter 
 was one which Tremaine had taken into his own 
 hands, at a time when, contemplating his retreat, 
 he thought it right to anticipate all the profitable 
 and useful employments in which a great country 
 gentleman ought to be occupied. By profitable, 
 we do not mean that he thought he was to enrich 
 himself. It was the duty, he said, of all great land- 
 holders to improve the soil, for the sake of the 
 country of which they form so much more osten- 
 E 2
 
 76 TREMAINE. 
 
 sible and important a part, than the overgrown 
 monied interest; for which latter he felt no vene- 
 ration. Accordingly, that the estate he proposed 
 to cultivate consisted of a bad, and almost untame- 
 ajble soil, gave him little concern. The Marquis de 
 Turbilly, Sur le Defrichement des Terres^ was for 
 a time his favourite reading, together with Cha- 
 teauneuf, Tull, Arthur Young, and every one of 
 those authors besides, who have repeated one ano- 
 ther for the last thirty years ; till, in a few months, 
 without having ever known a country life> except 
 where it 
 
 " Lives in description and looks green in song,'* 
 
 he arranged in idea a whole plan of rural industry ; 
 and as the great Lord Townshend, after a life of 
 great political consequence, had the good fortune to 
 be almost the father of the new husbandry by his 
 improvements in Norfolk, so Tremaine intended to 
 follow his example, and emulate his fame, in Nor- 
 thamptonshire. 
 
 It did not escape him, either, that Mr. Pitt, after 
 he had laid down his power, had also directed his 
 strong mind to agriculture in his retreat. 
 
 Let no one, however, at least no one who is not 
 more obstinate of purpose than our hero, count 
 upon pursuing long what has been inconsiderately 
 resolved.
 
 TEEM A I NE. 77 
 
 Tremaine*s was to be the >forfolk husbandry, and 
 that alone— but Northamptonshire was not Norfolk, 
 in vain his bailiff assured him that his drills, his 
 horse-hoes, and his scarifiers would be useless, and 
 his system fail. The bailiff was thought a bigot, 
 and another appointed, who succeeded no better, 
 and who even joined the inferior farm servants in a 
 mutiny against the course that was prescribed. A 
 thrashing machine had been built to go by water, 
 where little water was to be had. A stream was 
 turned to remedy the defect, and it was remedied, 
 but at the expense of a lawsuit, in which Mr. Tre- 
 maine was east. He laid the blame, first upon his 
 counsel, and then upon his agent. The first &aid 
 they could not proceed for want of instructions; the 
 last, that he could not procure instructions for want 
 of leisure in his master. 
 
 His mind now began to ruminate more than ever 
 upon the scenes he had quitted, and a comparison 
 of what he had exchanged with what he had em- 
 braced : and he has since very frankly owned, that 
 the disappointments of the country would have 
 probably sent him back to the disappointments of 
 the town, if he had not, precisely at that moment, 
 received a very flattering letter from one of the 
 heads of his party, opening to him the scheme of 
 operations they intended to adopt against the mi- 
 nister during the next session, and inviting him to
 
 78 TREMAINE. 
 
 come up and share in the anticipated success. The 
 letter flattered him into good-humour; the defeat 
 in the lawsuit was forgotten ; and after a very 
 complacent meditation, of a whole day's continu- 
 ance, he sat down to a long and eloquent ebullition 
 (in every word of which he thought himself sin- 
 cere) upon the impossibility of the world's satisfying 
 a mind like his ; upon the charms of his retirement, 
 which, he said, were never-fading, and the little 
 probability there was, with a disposition so fixed, 
 that he should be able to give that assistance to the 
 cause, which his friends in their partiality thought 
 him capable of affording. He concluded with assur- 
 ing his friend, that if he would come to visit him, 
 he would find him 
 
 " Taciturn Sylvas inter reptare salubres 
 
 " Curantem quicquid dignum sapiente bono que est.'** 
 
 For a few days after this, Tremaine was in his 
 glory; — the glory of having demonstrated the strength 
 of his principles^ and of having given the most in- 
 contestable proofs of the philosophic temper of his 
 mind, by refusing to return to the world. He 
 went back, therefore, awhile to his library, lived 
 with the good Duke and Jaques, in the forest of 
 Ardennes, and felicitated himself upon being one of 
 those 
 
 " Who, hid in desert inaccessible, 
 
 " Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 
 *♦ Lose and peglect the creeping hours of time."
 
 TREMAINE. 79 
 
 He also passed some hours with his favourite and 
 proposed model, Sir William Temple, whose phi- 
 losophy and whose gardening he really wished, and 
 flattered himself that he was born to imitate. 
 
 But the magic soon dissolved. His party friend 
 did not answer his letter ; yet the greatest activity 
 prevailed in politics, and a partial coalition was 
 talked of; to be included in which he had forfeited 
 all pretension. It was evident he was not thought 
 of, and he practically felt, that though " the world 
 forgetting " might appear a very soothing sentiment 
 to some minds, the same minds might not always 
 be equally soothed by the reflection, that they were 
 
 ** By the world forgot." 
 
 CHAP. xni. 
 
 ENNUI. 
 
 *' I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lo:^t all my mirth, 
 ** foregone all custom of exercise." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine's listlessness, not to say peevishness, 
 now increased. To return to serious study was 
 impossible, and the hours were too long to be
 
 80 TREMAINE. 
 
 filled by light and wandering reading, — which, as u 
 principal occupation, he found could scarcely amuse, 
 much less give substantial satisfaction. The time 
 hung equally heavy, under the desultory and un- 
 important employments with which less sensible 
 or less ardent minds can fill up the longest day. 
 He once or twice, before the season closed, ven- 
 tured upon shooting. He had the best dogs, but 
 they knew and would obey nobody but the game- 
 keeper ; and as they gave him, therefore, no sort of 
 interest, their sagacity and courage afforded him 
 little pleasure. He had the best gun: but as it 
 had scarcely been used, it presented no associa- 
 tions, and he surveyed it as a mere tube of metal, 
 which could inflict death at a distance. It had no 
 tale to tell of well-hunted fields, of game manfully 
 pursued, and skilfully brought down. He took it 
 up, and laid it aside with indifference. 
 
 As to fishing — he had rods, nets, and harpoons 
 without number : and what was more, he had read 
 with delight in Walton's Angler. But he knew 
 nothing of the art, or of the nature of the prey 
 he was to seek ; and when he did make two or 
 three attempts to interest himself in the sport, he 
 found that his thoughts were more in London, or 
 at best with a book, than with his float. He there- 
 fore soon took leave of angling, not without won- 
 dering at his father's taste and disposition, which
 
 TREMAINE. 81 
 
 could be charmed and satisfied by so monotonous a 
 pursuit. 
 
 Gardening, however, promised to furnish a rich 
 fund of occupation. It was the appropriate amuse- 
 ment, nay, often the support, of a true philosopher. 
 There was nothing on which his fancy had ever fixed 
 with truer pleasure. Besides, he knew all that had 
 been ever said upon it by any body. Bacon, and 
 Cowley, and Temple, and Lord Orford ; the count, 
 the chevalier, and the prior,* and the old Corycian 
 of Virgil, were often quoted, and as often envied, 
 whenever this natural and delightful art occurred 
 to his imagination. Yet, in reality, of a garden 
 Tremaine had no other idea than as a place to 
 walk in, furnished with a terrace always ready 
 for his steps, and full of sweet sights and sweet 
 smells. But to watch, to assist, or even to under- 
 stand the process of nature : to class roots and 
 plants, to divide bulbs or gather seeds, to graft or 
 to prune, never occurred to him, except as the 
 troubles attendant on gardening. Botany was too 
 finical for his full mind; and even Sir Wilham 
 Temple's pride in his peaches could never induce 
 his attention to fruit-trees. All this, he said, was 
 more properly the province of servants, who were 
 paid for it, and who must necessarily understand it 
 better; it was the mechanical part, and he left 
 
 * See the Spectacle de la Nature.
 
 82 TREMAINE. 
 
 it to mechanics. The consequence was, that he 
 often lounged from walk to walk, with a glazed and 
 unobserving eye ; and as every thing about him 
 arose from the labours of others, he surveyed it with 
 that total want of interest which usually attends 
 other men's labour. 
 
 It is to be recollected, that one of the motives 
 for Tremaine's retiring was to render himself useful, 
 and obtain influence in his county. This, if not a 
 view to personal weight with his neighbours, of 
 course placed him in the commission. To this he 
 at first obliged himself to give some attention. But 
 though Burn and Williams, and the Statutes, were 
 always at hand, and were even sometimes consulted 
 in a large and appropriate apartment, which he 
 called the justice-room, their minutiae discouraged, 
 and their forms teased, by requiring more of his 
 attention than he had ever thought necessarj% His 
 mind was always upon other things ; his clerk lived 
 too far off; and he not only blundered, but, had he 
 been ever so correct, correctness in such trifling 
 points could confer no honour, and therefore no 
 satisfaction. Melcombe beat him out of the field in 
 the estimation of the neighbourhood ; and as to 
 joining in a petty sessions, and dining with little 
 esquires at a country inn, it filled him with horror. 
 
 Once, and once only, he drove in his coach and 
 four to the general quarter sessions, where he found
 
 TREMAINE. 83 
 
 many of his inferiors who eclipsed, and much noisy 
 jollity which disgusted him. He did not repeat the 
 visit. 
 
 And now behold Tremaine, with all the advan- 
 tages of fortune, education, and birth — with various 
 talents, and an inquiring, and in many respects a 
 powerful mind — with a generous heart, a high sense 
 of honour, and in the vigour of his age ! And yet 
 with all these, he not only was not, but could not be 
 happy ; and the causes of his unhappiness were not 
 difficult to point out. An unbending, perhaps a too 
 sensitive temper, had been originally left to itself, 
 without any efforts being made to correct it; and a 
 warm imagination had mistaken the ebullitions of 
 fancy for the real and vivid impressions of natural 
 disposition. He had indeed seen something almost 
 like adversity ; but it is not always true that adver- 
 sity corrects : — too often it confirms our errors. 
 And Tremaine, falling suddenly upon prosperity 
 without having profited by experience, basked in it, 
 until he grew more and more sophisticated, and lost 
 whatever ideas he had once possessed of the simplicity 
 of nature. 
 
 The only certainty he now felt was, that he was 
 uneasy ; and though he still told himself he loved 
 retirement, and disliked the world as much as ever,, 
 it was evident that his life was irksome, and he 
 wished to be relieved. Luckily, at this time he
 
 84 TREMAINE. 
 
 began to be ill. A slow feverishness hung con- 
 stantly upon him, and by degrees tended to jaun^ 
 dice all things to his natural vision, as his mistakes 
 about himself had already misrepresented them to 
 his mental. He felt that something must be done. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 HE FLIES. 
 
 " Good Sir* 1 do in friendship counsel you 
 ** To leave this place." 
 
 SKAKSPEARIC. 
 
 It was now that soft season, 
 
 *' When descending showers 
 " Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flowers J 
 " When opening buds salute the welcome day, 
 " And earth, relenting, feels the genial ray." 
 
 In more homely language, it was spring ; and the 
 spring is generally the signal for happiness. The 
 birds, the animals, the lovely vegetation of the 
 earth, obey with spontaneous gladness the pleasing 
 call. But the spring brought no charms to Tre- 
 raaine. Nine months had, in fact, languished on, 
 without conferring upon him nine hours of that
 
 TREMAINE. 85 
 
 pure enjoyment which he had so confidently pro- 
 mised himself; and though the first principle of 
 philosophy (so valuable that it is supposed to have 
 required an oracle for its revelation) is to " Know 
 thyself," yet that he and solitude were not formed 
 for each other was a discovery he had still to make. 
 
 And yet he had frequently to observe people as 
 solitary as himself, who seemed happy, although 
 they had no books to engage them, no trains of 
 thought to pursue. His shepherd passed whole days 
 on the hills without languor or complaint, and 
 without being ill ; and the village cobler, in a stall 
 near his gate, was so cheerful, that Tremaine not 
 unfrequently stopt to observe him. There were 
 moments, even, when, if he would have allowed it, 
 he could have envied his lot. How long he would 
 have continued to force nature in a way of life 
 which it was evident he did not understand, is very 
 doubtful ; but luckily, as has been said, he was now 
 seriously ill, and his illness obliged him to have 
 recourse to a physician. Luckily, also, the physician 
 was a very sensible man, and his friend as well a,s 
 his physician. This gentleman soon found that 
 his disease did not so much depend upon medicine, 
 as a change of scene, or rather of life; and he was 
 adroit enough to enforce his opinion without dis- 
 covering it to his patient. In a word, having called 
 upon Tremaine one morning, he found him in his
 
 86 T R E M A I N E. 
 
 closet, with at least half a score letters in the same 
 hand unopened before him; and having observed 
 upon the quantity of business he must have, to 
 occasion so large a receipt of paper by one post^ 
 he was astonished to find from his patient (who very 
 frankly avowed it) that it was not the arrival of a 
 single day, but the accumulation of as many posts 
 as there were letters. Expressing surprise at their 
 being unopened, it was increased by being told, that 
 as they were all from his steward in the north, he 
 had given way (engaged, he said, by other things) 
 to an unwillingness to be broken in upon so fre- 
 quently by such affairs, and had therefore reserved 
 them for a rainy day, when one trouble might 
 suffice for them all. 
 
 It needed not the sagacity of his adviser to see at 
 once that indolence was at the bottom of his patient*s 
 complaints; and according to the great maxim of 
 his science, Causa remota tollitur effectus, he advised 
 his instant perusal of every one of his letters. In 
 vain the patient pleaded that he was too ill — the plea 
 was not allowed ; the letters were read, and, to his 
 dismay, he discovered that from his delay in answer- 
 ing the first two or three packets, some affairs of 
 serious consequence to his estates in Yorkshire were 
 growing worse and worse, so as to require his almost 
 immediate presence. 
 
 The friendly and disinterested Dr. Asgill seized
 
 T R E M A I N E. 8f 
 
 upon this decisive moment to enforce what he had 
 sometimes before suggested in vain ; and having now 
 the plea of necessary business, and his pride being 
 no longer affected by his departure from solitude, 
 it was determined that within three days Tremaine 
 should leave the spot chosen for his happiness, and 
 visit, for a time at least, the seat where his ancestors 
 had been happy. 
 
 Accordingly, his barouche and four post-horses 
 conveyed the feverish recluse to the scenes of his 
 youth, those happy scenes, and that happy time, 
 
 ** When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new, 
 " And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew." 
 
 To say that he was not struck, if not exhilarated, 
 by the busy and cheerful images which a journey 
 through a flourishing and beautiful country in the 
 month of May furnished, would be to suppose him 
 mox'e jaundiced than he really was. How he came 
 to be jaundiced at all was what surprised and 
 puzzled him : and his friendly physician, though his 
 knowledge of the world as well as of his art made 
 him very well understand it, was restrained by that 
 knowledge from too openly explaining it. 
 
 It was evening when he arrived at Woodington 
 Hall, that ancient mansion where his father was 
 born, and where he himself had passed his infancy. 
 It would wrong him to say his pulse did not beat
 
 88 TREMAINE. 
 
 somewhat quicker as he beheld its crenelated towers 
 and high chininies, the latter in themselves contain* 
 ing materials for a moderate modern house. They 
 rose loftily, amid still more lofty trees, now fresh 
 clothed ; and the lattices of many an ample window 
 of the mansion played in the horizontal sun. 
 
 Several workmen preparing to return home 
 filled the great court, and saluted him as he drove 
 up to the porch ; and in some among them he 
 thought he recognized, under their grey hairs, 
 features he had known in his youth. " I will make 
 acquaintance with these good people," said he, 
 " to-morrow^ 
 
 He had not for a long time felt so much himself; 
 certainly no hour at Belmont had given him half 
 the satisfaction ; and though the dread of the la- 
 bours that awaited him, in the business he came 
 upon, hung like a weight over him during the 
 evening, he passed it with an alertness, in visiting 
 the gardens without, and the chambers within, to 
 which he had long been a stranger.
 
 TREMAINE. 89 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 Horatio, or 1 do forget myself!"— 
 
 The same, my Lord, and your poor servant ever." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 In the morning a letter was brought him by a 
 servant on horseback, who said it came from a 
 neighbouring clergyman, Dr. Evelyn. It gave him 
 joy of his arrival, and announced the intention of 
 the writer to visit him, whenever his illness, of which 
 he had heard, would permit. 
 
 This Dr. Evelyn w^as a reverend divine, who was 
 both the rector and squire of the neighbouring 
 parish, and between whose family and Tremaine's 
 had subsisted a friendship of at least a century. He 
 was a few years Tremaine's senior, but not so much 
 so as to have prevented their being almost playmates 
 in earlier days ; and as the doctor had been a great 
 favourite at Woodington, and almost constantly 
 there, there had been a sort of unequal alliance be- 
 tween them ; in which the elder, perceiving and ap- 
 preciating much merit in the younger, had afforded
 
 90 T RE MAINE. 
 
 protection, which the younger repaid with defer- 
 ence. 
 
 During Tremaine's professional studies, this inti- 
 macy had been farther cultivated by correspondence ; 
 but his avocations confining him to London, and 
 Evelyn having travelled some years abroad, by 
 degrees it dropped, as many a correspondence has 
 dropped before, without any diminution of esteem 
 on either side. 
 
 Tremaine's later life, however, had been so totally 
 different from Evelyn's, that he might be almost 
 said to have forgotten him, except when any par- 
 ticular circumstance brought him to his memory; 
 when he always thought of him with pleasure and 
 esteem. 
 
 Evelyn had been a second son, and was bred a 
 scholar, and (by choice) a churchman. He had a 
 critical mind and acute powers of reasoning, which 
 fixed his faith where his heart most wished it. They 
 also, it was said, made him not indisposed to that 
 collision with another man's understanding, known 
 by the name of argument ; in which, though always 
 persevering, and sometimes dogmatical, he was not 
 unfrequently playful, and never uncivil. To say 
 truth, he loved arguing, though only as he loved 
 exercise, which he always held was as necessary for 
 the health of the mind as of the body. 
 
 Evelyn's temper, naturally cheerful, had become
 
 TREMAINE. 91 
 
 more so from the choice he had made of a profession. 
 The family living, which he enjoyed, had been a 
 fortune sufficient for his wishes, when its competency 
 was increased by his succeeding also to the family 
 estate. This was about two thousand pounds a-year, 
 and came to him by the death of his elder brother. 
 Before this, he had married a woman of a character 
 congenial to his own, whom he tenderly loved. Her 
 death had been a severe, but not an irretrievable 
 blow to his happiness. Submission first, and tra- 
 velling afterwards, by which he distracted his melan- 
 choly, and cultivated a high natural taste, completed 
 his restoration ; and an only daughter, as she grew 
 up, filled (without displacing her, if I may use the 
 expression) the room in his heart which had been 
 occupied by her mother. 
 
 He was forty-five years of age, and though he 
 had seen much of the world, and kept the best com- 
 pany both at home and abroad, he cheerfully re- 
 turned to the functions of a parish priest, only varied 
 by residing in the hall of his ancestors, in which he 
 maintained a useful life, with the plainest simplicity 
 of manners. 
 
 It may be supposed that the greeting of such a 
 man was not displeasing to Tremaine; but, exclusive 
 of his wish to see his old friend, he was excited also 
 by a little curiosity. Whenever he had heard of 
 Evelyn, although glad of his welfare, he generally
 
 92 TREMAINE. 
 
 blamed his choice of life. To throw away his talents 
 on the church, he thought, was at best a mistake ; 
 and to immure himself in a rectory, or a country 
 hall, instead of leading in the first ranks of society, 
 was at least as bad. And as Tremaine had now 
 had experience of the in efficacy of even a brilliant 
 solitude to confer happiness, he was eager, without 
 knowing it, to detect and criticise the error of his 
 friend. 
 
 " Poor man !" said he, " he seeks me, and well 
 he may, to relieve his desert life, tied down as he 
 must be to mere mechanical occupations, which 
 must deprive him of all the leisure necessary for 
 elegant retirement.'' 
 
 He wrote a kind answer to his letter, and fixed 
 the next day for seeing him. 
 
 The meeting was unaffectedly pleasing to both, 
 though without the rapture which characterizes 
 youth. Evelyn's countenance was lighted up with 
 a sincere but tempered satisfaction : Tremaine's 
 unbent more, because it had more to unbend. 
 
 His friend, indeed, was struck with a sort of 
 saturnine turn of feature which had not originally 
 belonged to the face he had formerly known, and 
 which with great concern he attributed to his 
 illness. 
 
 The rosy health, the good-natured intelligence, , 
 the well-regulated happiness, that appeared in
 
 TRE MAINE. ' 93 
 
 Evelyn, could not fail to strike Tremaine, who, had 
 he not known his age, would have thought him 
 several years younger than he was. " This man 
 has not been buried in a desert, nor has he wanted 
 enjoyment," said Tremaine to himself. 
 
 After the first salutations, Evelyn, lamenting the 
 cause that brought his friend into the country, la- 
 mented still more that he had ever abandoned it ; 
 " and to tell you the truth, my good friend," said 
 he, " I do not think your retreat from the world has 
 done much for you." 
 
 " I have been ill," said Tremaine, " which none 
 of us can help ; otherwise, I should have reaped from 
 it all the advantages I had expected, after a stormy 
 life : thouo-h I fear I cannot say that retirement has 
 done as much for me as it seems to have done for 
 you.'* 
 
 " For me^' replied Evelyn ; "• I assure you I never 
 retired !" 
 
 " I thought you had been a recluse like myself, 
 only of a longer standing," pursued Tremaine ; 
 " and my only fear for you was, the sad destruction 
 of your time, occasioned by the irksome and un- 
 satisfying duties which your living obliged you to 
 perform." 
 
 " Those duties are my best friends," said Evelyn, 
 " for they are not only very much to my taste, 
 which one's business does not always happen to be,
 
 94 TREMAINE. 
 
 but they give the real value and zest, I believe, to 
 all my less serious employments." 
 
 Tremaine expressed, as politely as he could, a 
 kind of incredulous assent to these assertions of 
 Evelyn, who continued— 
 
 " When you favour me with a visit at Evelyn 
 Hall, which I hope you will soon be able to do, I 
 trust you will find nothing there that is either irksome 
 or unsatisfactory." 
 
 They now fell on other matters. Evelyn in- 
 quired, and Tremaine recounted, the particulars of 
 his Northamptonshire retirement, the business that 
 had forced him from it, and the steps necessary to 
 be taken ; by which it appeared to Evelyn, that, from 
 sheer indolence alone, Tremaine was about to lose 
 great advantages from an inclosure, that was pending 
 in parliament, to an immense extent. He allowed 
 that he had been to blame; but laid it upon his illness; 
 and Evelyn perceiving that he did not like to be 
 catechised, did not push the inquiry. The meeting 
 ended in offers of service from Evelyn, which, from 
 influence in his neighbourhood, he was very capa- 
 ble of affording ; and in a promise of Tremaine, to 
 return the visit as soon as possible, at Evelyn's 
 mansion. 
 
 Left to himself, Tremaine could not disguise the 
 advantage which his friend seemed to have over 
 him (although seven or eight years older) in the
 
 TREMAINE. 95 
 
 buoyancy and spring of his mind, and even in 
 activity of body. " He has never known care," 
 he whispered to himself, " and having been able to 
 lower his view of life in a manner I did not expect 
 from him, he has had nothing to do but to vege- 
 tate; and, like other vegetables, he flourishes 
 in a wholesome soil. Yet there must be a great 
 falling-ofF somewhere, which I shall soon dis- 
 cover. With his mind, I could not have expected 
 it." 
 
 Upon consideration, however, Tremaine taxed 
 himself with injustice, — recollecting that his friend 
 had not only experienced care, but the greatest 
 grief ; while he himself had scarcely ever known a 
 real misfortune. 
 
 The rest of the day was given to business, very 
 irksome to the person concerned, who lamented 
 the loss of hours consumed in perusing old parch- 
 ments, wills, deeds, and arbitrations^ and listening 
 to his steward on a variety of interests. Yet, such 
 is the force of habit, that when left a little to him- 
 self in the evening, and during part of the two 
 next days, the liberty he had panted for was not 
 relished. 
 
 Whatever we may think, liberty and leisure must 
 be wholly without disturbance of mind or body, to 
 be enjoyed as they ought ; and the few hours that 
 were xhus left to Tremaine were wasted within
 
 96 TREMAINE. 
 
 doors at Woodington, almost as much as they had 
 been at Belmont. 
 
 Yet Woodington had been the seat of his youth; 
 the seat where his ancestors had been born, and 
 trained to manhood — a manhood they had not dis- 
 graced. There were associations about this, which 
 in other times would have made his heart swell; 
 but he repressed the feeling, if "he now had it- 
 observing to himself, that these were mere prejudices, 
 and as such unworthy a wise man to indulge. Hence 
 the fine woods and beautiful farms which had struck 
 him on the evening of his arrival, and the old 
 battlements that were " bosomed high" among them, 
 he now surveyed, or did his utmost to survey, with 
 indifference. 
 
 He had been at Woodington some four or five 
 days before he returned (for I cannot say he did 
 not think of returning) Evelyn's visit. Yet the 
 mansion of his friend was not above two miles off, 
 and was clearly visible on a hill opposite to his own 
 windows. He felt a little reproached by every look 
 he cast upon it; and though he laid the blame as 
 usual upon the state of his health, yet even that 
 being confessedly better, he at length, attended by 
 a groom, set out for Evelyn Hall. He soon crossed 
 the river that divided the two houses, and was 
 there so quickly as to feel additional reproach for 
 not having been there before.
 
 TREMAINE. 9*7 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 AN OLD HALL. 
 
 You have here a goodly dwelling and a rich." 
 
 SHAKSPKARE. 
 
 Lord ! who would live turmoiled in a court, 
 And may enjoy such pleasant walks as these ! 
 This small inheritance my father left me, 
 Contenteth me, and's worth a monarchy." 
 
 6HAKSPEARE. 
 
 Evelyn Hall was not one of those houses seated 
 in the recesses of a park, where a solitude is to be 
 traversed before you approach its inhabitants. It 
 rose (many people of taste said, too suddenly) in 
 the very village from which itself and its possessors 
 had derived their names ever since the Conquest. 
 Cottages lay scattered in all directions, with every 
 one its little forecourt or garden, filled with sweet 
 herbs, and interspersed with hollyocks, poppies, and 
 all the common cottage flowers. 
 
 Tremaine himself might have been alive to the 
 air of gay comfort it gave to these humble dwell- 
 ings ; nor was the gaiety diminished by groups of 
 
 vol. I. F
 
 98 TREMAINE. 
 
 healthy children that played at the doors, under the 
 care (the only one that seemed left them) of several 
 old men, who were consoling their age by basking 
 in the sun. 
 
 Tremaine tried to be pleased, and sighed to think 
 the time was gone by when such sights and sounds 
 used to give him pleasure. 
 
 The house was very little changed from what it 
 had been when Tremaine had known it, except 
 that a high dead wall, which had buried the front 
 in gloom, had been thrown down, for a lighter 
 fence, which let in the eye to the whole length of 
 the building. This was only separated from the 
 road by a large broad green court, blazing with 
 flowering shrubs on each side, themselves overtopped 
 by some very lofty timber. 
 
 At right angles to the line of the dwelling, quite 
 in defiance of all rules of taste, approached the 
 road, skirted on each side by a double row of elms, 
 which formed a favourite walk of the villagers; 
 while a bench or two, placed there on purpose by 
 ike good-natured Evelyn, afforded the alternative 
 of repose. And often was it enjoyed, not only by 
 the inhabitants, but by many a wayfaring pilgrim 
 or traveller ; and often has a pedlar with his pack, 
 or an old soldier, or soldier's family passing to 
 their homes, been seen resting from their pilgrimage 
 in that pleasant shade.
 
 TREMAINfi. 99 
 
 This was reproached to Evelyn by people of taste, 
 as an eyesore, and as letting improper persons 
 intrude upon his privacy. Perhaps it did so; but 
 to this he would reply, by asking how many minutes 
 in the day his sovereignty was invaded ? to which 
 he would add, " many or few, God help them, they 
 are welcome." 
 
 The house itself was of old brick, bordered with 
 stone. It affected no sort of architecture — consist- 
 ing, in fact, of nothing but three similar divisions, 
 each rising into a pediment crowned by a ball of 
 stone, with a projecting broad window or bartizan 
 in each, making deep recesses in the rooms which 
 they lighted. On the right was a bowling-green, 
 where many a match had been played, famous in 
 the village annals ; on the left a grove of oaks, 
 peopled by rooks, coeval with the family, but which 
 every person of judgment who visited Evelyn con- 
 demned as by far too near to the house. The walks 
 were out of all rule ; for though there were no 
 figures in yew, nor nine thousand flower-pots in 
 rows, of Reine Marguerites,*' yet there was a 
 regular return of the same flowers (as many said, 
 
 * In the garden of M. de Biron at Paris, consisting of fourteesi 
 acres, every walk is buttoned on each side by lines of flower-pots, 
 which succeed in their seasons. When I saw it there were nine 
 thousand Asters, or Reine Marguerites. — I^ord Orfird on Modem 
 Gardening. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 TREMAINE. 
 
 far too common ones), such as walls, and Provence 
 roses, convolvolus, and sweet-william, which sadly 
 offended the eyes, if not the noses, of botanists of 
 taste. 
 
 Somehow or another, Evelyn could never bring 
 himself to cure these faults ; nay, it has been 
 asserted, we know not how truly, that he was ac- 
 tually once detected conspiring with his gardener 
 to restore the shape of an old peacock, in which a 
 very large yew tree had once been said to flourish ; 
 and the story ran that he was only defeated in 
 his purpose by want of skill in the other con- 
 spirator. 
 
 But lest the sombre taste of Queen Elizabeth 
 should convict the family of dulness, a gayer 
 ancestor, in the time of King Charles, had rebuilt 
 the back-front, after a design of the more modern 
 Inigo Jones. In this, some white pilasters of Gre- 
 cian composition relieved and lighted the pile, 
 whose original red had long been softened into 
 grey. 
 
 Such was the family-house of Evelyn ; who, with 
 the exception of the time he had passed abroad, 
 and occasional visits and tours, to which he was 
 not averse, had resided there from the time he 
 came into its possession; a period of full twenty 
 years. 
 
 It was nearly that time since Tremaine had be-
 
 TREMAINE. 101 
 
 held it, and, in the temper he was in, it did not 
 please. He was full of Vitruvius, Italy, and Belmont; 
 the proximity of the village offended, the church 
 was much too near, and the noise of a blacksmith's 
 hammer, returning at irregular intervals, was not so 
 far off but that every stroke clinked upon his ear. 
 
 Yet how differently may we be affected ! I have 
 often sauntered at Evelyn's gate, when there was no 
 other sound that broke in upon the stillness but the 
 rhythm of this very hammer, and I have thought it 
 music. 
 
 At length Tremaine betook himself to the bell at 
 the gate, which, not being answered immediately, he 
 had leisure still more to criticise the situation of 
 his friend's mansion. This he pronounced within 
 himself to be dull, and wondered that a man of his 
 known taste could have been content to dwell so 
 long in the very midst of clowns. " There was an air 
 of rust about him," said Tremaine to himself, "when 
 he called upon me; and how should it be otherwise ?" 
 Then recollecting the appearance of happy cheer- 
 fulness which Evelyn had exhibited a few days 
 before, he set it down to the mere effect of a sudden 
 meeting with a man he respected, after so long an 
 absence. 
 
 " It is impossible a man like Evelyn can be happy 
 in such a place," thought he. 
 
 A servant in a plain brown livery now presented
 
 102 TREMAINE. 
 
 himself, and apologked with old-fashioned civility 
 for having kept him so long waiting. The other 
 man, he said, was out on a message, and he had 
 been assisting his master in making a new walk. 
 
 " He must be very much reduced for amusement," 
 thought Tremaine; then, ordering the man to 
 announce him, he entered the house. 
 
 The inside of it corresponded with the exterior. 
 Old wainscots, old floors, and an old staircase ; large 
 fire-places, little regularity, and much convenience. 
 The hall was like all old halls, — perhaps too large 
 for the rest of the house ; yet it threw an air of spa- 
 ciousness, if not of grandeur, about it, which it would 
 not have been so well without. Its only ornament 
 was the back and breast-plate, in which a Sir John 
 Evelyn had sallied forth to join Prince Rupert, pre- 
 vious to the battle of Marston Moor ! The furniture, 
 however, of the other apartments, which was com- 
 paratively modern, shewed that comfort, though 
 without splendour, had been thoroughly studied. 
 Some very good paintings by the old masters, added 
 to family pictures, coloured glass, and other orna- 
 mental, though old-fashioned appendages, gave a 
 glow and cheerfulness to every part of the mansion 
 which dissipated all notion of gloom. 
 
 A door from the hall into a garden-room shewed 
 books, towards which Tremaine mechanically directed 
 his steps. A grand piano-forte, a harp, and a vio-
 
 TREMAINE. JOB 
 
 loncello, with many music-books ; some fine draw- 
 ings in gilt frames (one of them a perfect delineation 
 of Woodington), and a pretty large collection of 
 belles-lettres, religion, and moral philosophy, to say 
 nothing of Richardson's and all the best modern 
 novels, demonstrated that this was at least not the 
 most neglected room in the house. A silk work-bag 
 and lace veil shewed also that the inhabitants were 
 not confined to the rougher sex. 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 A PARSON, AND A PARSON's DAUGHTER. 
 
 *' Pardon me, I pray you ; 
 " I thought that all things had been savage here. 
 
 " The fairest hand I ever touch'd ; oh ! beauty ! 
 " 'Till now, I never knew thee." 
 
 SHAKSPKARE. 
 
 All further examination was precluded by the 
 approach of Dr. Evelyn himself, and a lady whom 
 he presented to Tremaine as his daughter Georgina. 
 
 Jaundiced as he was, the lovely, the dazzling 
 freshness of this young person, and the beams of a
 
 104 TREMAINE. 
 
 countenance in which modesty and ingenuousness 
 seemed to rival one another, could not fail to strike 
 Tremaine with more than common pleasure. There 
 was a natural grace in her manner, so evidently 
 superior to that which is, or can be taught, that, 
 prepared to criticise, nay, even to find fault, he was 
 in spite of himself enchanted. 
 
 When introduced, she gave him her hand by her 
 father's command, and, though perfectly self-pos- 
 sessed, for a moment it called into her cheek a blush 
 which the most skilful painter would in vain have 
 attempted to delineate. The hand, too, which she 
 gave, as he did not fail to observe, was of exquisite 
 mould, and he was a great admirer of a beautiful 
 hand. Small, taper, white, and of velvet softness, it 
 combined with an airy foot, and a general fineness of 
 limb, to produce that lovely symmetry always so 
 powerful in its effects, and so infinitely more fasci- 
 nating to a mind of taste than the most perfect 
 beauty without it. 
 
 In truth there was something in this young crea- 
 ture's whole appearance not easily to be described. 
 There was a pensiveness in her arched and pencilled 
 brow which instantly filled the heart of the beholder 
 with interest of the most serious kind; but then, 
 again, all seriousness was lost in the fascinations of a 
 smile which lighted every thing into joy. Her cheek 
 was dimpled, and gave a play to her countenance
 
 TREMAINE. 105 
 
 such as none else, in Tremaine's opinion, had ever 
 exhibited. It was the Hghtning play so beautifully 
 described by Petrarch, in the " lampeggio del angelico 
 riso " of Laura. 
 
 Tremaine was, in fact, peculiarly struck ; so much 
 so, that with all his usage dii rnonde, he seemed lost ; 
 till at length he stammered out a sort of compliment 
 to Evelyn upon his having such a companion in his 
 solitude, which must, he said, for ever have prevented 
 time from hanging heavy. 
 
 " Wliy aye," said Evelyn, " a daughter is a good 
 thing enough to help an old bachelor to keep house, 
 scold the maids, and carve at table. It is a pit}^ that 
 I have not the gout, that she might complete her 
 perfections by setting cushions and folding flannel. 
 In other respects, too," he added, smiling, " the 
 lady is well enough ; at least, she tells me so her- 
 self." 
 
 At these words, such riant looks were interchanged 
 by the father and daughter, that Tremaine almost 
 experienced a feeling of envy, though he knew not 
 to what it pointed. 
 
 " I imagine," said he, at last, looking round upon 
 a Guarini which lay open on the table, " that Miss 
 Evelyn is made for other things than to scold maids, 
 and settle cushions." 
 
 " That is a town compliment," said Evelyn ; 
 " and I must request," added he_, smiling, " that you 
 f5
 
 106 TREMAINE, 
 
 will not begin your visit to Evelyn, by turning the 
 bead of its parson's daughter." 
 
 " If you knew how I hate the town," replied 
 Tremaine, "you would not accuse me of affecting 
 any thing belonging to it." 
 
 " Surely that involves too general a censure," said 
 Evelyn; " and if you are serious (which I hope you 
 are not), I must express my concern at a disgust 
 which I should apprehend, in one like you, must 
 certainly be unsound, or at least premature." 
 
 " So far from it," returned Tremaine, " that few 
 things could, I believe, make me relish the world 
 again ; and if you had your leisure all to yourself, I 
 know not the man whose life I could envy so much 
 as yours." 
 
 "Thank God and my girl,'* said Evelyn, looking 
 at her with affection, " it has not been unhappy; 
 but I assure you, if I were to complain of any thing 
 in my life, it should not be that I had not my leisure 
 all to myself: that is a demon whose slave I have no 
 inclination to be." 
 
 " You astonish me," said Tremaine: " not wish 
 for leisure ! the prime, the only sweetener of life ! 
 the only desideratum of a wise man !" 
 
 " I am afraid I am not wise enough to be of that 
 opinion,'' replied Evelyn ! " for to let you into a 
 secret, I have long thought I should not know what 
 to do with it."
 
 TREMAINE. t07 
 
 " With your attainments ?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Yes ! and more too, if I had them," said Evelyn ; 
 " and if I did not preach, marry, and christen, 
 besides poking myself into all the quarrels of the 
 neighbourhood ; to say nothing of raising cabbages, 
 and growing barley : and if Georgy there did not, 
 as I said, scold the maids and make butter, — we 
 should conJK^uer le verhe^ and be as badly off as the 
 poor prince, who with all his high rank was mise- 
 rable, from having nothing else to do." 
 
 Tremaine looked his wonder, and expressed it, 
 too, that persons apparently so formed for all the 
 refinements v/hich leisure alone could produce, 
 should so mistake and calumniate its blessings ; but 
 as for the prince, and conjugating the verb, he owned 
 himself ignorant of the allusion. 
 
 " Shew him the passage, my dear," said Dr. 
 Evelyn; upon which his daughter took down a 
 volume of Thiebaut's Souvenirs, and with some 
 timidity, but the farthest in the world from mmivaue 
 honte, and shewing only how much her first object 
 was to please her father, read as follows : 
 
 " Que faites-vous a Potzdam ? " demandai-je un 
 jour au prince Guillaume. 
 
 " Monsieur," me repondit-il, " nous passons notre 
 vie a conj uguer tous le meme verbe ; oui, monsieur, 
 nous faisons tous une conjugaison, et toujours la 
 meme; Je m'ennuie, tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuie, etc.
 
 108 TREMAINE. 
 
 enfin, monsieur, la conj ugaison toute entiere ; voila 
 notre unique occupation." 
 
 Though Tremaine felt the pleasantry of the quo- 
 tation, he denied that it could apply. " You would 
 not have me believe," said he, " that v^hat was 
 above a mere unlettered prince, is too much for 
 the well-stored minds of those with whom I am 
 conversing." — 
 
 " Thanking you for the compliment," said 
 Evelyn, " I know not that the prince was unlet- 
 tered." 
 
 " He was a prince," answered Tremaine, with 
 something like spleen. 
 
 " But surely not unlearned," said Evelyn. " If 
 the command of the best instructors that learning 
 can supply, can ensure the communication of know- 
 ledge, princes ought to be, and therefore may be, 
 knowing." 
 
 " You forgetj" observed Tremaine, " that if the 
 instructors are even well selected, they will not 
 always enforce instructions; but they never can be 
 well selected." 
 
 «* And why not ?" asked Evelyn. 
 
 " Because it is a world where intrigue and bad 
 ministers carry every thing. It is not every prince 
 that can have the good fortune of being instructed 
 by a La Harpe." 
 
 " You ai'e too quick for me," said Evelyn; " other-
 
 TREMAINE. 109 
 
 wise, I should contest your bad ministers; but you, 
 I believe, are a Whig, and it is long since Whigs 
 have been in office ! " 
 
 Tremaine smiled at the intended inference, but 
 with some bitterness ; and Evelyn proceeded : " I, 
 who am neither Whig nor Tory, am at least content 
 with our own men ; and as for La Harpe, supposing 
 the merit you seem to give him, I would rather have 
 named a Markham,* or a Jackson,f to prove not 
 only that good instruction for princes was not con- 
 fined to Russia, but that our own princes had 
 enjoyed that advantage in even a still greater degree. 
 You will, however, my good friend, I think, allow 
 
 * Dr. Markham, the late Archbishop of York, so venerable, so 
 learned, so liberal, and so kind! — It is difficult to name the memory 
 that is so much and so fondly cherished by the friends, young and 
 old, who survive him. 
 
 f Dr. Cyril Jackson, the late Dean of Christ Church, a man not 
 more formed for the college, than for the court, the state, and the 
 world. The latter he ?huns, only (as it is said, and as we hope) that 
 he may yet be still more its benefactor. A man wIk) was supposed to 
 be most ambitious, but proved himself to be so, only by soaring above 
 ambition. His uncommon powers in directing his college are acknow- 
 ledged by the first characters in the state, who may owe it in some 
 measure to iiim, that they are what they are. His refusal of all digni- 
 ties, and his retreat from the world, in a green old age, have puzzled 
 many: it is for himself to unravel it ; but as it is said the discovery 
 will be posthunious, it is to be hoped it will not be soon. Of these 
 two men, he who writes may say, as Johnson once said of one of his 
 early benefactors, " I honoured them, and they endured me." Such
 
 no TREMAIIJE. 
 
 that there is spirit enough in the Prince of Bruns- 
 wick's description, to shew that he knew his disease 
 well." 
 
 " Then why did he not cure himself?" asked 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " I suppose because at his years he was too much 
 upon the pursuit of pleasure to think of making 
 business." 
 
 " Of making business !" 
 
 " Why, yes ! for with all our pride, our attain- 
 ments, and our philosophy, I observe the animal too 
 much preponderates* We kick against duty, and if 
 force is not put upon us by others, it must be by 
 ourselves. We in fact are too prone to be idle; and 
 idleness, as my daughter's morality-master here saj^s, 
 is * the root of all evil.' " 
 
 " Pray, may I ask," said Tremaine, " who is the 
 happy person you speak of as Miss Evelyn's morality- 
 master ?" 
 
 " The writing-master of the village," returned 
 
 were the persons of whose abilities and virtues as preceptor and sub- 
 preceptor, the two eldest of our princes had the advantage : which to 
 their honour they acknowledge with amiable gratitude to this day. 
 
 [With the above note of the author, the editor did not dare to 
 meddle ; although aware how different it would have been made, had 
 it l>een written after, instead of before the death of the person to whom 
 it relates.] -
 
 TftEMAINE. in 
 
 Evelyn. Georgina smiled, and her father, with 
 some humour, taking up a set of writing copies, 
 designed for the village school, presented the words 
 to Tremaine in handsome copperplate. 
 
 " Is not this rather childish?" said the latter, 
 almost piqued. 
 
 " Perhaps so," answered Evelyn ; " but are we 
 not all children ?" 
 
 " Not exactly, I hope." 
 
 " Well ! I will not be so uncivil as to say so of a 
 grave legislator; but, reverend doctor as I am, I 
 confess myself to be one, in most things but in- 
 nocence." 
 
 " You surely do not hold tliat any force upon us 
 is necessary to prevent our being idle !" 
 
 " I never was more serious in my life," answered 
 the Doctor ; " for though growing an old fellow, I 
 remember at school, I never was so tired as on a 
 whole holiday, unless I undertook some long excur- 
 sion, and that was the same thing as making busi- 
 ness. Left to myself to lie under the trees, and 
 read about it in Virgil and Horace the whole day 
 long, I found what was so charming in description, 
 was in practice the most insupportable thing in the 
 world." 
 
 Tremaine here observed, with some peevishness, 
 that it was not merely to read, or even to understand 
 the poets, that would give the delicacy of imagina-
 
 112 TREMAINE. 
 
 tion necessary to feel them; that some men were 
 made for business, others for contemplation, and 
 that every one, of course, understood himself best. 
 
 " Not quite of course, I'm afraid," said Evelyn ; 
 " at least I remember making what I hoped were 
 very pretty verses, and which even gained me a 
 prize at Oxford, upon the simplicity of the pastoral 
 life, and the pleasures of viewing the world at a dis- 
 tance : which I never should have done had I not 
 been sincere in every feeling I described." 
 
 " Your inference," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Why, that I thought I understood mj^self; 
 though I found afterwards I did no such thing." 
 
 " You have then been unhappy in your retire- 
 ment?" cried Tremaine, with more placidity. 
 
 " Unhappy !" exclaimed Georgina, looking round 
 her. 
 
 '"^ Unhappy !" echoed her father, "no, indeed: but 
 perhaps I should have been so, if I had not found 
 employment; in other words, made business for 
 myself." 
 
 " May I ask how and what?" said Tremaine, 
 rather impatient of the subject. 
 
 " You may, and welcome," answered Evelyn, 
 " though to ask a parson what his business is, is 
 no great compliment to himself or his profession. 
 And were I to name the Bible, I might say every 
 thing. But that would be to elude, rather than
 
 TREMAlNt;. Il3 
 
 answer my good friend's question. Without, how- 
 ever, affecting too much, I may safely tell you, that 
 that holy book, and its concomitants, do, in fact, 
 form much of the business-part of my life ; by which 
 I mean the hours, more or less, which I pass in my 
 study, and which for the most part are employed 
 in teaching myself what I am appointed to teach 
 to others." 
 
 " By what I learn then," added Tremaine, " you 
 are still studying theology, although long a doctor in 
 the science?" 
 
 " And a very good study too," returned Evelyn ; 
 " I wish all doctors would do the same ; for it will 
 last the longest life. I affect not, however, to say 
 I am so absorbed in it as to preclude other studies 
 in the way also o^ business.'* 
 
 " Might I know them?" 
 
 " Certainly, though you will blush for me when 
 I tell you they are warrants, and acts of parlia- 
 ment." 
 
 " Barbarous !" said Tremaine. 
 
 " But very useful," replied Evelyn. 
 
 Tremaine now looking about him with seeming 
 impatience, the Doctor changed the conversation. 
 
 " It is a little strange, my dear sir," said he, " that, 
 in the first moments of your visit, we should fall into 
 an argument on the duties of life, and that I should 
 neglect one of the first of them — hospitality : will you
 
 114 TREMAINE. 
 
 not take refreshment ? you seem more tired than you 
 ought to be." 
 
 Refreshments were now ordered, and convei'sa- 
 tion commenced, in which the charms of music, 
 prompted by the instruments, and the beauties of 
 Guarini, prompted by the book on the table, were 
 discussed. 
 
 The volume was open at that passage on the 
 gpring, which has been so often admired, and which 
 Tremaine read: 
 
 " O ! Primavera, gioventu dell' anno, 
 
 Bella madre di fiori, 
 
 D' erbe novelle, e di novelli amori, 
 
 Tu torni ben, ma leco 
 
 Non tornano i sereni 
 
 E fortunati di delle mie gioje." 
 
 " By his reading it with so much feeling," said 
 Evelyn to Georgina, " I hope Mr. Tremaine likes 
 that passage as well as we do." 
 
 " It was always a favourite with me," replied he, 
 " nor do I know which to like best, the sentiments, 
 or the delicacy of the diction." 
 
 " I love all descriptions of the spring," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 " I hope you will long continue to do so," ob- 
 served her companion ; "but your love will certainly 
 wear off." 
 
 " I do not think that possible," answered Georgina.
 
 TREMAINE. 115 
 
 Tremaine shook his head; a smile, and then 
 something like a sigh, escaped him. Evelyn fixed 
 his eyes upon him, as if endeavouring to make him 
 out. " I am sorry, my friend," said he, " to hear 
 you say this." 
 
 " How can it be otherwise," returned his guest, 
 *• than that an experienced man should feel differ- 
 ently from youth ? " 
 
 "In knowledge of the world, I grant ye," said 
 Evelyn, " and when we are really old and blunted 
 in the feelings of nature. But that is not the case 
 yet with me, much less with you. I no longer, 
 indeed, think of some goddess of a mistress, when I 
 stand under a tree and listen to the nightingale ; but 
 the notes themselves, and the stillness and freshness 
 of evening, can lull me as much as ever." 
 
 " It is mere imagination," said Tremaine. 
 
 " And pray what is it in a youth ? " asked Evelyn. 
 
 " Reality," answered his guest. 
 
 " And who is to judge ?" 
 
 « The heart." 
 
 " Agreed, for it is the heart tells me I can still 
 feel." 
 
 " I thought," said Tremaine, drily, " you had 
 been absorbed in the Bible and acts of parliament !" 
 
 " As for the one," replied the Rector, " I know 
 not the heart that would not be mended by it ; but 
 neither in the one nor the other am I absorbed. I
 
 116 TR£MAiNE. 
 
 just take enough of both to fit myself the better to 
 enjoy what we are talking of, whether in such pas- 
 sages as this of Guarini, or the realities which he 
 only describes ; these flowers, this sun, and all the 
 glories of the spring ; and pardon me if I suspect, 
 my good friend, that it is the having quaffed too 
 largely of what ought only to be sipped, that has 
 made you lose your relish for it." 
 
 Tremaine assured him he was wrong, and that 
 it was only the disappointments which attended all 
 the promises of the spring, that had induced him to 
 make the observation ; and " I would appeal," added 
 he, '' even to the fresher feelings of Miss Evelyn 
 herself, for the correctness of this opinion." 
 
 Georgina, thus called upon, answered with some 
 hesitation, — 
 
 "It is true, there are disappointments in sonie 
 of the promises of spring, but I hope not in all: and 
 as I take care not to raise my expectations too high, 
 what the spring does not perform cannot make me 
 love her the less for what she does. Besides, it is 
 the very variety of the seasons that makes them please 
 most. Were primroses never to fade, I should 
 grow tired of them ; and if there were no fears or 
 labour in a garden, it would lose much of its plear 
 sure when fears have passed away, and labour has 
 succeeded." 
 
 Tremaine^s looks became clouded. He found
 
 TREMAINE. IIT 
 
 that a volume had been spoken in these few words, 
 and that, however simple, nay, trite the sentiment, 
 it had gone the whole length of his own case, in 
 accounting for the little pleasure he had found in 
 his garden, after his high expectations from it. He 
 seized his hat, looked at his watch, and was pre- 
 paring to take his leave, when Evelyn asked him 
 how the business of the inclosure went on. He 
 made a wry face, and observed, that there were so 
 many jarring interests to reconcile, so much selfish- 
 ness to contend with, that he despaired of surmount- 
 ing the difficulties of his case. 
 
 " That illness has been unfortunate," said Eve- 
 lyn, with a scrutinizing eye, " in more ways than 
 Jne." 
 
 " Extremely so," returned Tremaine ; " for in 
 this instance, if it had not prevented me from 
 attending to letters of business, I should not now 
 have to get over the legal forms, upon which 
 illiberal people hold me at arm's length. One man 
 in particular, though only a yeoman, refuses all ac- 
 commodation, for no reason, I believe, but that he 
 may say he does not care for the 'Squire." 
 
 " A good, sturdy, English reason," observed 
 Evelyn; " and yet, if you mean farmer Ryecroft, of 
 Velvet Mead, he is, though rough, not without good- 
 nature." 
 
 " You know him ? " said Tremaine.
 
 118 TREMAINE. 
 
 '* He is one of the best of my parishioners," re- 
 turned the Doctor, " comes punctually to church, and 
 pays every man his own." 
 
 " He did not pay me," rejoined Tremaine ; " for 
 being merely thrown out on a point of form, I 
 looked upon what I wanted as my own." 
 
 " He, perhaps, thought otherwise," said Evelyn, 
 " and, though he might be wrong, chose to exert 
 his birth-right of thinking for himself. At any rate, 
 you possibly claimed a due, instead of asking a 
 favour." 
 
 '• I know not how that was, ' said Tremaine; " I 
 left it all to my lawyer." 
 
 " My good friend," answered Evelyn, kindly, 
 " why did you leave it all to your lawyer ? Forgive 
 me when I ask, what could have prevented your 
 doing it yourself? — Velvet Mead is, I know, within 
 one of your nearest manors, and a pleasant ride to 
 boot. Your health, as well as your purse, might 
 have been served by it." 
 
 Tremaine very frankly confessed that he had more 
 than once thought of it ; but being engaged in hi» 
 library, he had put it off, and at length deputed hi» 
 agent. 
 
 « Why, if indeed the business that engaged yoa 
 was so pressing," — said Evelyn, inquiringly. 
 
 " A pamphlet on the Catholic question," answered 
 Tremaine.
 
 T RE MAINE. 119 
 
 " Very good ; but which you had probably stu- 
 died ill town, when that question canie on." 
 
 " I own," returned his friend, " it was because I 
 had not studied it then, that I thought I would do 
 so now." 
 
 " Now, that you have seceded from parliament?*' 
 said Evelyn. — 
 
 The observation did not please. 
 
 " Have you courage enough," continued the 
 Doctor, not seeming to mind his little embarrass- 
 ment, " to go forthwith to Velvet Mead, and let me 
 accompany you ? And, if you will but unbend a little, 
 I think we shall succeed." 
 
 " I am afraid I'm too angry with the man," said 
 Tremaine, " and at any rate cannot fawn." 
 
 " Fawning is out of the question," observed his 
 friend ; " and as you have slighted, perhaps you have 
 no right to be angry with him." 
 
 " I will do what you please," said Tremaine, 
 " but not now; to-morrow or next day will do; at 
 present, I really have not time." 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear sir, and set it not down to 
 impertinence, if I ask what demands you have upon 
 this same time, to prevent a thing so pressing ?" 
 
 Tremaine, recollecting himself, found that if he 
 that instant returned home, he should not know 
 what to do with himself. He felt confused, and 
 shewed his confusion ; till at length he said, " you
 
 120 TREMAINE. 
 
 have a strange way with you ; at my years still to 
 assert your old ascendancy over me, is not what I 
 expected. I am not used to be tutored, and have a 
 great mind to resist, like farmer Ryecroft himself, if 
 only to shew I can resist. However, I will do as 
 you please." 
 
 A frank and gracious manner in saying this, so as 
 peculiarly to strike Georgina, who had sat a silent 
 listener till now, induced her to lighten up at this 
 concession to her father's activity. 
 
 ^' It will do you both a great deal of good to 
 ride," said she. 
 
 « And you, Miss Evelyn ? " 
 
 <' Oh ! Papa seldom rides without me : but, per- 
 haps, upon business like this I may be de trop" 
 
 " If you are," said her father, " we'll send you to 
 take a lesson from old Mrs. Ryecroft, on the best 
 mode of rearing spring turkeys. You know how 
 you failed there." 
 
 " Miss Evelyn rear turkeys ! " exclaimed Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " No ! she does not rear them," answered the 
 Doctor, " to the very great disappointment of my 
 palate ; and I do not like her to be inferior to Mrs. 
 Ryecroft." 
 
 Tremaine could not help expressing something 
 like surprise at this ; which the Doctor perceiving 
 added, — " She is a country girl, and therefore ought
 
 TREMAINE. 121 
 
 lo know country business. But if I were ever so 
 rich, I know not a thing more amusing, I had almost 
 said interesting, than a basse coury 
 
 Tremaine hinted his opinion, that it was beneath 
 the notice of the wise, the well-educated, and the 
 elegant. 
 
 " I would rather say," replied Evelyn, " the fa- 
 shionable, the fastidious, and the vacant. But even 
 the Cardinal de Retz was amused with pigeons, when 
 separated from the world ; and I need not tell you 
 all the fine things that Addison was able to say on a 
 hen and chickens." 
 
 " I would read them in Addison," said Tremaine, 
 " but not plague myself with what, after all, a hig- 
 ler's wife would understand better.'* 
 
 " I don't know that," said the Doctor, " if we were 
 not idle ; but the study of nature, in whatever shape, 
 must always please, if only as a study ; and in this 
 instance the utility is so palpable, that it adds to the 
 interest." 
 
 " You would turn Miss Evelyn, then, into a poul- 
 terer," said Tremaine, laughing. 
 
 " No more than I would turn myself into a wine- 
 cooper, because I keep the keys of my cellar." 
 
 " But what does Miss Evelyn say to it her- 
 self?" 
 
 " Why, that if I were to lose my poultry-yard, 
 I should lose one of my greatest pleasures." 
 
 vol.. I. G
 
 122 TREMAINE. 
 
 *^ And yet the girl makes a very good courtesy, 
 reads Guarini, and plays the harp," said Evelyn. 
 
 The horses coming to the door, saved Tremaine 
 a reply. They mounted, and proceeded through a 
 very pretty country to Velvet Mead House. 
 
 CHAP. xvm. 
 
 AN ENGLISH YEOMAN. 
 
 " Where is your yeoman ? Is k a lusty 
 "Yeoman? Will'a stand to*t ?" 
 
 SHAKSPEAUE. 
 
 It was a large stone mansion, which had been an 
 old manorial residence, and consequently was more 
 spacious than necessary for a man who lived by 
 farming his estate with his own hands. This incon- 
 venience, bearable in itself, was rendered more so 
 from its owner having applied one or two of the 
 rooms to the purposes of a granary. In the hall 
 stood a sack of flour; what had been the great 
 eating-room was converted into an excellent kitchen, 
 in which bright pewter and burnished brass were 
 resplendent ; and a smaller room was consecrated to
 
 TREMAINE. 123 
 
 the care of the farmer's saddle, silver-bitted bridle, 
 and Mrs. Ryecroft's well-stuffed pad^ flounced with 
 green serge. A parlour on one side the hall con- 
 stituted the only dwelling-room, where eating, con- 
 versation, and work were alternately carried on. A 
 door led from it to a green walk, flanking the kitchen 
 garden, at the end of which was an arbour of honej'- 
 suckle. 
 
 It was after dinner w^hen the visitors arrived, and 
 in this arbour, at his afternoon's pipe, the farmer was 
 seated. At the sight of his Rector he rose up, as 
 well as sixteen stone would permit, and pulled off 
 his hat with a civility which was evidently sincere : 
 hoped he and Miss were as well as they looked ; and 
 staring rather at Tremaine, and afterwards at Eve- 
 lyn, seemed to inquire who he was. 
 
 " I have brought my friend and neighbour, Mr. 
 Tremaine, to see you," said Dr. Evelyn. 
 
 The farmer instantly put on his hat, and sat down 
 again, saying coldly, as he returned to his pipe, " I 
 am glad to see you, Sir." At this he gave a whiff 
 or two, with rather more energy than usual; but 
 perceiving it annoyed the young lady, he immediately 
 knocked out the ashes, observing that he should be 
 sorry to incommode Miss. 
 
 " She is an old friend," said her father. 
 
 '• Aye!" returned he, "I have known her sin* 
 that high, and my mistress be as fond of her as I." 
 G 2
 
 124 T RE MAINE. 
 
 During all this, he took not the least notice of 
 Tremaine, who was evidently annoyed. Thinking, 
 however, it was incumbent upon him to be civil, he 
 observed upon the pleasant situation and goodness 
 of his house. 
 
 " Why this house you see,'' said Ryecroft, "was 
 bought by my father of your grandfather, before 
 you was born : and many's the time both he and I 
 have been up at the Hall, and were always wel- 
 come; but I don't know how it is you don't live 
 among us. Squire." 
 
 Tremaine protested it was not from want of 
 inclination, but that he had been so occupied by 
 attending Parliament, that he never yet had had 
 time. 
 
 " And what hand did you make of it in Parlia- 
 ment?" asked Ryecroft. 
 
 This was a short question, which evidently gave 
 no pleasure. 
 
 " I mean," he continued, before there was time 
 for reply, " which side did you take ?" 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," answered Tremaine^ with a 
 little contempt, " I suppose I am right, for I was 
 for the country." 
 
 " So we are all, I hope," said Ryecroft. 
 
 " I mean," explained the Squire, " that I was of 
 your side ; for I was always against the Government." 
 
 " Then you was not o' my side ; and, with submis-
 
 TRE MAINE. l26 
 
 sion, you could not have been always right," answered 
 Ryecroft. 
 
 Tremaine bit his lip, and for a time it was a hit ; 
 for it was in vain that he thought of explaining the 
 nature of a systematic opposition, which made every 
 question the same ; such a boor, he supposed, could 
 not understand it. 
 
 Thinking from his silence that he had hit harder 
 than he had, Ryecroft went on : " To tell you the 
 truth, Squire Tremaine, I am not one of them that 
 tliinks Government always in the wrong ; though I 
 pay a mort of taxes, too : but I'm for George against 
 all his enemies, whether at home or abroad ; whether 
 they be French or English." 
 
 ** This is too silly," said Tremaine, in a low voice 
 to Evelyn ; and then in a louder tone continued, 
 *' Why, my good man, do you suppose I'm an 
 enemy to the king, because I oppose bad mi- 
 nisters?' 
 
 *' How do I know they are bad ?" returned Rye- 
 croft, roughly : ** others might be worse !'* 
 
 " My fate is decided, I see," said Tremaine again 
 to Evelyn ; and looking after the horses, added, " we 
 shall be late home, and gain nothing here." 
 
 " Hear the farmer out," replied the Doctor; " I 
 assure you he speaks the sense of most of this 
 parish." 
 
 ** And of the next too," added Ryecroft, rubbing
 
 126 TREMAINE. 
 
 his hands ; for he liked a dish of politics as well as 
 any of his betters, and read two evening papers 
 regularly in the week. He then begged them not to 
 be in a hurry, and asked if they would stay where 
 they were, or adjourn to the parlour. 
 
 " Oh, here, by all means," said Tremaine. 
 
 " But I must fetch you some ale," he continued, 
 " and though it may be a bold word, 1*11 venture to 
 say it's as good as Woodington can shew, for its life." 
 
 Tremaine assured him he never drank ale. 
 ■ ^* So much the worse for you, perhaps," rejoined 
 the farmer ; " for, excuse my freedom" (looking at 
 him), " you don't look well, not half so ruddy a.s 
 your father." 
 
 Tremaine bowed, and wished himself at home, at 
 
 Belmont, at the devil, or any where but where he 
 
 ^ was ; but Evelyn sitting down, and Georgina saying 
 
 she would go and find Mrs. Ryecroft, he had nothing 
 
 left but to sit down too. 
 
 The farmer being forbidden by his rector to fetch 
 any ale, would not however lose his politics. 
 
 " Squire Tremaine — " he continued " but I 
 
 hope" (looking at Evelyn) "I'm not making too bold." 
 " I'll answer for it," said Evelyn. 
 Tremaine again bowed. 
 
 " Well then," he went on, " with your leave. 
 Squire Tremaine, I would wish to know what you 
 thought of them Nottingham people ?"
 
 TREMAINE. 127 
 
 " Why, that they were poor, misled, and starving," 
 replied Tremaine ; " much oppressed, and therefore 
 to be pitied." 
 
 " I grant you, to be pitied," rejoined the farmer, 
 " because we pity them that deserve to be hanged ; 
 but did you think them justifiable? how did you 
 vote ? " 
 
 " I am glad that I am not with one of my consti- 
 tuents," said Tremaine ; " in truth, my good friend, 
 I did not vote at all ; though I do not know the 
 particular question upon which you are catechising 
 me." 
 
 " I mean," replied the farmer, "the question to 
 make it a hanging matter to force them oaths as they 
 did down our throats. I shall never forget their 
 catching me as I was coming from Nottingham, and 
 with pistols and horsewhips obliged me (God forgive 
 me ! ) to swear I would never reveal any thing about 
 them, even though they committed murder : and we 
 know that they did commit a many murders in those 
 parts. Now the ministry did very right, in my mind, 
 to make this hanging, without stopping for much of 
 a debate ; and yet some of the patriots, as you gen- 
 tlemen calls yourselves and one another, said it was 
 wrong to be in a hurry, and that there ought to have 
 been more arguing about it. Arguing, indeed I 
 when our throats might be all cut in the meantime. 
 The upshot is, excuse my boldness, that if you voted
 
 128 TREMAINE. 
 
 against this, or did not vote at all, which is as bad, 
 why you and I don't agree. Squire, that's all ; I 
 hope no offence." 
 
 ' Tremaine assured him he was not offended — that 
 every one had a right to his opinion. 
 
 " Why that's right," said Ryecroft ; " only I was 
 a saying, that this was the sort of thing that made 
 me never trust a man the more, for saying he was 
 ibr the country, only because he was against the 
 government ; as you did just now." 
 
 Evelyn smiled. In fact the farmer had got upon 
 his favourite topic — his adventure with the oath- 
 makers, — which he always said had nearly cost him 
 his life ; and as he had a horror of assassination, he 
 was not easily silenced. Strange, however, as it 
 tnay seem, the reproaches he had cast upon Tre- 
 maine put him into better humour with that gen- 
 tleman ; for, rough as he was, he respected all his 
 superiors, provided they did not attempt to carry 
 things by force; observing there must always be 
 proper subordination — a governor and a governed 
 — a master and a servant — and, what was not the 
 least favourite part of the classification, a husband 
 and wife. All had rights too, he said, although in 
 the two latter classes he was not very liberal in 
 allowing them. 
 
 Be that as it may, at bottom he respected Tre- 
 Tnmne as a gentleman, and his superior, as his
 
 TREMAINE. 129 
 
 fathers before him (who had all been Tories, from 
 the days of King William) had been in the habit of 
 doing towards Tremaine's family; and he began to 
 feel that he had used his English liberty of speecli 
 with sufficient freedom. 
 
 As Tremaine's contempt, too, did not shew itself, 
 lie took his silence for proof of his own victory, and 
 insensibly, in the true English style, grew better 
 friends with him, as one he had vanquished. With 
 tliese feelings he exclaimed : " Squire Tremaine, I 
 hope you will excuse my being so downright ; but 
 you know us English think we have a right to speak 
 upon politics : and you yourself say I have a right to 
 my own opinion, which is very true, and shews that 
 your having been so long over the sea has not spoiled 
 you. Now, I confess the truth, I thought it had ; 
 and when you sent to me by a whipper-snapper of xi 
 lawyer, who I can't abide, to get my consent to the 
 inclosure, which you did not choose to ask for your- 
 self, why d'ye see, I refused him plump." 
 
 " I know you did," said Tremaine, surprised at 
 what might be coming. 
 
 " Why then you see, too, I'll make up for it now, 
 although you and I can never set our horses together 
 about the nation, I see that." 
 
 " What am I to understand by this ?" asked Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " Why, that our worthy rector there, Squire 
 g5
 
 130 TREMAINE. 
 
 Evelyn, asked me two days ago to give consent, and 
 I said I would think of it ; for I really am sorry ever 
 to refuse what he thinks right; he preaches too good 
 sermons for that" . 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," said the Doctor, " for I 
 perceive that you have now thought better of it, and 
 will gratify Mr. Tremaine as a good neighbour 
 ought to do." 
 
 " That is the short and the long of it," replied 
 Ryecroft ; " so now you must taste my ale, and I'll 
 get it in a trice." 
 
 At this he, with tolerable alertness, moved into 
 the house, and returned with a foaming pitcher; of 
 which the two friends, not able to resist him, having 
 taken each a glass, they took leave of him by shaking 
 hands— a ceremony which he offered, and which 
 Tremaine could not refuse. 
 
 " You see he is not so bad as you thought," said 
 the Doctor, after they had ridden a little way, 
 
 " I find I am more obliged to you than to him,'' 
 replied' his companion, coldly. "That you should 
 have influence over him, I can conceive ; but I must 
 own the price you pay for it does not make me envy 
 
 you." 
 
 Evelyn, perceiving what he meant, assured him 
 that, coarse as he seemed, there was an honesty, and 
 even a kindness about Ryecroft, that might do 
 honour to a; much higher polish; that the poor had
 
 TREMAINE. 131 
 
 not a better friend, and that in the several relations 
 of neighbour, father, and husband (where not 
 opposed) no one had more worth. " Why then 
 should I not cultivate (if a few minutes in the 
 week can be called cultivating) the good-will of 
 such a man, merely because he is unpolished? 
 Even in an interested point of view you see it 
 benefits. The proofs of his being a good neigh- 
 bour have been not a few; and if you knew the 
 power of a bad one over one's comfort (for which I 
 need only send you into the next village, where the 
 parson, the squire, and farmer, seem to live only to 
 plague one another), you would find that, as we 
 cannot get rid of humanity, the best way is, by 
 bearing with it, to make it sit as lightly as pos- 
 sible.''
 
 132 TREMAINE^ 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 AN EVENING AT HOME. ARGUMENTS. 
 
 EARLY RISING* 
 
 " Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 ** Sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster?" 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Who's there?" 
 
 " My Lord, 'tis I ; the early village cock 
 ** Hath thrice done salutation to the morn." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine passed a melancholy evening, which 
 he, as usual, would not allow to be melancholy. He 
 had refused his friend's pressing invitation to dine 
 at Evelyn Hall, without being able to assign any 
 reason for it even to himself, except that he was an 
 invalid, and loved his home. When there, how- 
 ever, he sought in vain for the objects of that 
 ^* love," of which he talked. His ride, and the 
 collision of mind into which he had entered, gave 
 him, for a moment, an elasticity to which he had 
 long been a stranger ; but it was only for a moment.
 
 TREMAINE. 133 
 
 His dinner-hour was still eight, and he really felt 
 exliausted ; and yet he still continued in the mistake, 
 fatal to his health, of not relaxing the rule of a 
 fashionable town life. 
 
 It was five when he got home, and there were 
 three heavy hours to be waded through. He had 
 no employment, and, what was worse, could make 
 none. He took up a pamphlet, indeed; but finding 
 that he was thinking of the conversations and scenes 
 of the morning, in which he did not like to own to 
 himself how much his friend had the advantage of 
 him, he gaped, and laid it down. He then wan- 
 dered into the gardens, and beheld the sun ap- 
 proaching the west in all his splendour. There he 
 found a delightful concert of birds, and shrubs and 
 flowers were all pushing into notice, in the most 
 pleasing array of opening buds. But he beheld 
 them as a mere picture, as if their colours had been 
 the work of man. 
 
 Here, however, for want of being able to settle 
 himself to any other employment, he loitered away 
 the intermediate hours till dinner ; after which, 
 
 ♦' Slretch'd on the rack of a too-easy chair," 
 
 he indulged, until bedtime, in sundry wise reflec- 
 tions (for such he thought them, though he felt 
 them to be neither pleasant nor profitable) on the 
 manner in which he had hitherto passed his lime in
 
 134 TREMAINE. 
 
 Yorkshire. At all events, he determined to pass 
 the next day differently; and for this purpose or- 
 dered his steward to be in attendance, that he might 
 at once wind up the business which had brought him 
 from Belmont. 
 
 The next day, however, before his steward could 
 gain admittance, brought his two friends early to 
 see him, and the sound of their horses' feet surprised 
 him before he had well done breakfast. 
 
 Tremaine's morning mirror had shewn him the 
 face of a man who had passed a restless night ; and 
 if the contrast between his own and the awakened 
 countenance of Evelyn struck him forcibly, much 
 more was he impressed with the rosy animation, the 
 buoyant, yet modest manner, the laughing, yet sen- 
 sible eyes of Georgina. 
 
 " This is very good of you," said he, setting 
 chairs. 
 
 *' I fear we interrupt you," said Evelyn, " for I 
 saw my old friend Jenkins, with a bag full of papers, 
 and a pile of parchments, waiting for you as we 
 came in." 
 
 " And do you think I am not glad to have such a 
 business broken in upon, by such an interruption?" 
 replied he, bowing to Georgina. 
 
 " More gallant than prudent, perhaps," rejoined 
 his neighbour. " And if we put off business, even 
 if it can be done another time, business may put
 
 TRE MAINE. 135 
 
 ns off when that other time comes. You know my 
 creed in that respect. In truth, we did some good 
 business yesterday, and we wished to tempt you to a 
 little more to-day, especially as Georgina tells me she 
 is sure riding is good for you." 
 
 " She is very kind," replied Tremaine, " to think 
 of me as an invalid whom she can cure. I wish 
 either of you would teach me the art of a good 
 constitution. Though we don't agree in many of 
 our maxims, there, at least, you have the advantage 
 of me." 
 
 " What time do you rise?" said Evelyn, looking 
 inquiringly at the breakfast-table. 
 
 " I suppose not so early as you ; but I am no sys- 
 tem-monger, and it is not because I am ill, that I 
 am late ; I rise when it suits me." 
 
 He said this with the air of a man not quite sure 
 of his point, but resolved to think himself right. 
 
 " And it suits you to rise at eleven," said Evelyn, 
 drily. 
 
 " Perhaps," added Georgina, interposing, " Mr. 
 Tremaine is more ill than usual to-day." 
 
 " I wdll not avail myself of that plea, good-na- 
 tured as it may seem," answered he. " As I am 
 a Whig in philosophy as well as politics, I am an 
 enemy to all force upon one's actions. I am there- 
 fore perhcips what those, whose dufi/ it is to be up 
 with the sun, would call a sluggard : but it is not
 
 136 TREMAINE. 
 
 my duty. Were there a necessity for it, I could 
 leave my bed as soon as any one. When I have 
 sometimes hunted, I was on horseback with the first ; 
 and when with the armies, as early as the men I 
 commanded !" 
 
 *' And why not now ?" asked Evelyn. 
 
 " Precisely because there is no necessity for it; 
 and my rule, if I have one, is to have no rule at all. 
 If I had any method except not to be methodical, I 
 should die of ennui." 
 
 " Should die !" exclaimed Evelyn, smiling. 
 
 " I know what that smile and that emphasis would 
 infer," continued Tremaine; " and by the corre- 
 sponding smile of my fair friend there, who has 
 been taught so well to think as her father thinks 
 for her — " 
 
 " Indeed I always think for myself, Mr. Tre- 
 maine," said Georgina. 
 
 ^' I see, by that corresponding smile," pursued 
 he, " that I am by both of you convicted of being 
 as good as dead already. To resuscitate, you will 
 tell me to rise with the lark, 
 
 * Who, singing, startles the dull night.* " 
 
 ** It would be good for you if you did," observed 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt ! and you will give me, too, a sort 
 of Claude picture of the rising sun; or talk with 
 Milton of the morn,
 
 TREMAINE. 137 
 
 * Her rosy steps i' the eastern clime advancing, 
 ' Strewing the earth with orient pearl.' " 
 
 " We should do well in doing so," observed 
 Evelyn ; " but forgive me if I am seriously alarmed 
 for your way of life. To say nothing of mind, 
 there are no hours so precious to health as those of 
 the morning; and if you were less of a Whig in your 
 philosoph}^, and would submit to a little force to 
 make you rise early, you would not be thus pale and 
 ill at ease." 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 MORE ARGUMENT METHOD AND NECESSARY 
 
 OCCUPATIONS, 
 
 " So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
 " So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 " So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 *' So many hours must I sport myself." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " And whence, and what could be the force?" 
 asked Tremaine, in reply to the observation of 
 Evelyn which concluded the last chapter. 
 
 <' Why that's the difficulty," said Evelyn, " as
 
 138 TREMAINE, 
 
 you have, in addition to your system, the misfortune 
 to be so independent in situation." 
 
 " Pray observe that I have no system," interrupted 
 Tremaine. 
 
 *' And pray observe that I wish you had," re- 
 peated his friend ; " or if not, at least such a pursuit 
 as you could systematically follow." 
 
 " Odious !" cried Tremaine. 
 
 "Useful!" retorted the Doctor; " useful to in- 
 terest, to health, to the spirits, the happiness, the 
 very life-blood of man !" 
 
 " You speak ex cathedra" said Tremaine, " and 
 almost persuade me to become a machine. It is 
 certainly true that you seem in robust health, and 
 I may one day be glad to learn how you contrive to 
 dispose of your time, with so many irksome de- 
 mands upon it as you choose to encourage, and yet 
 preserve that air of contentment which seems to 
 animate you. It is the destruction of my hours by 
 impertinent fools formerly, and tasteless business 
 now, which takes from me my leisure, and to 
 which the indisposition that wears me is certainly 
 owing." 
 
 " If I have what you would give me," answered 
 Evelyn, " it is owing to that very division of time 
 which I recommend, and which you reprobate. 
 The leisure I possess enables me to make what 
 allotments of it I please ; and by giving every hour
 
 TREMAINE. 13& 
 
 its appropriate duty, I am enabled not only to per- 
 form it, but perform it with pleasure." 
 
 " You astonish me," replied Tremaine ; " is it 
 possible that, with so much genius, feeling, and 
 imagination as you certainly used to possess, you 
 can call it pleasure to reduce yourself to a mere 
 machine?" 
 
 «« Even so," returned Evelyn ; " and in doing this 
 I know not that I am acting otherwise than in the 
 very scope and design of my nature." 
 
 "Impossible! impossible!" retorted Tremaine; 
 and ^vith an energy that seemed to confer a mo- 
 mentary pleasure upon him, he broke out with 
 
 ** The poet's eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, 
 
 *' Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; 
 
 " And while imagination bodies forth 
 
 *' The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 
 ♦* Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 
 " A local habitation and a name." 
 
 "Very beautiful!" said Georgina, pleased with 
 his whole look, manner, and feeling, 
 
 " But the application," added her father. 
 
 "It is easy," repHed Tremaine; "for do you 
 conceive that a mind thus rolling in phrenzy, thus 
 brilliant in fancy, thus enthusiastic in feeling, can 
 possibly be tied down to rules and hours, like a piece 
 of brute earth, or, to speak more appropriately, like 
 monotonous clock-work ? '*
 
 14-0 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Luckily for mankind," said Evelyn, " we are 
 not all of us poets." 
 
 " But we might be," returned Tremaine, inter- 
 rupting him, " and should, if it were not for those 
 vile trammels in which most of us are unhappily 
 condemned to live." 
 
 " Doubting your unhappily," replied Evelyn, 
 " I particularly doubt it as derived from what you 
 call trammels, — for I was going on to observe, that 
 it is from those very trammels that all which is 
 called order arises ; and the happiness of order in 
 society, I suppose I need not point out to a legis- 
 lator like you." 
 
 " It will do very well for tinkers and tailors," 
 said Tremaine, with vivacity, " for tradesmen, and 
 secretaries, and lawyers : they must do their work, 
 answer their letters, and attend their causes. But 
 we are talking of men of leisure, and, pray observe, 
 men of imagination." 
 
 " It is to these I direct my remark," said Evelyn, 
 " and as a professor of idleness, I would presume to 
 lay it down, ex cathedra if you please, that an order 
 of time, established for the various occupations of 
 even men of leisure, would make them probably 
 wiser, and certainly happier, than they generally 
 are." 
 
 " What says Miss Evelyn ?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 *' Oh ! you know papa thinks for me," answered
 
 TREMAINE. 141 
 
 Georgina, *' so you need not ask. But even in pa- 
 radise, in the passages you alluded to just now, our 
 first parents were forced to divide their time properly 
 (for I am afraid it would shock you to say systematic 
 raUy)^ in order to perform the bimness which, even 
 to them, was committed by Heaven." 
 
 " Such a moralist as you would go far to convert 
 me," said Tremaine, while her father nodded his 
 approbation ; " but can you seriously and sincerely 
 say (barring the beauty of the description) that the 
 address of Adam to his helpmate (for so, indeed, we 
 may here call her) does not exhibit a very constrained 
 and homely life ? To be always digging a garden, 
 cleaning walks, or watering plants ! Confess this is 
 but a vulgar sort of paradise, after all ; utterly sub- 
 versive of the sprightly graces, the sparkling com- 
 panionship of modern life, and more worthy a 
 market-gardener and his dame than the prince and 
 princess of the world." 
 
 He said this with an energy so animated, an air 
 so graceful, and a voice so impressive, that Georgina 
 could not help being struck. She laughed, however, 
 and was about to reply, when her father interrupted 
 her by saying, 
 
 " We have wandered from the point, good folks ; 
 which is, not what is the best occupation, but 
 whether some occupation is not essential. * 
 
 " Thought is occupation," observed Tremaine.
 
 142 TEKMAINE. 
 
 " I grant you, and a very delightful one; but 
 were we all mere thinkers, what would become of 
 the world ?" 
 
 " And yet this leisure, which you so much dread," 
 continued Tremaine, " this sweet otium, is the best 
 gift for which we pray the gods. At least so sings 
 Horace, in his famous Ode; and he knew men as 
 well as you or I."* 
 
 " Yes ! but his suppliant was an active merchant, 
 and ' Prensus ^gceo, ' before he prayed. For while 
 his ship gave her sails to the breeze, and was likely 
 to fill his coffers, he never thought of ofium,'' 
 
 " You would destroy the great sweetener of life," 
 said Tremaine. 
 
 " Believe me, not," pursued Evelyn; " I would 
 only make it still more sweet." 
 
 « By what?" 
 
 ^' By being earned.'' 
 
 "Earned?" 
 
 " Yes ! this I take to be the great secret of human 
 conduct. The lounger, who was envied by his friend 
 the barrister, toiling down to the courts, goes to the 
 bottom of this subject in three words. ' You are 
 happy,' said his friend ; ' you have no term.' — * Alas ! 
 yes!' answered the lounger, 'but I have no vaca- 
 tion.' I remember when my theory first arose upon 
 this subject ; — but perhaps I fatigue you." 
 
 * Otium Divos prensus ^Egaeo.
 
 TREMAINE. 14^ 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said Tremaine, with good 
 breeding ; " I may not agree, but I love to hear you." 
 
 Georgina looked pleased. 
 
 " Twas in an old chateau in Languedoc," said 
 Evelyn, " where I passed a month with a middle- 
 aged man, who thought he was tired of the 
 world." 
 
 " And was he not so?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " You shall hear. We moralized every day at 
 dinner over a motto in large golden letters, above 
 the great fire-place, placed there in the time of 
 Lewis XIII. ' Thou shalt eat the bread of the 
 sweat of thy brow.' " 
 
 " Quaint enough," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Sound and true," continued Evelyn ; " and had 
 my friend, the owner of the chateau, observed it, he 
 M'ould perhaps now be alive." 
 
 " How did he die?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Why he w^as over-run with indolence, from 
 having a large fortune," answered Evelyn. 
 
 Tremaine did not like the answer, and Evelyn 
 continued. 
 
 " He did not make business, and from sheer want 
 of something to do (being too good for vicious pur- 
 suits), he took to eating, without earning it by 
 fatigue ; he languished all day for his dinner, with 
 no pretence for it but having eaten his breakfast ; a 
 thousand amiable qualities, and even talents, were
 
 144 TREMAINE. 
 
 lost in this crapulence ; and he died at forty of no 
 disease but indigestion." 
 
 "At forty!" exclaimed Tremaine ; '" but pray 
 why did he retire ?" 
 
 . " Somebody got before him in the army," replied 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Tremaine reddened more and more. 
 
 " He grew disgusted," continued his friend, " and 
 thought that, by disgust, he had earned a right to 
 retire. He said he was fond of books, and would 
 educate his daughters. But they grew too trouble- 
 some, as daughters generally do (looking at Geor- 
 gina) ; so they were sent au convent^ and he died." 
 
 " And yet I suppose he read and thought," ob- 
 served Tremaine. 
 
 " Not much of either ; his reading was too 
 
 light." 
 
 " What would you have had him do? " said Tre- 
 maine, with a little spleen. 
 
 " Dig in his garden," retorted Evelyn, " and then 
 think, or read as lightly as he pleased." 
 
 " Mere useless, and therefore thankless labour," 
 persisted Tremaine, " when a gardener would do it 
 so much better." 
 
 " You forget Diocletian's cabbages," answered 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " Every one has his favourite pursuit," observed 
 Tremaine.
 
 TREMAINE. 145 
 
 ***' Agreed ! but will you, my dear friend, tell me 
 yours ? " 
 
 " The liberal arts and sciences," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Admirable ! you can then never be unhappy, 
 never be listless : and I should almost say, with 
 natural good health, never unwell." 
 
 Tremaine felt himself pressed, and replied with 
 some quickness, " I hope I am above a hobby- 
 horse." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better if you were 
 not." 
 
 " What ! reduce me to old Shandy, or his brother 
 Toby?" 
 
 " Who so happy ?" said Evelyn. 
 
 " Even they had no force upon them," retorted 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " That was because they were so fond of their 
 hobbies, and rode so well," rejoined Evelyn. " It is 
 only where there is no decided cast of the mind that 
 I would have it make one. Once made and culti- 
 vated, whether from duty or taste, and every little 
 change is pleasing, for every amusement is earned. 
 The very right to choose one's hobby, in other 
 words the right to leisure, or as you would say, 
 to retire^ should be earned. If Diocletian had not 
 earned his cabbages and his buildings at Salona, he 
 would not have refused Maximian's advice to resume 
 the throne." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Yet Maximian, at least, "^ answered Tremaine, 
 " wished to resume, and so did Charles the 
 Fifth.'; 
 
 *^ Neither of them had hobbies," said Evelyn ; 
 " and what is more, neither of them were really 
 tired of empire, though they thought so. Say what 
 we please, my dear Sir, of viewing the world at a 
 distance, we are born in it and for it, and it is only 
 under temporary disgusts, or with some object that 
 is to make us more fit for it, such as study or eco- 
 nomy — or at worst, when we are almost worn out, 
 and really want rest, — that to retire can be pleasing. 
 The mind is so active, that it must have work ; and, 
 if no other is offered, will prey upon itself." 
 
 Tremaine felt cruelly the force of all these obser- 
 vations ; but recollecting himself, he said, " I'm 
 afraid you did not like Mr. Fox." 
 
 " I liked Mr. Pitt's politics better," observed 
 Evelyn ; " but to say I did not like a man whose 
 uncommon force of mind, added to the most amiable 
 temper and cultivated taste, made him the admiration 
 and delight of his friends, would imply a want of 
 candour to which I cannot plead guilty. But why 
 do you mention him ? " 
 
 " He retired" said Tremaine. 
 
 " I doubt it," interrupted Evelyn. 
 
 " And yet he was perfectly happy ! " 
 
 " From the account of him I believe so," ob-
 
 TREMAINE. 147 
 
 served Evelyn ; " but it was because I also think he 
 did not retire, that I believe it." 
 
 "You surelv foriJjet St Anne's Hill?" 
 
 " Not at all ; but St. Anne*s Hill was but twenty 
 miles from town, and a debate called him whenever 
 his party pleased. In short, he retired like our 
 favourite Horace Walpole, who was always moraliz- 
 ing on the world, but never out of it, and who made 
 himself business at Strawberry Hill."* 
 
 " You forget," said Tremaine, " Mr. Fox's 
 novels and geraniums.' 
 
 " And you," replied Evelyn, "his great pursuit 
 in Greek. Now a great pursuit is business ; he 
 therefore earned his novels and geraniums. Quod 
 erat demonstrandum^ 
 
 " Very methodical," cried Tremaine. 
 
 " I am a man of method, you know," replied his 
 friend ; " but as to Mr. Fox, you forgot, too, he had 
 a partner in retirement. In truth, however, this 
 retirement was only temporary ; a mere fit of dis- 
 gust, because people would not take his advice. 
 
 * Note by the Editor : — One would suppose (but the date of the 
 publication disproves it) that Evelyn had already seen those delightful 
 letters to Mr. Montague, in one of which Lord Orford says, " Oh ! 
 with what joy could I bid adieu to loving and hating ! to crowds, 
 public places, great dinners^ visits, and above all to the House of 
 Commons ! But pray mind, when I retire, it shall be only to Lon- 
 don and Strawberry Hill." 
 
 H 2
 
 148 tRemainE. 
 
 This in a less great man would have been called 
 sulking. No ! he did not retire, and he died in 
 harness after alL" 
 
 '' You surely mistake," said Tremaine. " His 
 country recalled him, and it was against his will." 
 
 " I do not know that !" persisted Evelyn ; " at 
 least his philosophy was soon and hastily laid aside, 
 and at any rate the expectation, the hope of that 
 recall, might feed him in solitude. — No, no ! you 
 must on every account bring some other example 
 than that of Mr. Fox." 
 
 " The late Dean of Christ Church," said Tfe- 
 maine. 
 
 ^\Nemo nisi post mortem beatus,^^ returned Evelyn ; 
 " the Dean still lives, and if you think he lives with- 
 out rule or method, that he does not impose force 
 upon his time, and not only make business^ but 
 engage in the very trammels of it, you are very 
 much mistaken. By the bye," added the Doctor, 
 as if suddenly recollecting something, and looking 
 at his watch, " the mention of ' business ' reminds 
 me that it is time I should tell you our business here 
 so early." 
 
 " Why, if it is at all pressing, I think it is time," 
 replied Tremaine ; but pray what is it ? " 
 
 " Neither more nor less than to get you to ride 
 
 over to B , to meet your brother magistrates in 
 
 their quarter sessions assembled."
 
 TRE3IAINE. 149 
 
 Tremaine seemed electrified, and uttered an ex- 
 clamation amounting almost to a shriek ; such as we 
 may have witnessed in a well-graced actor of Lord 
 Ogleby, when Sterling asks him if he meant to 
 maiTy his sister Heidelberg. 
 
 " My brother magistrates ! quarter sessions !" 
 cried he, shrinking as he spoke, " what can possibly 
 make you think of such a thing ? " 
 
 " I cry your mercy," answered Evelyn, ** I 
 thought you had been in the commission ! " 
 
 « Why, yes ! " 
 
 " And do you not mean to act ? Have you not 
 acted in Northamptonshire ?" 
 
 " In some few instances I have." 
 
 " Why then, my friend, is it so wonderful that I 
 should think an acting magistrate should do an act 
 of magistracy ? Do not, I beseech you, be affronted 
 if I suppose, that what you have promised the 
 world to do, you will not do by halves ; and there- 
 fore I ask you again, to come away with me to the 
 adjourned sessions for the West-Riding of the county 
 of York.",. 
 
 It was in vain that Tremaine protested he was 
 not well enough. Miss Evelyn said it would make 
 him better ; Jenkins, too, waited with accounts and 
 plans ; — but that he himself was glad to put of^i 
 though Evelyn opposed it, till he heard that it really 
 did not press for any particular day ; and he allowed
 
 150 TR£MA1NE. 
 
 the excuse the rather, because his wish was to make 
 Tremaine acquainted with his colleagues in the 
 commission, many of whom were concerned in, and 
 all might assist or retard the enclosure. 
 
 " You use me like a child," said Tremaine, ring- 
 ing for his horses. 
 
 They were soon mounted; the day was fresh, 
 Georgina looked charmingly, and for a time the 
 Man of Refinement forgot his spleen. 
 
 CHAP. XXL 
 
 DELIGHTS AND DISGUSTS. 
 
 " I think there's ne'er a man in Christendom 
 " Can lesser hide his hate or love than he." 
 
 SHAKSPEAi4E. 
 
 " Thou hast appointed Justices of the Peace, 
 " To call poor men before them, about matters 
 " They are not able to answer." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The pensiveness of Tremaine's character was al- 
 ways inclined to unbend in the company of women
 
 TREMAINE. I5l 
 
 —particularly of gentlewomen. With all his lofti- 
 ness, and even his disappointments (as he called 
 them) as to human nature, the sex had a credit with 
 him of which he had not yet been able to deprive 
 them. There was hence a sort of natural gallantry, 
 a softness in his manner to women, which his 
 fastidiousness in other respects only made the more 
 agreeable. 
 
 To be sure, nothing could be so easily forfeited 
 where not deserved by the object ; and as gentle- 
 ness and feminine dignity were what he adored 
 when he found them, so a look, or a word, much 
 more a gesture, that denoted their opposites, froze 
 him, or warmed him, according to the case, into 
 indifference or indignation. Where this, however, 
 was not disclosed, his disposition was, as I liave 
 said, to give them credit for those sweet proprieties, 
 which, added to their soft natures, give them a 
 right to demand of the most rugged of us, kindness, 
 protection, and attentive respect. 
 
 Of all these was Tremaine's manner made up 
 whenever a woman was concerned, provided only 
 she had not forfeited her claim to them by any con- 
 duct of her own ; and to see Georgina, was to call 
 into its full life this disposition and manner of Tre- 
 maine. It had long indeed been latent, but was 
 not dead; and its very suspension made it burst 
 forth with an animation, which only marked it the
 
 152 TREMAINE. 
 
 more in the mind of her to whom it was now di- 
 rected. 
 
 The whole character and appearance of his pre- 
 sent companion denoted that modest openness, 
 which, added to grace and real beauty, is so irresis- 
 tible to the heart of man. Frankness was the pre- 
 dominating feature of her character ! but frankness 
 so tempered by dignity, without effort, that every 
 thing seemed to spring from nature herself, — nature 
 in her sweetest and chastest attire ! 
 
 Such a character never failed to interest and com- 
 mand Tremaine's attention ; it became a study with 
 him wherever he found it, till frequent failures and 
 disappointments, some of which have been related, 
 made his mind collapse, and for a long time closed 
 his heart. 
 
 Totally unconscious that she was the object of his 
 critical observation, uninformed even of his history, 
 except that she had heard from her father much of 
 his worth, as well as of his disgusts, Miss Evelyn 
 acted towards him as she did towards her father 
 himself, the only difference being a little more 
 ceremony in her manner to him. In other respects 
 she was perfectly unconstrained, and joined freely 
 in conversation, or lost herself in silent pleasurcj as 
 subjects arose, or the beautiful scenery of Tremaine's 
 park prompted. 
 
 Being very fond of riding, and managing her
 
 T REMAINS. 153 
 
 horse with uncommon grace, she challenged him 
 with her father to canter up a long hollow bottom 
 of elastic turf, and gave the word to stop, when an 
 avenue of venerable elms called, as she said, for a 
 slower and more contemplative pace. 
 
 Yet all was gentle, though sportive ; nothing ob- 
 trusive: and whenever the gentlemen talked, her 
 attention to the conversation could only be equal- 
 led by the evident intelligence with which she 
 gave it. 
 
 Tremaine, on his part, exerted himself, and the 
 exertion alone gave him spirit and power. He had 
 a rich fund of quotation, which pleased Georgina's 
 taste; and whenever she was pleased, she was at 
 no pains to conceal her pleasure. Could this fail 
 to call up corresponding feelings in Tremaine? 
 No ! his eyes and fine features, his whole carriage 
 and manner seemed recreated; and what the most 
 brilliant females of London and Paris had for years 
 been unable to effect, was once again produced, in 
 a few minutes, by a simple country girl. 
 
 He was in fact at his ease, very animated, and in 
 danger of becoming enthusiastic, when he checked 
 himself by thinking of much of the past. Insensi- 
 bly he dropped behind, leaving Evelyn to engross 
 his daughter; and having now left the beautiful 
 precincts of Woodington and Evelyn Hall, and 
 come to the high road, his new and so pleasing study, 
 H 5
 
 154 TREMAINE. 
 
 as well as his more moody recollections of the past, 
 were all lost in the severe annoyance of the dust and 
 heat, to say nothing of the familiarity of the nu- 
 merous passengers. 
 
 Unfortunately, the passengers made no account 
 of him or his refinement ; they did not even know 
 him: which he would have thought lucky, had it 
 not given occasion to many stops and introduc- 
 tions, which Evelyn assured him were absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 All this soon called him back to himself; that is, 
 that self which time and the chances of the world 
 had made him. 
 
 The horrors of the sessions, which Georgina had 
 forced him to forget, were now all before him, and 
 he lost in their contemplation the whole train of 
 those refined ideas, which the solitude of his beau- 
 tiful park and the grace of his lovely companion 
 had given him. 
 
 And, in truth, the scene was not one to inspire a 
 man of refinement, or any one else of delicate nerves, 
 with pleasure. To one of retired habits, even 
 though not under the influence of any particular 
 disgust, it might have brought the reverse. Yet 
 there was a sort of bustling jollity in it, which some 
 might even have called gaiety, and which, by many 
 at least, might have been thought not unamusing. 
 Those, in particular, fond of contemplating human
 
 TREMAINE. 155 
 
 character in its different shapes, perhaps in its 
 coarser varieties, might here have found abundant 
 food for their speculations. 
 
 We will not precisely say, with a late eminent 
 chief magistrate, that the Court of King's Bench is 
 the place where the world may be most advanta- 
 geously studied ; but it is at least certain, that in the 
 admirable ordeal of an English court of justice, and 
 the various scenes connected with it, is to be found 
 a touchstone for the being called Man, of which few 
 can resist the power. Of all the exhibitions of him, 
 perhaps there is none so calculated to shew him as 
 he is, — whether in his windings and turnings, or his 
 straight-forward capacity — his vices, virtues, or abili- 
 ties — his little or great vanities — as the witness-box. 
 The confessional-chair of the catholic church is 
 nothing to it. 
 
 Proceeding all to this field of display, the road 
 was covered with the various actors that were to take 
 part in the scene. The sessions, indeed, promised to 
 be uncommonly crowded, and our travellers passed, 
 or were passed by, all descriptions of his majesty's 
 subjects. Some went to do, some to be undone ; 
 some to demand, some to suffer justice. Magistrates 
 on horseback, or in their old post-chaises, which, 
 except on such occasions, or to church when it 
 rained, slumbered the rest of the year in their peace- 
 ful coach-houses. Churchwardens, carrying books
 
 156 TREMAINE. 
 
 of rates, discussing on a round trot the merits and 
 chances of the various appeals against them, and 
 perhaps still more the charms of the dinner that 
 was to reward their fatigues at the parish expense. 
 Overseers conducting paupers, who had presumed to 
 marry in settlements not their own ; and constables 
 gibing with damsels who, without being married 
 at all, had presumed to forestal the consequences of 
 that happy state. 
 
 Many were the attornies in smug brown bobs, or 
 Brutus crops, and trowsers of Russia duck, as their 
 ages and grave or dandy habits decided. Their 
 clerks with saddlebags, in which there was often 
 more papers than linen ; and young counsel in their 
 gigs, with portmanteaus, in which there was much 
 more linen than papers. 
 
 Oh! for the pen ofYorick or Fielding, that might 
 describe the various emotions and passions, the lines, 
 the shades, and the contortions of countenar ce, 
 which shewed themselves in the motley group that 
 entered the town at the same time with Evelyn and 
 his companions. A physiognomist might have had 
 excellent practice, in unmasking hearts, which, gene- 
 rally locked up, were in this critical time surprised 
 into a little honesty, not indeed as to their actions, 
 but the discovery of their thoughts, spite of all laud- 
 able endeavours to conceal them. 
 
 Here might be seen an unfortunate churl, deter-
 
 TREMAINE. 157 
 
 mined on indulging the blackness of his revenge, 
 and excusing it to God and himself under the name 
 of justice; there another, balancing whether it were 
 best to marr}', or pay more than he could afford, or 
 go to prison ; a third revolving the chances of being 
 allowed an extravagant bill of costs ; a fourth, in 
 agitation whether a footpath, of which he had robbed 
 tlie public, in order to make his own place more 
 " melancholy and gentlemanlike," would be taken 
 from him by the bench ; a fifth, in fear and trem- 
 bling whether, if he swore the peace against his 
 helpmate, as he meditated, the protection he might 
 gain would be a greater good, than the increased ill- 
 humour he must suffer for it would be an evil. 
 
 One gentleman who passed them, Veli-mounted, 
 and who had his eye on a neighbouring borough, 
 was evidently meditating a speech. Another, who 
 saluted Tremaine, on being introduced, so low that 
 he almost fell from his horse, was engaged, at the 
 time he came up, in solving the difficult point, 
 whether my lord, the cliairman, would bow to him 
 
 before justice B , his neighbour, or whether Sir 
 
 Marmaduke Crabtree, another neighbour, would 
 bow to him at all. 
 
 Amongst all these was Tremaine condemned to 
 mix, as soon as he got into the high road ; and the 
 horror of scenes still worse that were yet to come, 
 was not relieved by this specimen of their precursors.
 
 155 TREMAINE. 
 
 In this situation, his wonder was at its height in 
 beholding his friend, and even his friend's daughter, 
 not only not disturbed, but mingling with cheerful- 
 ness in the scene, and replying to numerous and 
 sometimes very homely greetings, with invariable 
 good-humour. This, and the dust and heat, made 
 him more saturnine than ever. He found himself 
 not well ; he wished he had not been in the com- 
 mission ; wished he had not come ; wished for even 
 Jenkins and his parchments, rather that be where he 
 was. 
 
 Miss Evelyn pitied, yet could not help rallying him'. 
 
 " Is it possible," said he, " that your father can 
 be pleased, and you not destroyed, by such scenes ?" 
 
 " I do not know that he is pleased," replied 
 Georgina, " but he is occupied, and thinks it his 
 duty; and I believe it does good, which is saying 
 every thing." 
 
 " And you ? " said Tremaine, inquiringly. 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot be ill where my father is well ; 
 and besides, we enjoy home the more on our return?" 
 
 " But this vile business is to last, I find, for two 
 days at least ; and really (with submission) I cannot 
 help wondering at your father for bringing you : it 
 can be neither fit for you, nor suitable to your taste, 
 to be plunged into such a crowd." 
 
 *' We don't mind it at the races," said Miss 
 Evelyn.
 
 TREMAINE. 159 
 
 " But to live at an inn, in the same room almost 
 with savages !" 
 
 " I am at a relation's in the town," she replied; 
 " but to tell the truth, whether it is that, like my 
 sex, I love gadding, or that I'm glad to see my father 
 so occupied and so useful, even if I were not so well 
 lodged I should be sorry to be left behind." 
 
 Tremaine brooded and sighed. He wondered that 
 there could be such a difference in tempers and 
 habits ; but could not help reflecting upon the hap- 
 piness of Evelyn, in having such a sweetener of life, 
 in such a daughter. 
 
 CHAP. xxn. 
 
 THE COURT. 
 
 " Though we are justices, doclois, and 
 *' Churchmen." — 
 
 SHAK.SPEARE. 
 
 As the court began late, being the first day, there 
 was a very full attendance, and Tremaine underwent 
 the ordeal of an hundred introductions, ninety-nine
 
 160 TREMAINE. 
 
 of which, at the very least, he thought unnecessary; 
 but having put himself into Evelyn's hands, he sub- 
 mitted in very despair. Having retired to an obscure 
 part of the court, he was annoyed by the chairman, 
 who, in more fashionable scenes in town, was his 
 old acquaintance, and who summoned him to take a 
 place close at his side ; a station to which his fortune 
 and family-consequence in the county gave him 
 every right. 
 
 Lord Bellenden, who thus presided, was a noble-^ 
 man of great personal respectability, remarkably 
 mild in his manners, and distinguished for integrity 
 and good sense. He had a great portion of what 
 Tremaine called misplaced industry; dedicating him- 
 self, in truth, to the interests of the riding of which 
 he was lord-lieutenant, and understanding and ad- 
 ministering the business of his useful and important 
 office, even in its minutiae, with ease to himself and 
 satisfaction to all. He found his reward in the re- 
 spect of his neighbours, and a content of mind which 
 asserted itself in a very benignant countenance, and 
 a plain but hearty mode of address. 
 
 Called upon, in the face of the whole court, to the 
 most conspicuous part of it, Tremaine was forced, 
 in self-defence, to condescend to survey his neigh- 
 bours, or, as he was shocked to hear them called, his 
 brother magistrates and colleagues in office. Nor 
 could he help being struck with the contrast to one
 
 TREMAINE. 161 
 
 another, which many of them exliibited. The plain 
 manners and appearance of the elder squires gave 
 some notion of the simple patriarchal character 
 which might still belong, if he pleased, to the Eng- 
 lish country gentleman. Not so their sons, who 
 thought the year misspent if they did not pass a con- 
 siderable part of it in London, where they actually 
 figured with dandy reputation, and were so engaged 
 by the charms of the toilette, that the old hereditary 
 charms of the stable were in a fair way of being 
 forgotten. 
 
 As all of these latter were purblind, their glasses, 
 directed towards the women, gave them too constant 
 occupation to attend to the business of the court; 
 and, by degrees, most of them glided off to parties at 
 billiards, or a trotting match made the day before ; 
 leaving the cases before them to the care of the 
 chairman, a few of the clergy, and a retired lawyer 
 or two, now become magistrates. 
 
 And here, reader, shall we, or not, lament the 
 total loss amongst us of that famed character, the 
 old English country squire ? Let no fine gentleman, 
 or man of refinement (whether in mere manners or 
 poHtics, or even in literature), bless himself at our 
 Gothic question, or suppose such a character beneath 
 the moralist's or critic's notice. Though it seems 
 to belong to the mere class of the " Fruges eonsumere 
 nat^' with all its apparent insignificance, its im-
 
 162 TREMAINE. 
 
 portant littlenesses, and even its coarseness and 
 tyranny, it has contrived (or it has been contrived for 
 it) to engage our dearest interest. Genius has in 
 fact consecrated it to fame, and painted it in 
 never-dying colours ; genius both delicate and 
 strong ; — for it has been thought worthy the most 
 amiable touches of Addison, and the sharpest chisel 
 of Fielding. But, ah ! these sleep in their graves ; 
 and could they revive, they would look in vain for 
 those traits in English life and manners, which in 
 Sir tloger, the Tory fox-hunter, and the better 
 understood, because less delicate Western, enabled 
 them to fix and fascinate the taste and fancy of every 
 age and every disposition. 
 
 None of these were here ; and even in the elder 
 squires, there was an air of knowledge of the world, 
 and of London manners, that destroyed all notion 
 of that rustic simplicity, which, from one end of the 
 island to the other, can now only be read of as a 
 thing past and gone. 
 
 If there was any stamp of originality, any sharp 
 protuberances of appearance, not rubbed down into 
 general fineness by a general collision with the world, 
 it was in some of the clerical magistrates, who came 
 full of importance, arrayed in full suits of rusty 
 black, and high- topped boots carefully tied over the 
 knee with garters of green ferret or wash-leather. 
 Their uncouthness, and the expression of their formal
 
 TREMAINE. 163 
 
 civilities to all their neighbours, shewed that, except 
 upon such occasions, they scarcely ever quitted their 
 parishes. 
 
 Tremaine, though his fortune and family were 
 well known and respected, felt himself isolated in a 
 place in which, however irksome to his fastidious- 
 ness, he could not help perceiving that the most 
 useful business was carried on; where good order 
 was strictly cultivated, and justice, on the whole, 
 thoroughly distributed. 
 
 Evelyn, too, had begged him to lay aside his 
 refinement, and bear with whatever might occur, at 
 least till he had appreciated it on a fair trial ; and 
 he insensibly became less fretful within himself. 
 He also did not fail to remark the deference which 
 all ranks (including even the counsel at the bar) 
 paid to every thing that fell from the lips of 
 Evelyn. 
 
 In one or two cases, however, which came from 
 his own immediate neighbourhood, where character 
 was concerned, he found himself appealed to by his 
 brother magistrates, and he felt obliged, though 
 ashamed to confess his utter ignorance on the 
 subject. He could only excuse himself on the score 
 of his absence from the country ; while Dr. Evelyn 
 made up for his want of information, and detailed 
 all that was desired, — which his daily activity fully 
 enabled him to do.
 
 164 treMaine. 
 
 Great questions arose upon a gaol, an infirmary, 
 and a county bridge. As possessing almost the 
 greatest property of any man in the court, Tremaine 
 was here particularly addressed. But he had scarcely 
 heard of them. His friend, however, took, or rather 
 was called to take a leading part ; and though there 
 was much opposition to many of his suggestions, 
 they were almost all carried by a considerable 
 majority. 
 
 CHAP. xxm. 
 
 THE DII^ER. 
 
 Though we are justices, doctors, and 
 Churchmen." — 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 From the court the Bench adjourned to dinner ; 
 and, reader, if thou hast ever had the good fortune 
 to feast thyself in the great room of a great inn in a 
 county town, enlarged by three or four rooms being 
 thrown into one, for the purpose of giving ample 
 space to " their worships," thou wilt figure to
 
 TREMAINE. 165 
 
 thyself the glories of the George, in its triumph over 
 the Fountain. 
 
 These two great powers had struggled for pre- 
 eminence for half-a-century ; and each with alter- 
 nate and temporary success. Many, indeed, had 
 been the painful discussions held by the nobility, 
 gentry, and reverend clergy of this far-famed 
 county, as to the respective merits of these power- 
 ful rivals; though it was generally observed, that, 
 according as Whiggism or Toryism prevailed in the 
 riding, the feasting was held to be best at the one 
 or the other. 
 
 It is not necessary to say more on this subject, 
 important as it is, nor to tell the reader how it 
 happened, that the George at present had got the 
 upper-hand. It is sufficient that it cost one doctor 
 of laws, three masters of arts, and two baronets, 
 two years' painful and persevering struggle, to ac- 
 complish this momentous revolution; which, after 
 all, had perhaps never been effected, if, in addition 
 to a continued flow of success to the British arms 
 abroad, the beef at the Fountain had not, during 
 three-quarters of a year, been, by the confession of 
 all, too little corned ! 
 
 Tlie landlord of the successful sign, in a new^ 
 coat of second cloth, with old silver buttons newly 
 brightened, upon which was impressed the image 
 which his sign professed to represent, had now
 
 166 TREMAINE. 
 
 twice announced that the greatest part of the dinner 
 smoked upon the table, and that they only waited 
 the approach of the chairman, to take up the fish ; 
 and this message was twice whispered to the chair, 
 through their worships on the right-hand of the 
 court (and, in fact, had produced the instant de- 
 parture of their said worships, in regular succession, 
 to the no small annoyance of their worships on the 
 left), before the chairman thought proper publicly to 
 announce the happy tidings. 
 
 This occasioned a considerable heart-burning; 
 for the favoured ones on the right-hand, who were 
 first entrusted with the secret, and had thus ob- 
 tained the best places at table, were almost all 
 government men, who had naturally got together 
 on the bench; while the unlucky party, v/ho had 
 as naturally adhered to one another on the other 
 side, glorified themselves in the name of Reformers. 
 
 Now, though the chairman was the most equi- 
 table of men, and had delayed promulgating the 
 important secret from no other reason than that he 
 was just at that moment in the act of finishing his 
 charge lo the jury, on which the imprisonment and 
 whipping of John Hodges, for stealing turkies, materi- 
 ally depended, — yet, as he was shrewdly suspected of 
 being less unfavourable to ministers than he hadheen, 
 and the landlord who had brought the message, and 
 the clerk of the peace who had forwarded it, were
 
 TREMAINE. l67 
 
 notorious Tories, nothing could persuade the oppo- 
 site pai'ty (whose profession, indeed, was systematic 
 suspicion) that this was any other than a foul con- 
 spiracy, to use undue influence in favour of the 
 friends of government, against the rights of the 
 people. 
 
 And so, in terms, and on his legs, it was repre- 
 sented to the noble chairman, by a gentleman known 
 by the name of Counsellor Gloom. 
 
 This worthy gentleman was neither more nor less 
 than a disappointed barrister, who, having no busi- 
 ness, but some fortune, had thought it better to look 
 after the last than wait upon the first, and had for 
 some time, therefore, retired upon his estate. Lord 
 Bellenden, contrary to the wishes of many of the 
 neighbouring gentlemen, had not thought it right 
 to refuse his request to be placed in the commission ; 
 which he repaid by seeking all occasions of opposing 
 his measures and opinions ; and so great was his 
 zeal, that his exertions seemed most agreeable to 
 himself when the occasion was most personal to 
 Lord B. 
 
 It was in vain that this nobleman, upon being 
 thus attacked, instantly suspended the operation of 
 carving, in which he was engaged, — to the great an- 
 noyance of the Reverend Dr. Juniper, the well-en- 
 dowed rector of Tremaine's parish at Woodington ; 
 who, though in nothing else, resembled in one point
 
 168 TREMAINE. 
 
 that celebrated character with whom all classical 
 readers are acquainted — we mean Parson Supple; 
 The resemblance consisted in being remarkable for 
 silence at dinner. In all other points we confess 
 there was little similitude; as the Doctor was in 
 possession of a fat living, and would never have 
 consented to go to Basingstoke to fetch his patron's 
 tobacco-box, even supposing so horrible a solecism 
 as that Mr. Tremaine could have indulged in so 
 filthy a thing. 
 
 This reverend gentleman had long waited for a 
 slice of smoking turbot, which, at last, was actually 
 on the chairman's spatula; and it was in vain that he 
 gave an example of candour, by speaking to order, 
 and observing, that however he might agree with his 
 honourable and learned friend, he thought his obser- 
 vations ill-timed. 
 
 The learned counsel persisted,— observing that for 
 his part he could not conceive any time like the time 
 present for such a question ; and adding, with a shake 
 (rf the head, that he did not wonder at the universal 
 corruption of the state, when many of his honourable 
 friends themselves, with whom in general he was 
 proud to act, had so far forgotten the spirit of their 
 ancestors as on any consideration to delay the dis- 
 cussion of the rights of Englishmen. 
 
 This speech was cheered by half a dozen of the 
 discontented side, particularly by a thin, jejune-
 
 TREMAINE. 169 
 
 looking young man, a physician, who had studied 
 more of Price and Priestley, and the philosophers of 
 the French Encyclopedia, than Boerhave or Syden- 
 ham, and who offered himself as seconder to any 
 motion his honourable and learned friend might 
 make upon the subject. 
 
 This little disturbance (which, however, had 
 awakened Tremaine into observation), being com- 
 posed, by the postponement of the consideration of 
 its subject till after dinner, the business of dinner 
 went on in good earnest. 
 
 As soon as it was over, however, and the health of 
 the King was proposed, the- disgusted counsellor, 
 having marshalled a small but faithful band, began 
 the attack, by observing, '' that though his Majesty 
 had not a more loyal subject than himself, yet there 
 were rights more dear to Englishmen than even the 
 health of the King" (a great groan from most, with 
 " hear ! hear ! " from the physician) ; " that privilege, 
 and equality of treatment, were among them, and 
 that therefore, though the toast ought certainly to 
 be drunk, he expressly rose to urge its postponement, 
 until the great affront that had been put upon his 
 part of the table had been investigated, and its 
 autliors ascertained and properly censured." This 
 was seconded by the physician, but a shew of hands 
 deciding in the negative by a great majority, the 
 standing toasts were all drank, and Sir Marmaduke 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 ITO TREMAINE. 
 
 Crabtree, who was in the House of Commons, rose 
 to move that the accusation should be voted frivolous 
 and vexatious. This produced a short debate, which 
 might have been longer, had not Evelyn shewed the 
 ridicule of the whole proceeding so forcibly, and at 
 the same time so good-humouredly, that it dropt* 
 The conversation then subsided into a discussion of 
 the cases that had occurred in court, mixed with ex- 
 cursions into the game and militia laws, sporting, 
 and other topics of the same laudable nature. 
 
 Foreign politics Vere of course not forgotten, for 
 there had been a partial discourse at the upper end 
 of the table, in which the retreat of Buonaparte to 
 Elba was discussed. Sir Marmaduke, who was 
 staunch for government, said it was all over with 
 him ; that he at first had been for putting him to 
 death, but that it was better to let him live in dis- 
 grace, in a place where he might always be seized if 
 necessary. 
 
 " That's just what my newspaper says," observed 
 a Mr. Placid, who sat near him, and who was a gen- 
 tleman remarkable for his great deference to all his 
 superiors, particularly his wife. 
 
 Now Sir Marmaduke valued himself on his large 
 estate, and not a little, when among his brother 
 squires, upon his seat in parliament ; and he besides 
 looked down upon Placid, not merely because he 
 had not half his number of acres, but because he was
 
 TREMAINE. 171 
 
 a timid, subtle man, who lived almost entirely at 
 home. 
 
 Not liking the observation, therefore, he rather 
 roughly answered, " Sir, it is my own opinion. I 
 think for myself, and don't gather my notions from 
 newspapers." 
 
 " Nor I," said Placid, " only it is wonderful how 
 all the newspaper says comes right." 
 
 " No newspaper knows any thing at all about the 
 matter," observed Sir Marmaduke, in a tone of sove- 
 reign contempt (but so as to make it uncertain whe- 
 ther he meant it for Placid or the newspaper), " that 
 is, except as government chooses to tell them." 
 
 " So I suppose," ventured Placid, who seemed 
 afraid, yet resolved to try his strength in a public 
 conversation. " I am sure I cannot pretend to know 
 things as you do, Sir Marmaduke." 
 
 " Why no," continued the baronet, relaxing, 
 " there you are right; I am what you may call at 
 the fountain-head, and see the minister every day in 
 the house, and speak to him too whenever I wish it ; 
 and I told him the last time I saw him, that I thought 
 the Emperor of Russia was a great deal too magna- 
 nimous, and courted popularity too much, like one 
 of us members, I said, and that the French would 
 soon presume upon it." 
 
 " Dear me," exclaimed Placid, " that^s all in the 
 newspapers, too." 
 
 1 2
 
 172 TREMAINE, 
 
 The baronet looked ferocious, and damned the 
 newspapers; when Placid, in a humble tone, asked 
 his opinion of the value of Elba; adding, that he 
 heard it was remarkably strong. 
 
 " Why look you, sir," said the baronet, half 
 angry, half pleased with the conceit that had just 
 struck him, " what signifies a strong island against 
 an English ship of the line ? and as for its fertility, 
 I am a fox-hunter, though you, I believe, never saw 
 a hound in your life — and I should be glad to know 
 if there are any good fox whins in the whole island 
 of Elba ? and if there are not, pray what is its value ? 
 answer me that!" 
 
 Placid, drawing in, protested he knew nothing 
 about the matter. 
 
 "So I thought," cried Sir Marmaduke, "and 
 therefore I think we had better talk of something we 
 all of us understand." 
 
 The tone in which this was uttered, was quite 
 hint enough for Placid to discover he had gone too 
 far. He had satisfied his ambition in venturing to 
 talk to Sir Marmaduke in public, and by no means 
 wished to offend him. He was in fact one of those 
 beings, sometimes J;o be met with, who have much 
 awkward shyness but no real modesty ; whose vanity 
 is perpetually pushing them beyond their place, into 
 which they are made to shrink in a moment, when
 
 TREMAINE. 173 
 
 the silly flattery by which they hope to succeed is 
 refused or repelled. 
 
 8ir Marmaduke then turned to Tremaine, for 
 whom he had some respect, on account of his 
 large property, but chiefly as an old member of 
 parliament, and very familiarly asked him why 
 they had seen nothing of him that winter at St. 
 Stephen's ? 
 
 Tremaine was annoyed at the suddenness of a 
 question, by no means agreeable in itself; he had 
 set upon tenter-hooks during the whole conversation, 
 which gave him no liking for his overbearing neigh- 
 bour, and he shrank from the interrogation with a 
 disgust very little concealed. 
 
 Evelyn, however, interposed, and said, 
 
 " It is not every one, Sir Marmaduke, who has 
 a constitution that can bear late nights, and hot 
 houses, like you." 
 
 " Why true ! I never miss a division," remarked 
 the baronet, complacently. 
 
 "And what have you got by it?" asked Dr. 
 Juniper, who had hitherto been silent. 
 
 " That's neither here nor there," answered Sir 
 Marmaduke, nodding significantly. 
 
 " Mr. Tremaine has not had good health, and 
 has lately been detained here, upon very particular 
 business, in which he hopes you may, for you can 
 help him," said Dr. Evelyn.
 
 174 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Ashow ?" asked the baronet, with an air of dignity. 
 
 Evelyn then begged to change places with Tre- 
 maine, and detailed in a few words the interest 
 Tremaine had in the inclosure, and the assistance 
 which Sir Marmaduke's consent and support would 
 give him. 
 
 " And why does not he ask it himself?" de- 
 manded the baronet, loud enough for the party to 
 hear him. 
 
 " He is a reserved man," said Evelyn, " and is at 
 present not in good health." 
 
 " He is on the wrong side," observed the baronet, 
 " and calls himself a Whig — now I call myself 
 a Whig, too, but it is an old one, for I am for the 
 King, and for Hanover, and you know at the begin- 
 ning of the French revolution — " 
 
 Evelyn trembled, for he was in the jaws of a gulpb 
 from which he knew he should not soon escape, 
 when luckily louder voices, and disputes growing 
 warmer and warmer, close by them, for that time 
 saved him. 
 
 The baronet, however, who really respected Eve- 
 lyn, exclusive of his being on the same side in politics, 
 and all the country interests (no small ingredient), 
 finding that his own advantage or disadvantage was 
 not at all concerned in it, promised that consent to 
 the Doctor for his friend, which he certainly would 
 have refused to his friend himself.
 
 TREMAINE. 175 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 PRIVACY. 
 
 But that your royalty holds idleness your subject, 
 I should take you for idleness itself." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " If this is Evelyn's world in which and/br which 
 we are born, ' ' said Tremaine to himself, the morning 
 after he got home ; — " if these are the charms of 
 society" (and he sauntered up and down the great 
 dining-room, in a meditating, picktooth sort of a 
 manner), " / at least have no wish to return to it." 
 
 " No !" he continued, taking up a Horace, where 
 he bids adieu to the ' Fumum strepitusque Rottkb,' 
 " every one has his own maxims and pattern of life, 
 and be thou mine, thou choice and refined spirit — thou 
 knewest how to live with 7nen, though not perhaps," 
 : — (and he paused, taking a stride or two before he 
 finished the sentence) — "not with country justices." 
 
 At this moment Jenkins appeared. 
 
 " Not now, my good friend," said the refined 
 master, " I am at present too much at my ease to 
 interrupt it with trash."
 
 176 TREMAINE. 
 
 " No !'* persisted he (gently pushing the steward 
 out of the room, and coming back to his chair, as if 
 he had done a great feat), " such tranquillity, after 
 such a storm, shall not be ruffled again but by my 
 own fault." 
 
 The door, in closing upon Jenkins, seemed to 
 close upon all that Tremaine could fear, and left him 
 in possession of all he professed to wish for himself. 
 
 The sun blazed full upon the garden-door, at 
 which he stopt at almost every turn, alternately 
 gazing at the glories it presented, and again com- 
 muning with the agreeable heathen he was so fond 
 of. His nerves had never been so little irritated. 
 
 " I know not how, or why," said he aloud, and 
 looking abroad, " but solitude seems to have pecu- 
 liar charms for me this morning." 
 
 " What will you give me, and I'll tell you both 
 the how and the why," said Evelyn, stealing in 
 behind him. 
 
 " I'm afraid it will baffle even your philosophy," 
 said his friend, shaking hands with him. 
 
 " No ! it confirms it all," replied Evelyn, "for It 
 proves my favourite tenet of the necessity of earn- 
 ing our tranquillity. You have earned it for a little 
 while, by the two days' sacrifice you made to duty. 
 It was a very painful one, I allow," continued he, 
 perceiving that Tremaine looked dissentingly ; " but, 
 upon the whole, you behaved well, and for all your
 
 TREMAINE. 177 
 
 sour looks, ' my dukedom to a beggarly denier' but 
 your present placidity is owing entirely to the inter- 
 ruption there has been to the sameness of an un- 
 occupied life." 
 
 " I deny the unoccupied," answered Tremaine, 
 glancing at his Horace ; " and as to the sameness, I 
 also deny that it can possibly flow the better for such 
 an interruption." 
 
 " That babbling brook yonder," observed Evelyn, 
 looking out, " contradicts you better than I can : 
 you see its natural flow is like the placid Arar, which 
 you, and I, and Caesar before us, have noticed and 
 admired." 
 
 *' Truce with your learning," exclaimed Tremaine; 
 " for what has all this lo do with solitude ? " 
 
 '' An illustration merely," said the Doctor, " the 
 first that came to hand, but none the worse for that. 
 You see the three or four little rocks, or rather 
 mere stones, in the bottom of the brook, that impede 
 its natural gentleness ; and you also see how much 
 the faster, how much more brisk, and lively, and 
 petulant it flows ; with what vivacity it sings, as it 
 were, with joy, as it rattles from stone to stone, and 
 how its increased rapidity continues for almost half 
 a furlong, all in consequence of the little struggle to 
 get free." 
 
 " You are quite poetic this morning," said Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 I 5
 
 178 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Only a little oratorical," answered the Doctor : 
 " but in good truth it speaks a volume. The sessions 
 are the rock" — 
 
 " On which I split," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Too common-place," observed Evelyn, " and 
 not correct either ; for instead of splitting, I am sadly 
 out if they have not sent you more merrily on your 
 voyage." 
 
 " You might as well duck me in the horsepond, 
 and say I was the happier,'* retorted Tremaine. 
 
 " Perhaps a better remedy than all," replied the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " But seriously, my old friend," pursued the 
 fastidious recluse, " do you yourself think the scenes 
 we went through agreeable ? " 
 
 " That is not the point," answered Evelyn ; " I 
 do not think physic agreeable, but yet I am forced 
 sometimes to take it." 
 
 " Then you own a bench of justices are a dose of 
 physic" 
 
 " It is for my purpose to do so," rejoined the 
 practical moralist, " for physic makes me enjoy my- 
 self after it is over, and so do the sessions." 
 
 " Then you had no pleasure ; and if your mind 
 had been in health, you would not have visited 
 them?" 
 
 " Not absolutely so." 
 
 " With your tastes, how could it be otherwise ?"
 
 TREMAINE. 179 
 
 " We did good," replied Evelyn, "and that was 
 a palpable gain." 
 
 " This may be very true," said Tremaine; "but 
 you must allow that most of the people whom we 
 were compelled to associate with were quizzes ; and 
 I must laugh at a quiz wherever I find him." 
 
 " Have a care that he does not laugh at you," 
 answered Evelyn ; " and indeed I question very 
 much whether a hale constitution, and hearty though 
 boisterous cheerfulness, have not a thousand times 
 more reason to laugh, than a splenetic mind in a 
 body sick with refinement." 
 
 " You are cruel," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Only a faithful friend," replied Evelyn; "be- 
 sides, I'm jealous for the honour of the cloth, and 
 my brother magistrates; and as we slave without 
 reward, to keep you in security, depend upon it 
 the world will give us our due, though a fine gen- 
 tleman refuse it. We ask who this fine gentleman 
 is? what right he has to despise us? and we find, 
 perhaps, that it is founded upon his wearing boots 
 with white tops instead of brown, and being per- 
 fectly idle while we work." 
 
 " My dear friend," said Tremaine, "you cannot 
 suspect me of alluding to you !" 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I am no better than those to 
 whom you did allude ; perhaps inferior to them. 
 Many of them are worthy, some of them wise, all
 
 180 TREMAINE* 
 
 with a certain cultivation of intellect; uncouthness 
 (where they are uncouth) soon wears off; and depend 
 upon it, real usefulness must in the end meet with its 
 reward, in real respectability." 
 
 Tremaine felt pushed — but rallying, exclaimed, 
 " what would you say to Dr. Juniper passing up 
 St. James's Street, while White's or Boodle's were 
 full of fashionable critics ? ' ' 
 
 *' Why though fashion is arbitrary enough," an- 
 swered Evelyn, " she yet binds those only who choose 
 to acknowledge her laws; now what if these grave 
 personages were to laugh at fashion, as much as 
 fashion could for the life of her laugh at them V 
 
 " Impossible!" said Tremaine. 
 
 " Not only possible, but, I believe, very true : for, 
 not being one of the sect^ they may at least despise as 
 much as they are despised." 
 
 Tremaine smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " And yet for all that smile of contempt, it is the 
 plain account," continued the Doctor; "and the 
 honest sailor, who laughed at the Frenchman, for 
 calling a hat a chapeau, was not more impotent in 
 his criticism, than the critics you mention would 
 be towards persons who are not their subjects. It 
 is only the votaries of a particular deity, who can 
 be hurt at having their incense refused; and a 
 Protestant might as well be mortified at being re- 
 fused holy water by the Pope, as that an unfashion-
 
 TREMAINE. 181 
 
 able person, who thinks of higher, or even only of 
 different things, should feel any thing from the sneer 
 of a petit-maitre'^ 
 
 " Very sententious, and very fine in theory," said 
 Tremaine, " but always contradicted in practice : for 
 however bold we all are in our closets and our 
 gardens (here the two disputants insensibly had 
 strolled into the garden), however firm we may feel 
 among our parishioners and our clowns, I fear the 
 world resumes its hold upon us the moment we 
 return to it : and though you have naturally the 
 maintien noble belonging to your family, you your- 
 self, my dear Doctor — " 
 
 "Would be quizzed/' interrupted Evelyn, "in 
 St. James's Street; and you yourself would be 
 afraid to w^alk by White's with me ; — is that what 
 you would say ? " 
 
 "Not exactly the last, at least not now, whatever 
 I might have been ten years ago." 
 
 " But the first ?" said Evelyn. 
 
 " Why, if you did happen to be quizzed, I should 
 like to know how, with all your wisdom, you would 
 bear it," said Tremaine. 
 
 " I once was in that most trying situation," said 
 Evelyn, drily. 
 
 Now, amongst Tremaine's weaknesses, we have 
 not concealed his love of fashion, spite of ten thou- 
 sand professions, which all went to level it at the
 
 182 TREMAINE. 
 
 feet of philosophy. Often had he been known to 
 say, that a wise man was always independent of a 
 thing so fleeting, so intrinsically insignificant ; yet 
 no man more accurately than himself exacted, and 
 paid the full measure of consideration which it de- 
 manded. Born a man of quality, though born also 
 for something better, he gave a consequence in the 
 world to a thousand things, which in his closet he 
 said were of no consequence at ail. To be quizzed, 
 much more to be what is called cut by any one, 
 never, indeed, entered his contemplation ; but had 
 it so happened, tKough by a duke, or royalty itself, 
 it would have been a crime Icbscb majestatis, never to 
 be forgiven. 
 
 With this disposition, he was not unobservant of 
 that tyra,nnous power which certain sprigs of fashion, 
 and certain men of wit, in the fashionable clubs, 
 exercise over every body else, in all the points that 
 are deemed legitimate objects of quizzing. Their 
 despotism is so great, that not even he stopt to 
 ascertain its real nature, or how it came to be 
 acquired. It was enough that all bowed, or seemed 
 to bow to it ; and he had himself sat sufficiently 
 often in the window at White's, to conceive almost 
 as high an idea of its power, as a judge has of the 
 dignity of the bench. 
 
 His detractors (for he had them) went, indeed, so 
 far as to say, the only man for whom he ever shewed
 
 TREMAINE. 183 
 
 any real deference was a certain beau, who, spite of 
 all his want of birth, fortune, and connection, had, 
 by the force of a masterly genius, acquired such an 
 ascendancy over the dandies, as to be called their 
 sovereign. 
 
 It is certain this beau had not spared Tremaine, 
 who, he said, with all his claims to reputation (which 
 on the whole he was disposed to allow), had yet an 
 original defect in his education, in having studied 
 the law. It was observed that Tremaine not only 
 forgave this piece of temerity, but conceived a high 
 respect for the genius, abilities, and powers of him 
 who was guilty of it, and there was a sort of fashion- 
 able alliance between them ever afterwards. 
 
 From all this, he was curious to hear the Doctor's 
 answer to his question, how he would bear quizzing 
 at White's? 
 
 They had now reached the lawn, and had fallen 
 into a sort of lounging pace. 
 
 " I think," said the Doctor, with dry gravity, 
 looking at his boots, and switching them with his 
 whip, " I think I'm pretty well, even now, though 
 an oldish sort of a person ; and if I were this mo- 
 ment to pass through St. James's Street, I really 
 don't see the right which my Lord A. or B. would 
 have to laugh at me ; at least I might, with some 
 exertion of philosophy, bear it — perhaps even laugh 
 at them."
 
 184 TUEMAINE. 
 
 " Oh ! you are perfectly well," said Tremaine, 
 '* and with your dignitary's hat, might even com- 
 mand respect." 
 
 " Fm afraid you flatter ; but give me leave to ask, 
 what would be the effect if I were to appear in a 
 grenadier's cap? " 
 
 " You would be — not quizzed, but hooted." 
 
 " And why more than Lord A. himself, who 
 wears his in the same place every time he is on 
 guard ? " 
 
 " He is in his place," replied Tremaine ; " yait 
 would be out of it." 
 
 " Exactly so ; and you see, therefore, it is the 
 being in and out of one's place, and not this or 
 that appearance, that exposes one to be legitimately 
 quizzed." 
 
 " Legitimately quizzed? " exclaimed Tremaine. 
 
 " Yes ! you see I give the subject all scientific 
 dignity ; and, in truth, it is quite important enough 
 to rank among the sciences." 
 
 " I'm afraid y(m are now quizzing wie," said 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " Far from it : I only wished to give due honour 
 to what seemed to you of such importance. To 
 proceed then. I hinted that, for quizzing to take 
 effect, there must be two parties, the agent and 
 patient, the quizzer and quizzee." 
 
 " Scientific, indeed ! " replied Tremaine.
 
 TKEMAINE. 185 
 
 " But," continued Evelyn, " there must also be 
 yet something inherent in both parties for the suc- 
 cess of the enterprize; something like wit, or at 
 least some personal, or seemingly personal supe- 
 riority in the quizzer, and some pre-disposition, or 
 rather pre~adaption in the quizzee, to allow that he 
 is quizzed." 
 
 " I admire your precision," said Tremaine. 
 
 "Well then," proceeded Evelyn, "what if the 
 quizzee (wrapt in his virtue and a good surtout) 
 not only deny to himself the assumed superiority of 
 the quizzer, but feel himself the superior of the 
 two ? " 
 
 '^ Give me an illustration," said Tremaine. 
 
 " The gay courtier in King Charles the First's 
 time," answered Evelyn ; *' he who piqued himself 
 so much upon his fine clothes ; and because he had 
 a better tailor, thought himself a better man than 
 Oliver Cromwell." 
 
 '' You mean Sir Philip Warwick/' said Tremaine, 
 '• and I remember the passage: but what has it to 
 do with quizzing ? " 
 
 " A great deal," replied Evelyn ; " for in the 
 place I allude to, he was the quizzer, and Oliver 
 the quizzee. ' We courtiers/ he says, ' valued our- 
 selves much upon our good clothes ; and when I 
 first saw Oliver, he seemed a gentleman very ordi- 
 narily clad, in a plain suit^ made^ as it should seem.
 
 186 TREMAINE. 
 
 by an ill country tailor; his linen not very clean, 
 his hat without a hatband, and his sword stuck on 
 awkwardly/ Sir Philip says of himself, that he 
 then vainly thought himself a courtly young gentle- 
 man, and was here evidently quizzing the man who 
 afterwards became his master; for I remember he 
 goes on to say, * And yet I lived to see this very 
 person (having had a better tailor), and when I 
 was his prisoner at Whitehall, appear in my eyes 
 of a very comely presence/ Notwithstanding this 
 quiz of him, Oliver, according to the quizzer him- 
 self, was very much hearkened to, and, as I humbly 
 conceive, did not care one pinch of snuiF for the 
 sneers of Sir Philip at his country tailor." 
 
 " You have a strange way of bringing in your 
 reading!" said Tremaine. " But I should like to 
 have something still more practical. You were 
 going to tell me how you felt when you thought 
 yourself quizzed. Come, let us have the time, 
 place, and parties. As to the fairness of the ac- 
 count, that I think I can depend on." 
 
 " I have no interest in giving any other," said 
 Evelyn. " As to time, then, it was twenty years 
 ago; as to place, the very spot we have just been 
 talking of; and the parties were the very people you 
 quote as so redoubtable." 
 
 " Well ! your feelings ? for at five-and-twenty, 
 I do not apprehend they were the same as now."
 
 T RE MAINE. 187 
 
 " Certainly not. — 
 
 * Lenit albescens animos capillus, 
 
 * Litium et rixae cupidos protervse, 
 
 ' Non ego hoc ferrem, calidus juventa, 
 ' Consule Planco.' 
 
 To tell 3'ou the truth, my first impulse was to knock 
 them down." 
 
 "Excellent!" said Tremaine; "you see in the 
 world and out of it, are very different. And how 
 did you get the better of this impulse?" 
 
 " Why at first, by a very simple process. It oc- 
 curred to me that, as there were half-a-dozen of 
 them, it was not improbable / should be knocked 
 down myself. After this, I fortunately asked myself 
 rather a necessary question; namely, whether, in 
 point of fact, they were really laughing at any body, 
 much less at me?" 
 
 " That certainly was prudent; but I thought you 
 had proof!" 
 
 " No other than that they w^ere in the act of 
 laughing, and that their ^ eyes looked at me, as I 
 passed by." 
 
 " Rather slight," said Tremaine. 
 
 " So slight, that after I had swallowed my im- 
 pulse^ I began to laugh too, for being as great a fool 
 as Scrub in the play; who said, ' I am sure they 
 were talking of me, for they laughed consumedly.* 
 My next question was, what I could have about my
 
 186 TREMAINE. 
 
 person, manner, or character, to be laughed at? and 
 finding nothing, I laughed more at myself than I 
 am sure they did, even supposing I had been their 
 object." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Tremaine, " this, after all, 
 does not apply. But suppose you had really been 
 quizzed ?" 
 
 " Why had it been made manifest by rudeness^ I 
 should have been forced, in my own defence, on my 
 first impulse." 
 
 *' But suppose," continued Tremaine, " it had 
 been a mere mental quizzing, not manifest enough 
 to be resented, yet evidently existing : has that ever 
 been your situation ? " 
 
 " It has," returned Evelyn, " but it was put dowp 
 at once." 
 
 " As how?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 *' Why by the very simple act of passing them- 
 selves in review in my own mind, as they were doing 
 by me in theirs; and finding some of them to be 
 fools, some knaves, and all of them profligates, I 
 became the quizzer in my turn." 
 
 " Surely," said Tremaine, " you do not treat the 
 matter fatrly ; you cannot mean that all the young 
 men of fashion are of this character?" 
 
 " Certainly not, and neither are all men of fashion 
 quizzers; we are talking of the few, and I should 
 say, the refuse of them ; for such, in my day, were
 
 TREMAINE. 189 
 
 tliose who indulged in the license we are discussing. 
 All of them were gamblers, and therefore profligate; 
 most of them silly, and therefore contemptible ; and 
 some of them guilty of crimes for which they ought 
 to have been hanged." 
 
 " Wliat can you mean ? ' ' said Tremaine. 
 
 " Adulteries and seductions," answered Evelyn. 
 
 " Mere gallantry, they would have phrased it," 
 returned Tremaine. 
 
 " Gallantry!" exclaimed Evelyn; " how many 
 crimes of the most fatal, as w^ell as the most atrocious 
 dye, are encouraged, and indeed permitted, under 
 this horrible miscalling of names? But observe, I 
 mean not simple gallantry, which is, however, bad 
 enough in itself — I mean the most aggravated cases 
 of deliberate destruction to the honour and peace of 
 families. These are to be found daily among the 
 quizzers whom you bid me fear. Rather paint them 
 in truer colours, and say they are themselves objects 
 of pity, even should the world they have injured be 
 able to forgive and forget them." 
 
 There was an impressiveness in Evelyn's tone and 
 manner as he said this, which inspired Tremaine 
 with the truest veneration for his friend ; and during 
 the pause which ensued, they reached the bridge 
 over the little river which divides Woodington from 
 Evelyn Hall, and took leave of each other.
 
 190 TREMAINE. 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 JE NE S9AIS gUOl. 
 
 " Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possest, 
 
 " VVlien but love's shadows are so rich in joy." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " It is extraordinary," said Tremaine to himself, 
 as he parted from his friend ; " it is very extraordi- 
 nary, how the genius of this man seems to rebuke 
 mine, on almost every subject." 
 
 This was a great concession, and Tremaine bit his 
 lip as he made it. He was forced, however, to con- 
 fess that there had been much good sense in Evelyn's 
 last argument; and he began to believe that Dr. 
 Juniper himself might possibly be able to walk up 
 St. James's Street, with impunity. 
 
 He was evidently the better for the Doctor's visit, 
 and his mind, being roused to action, felt a sort of 
 dread at shrinking back upon itself. It seemed to 
 crave for food; and none better offering, he even 
 sent for Jenkins and his papers, — to the great de- 
 light of that respectable straight-forward gentleman, 
 whose whole happiness consisted in method, who
 
 TREMAINE. 191 
 
 ate, drank, slept, and even conversed with Mrs. 
 Jenkins herself by rule, and was, in short, an 
 entire contrast, to his master. The summons, there- 
 fore, to attend at the Hall, was most gladly obeyed. 
 Indeed it released him from a situation almost as 
 irksome as the master himself had ever known; for 
 it was after his dinner, and though Mrs. Jenkins sat 
 beside him, knitting a pair of white cotton hose, 
 with which she meant to decorate her matron legs 
 the very next Sunday at church, and observed three 
 several times how comfortable it was to have Mr. 
 Jenkins with her of an afternoon, the steward him^ 
 self was much too profitable a servant not to think 
 it rather thrown away. Having, nothing, therefore, 
 particularly to do, he betook himself to sleep, after 
 trying a problem in Wingate's arithmetic, which 
 had often baffled him before, and continued to puzzle 
 him still. 
 
 The accounts being called for, Jenkins was alive 
 in a moment ; and Tremaine being in a happy train, 
 with a clear and active intellect, much business was 
 done, to the satisfaction of both. 
 
 The undulations, however, occasioned by the 
 sessions, and Evelyn's conversation, soon subsided 
 into the usual monotony and the usual indecision. 
 The difficulties of the inclosure had been gradually 
 smoothed away, principally through the industry 
 and influence of Evelyn — that Evelyn for whose
 
 192 T REMAIN E. 
 
 company he began daily to wish, and whom, though 
 but two miles off, he could not muster up exertion 
 enough to seek. 
 
 His daughter, too, the young, the fair, the animated, 
 the accomplished — a country girl, yet full of cultiva- 
 tion, — a recluse, yet full of grace ! 
 
 " They are not so kind as usual," said he one day, 
 looking from his terrace at the grey pediments of 
 Evelyn Hall ; " they have not been here these ten 
 days. And yet may they not say the same of me ? I 
 will go and call upon them," added he; "it is down- 
 right ill-breeding not to do it." 
 
 Once in his saddle, his exertion became so great 
 that he even made a diversion towards some cottages, 
 which he said offended the view from Woodington, 
 and which he had thoughts of replacing by a temple 
 such as he had erected at Belmont. " I will consult 
 my neighbours about it," said he, " and Georgina 
 shall give me a design." 
 
 He was soon at the house, and had pulled the old- 
 fashioned bell at the gate, whose loud echoes gave 
 the signal of alarm to all the peaceful inhabitants 
 within, whether biped or quadruped ; to say nothing 
 of all the dogs and all the children of the village 
 without, who seemed more interested in the visitors 
 of the rector squire, than the rector squire himself. 
 
 A servant, with a brace of Evelyn's pointers, to 
 whom the guardianship of the fore -court was gene-
 
 TREMAINE. 193 
 
 rally assigned, greeted liim at the outer gate, and he 
 was saved all ceremonious inquiry by the sight of 
 Georgina herself, who on the steps of the porcli 
 welcomed him with the grace of a nymph. 
 
 Among Treniaine's pecuhar and lofty notions, 
 might be raiiked those respecting the ceremonies 
 between the sexes. It was not, as may have been 
 seen, that he was cold in his nature, nor even that he 
 was of the vieille cour, though leaning perhaps a 
 little that way; but as his general reserve shunned 
 every Vind oi familiarity, he was disposed to view 
 with very little approbation the perfect ease and 
 nonchalance that mark the beaux and belles of the 
 present day. 
 
 Miss Lyttleton, a northern unmarried lady, re- 
 markable for skill in horsemanship and fondness for 
 the chace, as well as for saying and doing every thing 
 else more like a man than a woman (so as to be 
 better known by the name of Jack Lyttleton), passed 
 him one day in the field, and, by way of bravado, 
 laid her whip, with no gentle hand, across his shoul- 
 ders. It was observed that he never forgave it, and 
 said at the time that he would almost as soon have 
 been struck by a man ; nor could he ever bear the 
 name of the offender afterwards. 
 
 It was not that Tremaine was devoid of good- 
 nature, or could not bear a joke ; nor was it that his 
 dignity was of so stiff a kind as not to yield to the 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194. TREMAINE. 
 
 vivacity of a gay lady ; but it was his feeling for the 
 sex that was hurt, in whose retemie, he said, the 
 delicacy and happiness of the men found their best 
 safeguards. Every thing about this fair enemy, 
 therefore, became disgusting ; and as she was cele- 
 brated for giving very hearty shakes of the hand to 
 all her male acquaintance, it was perhaps from this 
 that a female stretching out her hand to a gentleman, 
 became almost a crime in his notions of the decencies 
 between the sexes. 
 
 This crime did Georgina now commit ; but in a 
 manner so modest and yet so naive, so gladsome and 
 yet so feminine, that as he could not refuse her 
 proffered hand, so he could scarcely blame if he did 
 not even almost approve the act itself. 
 . Miss Evelyn received him with reproaches as well 
 as smiles. "Do you know, Mr. Tremaine," said 
 she, " my father thinks you are tired of your neigh- 
 bours ? and by his directions I had almost written 
 you a note yesterday, to say that he thought yon cut 
 us, and that he was so mortified, and confused, that — " 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Pray go on," said Tremaine ; "what was to 
 follow this just accusation ? " 
 
 " Why that he should be forced to put his own 
 rule into practice, and cut you in return." 
 
 " And you, my fair friend, if I may call you 
 so?"
 
 TREMAINE. 195 
 
 " Nay, not if we are to cut one another," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 " Well, friend or enemy, what did you say, or 
 think, at the meditation of such a note?" 
 
 " Why I supposed it grew out of some of your 
 conversations ; for my father said he had been having 
 a battle, as usual, with you, and he was only more 
 and more convinced that you cared more for the 
 world than you believed : that was all !" 
 
 " And may I ask my friend's daughter what she 
 thinks ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you know I always think with Papa, which 
 is very convenient, for he is generally right, and it 
 saves trouble." 
 
 " You think, then, that I care for the world — 
 that I wish to return to it ? *' 
 
 " I do not think you hate it, if only for a reason 
 which I have just been reading here," said Geor- 
 gina. 
 
 Tremaine did not perceive before that she had a 
 book in her hand. It was Marmontel : her finger 
 was on the * misanthrope corrige,' and upon being 
 asked the passage, she read with the prettiest voice 
 and accent in the world, " un misanthrope qui l est 
 par vertu, ne croit hair les hommes que parcequHl les 
 aime,'* 
 
 " Fous me croyez dovic misanthrope?^' said Tre- 
 maine, not at all displeased with the application, 
 k2
 
 156 TREMAINE. 
 
 and with more alacrity than he had /or a long time 
 shewn. 
 
 " Not exactly," said Georgina ; " but I agree 
 with my father in that, too, that you were made for 
 better things than to shut yourself up either at 
 Woodington or Belmont." 
 
 From that moment there was a something which 
 cannot exactly be analyzed, but which played 
 through the heart of Tremaine, and wrapped itself 
 round the idea of Georgina, so as ever afterwards to 
 accompany it. It was not love ; it was not confirmed 
 friendship, which is of a much slower growth : it was 
 not altogether vanity, though compounded of it; 
 nor gratitude, though the compliment was felt ; but 
 it was that complacency, always so sweet in the be- 
 ginning of an attachment which never fails to be 
 thought of with delight, whatever becomes of the 
 attachment itself : and from that complacency Tre- 
 maine never departed. 
 
 *' Well, but," said Tremaine, following his young 
 hostess as she moved from the hall into the morning 
 room, " you do not surely brand a man with misan- 
 thropy, because he chooses not to live in a crowd? '-J^^ 
 
 " Oh no !" she replied, " for many a misanthrope 
 has fed his hatred in a crowd, and many a benevolent 
 person lives alone." 
 
 " The justness of your sentiment charms me," 
 exclaimed Tremaine.
 
 TREMAINE. 197 
 
 " It might," said Georgina, " if I could recom- 
 mend it in such language as I have lately been read- 
 ing — for the twentieth time I believe, between my 
 fother and myself; for we cannot tire of it." 
 
 Her eye glanced on an open quarto as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " I see at once what you mean," observed Tre- 
 maine, taking up Childe Harold, " and to be sure 
 no poetry was ever so happy in its subject; no 
 subject so ennobled by its poetry, as in these golden 
 lines. I envy the man who can thus feel, and thus 
 write." 
 
 *' For his writing, yes ! but as to his feeling," 
 answered Georgina, " I cannot envy one who seems 
 to take so false a view of mankind." 
 
 " Your age, and your happiness with your father, 
 and, no doubt, your other friends (for many must 
 you have)," said Tremaine, with a tenderness of look 
 not unremarked by Georgina, " make that a very 
 natural sentiment ; but I grieve to think how very 
 little time longer even you will remain in the world, 
 before you find the solitude of a crowd which this 
 writer so feelingly describes; how soon you will 
 observe 
 
 ' Minions of splendour, shrinking from distress, 
 
 * None that with kindred consciousness endued, 
 
 ' If we were not, would seem to smile the less, 
 
 ' Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ! * "—
 
 198 TREMAINE. 
 
 "I would rather," replied Georgina, " think the 
 world what I am sure heaven designed it to be, and 
 not what you would make it. Should we have this 
 sun," continued she, looking at the open windows, 
 " that gilds every thing with cheerfulness, and this 
 concert of birds, which, while it exhilarates the heart, 
 is offered to us all, if we might not be happy if we 
 pleased ? I never behold such a day without being 
 grateful, and thinking it s^fite. Nay, I am disposed 
 to be a votary to Mademoiselle St. Sillery's philoso- 
 phy, and to believe that it requires almost an effort 
 to be unhappy when the sun shines."* 
 
 " You prefer, then, the previous lines of this pro- 
 fessed lover of solitude," said Tremaine, turning 
 again to the passage. 
 
 " I do," said Georgina, ^^ but should like to hear 
 them all again," . 
 
 Tremaine willingly obeyed her, and with great 
 pathos recited the passage beginning ''To sit on 
 rocks," &c. 
 
 " My father says," observed Georgina, when 
 Tremaine had ceased reading, " that there is not a 
 word of these lovely lines that does not carry poetry 
 to the heart." 
 
 * Mademoiselle St. Sillery was a gay and pleasing French girl, 
 mentioned in Pinkney's Tour through France. Sir William Temple 
 also says (though more in the spirit of a philosopher than a senti- 
 mentalist), " The sun, in our climate at least, has something so 
 reviving, that a fair day is a kind of sensual pleasure."
 
 TREMAINE. 19^ 
 
 "I'm glad there is any thing," said Tremaine, 
 " in which your father and I can entirely agree ; 
 and is not he at least in rapture with the whole 
 thought?" 
 
 . *' 'Tis at best a melancholy one," answered Miss 
 Evelyn, with a sort of sigh, " and 1 should pity the 
 author, if I did not feel the force of what my father 
 says (I agree with him there, too), that in one so 
 young it cannot be genuine." 
 
 " Not o:enuine ! '' exclaimed Tremaine. " I should 
 want no other proof than the glowing nature that 
 breathes through every line of the description." 
 
 " And yet poetry is but fiction," said Georgina, 
 smiling : " and if there ox e fictitious distresses in real 
 life, what may there not be in poetry ?" 
 
 She said this with an archness which Tremaine 
 did not exactly relish ; and apparently with a view 
 to change the subject, he exclaimed, " But where 
 is your father all this time ?" 
 
 " You will find him, I dare say, among his friends 
 there,'* replied Miss Evelyn, looking out. 
 
 " His friends ! I did not know you had visi* 
 tors." 
 
 " No ! they are our fellow-inhabitants, and daily 
 companions," she added, turning her eyes to the 
 rookery ; " they are particularly busy and talkative 
 just now; and though he went to Belford this morn- 
 ing, yet as I know his horses are come back, and
 
 200' TREMAINE. 
 
 he has escaped from me, I should not be surprised 
 if he were among the only live people I believe he 
 prefers to me — the rooks and crows." 
 
 " Rooks and crows !" returned Tremaine, with an 
 expression very like contempt; " what can he pos- 
 sibly see in them to fill a mind like his, much less 
 make up for such a daughter?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Miss Evelyn, "but I am 
 almost as fond of them myself." 
 
 " I hope some reason can be given for it." 
 
 " Then, I think, you had better consult my 
 father in person," said she, " for see, he is now at 
 the bottom of the walk." 
 
 They sallied out together. Tremaine observing 
 drily, " that he supposed it market-day at Belford, 
 which of course as a farmer, if not as a squire, the 
 Doctor attended." 
 
 Georgina assured him he would have been right 
 as to the attendance, had there been a market, but 
 that this time he had gone on a little private busi- 
 ness ; " which, though he has pretended to be anxious 
 about it for this week past, I dare say, after all, he 
 has not accomplished." 
 
 "May I venture to ask what it is ?" said Tremaine. 
 
 " Neither more nor less than the purchase of a 
 bust, or a vase, for one of his book-cases," returned 
 Georgina ; " an assortment of which the crockery 
 man at Belford sent him word he had just received."
 
 TREMAINE. 201 
 
 *' Astonishing !" thought Tremaine, but he was 
 silent. 
 
 By this time they had joined the Doctor, who was 
 sitting on a bench, with his eyes following his black 
 subjects through a thousand airy circles; and his 
 ears seemingly delighted with what struck Tre- 
 maine as a horrible noise. 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 
 OCCUPATION AND RETIREMENT. 
 
 '* The crow makes wing to the rooky wood." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "Will you sit down with me, and we two will rail against our 
 mistress, the world, and all our misery." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 After the first salutation, " Well, papa," said 
 Georgina smiling, " have you bought your bust ?" 
 
 " No, my dear, I have not." 
 
 " I really thought so," returned she, and her 
 smile turned into a laugh ; " I even said to Mr. 
 Tremaine, that although you went on purpose for 
 it, you would come back empty-handed." 
 
 " You are at least a true prophetess ; but why did 
 you prophecy?*' 
 
 K 5
 
 202 tre:.iaine. 
 
 " I guessed." 
 
 " « Well, then, thy guess ?' " 
 
 asked Evelyn good-humouredly. 
 
 " That you might have the pleasure of another 
 ride for it to-morrow." 
 
 " My girl knows me well," said the delighted 
 father. " If the weather is fine, and my mare 
 carries me as well as to-day, I shall, I dare say, 
 overcome my objection, and return for the bust to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " And pray what was the objection?" said Tre- 
 maine, with curiosity. v 
 
 " I thought it a shilling all too dear," answered 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " A shilling ! and with six or eight miles there 
 and back, is it possible you could have hesitated 
 for a shilling?" 
 
 " Even so,'' said Evelyn, coolly; " nay, what is 
 more, upon second thoughts, I think the thing 
 eheap." 
 
 '^ Then why not have bought it ?" 
 
 " I did not think so at the moment, and it was 
 but going again." 
 
 '^ Grbod heavens ! " said Tremaine, in a sort of 
 triumph, " is this the value which you men of 
 method put upon your time ? To what must you 
 practical people, after all, be reduced, when a trum- 
 pery piece of plaister, or perhaps a tea-cup, costs
 
 TREMAINE. 20S 
 
 two journeys, and a great deal of calculation, in a 
 very wise head too, to get it?" 
 
 •' And very well bestowed," answered Evelyn, 
 '' for I assure you I have got already all I intended 
 by it, and that was not a little." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, what? — " 
 
 " I got rid of the spleen." 
 
 '* I told you so," observed Georgina. 
 
 " But I thought you never had the spleen ?" 
 retorted Tremaine. 
 
 '• Not often ; but I cannot help my constitution, 
 which generates bile ; and all I have for it is to un- 
 derstand and cure its defects. I felt growing out 
 of humour from a two-days' laziness ; and therefore 
 endeavoured to make a little business, in order to be 
 obliged to ride. The remedy has done wonders 
 already; and, to complete my cure, I came to my 
 friends the practical philosophers here." 
 
 Just at these words, the rooks, at a seeming sig- 
 nal from a distant centinel who was flying aloof, 
 became particularly clamorous, till all flew off in 
 several divisions to a neighbouring field, where 
 they landed, and seemed (having first again planted 
 centinels around them) engaged in busy conclave, 
 which lasted several minutes. 
 
 " I would give something to make them out," 
 said Evelyn. 
 
 " And I to make you out," observed Tremaine,
 
 204 TREMAINE. 
 
 " for in truth such a compound of wisdom attd 
 trifling (excuse me) I never knew." 
 
 *• Why the trifling of a wise man is always re- 
 spectable, you know," said the Doctor; " I mily 
 wish you would make out your first proposition, 
 and prove my wisdom. But suppose this a mei'e 
 bagatelle; one of the most acute of understandings 
 once relied for happiness upon his famous maxim 
 of vive la bagatelle,^ Another, almost as shrewd, 
 and full of wit and high breeding, spent at least 
 an amused life professedly in trifles.f It is at least as 
 good as counting the waves, after the manner of 
 Cicero, when he was out of humour, like other 
 patriots, because the state would not do as he would 
 have it." 
 
 Tremaine reddened. ■ ".h|$h/ j^ci > 
 
 '* But I deny," continued Evelyn, ^* that tny study 
 of these creatures is either trifling or uninteresting.". 
 
 '* It will require all your wisdom to prove it 
 otherwise," said Tremaine. 
 
 *^' Why, as to the interest,'' answered Evelyn, 
 " they and their ancestors seem to have belonged, 
 or rather to have gone on as faithful companions,. 
 Xo me and mine for these two hundred years ; and 
 the heart must be a little obdurate which is not 
 something touched even by that circumstancCt alone. 
 They seem to be a colony of kind dependents, who 
 
 .* Swift. f Horace WaljJole.
 
 TREMAINE. 205 
 
 settle ill the very precincts of my habitation, con- 
 fiding in the protection which they think they are 
 to meet with. Can I sally out and deprive them 
 of what the mere smoke of my chimnies seemed to 
 promise, when it indicated that it w^as the dwelhng 
 of a human being, and therefore of a friend?" 
 
 " Your ride has done wonders, indeed," said Tre- 
 maine. " It must have restored to you all your good- 
 humour, when you can afford to bestow so much of 
 it on a set of paltry birds/* 
 
 " Some one has said," answered Evelyn, " (or if 
 not, I will say it now for the first time), that the 
 nature of good humour is such as to make it matter 
 little what the subject of it is, for it always brings 
 its reward along with it. But my rooks. Sir, are 
 not to be despised, for they shew more intelligence 
 (I am certain it is above instinct) than most, if not all 
 other animals, except human; and occasionally, I 
 verily believe, more than many oithem.'' 
 
 '^ The human animals are very much obliged to 
 you," said Tremaine. 
 
 '" But," gravely continued Evelyn, " is there in 
 the whole range of zoology, next to our own great 
 selves, any creatures who seem to possess so much 
 design, such prescience in what they say and do?" 
 " Say !" exclaimed Tremaine. 
 " Yes, say ! for we must not suppose that, at this 
 moment, they are not in the midst of a debate. I
 
 206 TREMAINE. 
 
 only wish I were an Indian dervise, and could under- 
 stand it." 
 
 Tremaine, notwithstanding Georgina had inti- 
 mated her opinion, was about to appeal to her, when 
 she stopped him by saying — 
 
 " You will get nothing out of us on this subject, 
 Mr. Tremaine ; I side with papa, as usual, and de 
 bon cceur too, for I have often felt and watched all 
 he is pointing out. I am particularly fond of their 
 noise, which seems to tell so much ; more even than 
 the song of other birds, sweet as it is ; and though 
 the ramage of a modern shrubbery is certainly de- 
 licious, I almost prefer our ancient grove, with these 
 its noisy inhabitants ; — for such I suppose you will 
 insist on calling them." 
 
 " But if you do," added Evelyn, "I shall con- 
 tinue, nevertheless, to respect these companions of 
 our. solitude, and must not have them insulted.'* 
 
 " You confess, then, you live in solitude,'* said 
 Tremaine, catching at the word, " yet you had the 
 choice of your life ; why, therefore, blame me ?" 
 
 " I live in the country," replied Evelyn, " but 
 not in solitude." 
 
 " Yet you own you are driven to converse with 
 these common creatures of the air, whom every 
 farmer's boy hoots at all day long." 
 
 " I converse with Nature," said Evelyn, " whe- 
 ther in man or birds ; you, it seems, only with man."
 
 TREMAINE. 207 
 
 " I avow it/' said Tremaine. 
 
 " And yet," replied Evelyn, " it is a comical 
 way to converse with a gentleman, to run away from 
 him." 
 
 " I think," said Tremaine, '' if Miss Evelyn 
 pleases, I would rather converse only with woman, 
 at least to-day ; for your ride has put you in such 
 bantering spirits, there is no getting you to be 
 serious. Miss Evelyn and I agreed much better 
 just now in the house, when we w^ere by our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Mr. Tremaine was very agreeable," observed 
 Georgina, " and read Lord Byron charmingly." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said Evelyn, looking at 
 them both. 
 
 Strange ! that a look should throw them both 
 into a sort of consciousness incomprehensible to 
 either. 
 
 " I know nothing," continued Evelyn, not per- 
 ceiving it, " SQ much mistaken as that whole sub- 
 ject of solitude. Zimmerman ran mad about it 
 first, and nothing would content him but making 
 all other people as mad as himself.* The Swiss 
 mountebank, Rousseau, too, endeavoured to turn 
 people's heads on it, though he never turned his 
 own ; for when the world let him alone, he never 
 
 * He, however, corrected himself in a second volume, in which 
 he shews the dangers of solitude sensibly enough.
 
 208 TREMAINE. 
 
 could bear it. Be quite assured of this, that solitude, 
 merely as such, as it is not natural, so it cannot be 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Yet where is virtue so well preserved ?" asked 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " Say, rather, vice avoided," answered Evelyn, 
 " for it is but a negative advantage at best." ; 
 
 " Do you admit Robinson Crusoe to be a natural 
 picture?" said Tremaine. . < 
 
 " Perfectly, asallDefoe's are remarkable for being.'* 
 
 " He tells you that his soul never seemed so in- 
 nocent or so enlightened." 
 
 " That was because Selkirk had no temptation 
 to be otherwise, and had luckily been left with a 
 Bible, which he had never before studied. But 
 you will recollect that Selkirk was frightened at 
 the animals about him, merely because they were 
 not frightened at him ; and when Robinson thought 
 of none of his shipmates being saved, his perpetual 
 cry was, ' Oh ! that there had been but one.' Even 
 his parrot repeating ' Poor Robin Crusoe,' was 
 sweetness to his ear." 
 
 " But," asked Georgina, " does Mr. Tremaine 
 think solitude and a country life synonimous ? " 
 
 " Nearly so," he said, " for what had boors about 
 them to interest or amuse? " > 
 
 " And yet," she observed — 
 
 '• Some mute inglorious Milton — "
 
 TREMAINE. 209 
 
 " Yes," he interrupted, "but he is * mute, and 
 inglorious,' and therefore what am I the better for 
 him?" 
 
 " Was ever a man so despotically unreasonable," 
 exclaimed Evelyn ; " you fly the Miltons you are 
 angry with in town, and you are angry because 
 you cannot find them in the country, yet even 
 there you will not seek them. The heart is the 
 same, liowever, every where, if you will but study 
 it : seek, and ye will find the study even in a country 
 villacre." 
 
 o 
 
 " I suppose,*' said Tremaine drily, " that is the 
 reason your worship attends Belford market ; a 
 thing I could not have believed, if my young friend 
 here had not told it me." 
 
 " It only proves my sincerity in my creed," re- 
 plied Evelyn, " and that I am not run away with 
 by the cant about solitude because I live in the 
 country. Human nature is there, as well as in a 
 metropolis ; and hence it is, I suppose, that a friend 
 of yours and mine, who certainly never shuns the 
 world, whenever he finds himself in a retired village, 
 always asks, as the first question, which is the 
 street? ' * 
 
 *' That is almost as bad," observed Tremaine, 
 " as another friend of yours, of whom I have heard 
 it related, ' that were he to chuse his life for amuse- 
 
 » Related of Mr. Jekyl.
 
 210 TREMAINE. 
 
 ment, he would keep a public-house by the way- 
 side." 
 
 " If you mean the author of the Moral and Po- 
 litical Philosophy,* it is perfectly true," said Eve- 
 lyn ; " yet who had a more perfect knowledge of 
 human nature ? — who more shrewd in his observa- 
 tions upon it ? — who so conversant with all its secret 
 springs and windings ? No, no, I want no apology 
 for my supposed condescension in finding interest 
 at a country market. In a word, my dear friend, 
 if you are not happy in the capital, and seek the 
 country for a cure, you will never cure yourself by 
 living in that country as if it were a desert." 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 TRUE USES OF RETIREMENT. 
 
 " "Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our 
 " mistress, the world, and all our misery." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ** I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom 
 *' I know most faults." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The party here rose from the bench, and bidding 
 adieu to the loquacious busy creatures that had first 
 
 . * Paley.
 
 TREMAINE. 211 
 
 prompted the conversation, proceeded up the avenue 
 to the house. 
 
 All were silent for a few minutes, when Tremaine, 
 full of his subject, broke out, though in an under 
 voice, — 
 
 «' And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 
 " Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 
 <' Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." — 
 
 " Ah!" said the Doctor, "had the good Duke 
 found no other occupation or interest, no other 
 tongues, books, or sermons, in short, no other 
 good than in the trees, brooks, and stones, he would 
 soon have hung himself." 
 
 " Then what is it," said Tremaine, " that always 
 makes those lovely scenes of the Forest of Ardennes 
 so enchanting to every taste?" 
 
 " You, who are a poet, should be able to tell,'* 
 replied Evelyn, " because it is lovely poetry. But 
 I, who am a practical philosopher, demand some- 
 thing more for the Duke, and in truth, find it in 
 the beautiful contrasts that fill this sweetest pastoral 
 in the world." 
 
 " Your meaning?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Why what, after all, is the action of the 
 story?" replied Evelyn. " What but the fate of 
 the usurpation of his brother, the daily falling-ofF 
 of the followers of the one, and the accession ta
 
 212 TREMAINE. 
 
 those of the other, till the right was reclaimed. All 
 this, it is true, was 
 
 * Under the shade of melancholy boughs,' 
 
 and is only the more beautiful for it; but still here 
 was enterprize, action, and interest, as well as trees, 
 brooks, and stones, mingled together in the most 
 agreeable alternation of light and shade." 
 
 " Yet there is not a line or a word about what 
 you call the action, that can be remembered," said 
 Tremaine, " and Shakspeare himself scarcely men- 
 tions it." 
 
 " That was his skill," returned Evelyn; " his 
 immediate object was pastoral, and there he and 
 his reader revel together ; we quaff it with delight ; 
 but the event of the fable is always on our minds, 
 though secretly, and perhaps insensibly. Had 
 Shakspeare propounded to himself nothing more 
 than mere and absolute solitude, with no hope 
 beyond it, it would have been absolutely vacuity." 
 
 " How comes it, then," pursued Tremaine, " that 
 all, even of the most illustrious rank, all that are 
 eminent for powers and talents, as well as the most 
 beautiful poets and the soundest philosophers, have 
 all and alike concurred in the praises of retire- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Praises, if you will," answered Evelyn, '' but 
 •who really practised what he recommended ? Ho^
 
 TREMAINE. 213 
 
 race, with all his charming rhapsodies about Lii- 
 cretilis and the Sabine farm, and his 
 
 riis ! fjiutndo ego tc aspiciatn 9 ' — 
 
 was always sneaking to town, and then wrote to his 
 steward that he was a very absurd fellow for not liking 
 to stay in the country. As for your ' illustrious,' by 
 which I suppose you mean ministers of state — " 
 
 " I do," said Tremaine. 
 
 " To them, as a recess from application, while 
 the fatigue of it is upon them, no doubt retirement 
 is heaven. But let their minds recover their tone, 
 and how eager are they to get back !" 
 
 *• Nay, now surely you mistake,'' cried Tremaine, 
 '•■ for how many ministers have felt themselves most 
 l)lest, nay, have thrown up their offices, to enjoy 
 seclusion ? " 
 
 " Not one that I know of,'' said Evelyn, " though 
 many have affected a readiness to do so ; none more 
 than your hero Bolingbroke, who makes me laugh 
 sometimes in his otherwise admirable correspondence, 
 to see, in the midst of his anxieties about Europe, an 
 equally expressed anxiety to preserve bay-trees for 
 his villa. Not indeed that this was either unnatural 
 or foolish, were it not for the gross affectation tagged 
 to the end of it." 
 
 " I do not recollect what you mean," said Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " I think it is in a letter to Drummond," pur-
 
 214 TREMAINE. 
 
 sued Evel}Ti, " where he thanks him for these 
 trees, and adds, * I cannot plunge myself so fax 
 into the thoughts of public business, as to forget the 
 quiet of a country retreat, whither I will go some 
 time or other, and am always 'ready to go at an hour's 
 warning J* Now, out upon such barefaced pro- 
 fessions !" 
 
 " Why question their sincerity?" asked Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " He might believe himself sincere," replied 
 Evelyn, " but he was all the time cankered with 
 ambition to the heart's core." 
 
 " I must not allow this," cried Tremaine, *^ of 
 a man whose mind was only too elegant and philo- 
 sophic; although so astonishingly able, that we 
 cannot wonder the world had claims upon him." 
 
 " That I should forgive," returned Evelyn, " if 
 it were not for this affectation, which even Swift 
 laughed at as much as he dared." 
 
 " Swift laugh at Bolingbroke !" 
 
 " He at least tells Pope (whom my Lord had 
 most charmingly gulled in more things than this), 
 ' I have no very strong faith in your pretenders ta 
 retirement; you have not gone through good or 
 bad fortune enough to go into a corner and form 
 conclusions de contemptu mundiJ" So much> then, for 
 your retired poet; but the best is, Bolingbroke 
 returns the charge, and says both to Swift and Pope,
 
 TREMAINEb 215 
 
 ' if you despised the world as much as you pretend, 
 you would not be so angry with it.' Thus this 
 gi'and triumvirate imposed upon one another; praised 
 and were unhappy in their retreat ; growling at the 
 world, yet not able to live out of it." 
 
 " Come, then," said Tremaine, " I will give you 
 a minister, who, if any one did prefer philosophy 
 in retirement to a silly ambition, was certainly the 
 man." 
 
 " I long to know him," cried Evelyn. 
 
 *• Sir Wilham Temple !" 
 
 " He was most like it," observed Evelyn, " but 
 I doubt whether even he comes up to your proof; 
 for, from necessit}^, he was always called back 
 before he had tried the experiment. As to the 
 generality, a statesman flings up in a pet, and flies 
 to solitude for relief; and for a little while he finds 
 it." 
 
 " And why not for a great while?" 
 
 " Because it is relief only so long as he is under 
 the stings of resentment, or while he thinks he is 
 missed. When his disgust subsides, or he finds 
 himself forgotten, he gets tired of venting re- 
 proaches to his trees on the ingratitude of the world, 
 which reproaches the world does not care a farthing 
 about." 
 
 *' You are alluding to Walpole," said Tremaine. 
 
 " I am, and to his celebrated letter, supposed to
 
 216 tremaine; 
 
 prove a most philosophical love of retirement, * My 
 flatterers here,' says he, * are all mutes. The oaks, 
 the beeches, the chestnuts, seem to contend which 
 best shall please the Lord of the Manor. They can- 
 not deceive, they will not lie.' I quite agree with 
 his biographer, Coxe, that this indicates the very 
 hankering after the world, which he wished himself 
 and the world to believe he was without."* 
 
 " I will not be bound," cried Tremaine, " by 
 the example of expelled placemen, who, fixing 
 their happiness on the smile of human beings like 
 themselves, deserve all the mortifications they get. 
 D' Argenson, for example, who whined and sobbed in 
 banishment, at Les Ormes,f or even Lord Chatham, 
 
 * Upon this subject the reader will not fail to remember Horace 
 Walpole's account of the retirement of that illustrious statesman, the 
 Duke of Newcastle. His grace retired to Claremont, where, for 
 about a fortnight, he played at being a country gentleman. Guns and 
 green frocks were bought, and at past sixty he affected to turn sports- 
 man ; but getting wet in his feet, he hurried back to London in a fright, 
 and his country was once more blessed with his assistance. 
 
 f To a philosopher, or even a courtier, there is not a more useful 
 lesson, or more interesting picture than this poor man exhibits, as 
 drawn by Marmontel, relating merely what he saw and heard. " Oh! 
 mes enfans," says he, " quelle maladie incurable que celle de I'ambi- 
 tion I quelle tristesse que celle de la vie d'un ministre disgracie!" 
 ** En me promenant avec lui dans ses jardins, j'appercus de loin 
 une statue de marbre; je lui demandai ce quec'etoit?" — ^" C'est, 
 me dit-il, ce que je n'ai plus le courage de regarder;" et en nous d&- 
 tournant, " Ah Marmontel, si vous saviez de quel zele je I'ai
 
 TRE MAINE. 217 
 
 who, when he quarrelled with the King, or his 
 brother politicians, used to fly to Hayes, in the 
 mere hope of being brought back again. Such 
 ministers as these have little to do with real philo- 
 sophy, and I refuse your authority." 
 
 " Let me give you ministers more to your taste," 
 cried Evelyn. 
 
 "If you can," said Tremaine. 
 
 "Sir William Wyndham, the great Pulteney, 
 and lastly, the great Fox," replied the Doctor. 
 
 *' Fox ?" exclaimed Tremaine. 
 
 sen i ; si vous saviez combien de fois il m'avoit assur^ que nous pas- 
 serions nos vies ensemble, et que je n'avois pas un meilleur ami que 
 lui ! Voila les promesses des rois ! voila leur amiti^ ! et en disant ces 
 mots ses yeux se remplirent de larmes." He then (sad employment 
 for his wounded spirit!) shewed Marmontel the pictures of various 
 Ijdttles, in which he had stood on the same spot with the king, and 
 in one of which, when he had reason to fear his son was killed, Louis 
 had shewn him great sympathy. But oh, wretched change ! " Rien," 
 continued d'Argenson, " rien de moi le touche plus!" After this he 
 fell with his head upon the bosom of his daughter-in-law, which he 
 watered with his tears.* Distressing and degrading picture of human 
 weakness under the prostrations of ill-regulated ambition ; a slave to 
 unworthy greatness ! We blush for the Frenchman, and should for 
 an Englishman under the same circumstances ; only there is this 
 difference between them, that the Englishman can only be displaced, 
 not disgraced : for he can always fly to an opposition bench in parlia- 
 ment. I have been at Les Ormes, and saw these battle pieces, but 
 did not then know what recollections they had prompted ; more eruel 
 to a disappointed ambitieux than the deaths they commemorated. 
 ♦ Mem. Marmontel, tom. iii. p. 18. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Even so; for the nodes ccenoeque aiticcB woul4 
 not have been sought at St. Anne's Hill, with such 
 apparent gust, had he not thought to mark his 
 resentment against the House of Commons, who 
 would not be swa3^ed by him into a secession. The 
 measure had been tried some sixty years before, by 
 Sir William Wyndham, and laughed at." . riofe 
 
 *' You are prejudiced," said Tremaine, " and 
 cannot seriously think Mr. Eox did not love his 
 retreat." jiXr^'t-^^ij 
 
 " That I do not say,"* returned Evelyn, "I only 
 meant to shew that a patriot and a minister, what- 
 ever they may be called, are pretty much the same 
 thing, and that the patriot man may fly off in a pet 
 to solitude as well as the minister man. Both Mr. 
 Eox and Lord Bath came back when they thought 
 
 ♦ He would have been wrong if he had said it ; for those who knew 
 Mr. Fox best, knew how sincere were his enjoyments at St. Anne's 
 Hill. Those who did not know him, may read Trotter's jmiirsiDg 
 account of him. there for the proof. He was particularly fond of hi«j 
 geraniums, and used to boast of them to Lord Sidmouth, when 
 speaker, and could always return to the subject of them with soothed 
 interest, amidst the most violent storms of party rage. He had never 
 been more furious tnan one day in haranguing in Palace Yard, on 
 what was called the gagging bills. Half an hour afterwards he came 
 to the house, reeking from the mob, and went up to the speaker, who 
 expected some violent motion, to tell him how sorry he was that his 
 geraniums (some cuttings of which he had promised him) had been 
 blighted at St. Anne's Hill.— Ed.
 
 TREMAINE. 219 
 
 they should succeed, in the same manner as Lord 
 Chatham and Lord Temple ; nay, I question if Sir 
 William Temple himself did not enjoy his Sheen 
 and his Moor Park the more from the frequent calls 
 that were made upon him to leave them. 
 
 " To pursue our subject," continued Evelyn,: 
 perceiving his friend was not disposed to reply : 
 '' one lover quarrels with his mistress; he flies to his 
 country seat, and finds pleasure in abusing her to 
 the winds ; another is happy in her affection, but 
 some cruel papa interposes difficulties ; he flies, too, 
 in order the better to plan, in solitude, how to 
 overcome the said difficulties, and meantime carves 
 her name on the bark, and makes verses under the 
 boughs, of all the trees in the neighbourhood. Both 
 find relief for a time, because both are in fact en- 
 gaged in their favourite occupation : but the enrcige 
 soon finds that his sulkiness is no revenge, and the 
 bien aime, that being idle will not please papa; so 
 the solitude becomes irksome to both, and is gladly 
 abandoned." 
 
 " Papa understands the thing at least," said 
 Georgina, laughing ; " I hope not by experience." 
 
 " Experience is the best mistress," replied Eve- 
 lyn, "and I certainly recollect many a retirement 
 to a house in a wood, in order to ascertain better 
 than I thought I could firom herself, whether your 
 mother loved me or not. These solitudes were 
 L 2
 
 ^20 TREMAINE. 
 
 charming" but short; I had others of a longer dui*a" 
 tion, and perhaps from better motives." 
 
 " I did not know you were such a disciple," said 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " Oh yes," returned the Doctor, " I have often 
 shut myself up." 
 
 ** The occasion ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Why wisdom's self, youknow^ 
 
 * Oft seeks a sweet retired solitude, 
 
 * Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, 
 
 ' She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, 
 ! * That in the various bustle of resort 
 
 * Were all too rufSed, and sometime impair'd.' 
 
 " But seriously, it was to recover the bent of my 
 mind — I may even say. of my virtue — ^when I had 
 oeen sadly dissipated, as I too often was, and when 
 ease, seriousness, books, and retired devotion be- 
 came absolutely necessary for my purpose." 
 
 Georgina took her father's hand. 
 
 " An anchoret, I protest ! " cried Tremaine : 
 " had you lived in the fifth century we should have 
 had you in the desert." 
 
 " Indeed you would not," returned Evelyn, " for, 
 having accomplished my purpose by restoring re- 
 flection, or by recovering the studies I was near 
 upon losing (in exchange, perhaps, for an opera 
 ' dance), I sighed again for a communication with my 
 species; and, indeed, often felt thankfulto join
 
 TREMAINE. 221 
 
 the supper conversation of the people with whom I 
 lived." 
 
 " And who were they ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " A mere woodman and his wife," said Evelyn, 
 *' whose lodge was a mile distant from all other 
 habitations, except of rabbits and tame pheasants, 
 and whose cheerful children were not unfrequently 
 an acceptable diversion to a man, who, with all his 
 resources, was growing tired of himself." 
 
 " I have heard, indeed," said Tremaine, "of 
 being ' as melancholy as a lodge in a warren,' but 
 knew not how practically true the simile was. Yet 
 you did this often ?" 
 
 " I did, and may venture to say I was always 
 the better for it. Many, at least, are the subjects I 
 examined, both in literature and morals, in these 
 temporary retreats; and the woodman's house was 
 to me always — 
 
 ' Mihi rae reddentisagelli.'" 
 
 <* Your picture is at least pretty," said Tremaine, 
 " and I only wonder your secession from the world 
 was not of longer continuance." 
 
 " There was no occasion for it," returned Eve- 
 . lyn, t' for I was not under any great disgust, like 
 Timon ; nor had I had a disappointment to mad- 
 ness, like Camillo ; nor was I under the influence 
 of religious melancholy, like Jerome. I simply
 
 222 THEM A IN B. 
 
 \rished to thinlc, and to examine myself at leisure^ 
 — which I could not do in a crowd; and when I 
 had done this, I returned to the world. ' * iiiJ iTK>i1 
 
 ^od 
 
 . ■^^. 
 CHAP. XXVIII. M^S 
 
 WILL WIMBLE. 
 
 *• Win us with honest trifles.' 
 
 SHAKSFKABZ. 
 
 As the party returned to the house, the Doctor 
 asked Georgina if Will Wimble was not to dine 
 with themj which she answered in the affirma* 
 tive. ^ V • 
 
 " And who is Will Wimble ?'*^ inquired Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " A sort of pet of mine," answered Evelyn, 
 " whom you once well knew, though you have for- 
 gotten him now. Many's the time, he says, he has 
 played at leap-frog with you at your first school.*' 
 
 "I have not the honour of making out who he 
 can be," replied Tremaine. 
 
 " Perhaps not,'* said the Doctor, " for Wimble 
 is a name I have given him; his godfathers and
 
 TREMAINE. 2*^^ 
 
 godmothers christened him John, his friends call him 
 Jack, and his surname is Careless. He descends 
 from that Colonel Careless who passed those pleasant 
 hours with his prince in the oak, after the battle of 
 Worcester : the only thing he's proud of in that 
 w^ay ; though he piques himself on making the best 
 fly for a trout, breaking the best pointer, and turning 
 the best rosin box in all the county. 'Tis hence I 
 call him Will Wimble." 
 
 " I suppose, too," said Tremaine, sarcastically, 
 " he is as polite as his namesake, and waits at every 
 stile till you come up, for fear you should think there 
 are no manners in the country.' 
 
 " Not at all unlikely," answered the Doctor, 
 "for he is not very quiescent under any supposed 
 superiority of the town, in that, or indeed in any 
 respect, and is, in fact, in most of his feelings, not 
 only a John Bull, but complete Yorkshire to 
 boot." 
 
 " 1 now recollect him," said Tremaine ; " but I 
 thought the breed of such worthy gentlemen was 
 utterly extinct.^* 
 
 " Not altogether," replied Evelyn^ "though I do 
 not suppose our political philosophers of the present 
 day would take any great pains to preserve it — 
 seeing that he, as an individual of the species, 
 certainly does not contribute much to the wealth of 
 nations. And, in fact, I do not recommend the
 
 224 TREMAINE. 
 
 idleness of his life as an example to be followed. 
 He is a man of nature, however, in his way, and 
 so much of a philosopher, that his garden is of far 
 greater consequence to him than his money. He 
 once lost a hiindred pounds (all he had saved of his 
 own in the world) by the failure of a neighbouring 
 bank. That morning I receiTed a letter from him, 
 beginning with how sorry I should be to hear of 
 his misfortune. Both Georgy and I were indeed 
 sincerely concerned at what we had before heard; 
 but on reading farther, we found not a word about 
 the hundred pounds, but a great many lamentations 
 that a violent hail-storm had broken down the finest 
 shew of balsams he had ever had, which would 
 certainly have won the prize at the next florists' 
 feast. But he never could bear what are called 
 worldly cares to interfere with him, and once 
 sacrificed even his hopes of fortune to his love of 
 liberty." 
 
 *' I honour him for that, at least," said Tremaine ; 
 *'* but what is this last story ? " 
 
 " He had a cousin, a merchant at Liverpool, who 
 offered to take him into partnership, provided he 
 would apply to business. He gave a reluctant con- 
 sent; his place was taken in the coach, and the ht)ur 
 of departure approached ; when, going to take a last 
 glimpse of a brook that ran at the bottom of his 
 garden, in which he had caught many a trout, it
 
 TREMAINE. 225 
 
 looked so beautiful, and warbled so invitingly, that 
 he could not stir. In short, he let the coach go with- 
 out him, passed the whole day by the side of the 
 stream, and wrote a civil letter to his cousin declining 
 ihis offer." 
 
 " And did he not repent ? " asked Tremaine. 
 ; '* Sometimes," continued Evelyn, " when he has 
 wanted money, generally for some benevolent pur- 
 pose or other : for his brother always supplies him 
 with a good horse ; the only great expense he has. 
 In all other points of view, as an innocent and 
 honourable character, always the most cheerful crea- 
 ture in the world, always carrying his cheerfulness 
 into society, and ever on the watch to do a good 
 turn, I know not a worthier man or more welcome 
 guest." 
 
 Tremaine pondered these v;ords, and observing 
 the speaking countenance of Georgina approve every 
 thing her father had said, certain thoughts darted 
 into his mind. 
 
 After a pace or two, which brought them to the 
 hall door : 
 
 " And how old may this worthy be ? " asked 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " I have told you about your standing," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " He is the best creature in the world," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 l5
 
 226 TRJBMAINE. 
 
 " He is at least a happy one in such favour," ob- 
 served Tremaine ; '' and if it were not for his age — " 
 
 " Oh ! that is nothing," replied Georgina, un- 
 derstanding him, *' for I Ve been married to him 
 a long while already; ever since I was five years 
 old." 
 
 This speech cut both ways, and it both pained and 
 pleased Tremaine accordingly, though each almost 
 without his knowing it, and certainly without his 
 knowing why. At all events, he felt more grave 
 than he had done during any previous part of 
 the conversation ; when the bell ringing loud, " I 
 dare say that's he," she continued, "and like a 
 good wife I ought to go to meet him." 
 
 " You forget," said her father, *' that he never 
 does me the honour of ringing the bell, but rides 
 straight to the stable-door, and puts his horse up 
 himself" M 
 
 " True," said Georgina; "who can it be? " 
 
 A servant announced a neighbouring nobleman, 
 in the person of Lord St. Clair. 
 
 ii»)^3dl 
 
 a
 
 TREMAINE. 227- 
 
 CHAP. XXIX, 
 
 A VISCOUNT. 
 
 " If all the year were playing holidays, 
 " To sport would be as tedious as to work.* 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 LoBD St. Clair was a viscount of considerable 
 estate, and by the mother's side related to Evelyn. 
 He was well enough disposed, but spoiled in the 
 bringing up ; to which the early loss of his father 
 and a too indulgent mother had much contributed. 
 He had been a traveller, a politician, a speaker, and 
 a violent party-man ; and on coming to his estate, 
 he too had built him a house, and had been very 
 happy. But, the house finished, he had fled back to 
 London; which had exhausted its pleasures upon 
 him ; so that from mere satiety he felt miserable. He 
 was not indeed one of those who philosophized on 
 the general miseries of the world ; from which he 
 had not the least thought of retiring. But he was 
 not the lowest in the rank of listlessness : and though 
 he had neither Tremaine's attainments, nor his
 
 228 TBEMAINE. 
 
 fastidiousness, yet he was fully as great a burthen to 
 himself : with this especial difference, that he was 
 very willing to cast that burthen upon any one who 
 would receive it. 
 
 He had sufficient sense to have a great respect for 
 Evelyn, and susceptibility enough left to be struck 
 with his daughter, — to whom indeed the neighbour- 
 hood had sometimes assigned him, as they would any 
 one else whose estates had bordered so closely upon 
 her father's. 
 
 As Tremaine knew him in the world, and was also 
 his neighbour in the country, he could not exactly 
 obey his first impulse, which was to take his leave ; 
 and the Viscount, yawning out a compliment, said 
 he did not know he was in Yorkshire. 
 ' Evelyn (who was not sorry at an opportunity 
 to play off one ennuye against the other, with the 
 hope of benefiting both) observed that it was 
 no wonder, for Mr. Tremaine was so great a re- 
 cluse that he scarcely condescended to visit his 
 neighbours. 
 
 "You forget I have been ill," said Tremaijie, 
 not much liking the topics to which this might 
 lead. 
 
 "That is the Very reason," pursued the Viscount, 
 "that you should visit everybody. For my part, 
 well or ill, I think to be by one's-self is the greatest 
 bore in nature ; and I therefore make a point of seie-
 
 TREMAINE. 229 
 
 ing all the world. Had I known you were here, I 
 should certainly have beat up your quarters." 
 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you,'' said Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " Not much," replied St. Clair; " for I assure you 
 I am so intolerably dull at home, that I'm glad to 
 bestow myself on any body." 
 
 Tremaine bowed his thanks again. 
 
 " I believe," continued Lord St. Clair, " I must 
 take my mother's advice after all, and marry; if any 
 lady will have pity upon me," added he, looking at 
 Miss Evelyn. 
 
 " He wanted a wife to make him unaisy/' 
 
 said the Doctor, laughing. 
 
 • " Upon my soul I believe you've hit it," observed 
 St. Clair, " for I am so plaguy easy from morning 
 till night, that I absolutely don't know what to do 
 with myself; if I could but be a little uneasy, there's 
 no knowi\^g how I might feel after it." 
 
 " The ladies are at least obliged to you," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 " Have you no books> no studies?" asked Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " For books, thousands; but I'm glutted with 
 them, and have resolved to leave them to wiser people; 
 such as my good friend here, who is always so kind 
 as to tell me all I want to know."
 
 SSO TREMAINE, 
 
 " Why don't you go to London ? " asked Tre- 
 maine. -^ 
 
 > " My good sir, why don't you ?" 
 
 Tremaine reddened at the equality in their situa* 
 tions which this seemed to imply. 
 
 " To tell you the truth," continued the Viscount, 
 " I have been there these four months, but grew so 
 sick of suppers, and fetes, and heroes, and my eyes 
 were so dazzled with dancing and diamonds, feathers 
 and emperors, that I thought a little solitude might 
 be a good thing.*' 1^ ;.*-. fi-^'xii^^ 
 
 " And did you not find it so ? " asked EveljTi,' with 
 affected gravity. 
 
 " Why not exactly," answered St. Clair; "par- 
 ticularly as every thing was going on wrong at Mount 
 St. Clair. I am ruined by my plantations, by which 
 I had intended to make a fortune. By the way," 
 continued he, looking out, " how do the cedars you 
 planted two years ago come on ?" 
 
 " Look !" said the Doctor, throwing up the sash^ 
 " they flourish now as I could wish ; yet they have 
 cost me much pains ; and these two, the very best, as 
 well as best placed among them, actually lost their 
 leaders in the winter." 
 
 The Viscount, half excited, bent through the 
 window to look at them, and observing they had 
 acquired others, asked the meaning of a sort of 
 bandage, which the top of each exhibited.
 
 TREMAIN^. 231 
 
 This was nothing but a very simple contrivance 
 of a soft bit of wood, fashioned like a cradle, and 
 bound with bass to the stem of the old leaders, so 
 as gently to elevate a new shoot into the same 
 perpendicular line. It had perfectly succeeded, 
 and the new leader had already pushed at least a 
 foot. 
 
 St. Clair, who had been fond of planting, ac- 
 tually went out to examine it, and returning ob- 
 served, 
 
 " I am surely very unfortunate ; I have more hands 
 than you, and my soil is at least as good ; but though 
 I'm known to be fond of this tree, and spare no 
 expense in its cultivation, I have not one about the 
 house equal to those of your's, notwithstanding their 
 accident." 
 
 " Because you don't take the pains to attend to 
 them with your own hands." 
 
 " Why, no," said St. Clair, " for a man of any 
 fashion to be cutting sticks like a carpenter, of whom 
 sixpence might have purchased the trouble, would 
 be neither profitable nor honourable." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," replied the Doctor, per^ 
 severing ; " it might be both." 
 
 " As to the latter, if you had invented the thing, 
 (a mode of preserving a tree to posterity) I question 
 if that would not have been honourable ; and for the 
 profit, you might have preserved your trees, which
 
 232 TREMAINE. 
 
 trees you have lost, and your good-humour at the 
 game time/' 
 
 " True," said St. Clair, yawning, " if such a trifle, 
 so much in every one's power, can put one in good- 
 humour !" 
 
 " You would at least," pursued Evelyn, " not 
 have found, as you told us just now, that to be by 
 one's-self was the gi'eatest bore in nature. In truth, 
 as Mr. Tremaine and I often agree, we are all of us 
 made for labour of some sort or other, and if we 
 cannot meet it, we must make it." 
 
 " Tremaine say he would make labour?" cried 
 St. Clair, staring. 
 
 Tremaine bowed to the Doctor, but not in ac- 
 quiescence. It was a bow not to be made out by 
 every body, and certainly not by the young Peer ; 
 yet it said almost as much as Lord Burleigh's shake 
 of the head, if rightly understood ; for it told Evelyn 
 he was in his power, as he did not choose to t^ke 
 the trouble to contradict him. 
 
 " To make labour is the last thing / should 
 wish to do," continued the Viscount, "even for an 
 hour." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Evelyn; "but 'give me 
 leave to ask how that hour would have been other- 
 wise employed ? " 
 
 " Probably in riding," said St. Clair, "or if in 
 bad weather, at billiards."
 
 TREMAINE. 233 
 
 ** Very good,'* said Evelyn ; " riding is a fine 
 exercise, especially if in a fine air, and in the early 
 Jiiorninij." 
 
 " Early morning !" exclaimed St, Clair : **at least 
 our friend hei*e is not with you in that." 
 
 " Oh ! but he is," pursued Evelyn; and Geor- 
 gina laughing, Tremaine gave visible signs of un- 
 easiness, if not of impatience. 
 
 " Then as to billiards," continued Evelyn^ " it is 
 a pleasant relaxation after the mind has been parti- 
 cularly bent with study." 
 
 " I believe," said St. Clair, " you're quizzing me, 
 for I own to you I'm tired both of the one and the 
 other. I've seen all the rides in the neighbourhood 
 till I'm sick of them; and as to billiards, unless with 
 a new player, I've played so much, that they have no 
 longer any charm." 
 
 '* Confess then,' replied Evelyn, " that to have 
 employed yourself in protecting your trees, would 
 have proved as agreeable an occupation as any of 
 those that actually did employ you." 
 
 " All that, my dear sir, is very true,'' said the 
 Viscount, looking at his watch, " but as I find the 
 country has still less interest in it than London, it is 
 a still greater bore, you know ; so I shall return to 
 the dull delights of the Park and St. James's Street, 
 the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " And back again next month," said Evelyn, as
 
 234 TREMAINE. 
 
 he attended him to the hall, ^^ vous ennuyer a la 
 campagne.^^* 
 
 " I am charmingly off for neighbours," continued 
 the Doctor, re-entering the library ; one of my 
 nearest comes two hundred miles, to a house he 
 built himself, and stays a week ; and my nearest of 
 all, when he does chance to reside at the seat of his 
 ancestors, shuts himself up as if he was one of the 
 old family pictures. ' ' 
 
 " You scold us pretty well for it, however," said 
 Tremaine ; " not a stroke to my lord there, but I 
 felt in every bone of my own skin." 
 
 " I'm glad what was so well meant, was so well 
 taken," replied Evelyn; " but how do you like the 
 Viscount?" 
 
 *' It is ridiculous to think what a reputation he 
 once had." 
 
 ** Respect him, however," said Evelyn; "for he 
 is one of the quizzers, one of the redoubtable corps 
 of St. James's Street, whom all his Majesty's plain 
 subjects are afraid of." 
 
 " I wonder why?" said Georgina. 
 
 " Ask Mr. Tremaine," replied the Doctor. 
 
 • Evelyn probably had in his mind the conclusion of the Scrupule 
 of Marmontel : " Ou allons nous, Madame ?"— 
 ^* 2>rous ennuyer a la campagne."
 
 TIIEMAINE. 235 
 
 CHAP. XXX. 
 
 YORKSHIRE. 
 
 I would I were a** sure of a good dinner." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Tremaine's reply (if he had one) to the question 
 propounded at the close, of our last chapter, was 
 spared, by the appearance of a man crossing the 
 lawn, in a single-breasted coat and long gaiters. 
 He came from the stables, and was followed by all 
 Evelyn's dogs, who seemed eager for his notice, and 
 all of whom he did notice by their names. 
 
 " Hilloa ho !" cried Evelyn, putting his head out 
 of window, while Tremaine was astonished both at 
 his hilarity and familiarity with the stranger; whom 
 however he rightly judged to be Careless, and who 
 was about to return a sort of view halloo, when he 
 was stopped by Georgina. She had hastily gone 
 out to meet him, and putting her arm within his, 
 carried him immediately off into a walk at a short 
 distance, where they seemed in earnest conversa- 
 tion.
 
 230 TREMAINE. 
 
 Something like jealousy actually struck Tremaine, 
 on seeing this ; and he could not help exclaiming, 
 in a tone between surprise, envy, and disappro- 
 bation, *^ This Will Wimble is a happy man. Dr. 
 Evelyn I" 
 
 " Why yes," observed the Doctor, "if being just 
 the best-natured creature in the world can make a 
 man happy, he is so." 
 
 " I mean,*' said Tremaine, broodingly, " in the 
 favour he seems to enjoy, and the influence he seems 
 to be allowed in this family. It is not only the dogs 
 that court him, and the master that loves him, but 
 the master's daughter — " 
 
 " Loves him too," finished the Doctor; " and well 
 she may, for I much question if he has not been a 
 sixty miles* ride to serve her, in a point on which her 
 heart was much set." 
 
 Tremaine looked more than surprised : " her 
 heart !" exclaimed he. 
 
 " Yes," answered the Doctor, " and he is now, I 
 perceive, giving an account of his commission." 
 ^ " Is it fair to ask what commission?" said Tre- 
 maine, with a strange sort of anxiety. 
 
 " Why neither more nor less than this," replied 
 Evelyn : " an old. widow, whom she loves very 
 much, sent us word two days ago, that her only son 
 had been pressed at Hull, though no seafaring man, 
 and that she was fearful he might enter, .which
 
 TREMAINE. 2S7 
 
 V'ould break her heart. I was not at home, nor ex- 
 pected for some hours, and perhaps should have 
 been too flinty myself to have gone so far to save an 
 idle rogue. What does Miss Evelyn but send to 
 Bachelor's Hall for her humble servant there, who 
 came over in a trice, takes her instructions, rides to 
 Hull, five-and-twenty-miles, thence to the widow's, 
 ten miles farther, with this cub of a son, whom he 
 had got released ; and having delivered him to his 
 mother, is now come back to relate the result." 
 
 Tremaine's heart beat high' — it filled both towards 
 Careless and Georgina. — His jealousy, if an unintel- 
 ligible sensation of interest can be called so, was by 
 no means cured ; yet he had the generosity to feel the 
 greatest admiration for Careless's active kindness, 
 and, for the first time in his life, found there was an 
 object whom he thought he might envy. 
 
 And yet he wondered at himself for doing so; 
 for Careless, being now come back, and presented 
 to him, the man of refinement, in his distant bow 
 and dignified air, could not help drawing a com- 
 parison between himself and the homely plainness 
 of the little Squire, not at all to the advantage of the 
 latter. 
 
 In truth, the elegance of Tremaine's manner had 
 
 ^ always, from the first, struck Georgina herself; and 
 
 the superiority of his abord, over even one she so 
 
 highly valued as Careless, was now particularly con-
 
 ^SS TRExMAINE. 
 
 spicuous to eyes which were always alive to what^ 
 ever was stampt with the mark of gentleman. 
 
 This discernment and sensibility to ease and grace, 
 so natural to all bosoms of feeling, could not but 
 make her properly appreciate whateve/ belonged to 
 the air noble ; and whenever she saw Tremaine, and 
 thought of his acquirements of mind, set oflp by the 
 ease of his conversation and the polish of this advan- 
 tageous manner, though a country girl, her own 
 nature was responsive to it, and the disparity of their 
 years did not prevent her from thinking him, not 
 only the finest gentleman, but the most interesting 
 person she had ever seen. 
 
 Careless, on the contrary, who had round shoulders, 
 and a slouch in his air, contracted by being almost 
 always in the saddle, had, in mere personal appear- 
 ance, nothing but the jollity of his countenance to 
 recommend him ; and though this latter spoke the 
 highest good-nature, it must be owned it waS ndt 
 remarkable for any particular intelligence. 
 
 '' I find," said Tremaine, shaking hands with 
 his new friend, " I had the pleasure of being at 
 school with you before I went to Eton, and I now 
 recollect the same good-natured features which 
 were once (we won't say how long ago) familiar 
 to nie." 
 
 " You fine town gentlemen," observed Cai*eles^, 
 making him a country bowj '* are ashamed of yottr
 
 TREMAINE. 239 
 
 ages sometimes ; but us plain Yorkshires wear well 
 enough not to need disguising them.'* 
 
 Tremaine reddened (which Careless not perceiving, 
 he added kindly), " I'm sorry, however, to see you 
 don't look in health, and fear this always comes of 
 running away from home ; I heard you had pas.sed 
 many years in foreign parts." 
 
 *' Yet I have been home these four years," said 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " But not in Yorkshire," observed Careless, look- 
 ing significantly at Evelyn. 
 
 " Don't mind him," said the Doctor, " for with 
 his good-will, no man would ever go beyond Bawtry, 
 and scarcely into the Bishoprick."* 
 
 " Why," answered Careless, " I see no reason, 
 when a man is well, that he should wish to be 
 better, at the hazard (ten to one) of being a great 
 deal worse. I have now lived, man and boy, seven- 
 and-thirty years in Yorkshire, have been but twice 
 in London in my life, and never across the salt seas 
 as they say ; and yet I believe I am as happy and 
 content as any that have." 
 
 " Excellent philosophy," said Tremaine. 
 
 " No philosophy at all," replied Careless, " but 
 mere taste, that was born with me, — like that for Dr. 
 
 • The county of Durham, always called by the true indigenous 
 neighbourhood, the Bishoprick.
 
 240 TREMAINE. 
 
 Evelyn's beef, which I perceive," added he (snuffing 
 the air rather eagerly), " is putting upon the table." 
 
 A servant announcing it, a contest arose which 
 should give his arm to Georgina; and Careless, ob- 
 serving that though he knew it was not his place to 
 go before Tremaine, yet when a lady was concerned 
 he could never yield, Tremaine instantly drew back, 
 not without a glance from the lady as she went out 
 of the room. 
 
 Evelyn, who observed it, and loved a quotation 
 (as the reader perhaps by this time has discovered), 
 exclaimed, as he hurried Tremaine into the dining- 
 room, 
 
 " While a kind glance at her pursuer flies; ■ 
 ** How much at variance are her feet and eyes !" 
 
 Tremaine seemed not ill pleased at the applica- 
 tion, and drawing a chair, this small party of friends 
 were soon seated at their repast. 
 
 " I fear," said Evelyn, as he was doing tlie 
 honours, " I shall be like other half-wise people, who 
 pursue half measures, and fail in their objects. Here 
 we are, dining at past five." 
 
 " Nearer six," cried Careless with some eagerness, 
 contemplating his plate, that was just filled. 
 
 " And yet," continued Evelyn, " I am too soon 
 for Mr. Tremaine, by two or three hours at least ; 
 I know I am too late for my friend here, and cer- 
 tainly for myself; and thus I have pleased nobody."
 
 TREMAINE. 241 
 
 Tremaine expressed his regret that the hour 
 should be altered for him ; observing with polite- 
 ness, '* he was sure he could dine at five as well as 
 at eight." 
 
 *' So am I too," said the Doctor, significantly, 
 *' if you would but try ; and at best it is but a little 
 agreeable violence." 
 
 *^ Eight!" — exclaimed Careless with surprise; 
 ^' that beats all I ever heard. I thought we were 
 getting wrong even in Yorkshire, when we got beyond 
 four. But this comes of leaving the good old country, 
 and training after outlandish customs." 
 
 '' For once your patriotism is mistaken," said 
 Tremaine, *' for on the Continent I believe to have 
 got up to three is quite extraordinary, and they 
 generally keep constant to two, if not to one." 
 
 " So much the worse for England," remarked 
 Careless, gravely, '^ and I almost wonder how we 
 can have beaten the French as we have; I never 
 thought they could be so much more natural than 
 us." 
 
 " I dare say," said Evelyn, consolingly, *' Lord 
 Wellington's army all dined at one.'* 
 
 " That alters the case," replied Careless. 
 
 *' May I ask, in all humility," said Tremaine, who 
 did not like his hours, any more than any thing else, 
 to be criticized, " what time the good old county 
 would allow us to dine ? '* 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 I34g T RE MAINE. 
 
 '* If you had not told me of these Monseers' ex* 
 ample/' answered Careless, who abhorred France 6<y 
 sincerely as to hate them more than even waiting for 
 his dinner, ^' I should say one, or at most two. Oar 
 fathers, who were better than us, always did so. 
 And let me tell you, when one has been after the 
 dogs, or busy all day, a good sirloin" (putting in his 
 plate) "is better at two or three o'clock, than all the 
 kickshaws in the v/orld, though you waited till nine 
 for them." 
 
 " A palpable hit," observed the Doctor, laugh-^ 
 ing. 
 
 Georgina, too, smiled ; and though she had too 
 much natural good breeding to apologize for her 
 dinner, she could not help saying something about 
 a wish for a French cook, for Mr. Tremaine's sake* 
 
 *^ And why so ? " asked her father. 
 
 '' Why indeed?'* echoed Careless, ''I'm sure 
 you are not true Yorkshire, to wish for any such 
 thing." 
 
 '^ Mr. Tremaine," answered Georgina, " has ac* 
 customed himself to particular things, which I am 
 afraid he cannot do without." 
 
 *' The lady is my best friend, I am glad to per- 
 ceive," said Tremaine : " for, as to my two old 
 schoolfellows here, I begin to believe they are in 
 a plot, and have invited me to dinner, merely to 
 laugh at me.'
 
 TREMAINE. 24-3 
 
 " Like the fox and the stork in the fable," ob- 
 served Careless, as if he had made another hit. 
 
 " I will have my revenge, however, like the 
 stork ;" continued Tremaine, good humouredly ; 
 " for when Mr. Careless does me the honour to 
 dine with me at Woodington, he shall have nothing 
 but kickshaws." 
 
 ^' That's not the way I have been used to be 
 treated at Woodington," rejoined Careless; " nor 
 did I ever see there, what I never thought I should 
 have lived to see at Lord Bellenden's, as I did 
 t'otlier day." 
 
 This he uttered with a loud and long-drawn sigh. 
 
 " Pray what?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " A round of beef sent to the side-board," added 
 Careless. 
 
 *^ Monstrous!" remarked the Doctor. 
 
 " It will lose his brother the county," said Care- 
 less, seriously. 
 
 Tremaine stared, and remarked '* that the county 
 must be little worth having, if it depended upon 
 that." 
 
 '^ Why, what should it depend upon?" replied 
 Careless. 
 
 '' I should have thought," remarked Tremaine, 
 drawing up, " upon integrity of character, sound 
 principles of patriotism, and extensive connexions." 
 
 " Why true," answered Careless ; " but principles 
 M 2
 
 244 TREMAINE. 
 
 are best seen, I always think, in manners and cus- 
 toms ; and if a person departs from the customs of 
 his ancestors, how do I know that he has not lost 
 i\\e\v principles too?'Vf>f';<<;?Fwiitoi?^iJi*i^>i i>^^^t ''^^^ 
 
 He said this with the air bf a mail corttSdenf tn' 
 the strength of his position, so that it could not 
 be answered. Indeed, to own the truth, it was not 
 new ; for he had made the same observation once 
 or twice before, with considerable success, at the 
 Hound-and-Horn club, a respectable and neighbourly 
 meeting, which was held once a month at the little 
 market-town of Belford, and which was sedulously 
 attended by Careless, the vicar, and surgeon of the 
 place, not to mention one or two squires of much 
 larger fortune, and sometimes (perhaps once in each 
 half-year) by Evelyn himself. 
 
 The dinner removed, a serious difficulty arose ; for 
 the good host vowed he had no claret in his cellar, 
 and he knew Tremaine coifld not or would not drink 
 port. Tremaine observed, on being pushed upon it, 
 that it was not his taste, but his constitution, that felt 
 the want of it. 
 
 " Suppose we try but this once," said the Doctor ; 
 '• it is only diminishing the quantity in proportion 
 to the strength, and my port is excellent." 
 
 " The best in the county,'' quoth Careless, hold- 
 ing it to the light, with the air of a connoisseur. 
 Tremaine was obliged to comply ; when Careless
 
 TREMAINE. * 245 
 
 added, " 'twill keep the wind off your stomach, 
 which I shrewdly suspect is the cause of all your 
 complaints." 
 
 His refined schoolfellow seemed a little hurt, and 
 perceiving that Georgina was rather amused than 
 shocked, began to meditate internally upon the im- 
 possibility, after all, of a country education sufficing 
 to the finishing polish of female manners. 
 
 " At least you will allow it is sound," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " It is remarkably good of its kind," answered 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " And the palate?" 
 
 " Rougher than claret," said the guest, " but not 
 so unpleasant as might be expected." 
 
 " I will hope, then," added his friend, " my un- 
 lucky want of French wine may be borne with." 
 
 " My father," exclaimed Careless, " used to 
 say that he was no honest man that did not like 
 port." 
 
 " Your grandfather," replied Tremaine, " wouLl 
 have said the same by ale." 
 
 The port, however, was extremely good, and the 
 weak stomach of Tremaine having condescended 
 to a very plain dinner, its master almost wondered 
 at his own feelings of lightness and good humour. 
 Pleased in himself, he was pleased with his com- 
 panions ; the worth which he had heard of In
 
 2^ TREMAINE. 
 
 Careless, always bore him up in his estimation, 
 when his bluntness was ready to sink him down ; 
 and the good sense of Evelyn, together with the 
 beauty and intelligence of his daughter, were never 
 more conspicuous. 
 
 After coffee, Georgina gave them music ; and the 
 evening being delicious, the whole party sti-olled with 
 Tremaine half the way home,^ — his horses attending 
 him till they took leave. 
 
 The moon shone bright when he mounted, and so 
 unusually pleasing were his meditations, that though 
 he moved at a foot's pace, he wished the way had 
 been longer. 
 
 Reader ! wast thou ever in love ? 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. 
 
 A YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 Home-keeping youths have ever homely wits." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " An important question that, with which you 
 concluded the last chapter." 
 
 'Tis therefore I concluded, for surely to answer it 
 requires a chapter by itself. And yet much will 
 depend upon the life, character, and education, to
 
 TREMAINE. - 247 
 
 say nothing of the sex of the person, who may be at 
 
 tliis moment honouring this essay 
 
 " Essay ? surely, sir, it begins to l^e a novel !-*** 
 " By no means ! — and I will maintain it before 
 any bishop, professor, or critic in Christendom, that 
 it still is that treatise of moral philosophy I intended 
 when I set out. I am to relate facts, and if love be 
 a subject of moral philosophy, how can I help it?'' 
 
 I repeat then (without disrobing myself), Reader, 
 wast thou ever in love? Because, if thou wast, thou 
 wilt call up many a pleasing recollection when thou 
 figurest to thyself Tremaine, pensieroso, returning 
 home, now plunging into woods 
 
 " Of branching elm, star-proof," 
 
 now emerging into clear moon-light, and now stop- 
 ping his horse on the bank of the river that divided 
 him from Evelyn Hall, and fixing a lingering look 
 upon its distant pediments; for no other reason 
 that this history has ever discovered, than because 
 they contained an amiable young person, and a re- 
 spectable friend, who had made the last few hours 
 pleasant to him. 
 
 Dismounting, he delivered his horse to his groom, 
 and saying he would walk the rest of the way, dis- 
 missed him. 
 
 " Que diable signifie tout cela?" said Monsieur 
 Dupuis, when he rushed into the hall on the 
 trampling of horses, and heard from the groom 
 that his master was pacing home on foot.
 
 248 TEEM^AtNE. 
 
 " Que c' est un drdhce gaiUard--la^'' continued 
 Monsieur Dupuis. ' 
 
 The groom understood, and Monsieur Dupuis 
 meant him to understand, nothing of his excla- 
 mation ; but betaking himself to the housekeeper's 
 room, " My master no come home; he walk about to 
 watch de moon-light," said the valet. . 
 
 "Very extraordinary this," said Mrs. Watson-; 
 ** what can possibly have happened?" 
 
 Except, however, in the pleasure, Tremaine did 
 not think it extraordinary at all. There was a calm 
 in the air agreeable to his senses, and an interest in 
 his thoughts which he had not felt for years ; and 
 having spent the best part of an hour on the terrace, 
 he retired to rest, with an equanimity surprising 
 to himself, and particularly surprising to Mr. 
 Dupuis. 
 
 What, is more, though he rang early the next 
 morning, it was. because he had been sufficiently 
 refreshed with sleep; which, without his being able 
 to account for.it, had been sweeter than he had for 
 a long time known. 
 
 " I suppose I am recovering," said he, as he 
 opened his windows earlier than usual: " this air 
 is delicious, and I have none of that feverishness 
 which used to hang upon me." 
 
 As soon as he was dressed, it was observed that he 
 went instantly to his library, where he culled out a
 
 TREMAINE. 249 
 
 volume of MarmonteFs Memoirs, and actually, be- 
 fore breakfast, made the following extract with his 
 own hand : 
 
 . *' Jusque la, le plaisir des sens avoit ete le sen I 
 attrait qui m'eut conduit. Ici je me sentis enleve 
 hors de moi par de plus invincibles charmes; c'etoient 
 la candeur, I'innocence, la douce sensibilite, la chaste 
 et timide pudeur, une honnetete dont le voile ornoit 
 la gi-ace et la beaute; c'etoit la vertu couronnee des 
 fleurs de lajeunesse, qui ravissoit mon ame encore 
 plus que mes yeux; sorte d'enchantement mille fois 
 au-dessus de tons ceux des Armides que j'avois cm 
 voir dans le monde." 
 
 The reader knows, or, if not, I am bound to tell 
 him, that this beautiful description was of a young 
 girl of eighteen, whom Marmontel married v/ith all 
 her bloom upon her, and with whom he was as happy 
 as the day was long. 
 
 " And why should he not?" asks some young 
 reader of the gentler sex. Merely, young lady, be- 
 cause the Frenchman was fifty-four years old. " That 
 makes a sad difference," says the young lady ! Oh ! 
 but he was a Frenchman ! 
 
 To be sure that alters the case again. At the 
 same time it ledTremaine into a profound calculation, 
 as to the true rule of proportion between the animal 
 spirits, gaiety, and powers of pleasing, of person<i 
 born on this, or that side of the channel. 
 M 5
 
 S50 TREMAINE. 
 
 " As a Frenchman to an Englishman, in these 
 respects," said Tremaine, doubling down the book, 
 while he took a stride along the room, — " so, in 
 inverse ratio, is thirty-eight to fifty-four." Nothing 
 in the world could be clearer. And as Marmontel 
 gained Mademoiselle de Montigny and was happy, 
 so " 
 
 Did he finish the calculation ? 
 
 Not exactly ; for as he pondered upon it in one of 
 the windows, his eye was arrested by a gentleman 
 well mounted, who leaped a five-barred gate into a 
 field that bounded the lawn, and seemed to be gal- 
 loping up to the house. It was Careless, who in a 
 trice entered the room, and said he was come to 
 breakfast with him. Tremaine received him with 
 more than politeness, and ordering breakfast, asked 
 him what he preferred. 
 
 " I myself drink chocolate," said he, " and can 
 recommend it to you as the right Spanish." 
 
 " I would rather it were English," cried Jack, 
 " and think Sir Hans Sloane's no bad thing; how 
 ever, I trust, whatever it be, that the proper staple 
 of an old Yorkshire breakfast is to be the foun- 
 dation." 
 
 Tremaine looked inquiringly. 
 
 " I am sorry you don't understand me," said 
 Careless, " for I mean cold beef, or good pigeon -pie." 
 
 Tremaine, having given the necessary orders, asked
 
 TREMAINE. 251 
 
 if he usually hunted in July, and made flying leaps 
 before breakfast? 
 
 " Why no !" he said, " but the ground was in such 
 good order, and Lightfoot in such spirits, that I 
 thought I would indulge him, poor brute ! and besides, 
 I like to keep him in practice." 
 
 Tremaine then inquired if he had come from 
 home; but found he had slept at Evelyn Hall; a 
 thing he frequently did, particularly if bound to 
 another part of the county : " As I am now," con- 
 tinued Jack ; " for I have promised Lord Bellen- 
 den's youngest son to shew him how to make a 
 May-fly, as well as wire a pike ; — two things of 
 which, with all his Greek and Latin, he is totally 
 ignorant.'" 
 
 " It is fifteen miles to Lord Bellenden's," said 
 Tremaine, " and you have come two already ; you 
 must be good-nature itself to go so far, to teach a 
 young cub to throw his line." 
 
 " I have a great regard for his father and mother," 
 replied Careless; " they wish him to be a little 
 accomplished, and I don't mind my time for people 
 I esteem." 
 
 " That is very good of you," replied Tremaine, 
 sitting down with him to breakfast, " and as you 
 have so much of it to dispose of, your neighbours 
 must profit by your disposing of it so well. I thihk 
 Dr. Evelyn said you were of no profession."
 
 252 TREMAINE. 
 
 " That's my own fault," answered Careless ; " my 
 father wanted me to study the law ; but after reading 
 Tom Jones, and seeing old Piepoudre the attorney 
 hanged for forging a will, I sickened of it." 
 
 " Good," said Tremaine, rather amused. 
 
 " My mother," continued his guest, " then pro- 
 posed the church ; a good pious woman she was, and 
 I was not much averse ; but '* 
 
 " You saw no clergyman hanged, I hope,'' said 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " No !" rejoined Careless, " but I had doubts and 
 qualms about myself." 
 
 " I dare say," interrupted Tremaine in a pause 
 w^hich Jack made—*' doubts which have puzzled 
 many a wise man before us." 
 
 " I had no puzzle about it," answered Jack; "and 
 perhaps you will laugh at me when I tell you what 
 my doubts and qualms were." 
 
 Tremaine assured him he never could be so 
 rude. 
 
 " Why then," suspending a piece of cold beef on 
 his fork and knitting his brow, as if he was still pon- 
 dering the matter — " I did not think myself good 
 enough,"' said Careless. 
 
 " Was that your reason?" asked Tremaine, with 
 some surprise. ' 4*>'*^'?: 
 
 " No other, I assure you," answered his companion, 
 ^' for I found I was too light, not to say wicked;
 
 TREMAINE. 253 
 
 aiid I said, how can I preach if I don't practise ? 
 As to what I was to preach, I had no doubt, for it 
 seems to me all a very plain thing." 
 
 " You are a happy man, Mr. Careless," said Tre- 
 maine, gravely. 
 
 " If you mean for believing the Testament," re- 
 plied Careless, " I see nothing but what is good in 
 it, and I never could bear a man who made it a joke. 
 But as I was afraid I never could come up to it, see- 
 ing I was hankering after a thousand other things, I 
 gave up the matter, and so here I am." 
 
 The train of thought which this caused in Tre- 
 maine, together with the interruption it had given to 
 Jack's breakfast, produced on both sides a silence of 
 several minutes, which Tremaine broke by reverting 
 to his first observation. 
 
 '• Well, but this time of yours ! I should like to 
 get a lesson from you hov/ to dispose of it ; having 
 a little of my own upon my hands now and then." 
 
 This was more than he had ever acknowledged, 
 even to himself. Had Evelyn been his guest instead 
 of Careless, he never would have made the . conces- 
 sion. Forbid it, pride ! forbid it, philosophy ! forbid 
 it, romance ! forbid it all and every flight of fancy 
 that ever took possession of, and misled the brain 
 and heart of poor human nature ! But it was dif- 
 ferent with a man who seemed a mere piece of good- 
 natured simplicity, if not, as Tremaine then supposed.
 
 254. TREMAINE* 
 
 a mere Yorkshire Tike, with whom he and his phi- 
 losophy could run no risk. He therefore hazarded 
 the disclosure, assuring his own mind that he did it 
 merely to draw Careless out into an accoimt of 
 himself. Be this as it may, the observation was 
 made. 
 
 ' " Why, to tell you the truth," answered Careless, 
 rather abruptly, " from what I heard of your goings 
 on, I ^ thought this life of yours must be a damn'd 
 dullun." 
 
 Tremaine was thunderstruck ; though he has since 
 declared, it was not the abruptness of the attack that 
 hurt him, but the rank Yorkshire twang in which 
 the words were uttered, that grated his ear still more 
 than his feeUngs, 
 
 Could he have suspected any body in the country 
 of the liberty of quizzing, or suspected Careless 
 any where, the offence had been unpardonable. 
 And let me tell you, no wonder ; for how would 
 any one, who had for years been nursing himself in 
 a favourite system, that was, like Sancho's idea of 
 sleep, to cover him all over like a cloak, in all 
 weathers, and shield him from hail, rain, and snow, 
 thunder and lightning, and all the storms that can 
 burst upon the head of a poor mortal man,— how. 
 Sir, I say, would you yourself like to have such a 
 comfortable, warm, and sheltering cloak stripped 
 off your back in a trice, and that without saying
 
 TREMAINE. 256 
 
 with your leave or by your leave, by a plain blunt 
 man, who, without any cloak at all, rode bare- 
 headed in all weathers, and therefore did not un* 
 derstand the use of one ? Flesh and blood could 
 not bear it. 
 
 Still there was somethinGT about Tremaine's tes- 
 tiness, however sudden and rash, which never made 
 him forget any thing good that belonged to the 
 agent that had caused it. He would scold a servant 
 and think him a blockhead for not understanding 
 him, when perhaps he scarcely understood himself ; 
 and he would, in fastidious mood, include the whole 
 world in one vast censure, for the fault sometimes of 
 an individual ; yet his resentment was short-lived, 
 and generally yielded to the recollection of some- 
 thing favourable in the character of its object. 
 
 At that moment, although he drew up and red- 
 dened, and was really shocked at the hrusquerie of 
 his guest, yet seeing him perfectly unconscious, and 
 therefore innocent, the recollection of his long ride 
 to the widow's with her son came across him, and 
 swallowing with his chocolate some strong words 
 that had got up to the top of his throat, he took a 
 middle course, and observed, though with dryness — 
 
 " You, Mr. Careless, are, I suppose, never dull j 
 and to be sure, in the life you lead, must be con- 
 tinually amused. Nay ! I think I heard you yester- 
 day say something of business,"
 
 256 TEEMAINE. 
 
 " Why, yes !' returned Jack, "though Tm of 
 no trade, I am somehow always employed, and no 
 day's too long for me/' 
 
 Tremaine, with a superior air, said,Jie should like 
 to have the history of his day. 
 
 " Why, to begin, then," rejoined the guest, " I 
 rise mostly with the sun." 
 
 ** At four o'clock in the morning !'* observed 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " Not exactly, but at six, unless it's dark : — and 
 if it doesn't rain cats and dogs, I generally, the first 
 thing, go to see what sort of a morning it is out of 
 doors." 
 
 '- Your second ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " See my horse rubbed down," returned Jack. 
 
 Tremaine's looks indicated a contempt, which his 
 politeness alone restrained. 
 
 " I see very well what you mean," said Careless ; 
 "you think that beneath me. But I am only a 
 younger brother, and have but a boy, who might, if 
 I did not look to it, spoil the best horse in the world, 
 and almost my only happiness. But if I had ever 
 so many grooms, I should do the same, for I love 
 my horse as much — — " 
 
 " As Sancho did his ass," interrupted Tremaine. 
 . "And good reason he had,'' rejoined Careless, 
 not at all disconcerted ; " I have read that book 
 many's the time, and I don't know any thing in it
 
 TREMAINE. 257 
 
 more pleasant than the friendship between Sancljo 
 and Dapple. If it was so between human creatures, 
 we should all be the better for it ;— it seems so 
 reasonable," continued Jack. 
 
 " One must be very much in want of a friend," 
 said Tremaine, " to bestow so much affection on 
 one's horse ! " 
 
 " Wliere can you get a better?" asked Jack, 
 warming in praise of his horse. '' Give me leave to 
 ask where will you get one that is always ready at 
 all calls, will lend you his back in all weathers, and 
 for all burthens ; will give you health and pleasure, 
 do business for you, fight for you, and save your 
 life for you ? " said Careless. 
 
 " Save your life ? " exclaimed Tremaine. 
 
 " Yes ! " answered the orator of the horse ; " I 
 could shew you such brave things done by horses, in 
 battle, and among the Tartars." 
 
 " Where ? " cried Tremaine. 
 
 " In the Gentleman's Recreation," answered 
 Careless. 
 
 " Pray go on," said the host, much amused. 
 
 " What wonder, then," continued Jack, ^' if I, 
 who am a lone man to boot, and have few things to 
 love me, as the beggar said of his dog — " 
 
 Tremaine gave a sort of sigh. 
 
 " What wonder, I say, if I myself delight in be- 
 ing good to a dumb creature v/ho is so good to me ?"
 
 258 TREMAINE. 
 
 * '* Upon my word/* said Tremaine, softening, 
 " you have made an excellent defence, and shall be 
 as good to your horse as ever you please. But 
 pray go on ; what next in your day ? " 
 
 " Why, I have a flock of hungry pensioners to 
 satisfy in my poultry." 
 
 " So has Miss Evelyn," said Tremaine thoughtfully. 
 " Georgy and I ar6 rivals," continued Careless, 
 not perceiving his though tfulness : " but though she 
 pretends a great deal, like a chit as she is, she knows 
 little about it ; besides she is all for Darking, and 
 does not care for Game. Would you believe it, the 
 last time she was at Bachelor's Hall, she did not 
 know a Birchin pile from a Shakebag.' 
 
 " I protest nor I," observed Tremaine listlessly : 
 '' what do you do next ?' 
 
 " I come in and breakfast," said Careless, " which 
 I have well earned, and eat with a relish." 
 
 " A true pupil of Dr. Evelyn," cried Tremaine. 
 " And where will you find a better master ? " 
 answered Jack ; " all his maxims deserve to be 
 written in letters of gold.' 
 
 " And his daughter's?" said Tremaine, in ascru- 
 tibizing tone. 
 
 " What, my dear Georgy ? why, she's a chip of 
 the old block; or rather, as the saying is, she's all 
 block herself,—-for I don't know whether her sense 
 or her beauty is the greatest,"
 
 TREMAINE. 259 
 
 " You speak feelingly,' observed Tremaine. 
 
 " So I ought," said Jack, clinching it witli a 
 thump on the table as he said it, " for I love her 
 as if she was my own flesh and blood. 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Tremaine, with a little earnest- 
 ness ; " but to be sure man and wife are the same 
 flesh and blood." 
 
 * " Oh ! as to that I'm too poor, and too old by a 
 dozen years at least," said Jack, in a tone as if he 
 had settled the matter with himself. 
 
 Tremaine became still more thoughtful, and the 
 conversation languished. 
 
 " As to the Doctor," observed Careless, resuming 
 it, '' you are more obliged to him than you know of." 
 
 « As how?" 
 
 " Why his having no claret yesterday was all a 
 fudge." 
 
 Tremaine looked surprised. 
 
 " Poz, I assure you/' continued Careless; "he 
 told me before dinner, that he knew it tore you to 
 pieces, and desired me not to peach." 
 
 " It is a little extraordinary," remarked Tre- 
 maine, with some gravity, " that he should pre- 
 tend to know me better than I do myself." 
 
 " Most people have that way," replied Careless; 
 " but he had better authority still, for your phy^ 
 sician in Northamptonshire is an old college frielid 
 of his, with whom he corresponds, and he told him,
 
 260 TREMAINE. 
 
 that if he could keep you from sour wine, and to 
 early hours, you would do very well/' 
 
 " He did ! '' exclaimed Tremaine, in a splenetic 
 tone ; " upon my word, I am much obliged to these 
 two worthy gentlemen, for the trouble they take 
 about me." 
 
 " I think you ought," continued Careless, taking 
 him a la lettre^ " and Miss Evelyn too !" 
 
 " Miss Evelyn, what of her? '* 
 
 " Why she was in the plot, and said it was a pity 
 you were so spoiled.'* 
 
 " She did !" cried Tremaine stiffly. 
 
 '' Yes, for she added, you could be veiy delight- 
 ful if you pleased." 
 
 "She is a very charming girl, " exclaimed Tre- 
 maine ; and milling the chocolate with rather in^ 
 creased fervour, asked his guest if he would not 
 have some more. 
 
 It was declined: "And, indeed," added Jack, 
 " it's well for me I have fifteen miles to ride, for it will 
 require it all to carry off this good breakfast of yours." 
 
 " Why, what would you do if you were at home, 
 and had no place to ride to ? " 
 
 " That is a difficult supposition," retorted the 
 guest ; *' but if I had not, I know a good enough 
 remedy." 
 
 "Pray what?" 
 
 " To dig in my garden," said Jack.
 
 TREMAINE. 261 
 
 '' I have heard of such things, but never saw 
 ihem/' replied the host. 
 
 *• Then come to Bachelor's Hall, and I'll shew 
 you cauliflowers and cucumbers of my own raising, 
 that beat even our friend's there," pointing towards 
 Evelyn Hall ; " indeed, it's the only thing he is a 
 little touchy about." 
 
 " But how if it rains?" remarked Tremaine. 
 " Oh ! I have abundant employment, for I make 
 fish and fruit nets, play the fiddle, and have the 
 best turning lathe in the county." 
 
 " Bachelor's Hall must be a place worth seeing," 
 observed Tremaine. 
 
 " I shall be proud to shew it you," answered 
 Careless. 
 
 " I suppose you read, too." 
 
 '• Oh yes, a great deal : indeed there is now so 
 much reading in the papers, that they take a great 
 deal of time to keep up with them. The landlord 
 of the Hound-and-Horn sends me an evening, three 
 times a week, and I have myself the county papers ; 
 so that with all this, the Gentleman's Magazine, and 
 the Annual Register, I have never been a week 
 behind things since the French Revolution. But 
 besides this, I have my brother's interest to manage 
 at Bel ford, where there are a number of votes for 
 his borough. I set up the club at the Hound-and- 
 Horn on purpose, and this takes up a deal of time."
 
 26::^ TREMAINE. 
 
 " And you are perfectly happy ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " I really believe it," continued the lx)st, " and 
 if I might say such an ill-bred thing, if I were not 
 Tremaine, I would be Careless." 
 
 " And if I were not Careless, I would be Tre- 
 maine," said Jack ; — " that is" — after a pause, 
 " provided you dined at four, and drank port." 
 
 " Oh 1 I dare say, when you began, you would 
 have several other provisos." 
 
 '' Why^ yes ! " observed Jack, looking round ; " I 
 would not let this old hall be so thinly inhabited.' ' 
 
 " Why, what would you do?" 
 
 " I would marry Miss Evelyn," said Jack abruptly. 
 
 Tremaine was half choked. 
 
 " Marry, and keep good fellowship," continued 
 Jack. 
 
 " I am too old, by your own account," observed 
 Tremaine with emotion. 
 
 " That w^as as a poor man ; but with your 
 fortune ! " 
 
 Tremaine looked grave, and a cloud shot across 
 his brow. But he proceeded, " why even with my 
 fortune, I fear — " 
 
 " Fear ! " cried Careless, " pshaw ! ' faint heart 
 never won fair lady,' or as we used to say out of 
 the Grammar, Fortuna favet fortibus. But talking 
 of fortune, my good friend, will you now allow me
 
 T R E M A I N E. 26S 
 
 to tell you what made me beat up your quarters so 
 soon this morning ? " 
 
 " It is time, I think," said Tremaine ; " I had 
 hoped it was because you had the same pleasure in 
 coming to see me, as I had in receiving you." 
 
 '* Why, yes ! certainly that was one reason," 
 answered Careless, " but I own I had another." 
 
 He then told him a story of distress, which as he 
 himself was mixed up in it in a manner very much 
 to his own credit, he explained not very perspi- 
 cuously ; but the result, as Tremaine gathered, was 
 this : — That a neighbouring squire of immense 
 estate, and very dissolute life, infamous withal for 
 having ruined several young women, had let out 
 to him his designs upon a tenant's daughter of great 
 beauty and little prudence; that he (Careless) had 
 warned the father of it, who though deeply in debt 
 to his landlord for rent, had forbidden him the 
 house, and kept his daughter out of sight ; that the 
 squire had notwithstanding contrived to elope with 
 the daughter on foot, who before she had gone half 
 a mile had repented, and while struggling to get 
 free, was met by Careless; that much roughness, 
 amounting to something very like blows, had passed 
 between him and the spoiler, who however was 
 forced to forego his prize, whom Careless restored 
 to her father; and in revenge, the father had been 
 ruined, by the seizure of every thing he had. A
 
 264 TREMAINE. 
 
 threatened duel awaited Careless, who at the same 
 time said, he did not think the fellow had pluck 
 enough to go through with it : he was only indig- 
 nant, that an injured man should be ruined, merely 
 because the injury was not so great as had been 
 intended. 
 
 " Thank God, however," exclaimed Careless, 
 rubbing his hands, " I have been lucky for these 
 poor people : the debt is above a hundred pounds, 
 but I have already got above fifty. Dr. Evelyn gave 
 me ten guineas, and my dear Georgy three; and to 
 tell you the truth this is one reason for my visit to 
 Lord Bellenden, where I know I may count upon 
 at least twenty more; and here I own," added he, 
 after a pause, and looking at the end of his whip, 
 which he kept twirling on the ground, " I own all 
 the folly of never, in my circumstances, having 
 taken to any trade or profession. I have, by my 
 idleness, deprived myself of all power to help these 
 poor devils, except by turning beggar for them 
 myself." 
 
 He blushed as he spoke the words, but it was the 
 blush of virtue, as well as of shame. Tremaine 
 was penetrated ; his heart was of kindred with the 
 best^ when called upon to act, and his indignation 
 at an injury recited wtis ever ready to boil over. 
 All the eloquence in the world could not have pro- 
 duced a more instantaneoys effect than the simple
 
 TREMAINE. 265 
 
 narration of Careless, to wliom he warmed as to a 
 brother. Squeezing him therefore by the hand, he 
 begged, if that were all, that he would give lip his 
 visit to Lord Bellenden, as he would himself cheer- 
 fully pay the balance of the farmer's debt. " And 
 if the oppressor put his threat into execution, I shall 
 think myself honoured," added Tremaine, "in at- 
 tending you to the field." 
 
 " Why, as to the first, I will take twenty guineas, 
 if you please," said Jack; " and as to the last, I 
 am for ever bound to you, and it is spoke like true 
 Yorkshire. But I fancy Squire Brown (who, by 
 the way, I am glad to find has nothing of Yorkshire; 
 in him, but springs from a stocking-maker at Not- 
 tingham), will never court another meeting : the 
 rascal has tasted a little crab-stick already, and as it 
 is four days ago, I fancy he is in no humour to covet 
 any thing else." 
 
 " But my Lord Bellenden," said Tremaine. 
 
 " My dear friend," returned Jack, " the lad will 
 never hook a pike as long as he lives, unless I go 
 over to him : so thank you a thousand times, and pray 
 give me leave to order Lightfoot." 
 
 The bell rang; the horse was brought; and Tre- 
 maine was left alone, thoughtful, occupied, and 
 affected ; and, let us add, less displeased than usual 
 with himself, and with all the world. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 2Q6 TREMAINE. 
 
 CHAP. XXXII. 
 
 SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 " Pacing the forest, 
 Chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " It is certain," said he, as he walked through 
 the garden-door towards the terrace, " that useful 
 lessons maybe gathered from small things. Who 
 would have thought that this uninformed, untra- 
 velled, rough diamond, would furnish food even for 
 Socrates !" 
 
 It was not that Tremaine thought himself So«- 
 crates ; but he wished that Socrates could have had 
 a Careless for a subject, in his reasoning upon 
 human nature. 
 
 " He would have given a rare lecture upon it," 
 said Tremaine, pacing the terrace. 
 
 The meditation continued some time, when he 
 began to be clouded, by asking himself the important 
 question^ whether, with all his attainments, riches,: 
 and personal consequence. Jack was not the happier: 
 being of the two.
 
 TREMAINE. 26T 
 
 " And yet," continued he, advancing quicker 
 along the terrace, as he advanced with his soliloquy, 
 " and yet as happiness must be in the mind, and 
 must therefore exist in proportion to the mind's 
 cultivation, how is it possible ? To dig in a garden, 
 weave a net, or rub down a horse, is surely a very 
 common affair, and not calculated to produce what 
 all of us are courting with such eagerness, and none 
 of us ever attain. He is indeed a benevolent, and 
 kind-hearted creature," proceeded Tremaine, " and 
 that does much ;— but so are many ; I cannot tax 
 myself with any deficiency in this respect." 
 
 " I will consult Dr. Evelyn about him," con- 
 cluded Tremaine. " He will dogmatize a little, and 
 we shall have a dispute. No matter — the truth may 
 be struck out between us." 
 
 Now it may have occurred to the reader, that 
 whatever good sense may have appeared in Evelyn, 
 any thing but the truth had been infused by him 
 into the mind of Tremaine. Yet that is not exactly 
 so. Two rough stones of equal hardness, con- 
 tinually in collision, may leave it doubtful in which 
 the grain and solidity are firmest. Yet if one of 
 them has a few incrustations or asperities not 
 naturally belonging to it, ten to one, by continual 
 rubbing against the other, they are insensibly softened 
 down, without the real solid block knowing any 
 thing about the matter. 
 
 n2
 
 268 TREMAINE. 
 
 Just SO was it with Tremaine. To have yielded 
 his theories to Evelyn, would never have entered his 
 contemplation ; but as truth is the fairest flower of 
 history, our duty requires that we should confess 
 he was at least sometimes in the situation of that 
 illustrious fellow- theorist, who, inculcating the sub- 
 lime doctrine that pain was no evil, and seized with 
 the gout in the midst of it, though he would not 
 give up his theory, was forced to allow it an incon- 
 venience. Now, as seclusion to the one philosopher 
 was as incontestably an inconvenience as the pangs 
 of the gout to the other, the pride of opinion had 
 insensibly, and just so .far yielded in Tremaine, that 
 he thought Evelyn seemed the happier man of the 
 two; and though it was still a problem in his mind, 
 whether his happiness was on account, or in spite 
 of his way of life, yet he was forced to own that 
 the pursuits and tastes of such a man must at least 
 be very bearable things. **^'^. .^"^ _,iiu * v 
 
 The perpetual droppings, therefore, of £velyh's 
 maxims, began to be a little like the perpetual drop- 
 pings of water upon marble ; and obstinate as the 
 mind of Tremaine may appear, it could not, any 
 more than the marble, be exposed to these unceasing 
 efforts, without insensibly giving way. 
 
 *' There must be more in my friend's notions of 
 life, than I am aware of," said the man of refine- 
 ment, canvassing the point; — and yet I think I
 
 TREMAINE. 269 
 
 have had as many occasions of judging as he. I will 
 certainly probe the matter the first opportunity/' 
 
 When that first opportunity happened does not 
 appear, but the next meeting upon record will be 
 found in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIII. 
 
 A RIDE. 
 
 " Come, woo me, woo me j for now I am in a holiday humour, and 
 like enough to consent." 
 
 SHAKSFEARE. 
 
 " It is all owing to our departing from nature, or 
 being what you call refined," said the Doctor. 
 
 As this was round a table covered with wine, and 
 fruit, and biscuits, perhaps the reader will imagine 
 that Tremaine had again condescended to leave 
 his own company and rich repast, for the society 
 and plain but excellent board at Evelyn Hall ; or, 
 perhaps, that the chimnies of Woodington had 
 begun to smoke for others as well as for their soli- 
 tary master. But it was none of these ; for the party 
 were now all assembled under a large mulberry- 
 tree in Jack Careless's garden. How they came 
 there the Doctor can best explain. It is certain he
 
 2T0 TREMAINE. 
 
 was a bold man ; for he proposed to Tremaine one 
 morning to accompany him to Belford on its market 
 day. Tremaine shuddered, but consented ; though 
 whether it was in obedience to the father, or the 
 daughter, who looked uncommonly lovely that day, 
 we have never exactly learned. It is certain that a 
 ride with her through some green lanes — 
 
 " Green lanes ! why then, sir, I absolutely give 
 them both up. A sensible woman of my acquain- 
 tance, in lecturing her daughters, used often to tell 
 them — ' if you are doubtful about encouraging a 
 man, never ride or walk with him; but, above all> 
 never in a green lane !' Now a thousand reasons 
 might be given for this. The retirement and sweet- 
 ness of a lane when green — that is, in the very 
 season of love; — the harmony it sheds over the 
 senses ; — no distractions — ^no distant prospect — but 
 all confined to the one pleasing, and perhaps too 
 interesting object ; not even the expectation of a 
 passenger to interrupt or recall the yielding sense ; 
 •*-^'lis too much !" 
 
 *' Well ! but you forget, Tremaine was nearly 
 twenty years older than the lady." 
 
 " True ; but on that very account the lady was 
 more off her guard ; she could not suspect herself 
 —so that there is more than even the usual advan- 
 tage. Though a difference of twenty years is 
 frightful in most places, it never is so little so as
 
 TREMAINE. 271 
 
 where' no pretty fellow, joyous in youth and youth's 
 attractions, can intrude to disturb you. No, no ! 
 if a man has this terrible disparity, and yet ven- 
 tures to court a young girl, ever while he lives let 
 him get her into a green lane." 
 
 Wise as all these reflections may be, it is certain 
 that Tremaine was as innocent of making them as 
 the lady herself. Yet it is also certain that when, 
 with a frankness which spoke all sorts of natural 
 things from her eyes, with a play of the most inge- 
 nuous countenance, as well as in the sweetest voice 
 in the world, she begged him to accompany them, 
 " because they would so enjoy the green lanes," he 
 had nothing more to say. All fear of Belford 
 vanished ; and it is a question whether, if it had 
 been even to London itself, he would not have 
 ordered his horses as she desired. 
 
 What they said to one another is not known; 
 for as three could not well ride abreast, the Doctor 
 chose to proceed singly, in the manner of an ad- 
 vanced guard; the two grooms slunk far behind, 
 being in effect absorbed, the one in giving, the 
 other in listening to a description of the superiority 
 of London over country service — in which, from the 
 dazzling account of wages, board wages, fees on 
 buying and selling horses, and gi-atuities on trades- 
 men's bills, the latter was left to consider himself as 
 a mighty inferior sort of a person.
 
 272 TREMAINE. 
 
 Tremaine and the lady, therefore, were left nearly 
 as much to themselves as if no human creature were 
 near them. He was well mounted, rode well, and 
 looked, as he always did, the gentleman; and when 
 we add to this, that, with no inconsiderable powers 
 of conversation himself, he was all eye and all ear 
 for his companioii ;— and all this in a green lane \ 
 let me tell you, madam, the twenty years difference 
 sank to ten in a trice. 
 
 " I never had so pleasant a ride," said Geor- 
 gina, as they emerged into the high road leading 
 to the little town of Belford, which now appeared 
 in sight. 
 
 " I wonder if he is at home," said the Doctor, 
 looking at an old-fashioned house, close by the road 
 side. 
 
 " Do let us stop and see," said Georgina. 
 " Voyons," rejoined Evelyn, dismounting, and 
 giving his horse to his servant. 
 
 At this, he opened a little gate in a low wall, 
 which on that side bounded a garden of hollyhocks, 
 wall-flowers, and sweet marjorams, and proceeded 
 to a large brown door with small pannels, and a 
 huge projecting scollop-shell pediment. It was 
 decorated with a brass knocker, and to this the 
 Doctor most vigorously applied. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, where are we?" cried Tre- 
 maine.
 
 TREMAINE. 273 
 
 " In iEbalia,'* answered the Doctor. 
 
 "iEbalia?" 
 
 " Yes, as I'll prove any day in the year.'* 
 
 Tremaine looking puzzled, and fancying this some 
 far-fetched whim of the Doctor, " we are at Bachelor's 
 Hall," said Georgina. 
 
 " Entrez^ Messieurs et Mesdames^^ exclaimed 
 Evelyn, after parleying with a woman who opened 
 the door, and whom he called by the familiar name 
 of Becky. 
 
 Georgina was off her horse in a moment, and, 
 followed by Tremaine, entered the house. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIV. 
 
 " He'll shew you where the bachelors sit." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Reader, hast thou never stopped thy horse at the 
 corner of a village road, to view a peaceful dwell- 
 ing that courted thee to look at it; retired in a 
 little court of flowers, with here and there a lilac 
 or a vine gadding over a casement-window ? A 
 1<i 5
 
 ^4 TREMAINE. 
 
 pine, perchance, rears its head over all, and even far 
 above the loftiest chimnies of the mansion itself. 
 
 Hast thou never done this, and while thou hast 
 surveyed its well-kept grass plot, with gay gera- 
 niums, or its fresh -painted porch twisted with honey- 
 suckle, said to thyself " this seems the abode of 
 peace i" and east many a look back upon thy per- 
 haps stormy life, and wished for just such a port 
 as this, even though thy then home might be a 
 palace? 
 
 If thou hast done this, thou hast seen Bachelor's 
 Hall. 
 
 While the gouvernante, Mrs. Rebecca, went to 
 call her master, who was out of doors, Tremaine 
 proceeded to examine the house, of which Evelyn 
 and his daughter did the honours, seemingly as 
 much at home as if they were the owners. 
 
 It had been always what is called in the country, 
 a bettermost sort of farm-house, which Jack's eldest 
 brother had fitted up for him, when he leased him 
 the farm at a low rent. That not answering, he had 
 let the lands, barns, and stables to an under tenant, 
 who lived at the back of the house, and was there- 
 fore Jack's nearest neighbour. 
 
 A small hall with a brick floor, and well-whitened 
 walls, set round with old prints of the most famous 
 race-horses of their time, composed the entrance, 
 which, through Mrs. Rebecca's care, was alway«
 
 TREMAINE. 275 
 
 kept as clean as a daily washing could make it. To 
 the right and left were parlours, one much larger 
 than the other; and behind, the kitchen, the door of 
 which, at the suggestion of Georgina, was skreened 
 from sight by a large curtain of old tapestry. 
 
 " Let us repose ourselves in this comfortable room 
 till he comes in," said Evelyn, leading the way into 
 the left-hand parlour. 
 
 They entered into a neat, and, for a bachelor, 
 rather a large room, where the Doctor immediately 
 seating himself in an arm-chair, took up the 
 county paper, which seemed to have been Jack's 
 last study. 
 
 A sort of bow window, darkened by a large gera*' 
 nium trained into a fan, prevented much view at 
 one end ; but a glazed door leading into a cheerful 
 garden, through which the sun was shining full, 
 gave it much splendour at the other. On one side 
 of the fire-place hung a large map of Yorkshire, 
 with an accurate plan of the Ainsty and York 
 minster, of which an ample print ornamented the 
 chimney itself. On the other side, a glazed book- 
 case, surmounting a scrutoir, immediately caught 
 Tremaine's eye. The library consisted of a large 
 Bible, and Whiston's Josephus, which had been 
 Jack's mother's; the Farmer's Dictionary, the Gen- 
 tleman's Recreation, and an old Chambers, all in 
 folio; two or three volumes of the Spectator, and
 
 216 TBEMAINE. 
 
 some Annual Registers, decorated the otfeer shelves* 
 But to Tremaine's surprize, there lay ^ppn .the 
 chairs, seemingly as if they were often used, Fer- 
 guson's Lectures on Natural Philosophy, the Com- 
 plete Clock-Maker, and a book on Surveying and 
 Mensuration. 
 
 Tremaine expressed his wonder at this, as though 
 he had not suspected Jack of a fondnesSjior -^y 
 science, ; ;; •... ;- Tir..' 
 
 '' You are mistaken," said Evelyn; '' for our 
 friend has an excellent mechanical head, and the 
 cuckoo clock in the hall, which Becky always tells 
 me is truer than Belford church, was made with his 
 own hands. But, suppose," added he to Georgina, 
 ** you shew Mr. Tremaine our friend's study, while 
 I finish this agricultural report of the West Riding; 
 I have a full column still to read." 
 
 Georgina laughingly led the way into the other 
 parlour, which was about twelve feet square,^ and 
 dignified through all the house by the name of 
 study; though Careless, with more modesty and 
 correctness, called it his workshop. In. this, the first 
 thing they saw was a carpenter's table, covered with 
 tools. A large lathe took up a considerable portion 
 of the room, together with nets of different kinds, 
 the work of Jack's own fingers. On a little table in 
 the middle lay a letter in his own hand, addressed 
 " to the Editor of the Farmers' Magazine," which
 
 TREMAINE. 2TT 
 
 proved to be an essay on the best mode of cultivating 
 •the hundred-headed cabbage. 
 
 The master of the house not appearing, they were 
 summoned by the Doctor, who had finished his re- 
 port, to go in quest of him themselves. 
 
 " We shall see Jack's garden," said he, '' which 
 is neatness itself; though I don't much like it, for 
 the fellow bullies me with his cauliflowers." 
 
 The party then sallied forth, and found Evelyn 
 had not overrated his friend's skill : for Tremaine 
 •discovered to his utter astonishment, that a mere 
 potager, which he had never condescended to rank 
 in any class of what he called gardens, was in reality 
 not only an interesting, but a very pretty thing. 
 A few borders of flowers, close to the door, yielded 
 by degrees to compartments of the healthiest vege- 
 tables, in beautiful, because useful regularity. The 
 espalier, and the honest gooseberry and currant, 
 formed a green wall for each division; while at 
 foot, the strawberry, and sometimes a row of daisies, 
 kept every thing spruce and regular. 
 
 The garden wall, well clothed, but still very low, 
 bounded a lane which led farther into the village ; 
 and a green walk, parallel with it, ended in a large 
 bench, close to the mulberry-tree, of which men- 
 tion has already been made. Tremaine expressed 
 his wonder, that with such a taste for the useful in 
 gardening, this wall should have been left so low.
 
 278 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Why, I have wondered too," said Evelyn, as 
 they all paced the walk by its side ; " but when I con- 
 sider how much amusement, interest, and occupation 
 Jack would be deprived of if it were higher, my 
 wonder ceases." 
 
 Tremaine desiring explanation,^— 
 
 "You must know,*' continued Evelyn, "this is 
 Jack's exchange; his social walk, his world. Not 
 a traveller on foot or horseback, not a post-chaise, 
 farmer's or other waggon, but courses along this 
 wall ; and as he is universally known, and proportion- 
 ably liked, whenever he is tired of himself — which 
 indeed, is not often-*-" 
 
 " He is happy," interrupted Tremaine. 
 
 " He is so," said Evelyn, eyeing the interrupter 
 significantly. 
 
 " Go on," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Well ! whenever he is tired of himself, or is 
 otherwise disposed to it, he has only to come into 
 this walk, and something, whether of gossip or 
 business, immediately engages his attention. He 
 has been seen to lean over that corner, where the 
 bricks are a little deranged, for an hour together, 
 talking to passengers, high or low, known or un- 
 known; so that, in the words of a neighbouring 
 farmer, who talked to me about it, * it is thought 
 he would make a foin parliament man ! ' " 
 
 "An hour together leaning over a wall!" said
 
 TREMAINE. 279 
 
 Tremaine with an emphasis, as if he had set the 
 thing down in his own mind. 
 
 •' It all depends upon taste,*' remarked Evelyn ; 
 " but the taste once allowed, I see no reason why a 
 wall should not do as well as a rail." 
 
 " Nor I,'* said Tremaine; " but I profess I don't 
 understand the taste." 
 
 " Then you are different from all your fine com- 
 panions, in the fine world," answered Evel;^Ti. 
 
 Tremaine declaring he did not comprehend him — 
 " Perhaps," replied the Doctor, " I may have been 
 misinformed ; but judge for yourself. Some busi- 
 ness took me last spring to town for a week. I left 
 Georgy with her aunt, meaning to hurry home as 
 fast as I could. Meantime, as I like to look at the 
 world every now and then, for fear I should lose its 
 manners, and be quizzed, you know," added he 
 significantly — 
 
 Tremaine smiled, and bade him go on. 
 
 *• Well ! I thought one way of examining customs 
 was to go to what used to be called the Ring in 
 Hyde- Park. But every thing changes." 
 
 " As how?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Why, I could scarcely believe it myself," con- 
 tinued Evelyn, " but I found the Ring had been 
 turned into a straight line." 
 
 " I know of no such alteration," said Tremaine. 
 
 '* It was the same thing," proceeded Evelyn; " for
 
 280 TREMAINE. 
 
 the Ring I found absolutely abandoned, though, 
 as a ride, one of the prettiest in the kingdom ; and 
 all the world, at the hazard of crushing one ^lOther 
 to pieces, were parading in triple rows, up and down 
 one long dull line, between the two gates." 
 
 " That seems bad,'* observed Tremaine, " and is 
 new since I was there." 'W ManSembau os ^w '^lA ^^ 
 
 " To our point," said the Doctor. *' When I 
 entered from Piccadilly, I observed Sir Giles ■ , 
 the Baronet, yoil know, with a vacant face, waiting 
 on horseback behind the rails of Rotten Row^ in 
 seemingly immediate expectation of something 
 coming." 
 
 " And did it not come ?'* asked Tremaine. 
 
 " I think not," replied Evelyn, " for having gone 
 round the Ring, I found him precisely in the same 
 spot and attitude, and precisely with the same 
 vacancy of countenance, seemingly as much as ever 
 at a loss for what he expected. I had, however, in 
 the mean time, made a similar remark on Sir Charles, 
 
 Sir John, My Lord , and your friend the quiz- 
 
 zer himself; who all, on horseback or on foot, were 
 leaning over the rails, all along the road." 
 
 " There must have been some reason,'* said Tre- 
 maine. *s:'*/noo n>[^- 
 
 " They were all * foin parliament men, ' " replied 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Tremaine, perceiving his drift.
 
 TREMAINE. 281 
 
 " what possible harm can there be in gentlemen 
 talking together in the manner you describe?" 
 
 " None in the world," said Evelyn, drily ; " you 
 will observe I am on my defence : I only said that a 
 wall was as good as a rail." 
 
 Georgina rather laughing, Tremaine said gravely, 
 " Are we to understand, then, that there is no dif- 
 ference in persons or things ? that this rough neigh- 
 bourhood supplies as good society as London ? that 
 this dirty lane is equal to Hyde Park ? and that you 
 or I could have the same pleasures here, as in the 
 conversation we found there ?" 
 
 " Scavoir,'^ answered the Doctor, who, from 
 having been abroad, often interlarded his talk with 
 foreign phrases, " Sf avoir what the conversation is. 
 That which I caught in my daily visit to the Park 
 consisted, I will not say for the most part, but alto- 
 gether, of the scandal of the gaming-house or boudoir ; 
 who lost the last thousand; how long it would be 
 
 before Lady A ran away to Lord B , whom 
 
 she had always wished to marry instead of her hus- 
 band ; or, at best, the empty speculations of people, 
 who knew nothing at all about the matter, upon a 
 change of ministry." 
 
 " And this you call London conversation ? " ex- 
 claimed Tremaine. 
 
 " Far from it," answered his friend ; " I said it was 
 London rail conversation, and as such not better, if
 
 282 TREMAINE. 
 
 not something worse, than country wall conversation. 
 There is a great deal of good talk in London, which 
 we can seldom command in the country : there is 
 also a great deal of frivolity which ice escape. Our 
 bad and ridiculous passions may not indeed be era- 
 dicated, but they are not exercised." 
 
 '* You allow then, at last," interrupted Tremaine, 
 " that sc^itude is a good thing." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied the Doctor. 
 
 " Suppose we ask Mr. Careless what he thinks of 
 it," said Georgina, "for there he isj" and she 
 pointed him out. 
 
 Jack was at that moment in the very middle of the 
 farm-yard, on the other side of the garden, giving a 
 lecture to his tenant, who listened with great appro- 
 bation, upon what both agreed was a desideratum 
 in farming science ; — the best mode of baiting a 
 mole-trap. 
 
 " I think I have made him understand it," said 
 Jack, as he leaped the garden-wall, with the mole- 
 trap in his hand. 
 
 "You deserve to be immortalized," observed 
 Tremaine ; " your own invention, I suppose?** 
 
 " An improvement," answered Careless, " ancl 
 I hope a very good one ; it cost me a night's sleep, 
 besides two or three consultations with the Squire 
 Rector here, to say nothing of Georgy, who had a 
 voice in it too ; had not you, Georgy?"
 
 TREMAINE. 283 
 
 " Upon my word," said Tremaine, bowing to them 
 all, " the occupations of the country want no farther 
 panegyric or comment, to prove their superiority. 
 A doctor of divinity, an accomplished young lady, 
 and a gentleman of high degree, all bending the 
 force of their genius, and giving their time to mole- 
 catching ! I want no other proof of the value of 
 time in the country.'* 
 
 " And why not ? " said the Doctor, " as well as 
 to fox-catching with squires, or paradox-catching 
 with philosophers, or rat-catching with politi- 
 cians ? " 
 
 Tremaine did not very vvell like the reply ; and 
 the conversation, after pausing, took another turn, 
 and fell upon subjects concerning which we do not 
 think it expedient to trouble the reader with any 
 detailed report; shortly after which the whole party 
 proceeded to the little town of Belford. 
 
 Here, too, we are compelled to do another small 
 violence to our historical feelings, and refrain from 
 accompanying our friends in their ride. Suffice it 
 that they went and returned without incurring any 
 " moving accident " by either " flood or field ; " 
 not, however, without having previously arranged to 
 dine in pic-nic under the mulberry-tree in Careless's 
 garden. 
 
 " Charming ! " exclaimed Georgina, on the pro- 
 posal to the above effect being made by her father,
 
 284 TREMAINE. 
 
 in consequence of a set of gipsies having passed up 
 the lane just as they were starting ; " charming ! '* 
 and that word * charming' silenced an objection 
 which had already reached the end of Mr. Tremaine's 
 tongue, but which, from the moment Miss Evelyn 
 expressed her opinion, never got beyond it. 
 
 Careless declaring that nothing would be so de- 
 lightful to him as the proposed plan, but the utmost 
 he could command was a leg of mutton, the Doctor 
 sent off his servant with a carte-hlanche to the house- 
 keeper at Evelyn Hall ; and Tremaine would have 
 sent him on to Woodington, with a like order to 
 Monsieur Bertrand his cook, had not the whole 
 party declared against French cookery under an 
 English mulberry-tree, and even carried it so far, 
 that an equally firm protest was. made against the 
 claret and sauterne for which Tremaine very strongly 
 pleaded. ^ .? 
 
 "You say true, my good friend," said the arbi- 
 trary Doctor, arguing the point ; " prejudice is pre- 
 j udice, whether English or French : but the stomach 
 is above all fashionable feeling, and will speak for 
 itself; and if these fine wines are acrid poisons to 
 you instead of support, they will not destroy you 
 the less because you are prejudiced for, or I against 
 them." 
 
 " But consider his reputation," said Georgina, 
 archly : " how would it sound at White's, if it were
 
 TREMAINE. 285 
 
 knoT\'n that Mr. Tremaine were turned a mere 
 Yorkshire squire, and had actually been detected 
 dining in a cottage garden, and drinking port ?" 
 
 " And at four o'clock," added Careless ; " for by 
 the Lord Harry that must be the hour, if you dine 
 at all." 
 
 '' And quite fashionable for a set of gipsies," 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 Tremaine had nothing for it but to submit ; and 
 while he looked at the loveliest cheek in the world, 
 damasked by the buxom air, he tacitly asked himself 
 whether natural hours, natural pleasures, and such a 
 companion, were not, after all, the true enjoyments 
 of life ? 
 
 Having now accounted for bringing our party 
 under the mulberry-tree in Careless's garden, we 
 will proceed to relate the conversation exactly as it 
 went on after dinner, as was opened in all due form 
 in the beginning of the thirty-third chapter of this 
 instructive work.
 
 2S6 T RE MAINE. 
 
 CHAP. XXXV. 
 
 TABLE TALK. 
 
 " Oh God ! methinks it were a happy life 
 " To be no better than a homely swain." 
 
 SHAKSfKARE. 
 
 " It is all owing to our departing from li^ttM^!;" 
 said the Doctor, " or being' what you are pleased to 
 call refined." 
 
 " That is, being too much in buckram," added 
 Jack, explaining. 
 
 " Aye," continued Evelyn, " I believe that is the 
 true word ; for a spoiled man of the world is no more 
 at his ease in the ordinary course of society, or in 
 every day occurrences, than a stiff German cham- 
 bellan, in a full suit of buckram." 
 
 " Do you mean," asked Tremaine, " that there 
 is no difference between a man of education and a 
 ploughman? " 
 
 A ploughman was at that instant coming home 
 from his day's work. 
 
 " God forbid ! " said the Doctor ; " at the same
 
 TREMAINE. 287 
 
 time it is a great question, so often is education 
 abused ; and when education itself destroys simpli- 
 city of heart, the difference I would make would be 
 against it." 
 
 By this time the aforesaid ploughman had come 
 abreast of the mulberry-tree, and perceiving Jack, 
 pulled off his hat to him with a smile and a bow, 
 composed in such an exact proportion of respect 
 and familiarity, that it was difficult to say which was 
 uppermost. 
 
 " HoA^ are you, Dick ? " said Careless. 
 
 " I envy," observed Tremaine, with an air of 
 superiority, not at all concealed, ^' this happiness 
 of Mr. Careless, who can thus draw pleasure from 
 every one he meets.'' 
 
 "Why, as to that," answered Careless, "I have 
 not any great pleasure in Dick's company; but I 
 believe he is a very honest fellow, and would do me 
 a good turn if he could : more than we can say of 
 many finer people; and it would be well for the 
 world, educated or not, if there were more Dicks 
 in it." 
 
 " Surely," said Tremaine, preserving aQ his 
 superiority, " you are not going to fall into the 
 common-place notion, that people are more honest, 
 or more kind, because they live in the country. 
 We are not in * Arcady the blest,' because we are 
 in a garden in Yorkshire."
 
 288 TREMAINE. 
 
 " I should like to hear this discussed," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 '' Suppose, then," continued Tremaine, smiling 
 and rubbing his hands at this little encouragement, 
 " that this Dick, instead of being a very honest, 
 good-natured fellow, was a good-for-nothing rascal; 
 of which, with all deference, there may be some 
 even in Yorkshire as well as elsewhere." 
 
 "Enough and to spare," cried Jack, allow- 
 ing it. 
 
 " A poacher, for instance," observed Tremaine, 
 thinking to rivet the matter with his companion. 
 
 "I would not be a hare in his way," answered 
 Careless. 
 
 " What becomes of simplicity of heart then ? " 
 asked Tremaine, drily, and looking at Evelyn. 
 
 " Perhaps he would never have had it any where," 
 said the Doctor, perceiving thcfallacy. 
 
 " He is a good husband and father," remarked 
 Careless, " and I'll answer for it, when he gets 
 home to his supper, is as happy as any of we." 
 
 " There is no doubt," said the Doctor, taking 
 up the question, " but there are rogues in grain all 
 over the world; but at least country rogues are 
 coarser and more easily detected than you fine town 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Thanking you for the compliment," answered 
 Tremaine — "you forget Burke, who gave credit
 
 TREMAINE. 289 
 
 to the manners of France, which, by depriving vice 
 of all its grossness, robbed it of half its eviL'* 
 
 " He spoke relatively," replied the Doctor, " for 
 abstractedly I am sure he would not have held that 
 opinion. For my own part, 1 would rather see vice 
 in all its vulgarity and hideousness, than disguised 
 under its veils and refinements." 
 
 " Would you then revive the plays of Charles the 
 Second, or the novels of Mrs. Behn?" asked Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 "Not revive them," rejoined Evelyn; "but I 
 would not exchange the liberty of writing in thai 
 style, for the more dangerous, because more disguised 
 mischief of German sentimentality. ' 
 
 " Are you fond of tlie stage. Miss Evelyn ?' asked 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " Delighted with it," cried Georgina, " though 
 only at York." 
 
 " Did you ever see the Stranger ? " pursued Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " I have wept over it several times," ansv/ered 
 Georgina. 
 
 " Judsre then between us," continued Tremaine. 
 
 " I have judged as often as I have seen that 
 play," returned Georgina : " for I own to you, 
 while my heart wept, my mind condemned." 
 
 " And this without papa?" 
 
 " Certainly not; though, as certainly, he never 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 TREMAINE. 
 
 formed my opinion upon this particular tra- 
 gedy." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Tremaine. 
 " Why I suppose he made her a good girl at first, 
 and she has continued so ever since," cried Care- 
 less. 
 
 Georgina smiled, and went on to say " that she 
 supposed no heart could withstand such personified 
 misery as Kemble's acting exhibited, and that the 
 tears he called forth, in the Stranger, were willing 
 tears; but that she felt them to be very different 
 indeed from those drawn by Mrs. Haller — for whose 
 crime no excuse could be offered even by the 
 poet." 
 
 '^ But would you not forgive?" inquired Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 " And be reconciled ? " 
 
 ''Yes! as far as divesting myself of resentment, 
 and a desire of punishment went ; — but to restore 
 to one's affection — to love again, as before love had 
 been betrayed — to cherish a traitress as in the days 
 of innocence !'' — 
 
 *•' Pray go on, I am all ear,'' said Tremaine, de- 
 lighted, and afraid of her pause. 
 
 " Why my heart tells me it would be impossible." 
 
 " And your virtue too?" added Evelyn. 
 
 "I did not immediately advert to that," said
 
 TREMAINE. 291 
 
 Georgina, " I spoke only of my feelings;" and she 
 blushed, as having seemed to have brought herself 
 too forward. 
 
 " I will finish for you, dear girl," said her ad- 
 miring father. " Your judgment told you that to 
 do what our refined friend here seemed to wish you 
 to do, would be to make no distinction between guil t 
 and innocence." 
 
 Tremaine hesitated for a while. He felt the force 
 of truth, recommended in a tenfold degree by issuing 
 from the loveliest mouth in the world, and during a 
 moment seemed abstracted under the influence of 
 conviction. 
 
 Rallying, however, he said, ** Then according to 
 this, Dr. Evelyn, you would bear with the blas- 
 phemy of vulgar impiety, rather than read Voltaire 
 or Bolingbroke." 
 
 " Not exactly that," replied Evelyn, " for there 
 is something so dreadful in vulgar blasphemy, that 
 my first feeling is always to knock the blasphemer 
 down, — which, but for my cloth, I believe I should. 
 But if you mean to ask which really does the most 
 mischief, he who shocks our ears by a burst of 
 indecency for which he is immediately execrated 
 and punished, or he who silently approaches and 
 undermines the heart, while it thinks no harm, I am 
 decidedly for the blasphemer, in preference to the 
 well-bred ruffian." 
 
 o 2
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 " Voltaire a ruffian ! Then I suppose Boling- 
 broke— " 
 
 " Still worse, because still more refined. But 
 you shall not seduce me into an argument upon 
 these gentry, Hume, Shaftesbury, Collins, the King 
 of Prussia, et id genus omne, while this lovely evening 
 invites all nature to happy quiet, I care not whether 
 of the senses or the understanding. Do you think I 
 can be polemical under a haystack ? " 
 
 " The perfume is indeed delicious," said Geor- 
 gina ; " let us gather flowers." 
 
 "Do sc^" cried Evelyn, 'and afterwards we 
 will have a syllabub in Jack's porch, and after- 
 wards a walk; meantime I will go to the alehouse." 
 ,So saying he quitted the garden, and to Tremaine's 
 great surprise actually bent his ; steps up ,tb^ ; vil- 
 lage, to t}i^ J l^llteirfMc t^^ stopd, ^.^he^, tf]^ »f its 
 street. .-nrirrMt' \d> - -.-^ '-. . . ' ' '\no^ ^^^^ u' 
 
 'i^ gnldtofi bsniQ^g ihtAm^ lo jii^f^ 
 
 HiioqrfJbfi gaixEoi baas ikifiimil oor ibtrf^f*^^ 
 bo i^dlo sbiili io ^wj Jmils r
 
 TREMAINE. 293 
 
 CHAR XXXVI. ■ 
 
 TABLE TALK CONTINUED. 
 
 ■■ Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to tfiy law 
 •' y<ly services are bound." 
 
 SHaKSI'EARE. 
 
 To the alehouse ! I see, reader, you are as much 
 surprised as Tremaine himself was, when the Doctor 
 bustled off; only I am not sure that the finer gentle- 
 man did not even begin to question the soundness of 
 his friend's intellect, 
 
 " He at least carries the simplicity of nature as far 
 as reasonable vulgarity can wish," thought Tremaine 
 to himself. 
 
 To his daughter and Careless, however, this move- 
 ment of Evelyn's seemed nothing extraordinary; 
 and while Tremaine fell into a fit of musing, doubt- 
 ful whether to set it down to the mere rusticity 
 which too familiar and mixing a disposition never 
 failed, he said, to contract, or to wait for an expla- 
 nation of this and two or three other oddities, hi^ 
 companions left him, to inspect, under the auspices
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 of Mrs. Becky, the foaming repast which the Doctor 
 had commanded. 
 
 Tremaine, wondering whether all this was hap- 
 piness or not, found himself alone, or at least saw 
 his companions at a distance, so occupied either 
 with one another, or what they appeared to be pre- 
 paring with their own hands, that he seemed to be 
 neglected, — a situation he never liked, — and he im- 
 mediately joined them. 
 
 " Can I not be useful?" asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Exceedingly so, if you like," answered Geor- 
 gina. 
 
 " If you are not above it," said Careless. 
 
 " I can never be above a lady's commands, what- 
 ever the business," rejoined Tremaine, with an air 
 of gallantry. 
 
 " Then carry this immense bench," proceeded 
 Georgina, " to the door of the porch ; and then 
 this immense bowl to the cow, that is waiting for it 
 under the elm.'* 
 
 " We may have hopes of him," cried Careless, 
 perceiving that he prepared to obey. 
 
 The bench was placed, and the bowl carried ; and 
 to Evelyn's astonishment, when he returned, he 
 found Tremaine in the act of bringing it back, 
 and with his own hands placing it on the table 
 within the porch. 
 
 It was a very pretty porch, composed of the
 
 TREMAINE. 295 
 
 trunks of some young trees, which Jack had cut 
 in thinning his plantation, preserving all their no- 
 dosities, as stages for the honeysuckle and jessa- 
 mine to climb — which they did, most luxuriantly, to 
 their very tops. 
 
 " You never did this at Belmont," exclaimed 
 Evelyn, who had rejoined them. 
 
 " I never had the same motive," said he, looking 
 at Georgina, who seemed far from displeased. 
 
 " He will do in time," observed Careless. 
 
 The party took their seats, waited upon by Mrs. 
 Becky and her niece, a young girl full of freshness, 
 curtesies, and civility, who had milked the cow into 
 the bowl, and now, in the whitest of aprons and 
 cleanest of pinners, seemed anxious and proud to be 
 employed. 
 
 " Confess," said Evelyn, quaffing his syllabub, 
 " that a pastoral is not merely an imaginary plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " I never thought so till now," replied Tremaine, 
 " and own I never enjoyed it before." 
 
 " What, not at Belmont? " retorted Evelyn, with 
 some archness. 
 
 " I had no companions," said Tremaine, " and 
 could not therefore have such a feast as this." 
 
 " But solitude is above company, and disdains 
 such mean helps," continued the Doctor, drily. 
 
 " Even in solitude I could not have had this,"
 
 296 TREMAINE. 
 
 replied Tremainej-^^foivl dined almost always by 
 candle-light." i^cry^rfra /a,( 
 
 ...«« Another reason for leaving off so inconvenient 
 a custom," returned Evelyn ; " for, besides that an 
 exhausted stomach does not easily recover its tone, 
 you lose the enjoyment of that delightful calm which 
 evening always brings with itrifiD snoirfic, 
 
 " Yet evening is evening, wheth'ei* before or after 
 dinner," retorted Tremaine. 
 
 " By the clock I grant you," replied Evelyn, 
 " but not by the mind. There is a soothing still- 
 ness at the closing-in of day, which seems natu- 
 rally to say things are at rest ; a proposition which 
 a hungry stomach is by no means disposed to 
 admit." 
 
 " This is mere raillery," cried Tremaine. 
 
 " I never was more in earnest,' answered the 
 Doctor, " nor would I exchange, first the little 
 occupations, and afterwards the mental treat that 
 evening brings with it, for all the supposed advan- 
 tages, as they are called, of finishing business before 
 dinner. We get rid of business, indeed, but only 
 by getting an indigestion ; which, for one, I would 
 rather be without." 
 
 " What could public men do ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " What used they to do ?" rejoined Evelyn. 
 " What do they even now ? — for I am misinformed 
 if business is not now 'more agreeably done in the
 
 TRE MAINE. 29 1 
 
 House of Commons, by its leaders dining at tiiree 
 o'clock, than when they exhausted themselves in 
 debate, in order to have full leisure, after it was 
 over, for a table which they could not enjoy*",!?,' ■ 
 
 " You mentioned occupations," continued Tre- 
 maine ; " 1 should be glad to know, in the country, 
 what occupations can press, so as to call for "wfter- 
 noon exertion ? " ^u /cj ^i ;j:ii:£i.>VM 
 
 " If they do not," rebutted Evelyn, " your only 
 reason for late dining fails, because you may then 
 choose your hour. But I own there are a thousand 
 little superintendencies of domestic economy, which 
 I am not above, and should not if I were master of 
 Woodington ; and even if there were not, thei^ are 
 exercises, or reading, which, if it were only to earn 
 our evening walk, and so make it more valuable, 
 would employ me with pleasure both at home and 
 abroad." 
 
 " Your superintendencies ?" said Tremaine, pres- 
 singly. 
 
 " Why, as a country squire, I should not be 
 afraid of offending, by a thing so orthodox as the 
 stable. I love my horse as I do any thing that 
 seems, by its docility and patience, to love me in 
 doing me good." Hfrr F)if;o'> liji^}/ 
 
 " That's downright Yorkshire, and quite right," 
 cried Careless. 
 
 " It is a real treat, therefore, exclusive of the 
 o 5
 
 298 TREMAINE, 
 
 advantage, to see him as comfortable for the night 
 as I am myself. But exclusive of this, ' continued 
 the Doctor, " as a philosopher, or even a bon vivant, 
 I do not blush to say, that watering my own vege- 
 tables, or at least seeing it well done, is in summer 
 not only one of the most useful, but the pleasantest 
 of occupations." 
 
 Tremaine looked at Georgina. " You. will not get 
 her of your side," added he: " for while the Dio- 
 cletian cabbages we talked of the other day employ 
 all my care, she is not the less intent upon her roses 
 and her mignonette." 
 
 " They seem so grateful !" said Georgina. 
 
 " But your exercises. Sir?" 
 
 " Oh ! quoits, bowls, or even nine-pins; these 
 help the salutary process of digestion ; after which 
 the calm which the later hour brings on is perfect, 
 whether in a walk lighted up by the moon, or a little 
 social conversation on 
 
 ♦ Work of clay past, or morrow's next return.' 
 
 This sends me to rest, if I have no guilt on my 
 conscience, with much more chance of the sweetest 
 of all refreshment, sleep, than with the remorse that 
 always attends idleness, and wine and coffee reeking 
 in my throat." 
 
 A pause ensued, during which Georgina took her 
 father's hand, with looks expressive of that appro-
 
 TREMAINE. 299 
 
 bation which is derived from the most perfect coin- 
 cidence of sentiment. She then turned to Tremaine, 
 as if expecting a counter system; but he held his 
 peace, and the pause continued. 
 
 It was broken by Careless exclaiming, '^ I should 
 be glad, Mr. Tremaine, to know what you have to 
 say to all this? " 
 
 Luckily for Tremaine (who in truth had but 
 little to * say to all this,' and what is more, felt as 
 much), the servants brought the horses round by 
 the spot where they were sitting, and the conversa- 
 tion and the party broke up together — Georgina 
 anticipating the delicious moonlight ride they would 
 have home, and Tremaine taking leave of his host 
 with a heartier hand shake, and a feeling of more 
 internal respect, than he had ever yet been inclined 
 to entertain for him.
 
 300 TREMAINK. 
 
 mm 9ffi mriCHAP. rXXXVII. 
 
 * REFINEMEirtsfaLL ASSERTS It&^ " 
 
 " The self-same sun that shines upon his cour^ , 
 
 " Hides not his visage from our cottage, but , 
 " Shines orrall alike." — 
 
 " And how do you like Jack's house, and Jack's 
 life? " said Evelyn, breaking a pause after they had 
 ridden about a quarter of a mile. 
 
 " It is quite enough that he should like them, ' 
 replied Tremaine. ..^i^iiii (*>rM: 
 
 " He is the happiest creature iii* the* ivorld," 
 added Georgina; " his wants are so few." 
 
 " That would apply to a savage," remarked 
 Tremaine. 
 
 " True,'' said Georgina, submittingly. 
 
 But the Doctor never liked to submit. " Jack is 
 no savage," said he; " he does not make so good a 
 bow as you or I do" (the Doctor once piqued him- 
 self on his bow), " nor perhaps has he as many 
 ideas drawn from other men's heads ; but what he 
 has are genuine and sound, and his heart is in the 
 right place."
 
 TREMAINE. 301 
 
 - " That might do for a savage too," said Tremaine. 
 " Yes ! I suppose when he cuts his prisoner in 
 
 pieces, and eats him," returned Evelyn. " Jack's 
 wants being few, does not make him the more like 
 a savage, though it may make him happier ; for 
 these wants are so moderate, yet so interesting, as 
 to be just enough within his reach to prevent any 
 great anxiety, and just enough out of it to give him 
 occupation." ?'/ 
 
 " But pray, may I ask wnat'is Mr. Careless's am- 
 bition?" said Tremaine. 
 
 "You had better inquire of Georgy," replied 
 Evelyn, "for I believe it is to please her." 
 
 Georgina laughed, and Tremaine felt a sort of 
 curiosity, amounting even to uneasiness, which was 
 to himself unaccountable. 
 
 " You will allow,'' continued Evelyn, " that in 
 the indulgence of one of the great passions, love, 
 we country and retired people have a right to take 
 the lead; for who ever sighed for Amarillis in Pall- 
 Mall ! " 
 
 . '• Am I to understand, then," said Tremaine with 
 some solemnity, " that Mr. Careless is Miss Evelyn's 
 lover?" 
 
 *• The thought never came into his liead," said 
 (xeorgina eagerly ; *' he has more sense." 
 
 - This cut two ways,, and did not diminish Tre- 
 maine s seriousness.
 
 302 TIIEMAINE. 
 
 "He has then no ambition ? " continued Tre- 
 maine, inquiringly. 
 
 " That I deny/' said Evelyn, " for if his cu- 
 cumbers are earlier than mine, or his butter better 
 than Georgy's, there is no end to his crowing. But 
 if his brother's party, under his leading at Belford, 
 get the better of the Whig opposition there, I assure 
 you no leader of party in the House of Commons 
 feels a greater elevation of spirit." 
 
 " And you compare this to the ambition of a 
 statesman, or a general, who saves his country? " 
 
 "I do not compare their ambition/' replied 
 Evelyn, " but I may compare their happiness. 
 Were Jack a statesman or a general, condemned to 
 the life he leads, he would no longer be happy — 
 nay, would die of disgust. But he is neither fit for 
 the one nor the other, and luckily knows it. Shining, 
 however^ in what he is fit for, he is happy ; — not so 
 tumultuously happy as the persons you mention, 
 when conquerors in arms or in eloquence, they reap 
 the laurel ; but neither so exposed to buffet with 
 contending passions, to the uncertainties of fortune, 
 or to heart-eating cares." 
 
 " Yet how much more powerful the interest of 
 their pursuits ! you will not deny this ? " said Tre- 
 maine. 
 
 'I am not sure," replied Evelyn ; " but for argu- 
 ment's sake at present I will not."
 
 TREMAINE. 303 
 
 " How much greater, therefore, the happiness?" 
 
 " That is what I question," remarked Evelyn ; 
 ** for happiness is by no means always proportioned 
 to interest." 
 
 " Give me an illusti'ation," cried Tremaine, 
 
 " A gambler," answered his friend. 
 
 " And yet what happiness is like the gambler's, 
 at the moment he is receiving his winnings ? But 
 are statesmen and warriors gamblers ? " 
 
 " Yes ! of the highest cast ; for they play for 
 kingdoms, and their stake is — their fellow creatures." 
 
 " Yet if Jack's horse is lame ; his dogs behave ill ; 
 his cabbages canker ; or his butter sour ? ' pursued 
 Tremaine, almost contemptuously. 
 
 " The stake is not so high," returned the Doctor, 
 '* as where an army is beaten, and a country ruined. 
 But it is not of gamblers, any more than of states- 
 men and warriors, that I particularly speak ; it is to 
 you I address myself— you, who sacrifice so much 
 to the polish of artificial life, that I fear you have 
 lost your relish for a natural one." 
 
 " Miss Evelyn, at least, is no enemy to elegance," 
 said Tremaine. 
 
 "Oh no, nor papa either," answered Georgina ; 
 " but we both think there is as much or more real 
 elegance in many of the simplest scenes of nature, 
 than in all the wonders of art." 
 
 " My own girl ! " exclaimed Evelyn.
 
 §0'4 
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 " In poetry I have foumi km/' repfl'iedr Tremaine, 
 with a sigh. " ' ^^'^-''^ -f* ''■' ytniUMza -Uii^^r- ^jt^ 
 
 "^ftt^^piain prose. Pfirid^iF^rf^d^^ day," said 
 Georgifia'i -^^^ aiOit i^d bjqlsff sif fiioiJiM lu <.iir>oq 
 
 " From you I shouldW^^loPMi«4i^4^!iatf 
 cried Tremainei ^,^^ neir^sd )!Jtil b .tf^t ^d p.qpAhjl 
 
 ** .A:l)ed of flbwei'fe/' answered Georgina, " p^ti^ 
 cularly if I have reared them myself : these evening 
 birds, which now so charm us; or thi^ hay^fieldv, 
 which so delights with its perfum^:'*^^^^^^^'^ ^^-^^^^ ^<^^ 
 
 "*Tis better than all Smith's shop' tf^tt^iippl^] 
 though snuffed from a golden bottle,*'* Vdded- the 
 Doctor. " What a pity they are lost upoti ybti f 
 
 '' Lost I nay, noW'I carihot understand you."' ' 
 
 "Yet 'tis true/' retorted his friend ;^^^'ti^'^ft 
 your theory indeed, but in your prabtic^^/ in y6f6r 
 life, in your hours." * i,' 'rnrq 
 
 " Have mercy ahde^tplain," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Why, is it not near nine o'clock ? " asked Evelyri, 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " Why, being always at dinner at that hour; ^rbu 
 never see, much less smell a hay-field, or h^dr an 
 evening blackbird," replied Evel3'n. *-i'-"^- 'if^»i 
 
 Tremaine felt pushed, and was not "soi^-^ ^a' 154 
 relieved by their arrival at Evelyn Hall." -''''-* -^~ ^^^^*^ 
 
 Tremaine was about tO take leave, when the 
 Doctor telling him, if he would come in, Georgina 
 should give him an opera of Mozart, which had
 
 TREMAINE. 305 
 
 only just arrived; and Georgina adding, he might 
 afterwards examine as he went home, whether the 
 moon was not as beautiful in plain prose as in the 
 poetry of Milton, he helped her from her horse, and 
 attended her into the house. 
 
 Perhaps he felt a little beaten by his friend in the 
 argument, and wished to renew the attack ; certainly 
 he did not wish to part with his ikir companion 
 so soon : we shall not attempt to decide which 
 of these feelings was uppermost with him, when he 
 found himself satisfied to be seated between his two 
 friends in the music-room. 
 
 Mozart was now unfolded, and Georgina began 
 to tune her harp, and her father his bass ; when, 
 perceiving that the harp was of uncommon ele- 
 gance, and the tapers wax, Tremaine wished for a 
 parting blow. 
 
 " You are not such philosophers," cried he, 
 pointing out these circumstances, " but you are 
 content to allow your theories to shift for them- 
 selves, without the homely support of practice." 
 
 " Why. I confess I have a little more of Plato 
 than Diogenes in me," answered Evelyn ; " not 
 but what the cynic was after my own heart, when he 
 told Alexander to stand out of his sunshine, as the 
 only good he could do him.' 
 
 " It should seem, howeyer," returned Tremaine, 
 looking at the candles, in massive and very bright
 
 806 TREMAINE. 
 
 silver, " that you would not have emulated his dirty 
 lamp and coarse oil any more, probably, than his 
 wooden bowl, or rather his hat, after the boy who 
 drank out of his, had taught him he had yet some- 
 thing to retrench." 
 
 " Your most obedient,'' said the Doctor, giving 
 the parting screw to his bass, and not at all dis- 
 pleased at his fellow disputant's perseverance : " but 
 pray when did I wish all the world to turn cynics, or 
 not to use the good things God has given them ? 
 Thanks to my grandfather, I am possessed of these 
 handsome candlesticks, and wherewithal to do 
 without the money into which they might -melt ; 
 and I happen to like wax better than tallow. As 
 for the cynics, they were a pack of dirty fellows, 
 and I should therefore doubt their happiness." 
 
 " You allow, then," said Tremaine, with some 
 triumph, "that elegance may contribute to hap- 
 piness ! " 
 
 " I do," answered Evelyn; "but we may differ 
 as to elegance, — ^which to me is most attractive when 
 most left to nature." 
 
 " Yet you admire the arts, the statues and tem- 
 ples of Phidias, the cunning of the ancients in the 
 ivory and brass of Greece, and of the moderns in 
 the pictures and palaces of Italy? " 
 
 " They are charming, and excite me even to 
 think of them,"' said Evelyn ; ^* but a living land-
 
 TREMAINE. 307 
 
 scape, a thatched roof, or honeysuckle porch, a well- 
 ordered garden, even such as Jack's, are also ele- 
 gant; and though they occasion not our wonder at 
 the workmanship, — as the statue, the painting, and 
 the palace do, — still they often create our admiration , 
 and would always soothe us into a happy enjoyment 
 of them, if the mind had not lost its powers to enjoy 
 any tiling simple, by a perpetual course of every 
 thing luxurious." 
 
 Both Tremaine and Georgina smiled at the eager- 
 ness of Evelyn in uttering this, — who went on to ob- 
 serve, " It is not that I quarrel in the least with a 
 taste for the fine arts, but contend merely that we 
 may be as happy without them." 
 
 " Then why pursue them?" asked Tremaine, with 
 the confidence of a man w^ho had finished all by his 
 question. 
 
 " I suppose," answered Evelyn, " because those 
 who do so find their happiness lies that way, and 
 then they are to be pursued, as those other things 
 are pursued which confer happiness in another way. 
 You love painting and building; I, music and gar- 
 dening; Jack hunting and handicraft; while all are 
 within our reach, all are happy." 
 
 " ^Vhat, equally so?" 
 
 " Yes ! even though one of us is busied about 
 the Apollo Belvidere, and another about a mole- 
 trap."
 
 308 tRE MAINE. 
 
 " This is really too gothic," said Tremaine, "and 
 I shall complain of you to Miss Evelyn." 
 
 Miss Evelyn rewarded him by saying she believed, 
 but was not sure, she was of his side. " Indeed," 
 said she, " I see not the advantage of a cultivated 
 taste, if it do not tend to make us both better and 
 happier." 
 
 Tremaine's heart danced within him, and he was 
 about to express his pleasure, when Evelyn desired 
 them to observe, that it was not whether taste would 
 not make a given individual happier than he was 
 before, all things properly concurring, but whether 
 another, who had not that taste, might not be as 
 happy with some other pursuit. 
 
 " If the taste," said he, " happen indeed to be for 
 things out of one's reach, it may even be productive 
 of uneasiness ; and when this is so, a less refined 
 taste, that is perpetually gratified, may enjoy a 
 greater sum of pleasure in the end." 
 
 "But suppose equal facilities of gratification," 
 said Tremaine ; and Georgina, to his delight, echoed 
 the question. 
 
 " Why, I allow," answered Evelyn, " the chances 
 are on the side of taste, because the mind is not only 
 more harmonized, but, from the pleasures being 
 seated in the mind, we are more independent." 
 
 " Who can be alone," said Tremaine, with em- 
 phasis, " with Homer and Shakspeare for his com-
 
 ,1) 
 
 TREMAINE. 30& 
 
 pantons? or, who see the Florentine gallery without 
 feeling his soul elevated to rapture?" 
 I own I never could," said Evelyn. 
 " No, papa," observed Georgina, " nor listen to 
 Cimarosa, or Jomelli,, or Handel. Come, I am for 
 Mr. Tremaine, and you must confess the advantages 
 
 are on the side , of dear paintino^, dearer music, , and 
 
 i.m aitljiv/ l5b3fir>D 9iii0ir«i -jiLMiii :. r . 
 dearest poetry, , - -j 
 
 "I confess nothing," said her father, though he 
 eyed her animation and her playfulness with de- 
 litjht. " I have told you that those who have a 
 taste for these things do well to cultivate them; 
 for w^hen the arts are acquired, they fully repay 
 one." 
 
 " How fully !" said Tremaine, with something ap- 
 proaching to enthusiasm ; " they soften the heart, and 
 with it the manners ; yet, at the same time, strengthen 
 the mind and sharpen the understanding. I can 
 compare their effects to nothing but the still sweeter 
 influence of woman; for of the one as well as the 
 other, Otway would certainly have said — 
 
 ' We Ijiid been brutes without you.' " 
 
 In the eyes of Georgina Tremaine never looked so 
 'well as w^hen he said this. 
 
 " I beheve you are in league together,", cried 
 Evelyn, resuming the subject, " to take me by my 
 weak side. You know how I like all this lore;
 
 310 TREMAINE. 
 
 and I, at least, can command a great deal of happi* 
 ness out of it, therefore it is valuable to me. But I 
 will produce you persons who would not understand 
 me when I talked of them as treasures, who yet 
 may have treasures of their own, and therefore may 
 be as happy. We will take Archimedes for example. 
 Do you think, when he continued busy in his pro- 
 blem, even as the savage who murdered him had 
 lifted his sword, that he could be less happy than 
 Orpheus with his lute, though that lute made trees 
 and mountain tops * to dance when he did sing?' 
 No, no ! pursue the fine arts by all means, if you 
 have a taste for them, but despise not those who 
 have not, under any notion that you monopolize the 
 sources of interest. It is the sufficiency of the in- 
 terest, in most lots, that makes most lots equally 
 happy ; and God Almighty be thanked for it, none 
 need triumph over another. No ! not even you," 
 (perceiving Tremaine about to reply,) " over our 
 simple, honest, and good Careless. He has not your 
 fine mind ; but there will be a blank in society, not 
 easy to fill up when he dies ; and as to his mole-trap, 
 if he take an interest in it equal to that which you 
 take in your Phidias, depend upon it he is equally 
 happy." 
 
 " Can this be so?" asked Georgina. 
 
 *' God forbid it should not," answered her father, 
 " or that the happiness of man should depend upon
 
 TREMAINE. 311 
 
 such limited sources. The truth is, ii is a com- 
 pound thing, and often a very wayward, and even 
 whimsical one. All that we know for certain is, 
 that the more extravagant and pampered the fancy, 
 the less we are likely to grasp it ; and while he who, 
 from the mediocrity of his fortune, has enabled 
 himself to be interested in the growth of a vege- 
 table, may be perfectly happy, another, revelling in 
 wealth, may become so jaundiced from want of re* 
 gulation, that all the world may exclaim with Po- 
 cocurante, ' Quel grand homme! Rien ne pent lui 
 plaire!''* 
 
 Georgina smiled, and even laughed at this sally, 
 which by no means pleased Mr. Tremaine, who 
 asked if he meant to exclude the rich from their 
 chances of happiness ? 
 
 '^ God forbid!" again replied the Doctor — " All 
 I am stickling for is, in fact, what I do every Sunday 
 in the pulpit — the equality of the chance for hap- 
 piness among all human creatures, with proper re- 
 gulation : which word, not being very grateful to the 
 ears of the wealthy, ten to one but their chances are 
 less than those of their inferiors. Who ever heard 
 of ennui among threshers or dairy-maids?" 
 
 " We are speaking of persons of leisure," said 
 Tremaine, gravely. 
 
 " True," replied Evelyn, " and even among them, 
 the secret is this : — * depart not from Nature, and she
 
 312 TREMAINE. 
 
 will not depart from you.' If luxury alone can satisfy 
 the rich, they never will be satisfied; for the sense 
 must be more and more provoked, or it is luxury no 
 longer, and then the minion will envy the man of 
 nature, and would pawn his wealth to be like him." 
 
 " Would you then have the rich not use their 
 riches ? not build, or plant, or collect ? not engage 
 in politics ? not be ambitious ? not embark in great 
 and vast speculations, tjj^nding to their country's 
 good?" : - ,x. 7 
 
 " By no means ; I would have them do all this. 
 They should build the castle, plant the wood, and 
 fill the palace with wonders. I would have them do 
 all but gamble : by which I mean, gamble with their 
 pleasures as well as their fortunes. But though, in 
 doing all this, they are greater benefactors to man- 
 kind, they are not happier than others. Provided 
 proportion be observed, the merit, and therefore the 
 happy feeling, is the same." 
 
 " Oh ! useless elegance, and useless, despised 
 genius — the genius of poetry — so to describe it, if 
 this be true !" cried Tremaine. 
 
 " I know not your allusion,*' said the Doctor. 
 
 " I allude to a description that would ' take the 
 prisoned soul and lap it in Elysium,' " said Tre- 
 maine; " a description that would for ever shame the 
 dull cold feelings for which you are an advocate." 
 
 He then, with a very enthusiastic tone of voice.
 
 TREMAINE. 313 
 
 but with a precision of diction which only made the 
 beautifid passage more impressive, repeated : 
 
 " * The barge she sal in, like a burnish'd throne, 
 
 * Burnt on tlie water: the poop was beaten gold, 
 ' Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
 
 * The winds grew love-sick with them. The oars were silver, 
 ' Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 
 ' The water which they beat, to follow faster, 
 
 ' As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 
 ' It beggar'd all description : She did lie 
 
 ' In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue), 
 
 ' O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see 
 
 * The fancy outwork nature : on each side her 
 
 * Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 ' With divers coloured fans, whose wind did seem 
 ' To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 
 * .And what they undid, did.' " 
 
 " What think you of this peerless description of 
 the power of art?" said Tremaine. 
 
 " I think more of Shakspeare in it," answered 
 Evelyn, " than the happiness of Cleopatra. She 
 must have been much put to it, to have found such 
 refinement necessary; and depend upon it, the 
 woman who sweeps her own cottage, makes her own 
 bed, and afterwards can afford to sit of an evening at 
 her door inhaling the bean-flower or may, beats her 
 out and out, though she retire afterwards to a flock 
 bed. It is not that these things are bad in them- 
 selves ; but I hold that they are utterly indifferent, 
 and may be criminal. I will^ however, give you 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 TREMAINE. 
 
 passage for passage," continued Evelyn, " not so 
 rich or dazzling, but scarcely less pleasing, and cer- 
 tainly more philosophical : 
 
 " * To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 ' To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 
 * To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 ' Unto the rainhow, or with taper-light 
 
 * To seek the beauteous eye of Heav'n to garnish, 
 ' Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.' " 
 
 The subject here seemed to pause, and with it the 
 speakers; while she who had been chiefly the listener, 
 though listener most observant, was lost for some 
 moments in pleasure, in reflecting upon the feeling, 
 the cultivation, and balanced powers of mind with 
 which the conversation had been carried on. 
 
 Recovering, however, from her reverie, in a few 
 minutes she exclaimed, " All this is very charming, 
 but it must not make us forget Mozart;" and she 
 swept her h^rp. like ^ na,i^?e.
 
 TREMAINE. 315 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIII. 
 
 •' For T can sing and speak to him 
 " In many sorts of music. 
 
 He plays o' the viol de garaba." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The finger of Georgina had begun to be formed 
 in Italy at the age of twelve; and a natural taste, 
 aided both by instruction and practice ever since, 
 might have ranked her with the best of modern 
 amateur players. The wildness, the imagination, 
 the melody, and the learning of Mozart, could 
 scarcely be better exemplified ; and Tremaine, who 
 was a real votary, began a thousand comparisons 
 within himself between her and Lady K. W., the 
 Marchioness of D., and the Honourable Miss R., 
 without being able to say to which he would give 
 the palm. 
 
 " Strange!" said he, " that this should be the 
 finger of a country parson's daughter !" 
 
 Now the finger of the parson himself was a little 
 slighted by this ; for the steadiness of Evelyn's ear 
 p 2
 
 316 TREMAINE. 
 
 and execution was no small addition to the concert ; 
 and Tremaine, exclusive of enjoying a high treat in 
 the abstract, collected at every moment strains that 
 had often delighted him at the Opera, at the Ancient 
 Music, and the Argyll. The flowery mazes of Figaro 
 recalled many a brilliant idea to his fancy, ^d 
 boleros, fandangos, and the most sympathetic ^irs of 
 all kinds, not only charmed his ears, but brought 
 scenes before his eyes, which seemed to make the 
 interval of the last eighteen months an absolute 
 dream. tnabftno 
 
 What were the associations that caused these re- 
 vived recollections, we will not now inquire, — but 
 Georgina's mu&ic closed the day he had passed with 
 her and her father, in a manner sq itumultuously 
 pleasing, that if his horses had not known the way 
 from Evelyn to Woodington much better than him- 
 self, it would have been difficult to say whether he 
 would have got home without first crossing the little 
 town of Belford, a circuit of at least ten miles out of 
 the road, which common passengers, in their common 
 senses, usually travel between the two houses* 
 
 Yet the moon shone bright on every pace he took,, 
 and the path through the wood, and over the little 
 bridge, and up by his own park paling, into his own 
 court yard, lay as plain before him, as, according to 
 a vulgar simile, the nose in his face ; which nose (be 
 it said by the bye) was a very handsome nose, large
 
 TREMAINE. 317 
 
 and aquiline, and denoting (as Georgina, who had 
 studied Lavater, said to herself) a disposition to 
 dignity and sensibility. 
 
 Be this as it may, he had more than once missed 
 his way, spite of the sensible remonstrances of Bay 
 Malton, and the scarcely less intelligible represen- 
 tations of Jonathan liis groom. At length, ho\vever, 
 about midnight he found himself in the act of retiring, 
 with the ever-faithful Monsieur Dupuis at his side, 
 unfolding his night-cap. 
 
 But the age of confidents is gone; at least, of male 
 confidents; for observe^ gentle reader, we will not 
 swear that the sweet Seraphina, or Zephyrina^ or 
 the Lady Olivia, or Mary, or Ellen, or whatsoever 
 else the name by which thou designatest the lady 
 whom thou lovest, does not, for want of a better, 
 confide to the supposed faithful bosom of Mrs. Betty, 
 or Mrs. Sally, all that she thinks of him who gazed 
 upon her so tenderly at the Opera, or pressed her 
 hand so gently as he led her through the mazes of 
 the waltz. 
 
 Leaving the more learned to settle this point, 'tis 
 certain that Tremaine went to bed, without vouch- 
 safing one single word to Monsieur Dupuis, of what 
 he thought of the Rector-squire's daughter, or of the 
 Rector-squire himself. 
 
 And yet think of both of them he did, with 
 interest, and even with tenderness, insomuch that
 
 318 TREMAINE. 
 
 he had turned oftener in his bed than that Sybarite 
 who was so molested with the double rose-leaf, before 
 his eyes were visited with sleep. 
 
 Yet was it not a feverish restlessness, for he had 
 neither heat, nor thirst, nor pain. On the contrary, 
 though his senses were watchful, they were not tor- 
 mented, nor even displeased, particularly when he 
 found that in real beauty, Lady Gertrude Bellenden 
 herself did not exceed Georgina, and that in natural 
 grace, far more in naivete and sense, she was not to 
 be compared with her. 
 
 Two considerations alone made him a little rest- 
 less : the recollection of all the unsettled collisions 
 of thought which he had had with the father, and the 
 uncertainty he was in as to the disposition towards 
 him of the daughter; an interruption not a little 
 heightened by another uncertainty, how far it was 
 even possible for a girl of twenty to be in love with a 
 man nearly twice her age. 
 
 Yet, to love a woman who could not love again, 
 revolted his mind, whatever might be the disparity, 
 and however reasonable the objection of the lady. 
 But, notwithstanding all this, the night of Tre- 
 maine, though indubitably not quiet, was yet as 
 indubitably among the least unpleasant he had 
 passed for a longer time than he would ha\ne chosen 
 to confess.
 
 TREMAINE. 319 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX. 
 
 PRACTICAL VIRTUE. 
 
 " My master is of churlish disposition, 
 
 " And little recks to find the way to Heaven, 
 
 " By doing deeds of hospitality." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 In the morning when he awoke, a letter was put 
 into his hands, which he desired Dupuis to open ; 
 the said letter being in fact in a very dirty state, 
 and plastered, moreover, with a more than reason- 
 able quantity of red wafer, still wet from the thumbs 
 of the writer. It was as follows : 
 
 " HoNERED Sir, 
 " This cums to tell you, that yure honered father 
 was good to me when a boy — and wold be a frend 
 to me now, if he knowd. And I marryd Mary of 
 the Chekers, nere Squire Careless his hous, and my 
 father-in-law, turnt us both out, because we marryd, 
 tho he givd consent before the same, and is diing, 
 and is cut us of with nothing, tho Mary is his only
 
 320 TREMAINE. 
 
 child, and yure honer being his landlord might do us 
 a power of good, and yure Petishiners shall ever pray. 
 " John and Mary Chrismasi?. 
 " P.S. — Doctor Evelyn, he is our frend, and 
 Mary's mother, she was Miss Georgi's mother's 
 maid, and she is ded, and Miss Georgi she said she 
 wold do all she cold, but cold nbt do much, seeing 
 my father be so hard." 
 
 " And who is this Christmas ?" said Tremaine. 
 
 'Twas more than Monsieur Dupuis could tell, 
 though he observed, " apparemment^ from the ma- 
 nufacture of the letter, quelquun de la canaille^ 
 
 " Inquire; and order my horses immediately," 
 said Tremaine ; " I will ride out to breakfast." 
 
 Monsieur Dupuis with infinite wonder obeyed ; 
 calling out in the court-yard, " holla ! Monsieur 
 Jonathan groom ! you no longer lie abed — my 
 master, he ride before breakfast." Then, as if struck 
 with astonishment, he betook himself (as upon these 
 occasions he always did) to the housekeeper's rooirn, 
 exclaiming, " il rCest plus philosopher notre mmtre ; — 
 he go to breakfast out of door ; — et il veut s^avoir 
 who is one Chrismass ; begar, he know how to fold 
 de lettre ver vel, dat Monsieur Ghrismass." 
 
 The good Watson, who, though accustomed to 
 Dupuis, did not always make him out, on this oc- 
 casion understood him perfectly ; for Mary Christ-
 
 TREMAINE. 321 
 
 mas had been her protegee when a child, before she 
 left the country, and Miss Evelyn had recommended 
 her to her good offices after her return ; and to serve 
 Miss Evelyn gave an additional impulse to the good 
 woman's naturally kind disposition. 
 
 It fact it was she who gave Christmas's homely 
 epistle to Mr. Dupuis, to be delivered to his master 
 when he awoke ; for she knew that old Giles, the 
 father, was not expected to live through the day, 
 and that he had not only always threatened to leave 
 the world without forgiving his daughter, but had 
 actually sent for an attorney to bequeath the whole 
 of his property to a distant relation. 
 
 All these circumstances Watson desired Dupuis to 
 communicate to his master ; but the valet's powers 
 to comprehend them, particularly in English, were 
 not very capacious; and finding that the fortune 
 of a young couple depended upon it, and being 
 moreover not an ill-natured fellow at bottom, he 
 very wisely told Watson she would do much more 
 good by telling the story hersel£ 
 
 Watson thought so too, and desiring an audience 
 of her master, while he was dressing related the 
 tale with great effect; particularly when she inter- 
 larded it, as she frequently did, with the fact of its 
 giving so much pleasure to Miss Georgina, who 
 she knew had been so fond of her mother, to whom 
 she had made a promise always to be a friend to Mary, 
 p 5
 
 322 TREMAINE. 
 
 Whether the good woman saw farther than others 
 by that kind of natural instinct which is indepen- 
 dent of all education, and which is emphatically 
 called mother-wit — or whether mere chance, or, to 
 speak more justly, the truth, produced this frequent 
 allusion to Miss Georgina — certain it is, the topic 
 was soon perceived to be not disagreeable ; and 
 Tremaine grew impatient with Dupuis to finish his 
 dressing, in order that he might get in time to old 
 Giles. 
 
 " And yet," said he, with dissatisfaction, "what 
 can I do ? I never saw the old man in my life ; and 
 my being his landlord is nothing, since it can only 
 work on his expectations, which are now all in the 
 grave.'* 
 
 As he rode briskly over the village, this strain of 
 thought accompanied him, and he began to reflect, 
 more than he had yet done, how little even riches 
 could effect in a life of absolute seclusion, and how 
 much more useful a practical, plain, and neighbourly 
 man might be, than all the most refined though 
 richest speculatists in the world. 
 
 '• I wonder,'' said he, as he dismounted at the 
 Checquers' door, " that Dr. Evelyn has not been 
 able to soften this hard old man !" 
 
 Now it happened at that very moment the Doctor 
 was descending the little stairs of the inn from the 
 sick man's chamber, where he had passed nearly
 
 TREMAINE. 323 
 
 the last hour. Their mutual surprise may be sup- 
 posed. 
 
 " What do I see !" began the Rector, looking 
 first at his friend, and then at the village dial, which 
 was glittering in the sun; " the refined Mr.Tremaine, 
 in a low alehouse, and not ten o'clock !" 
 
 Tremaine never felt less refined than at that 
 moment. 
 
 " I see you are before me as usual," he exclaimed, 
 "for I apprehend we are both on the same 
 errand." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, if we are," said the 
 Doctor, doubtingly. " I thought that to visit the 
 dying had only belonged to my cloth." 
 
 " We will not dispute here," answered Tremaine, 
 coming to the door ; " I only hope you have suc- 
 ceeded in what will have been a good work." 
 
 •' Why, I trust it is a good one, if I have given a 
 poor sinner a chance the less of the displeasure of 
 his Maker, who has summoned him." 
 
 The maid of the house, who was washing the 
 steps, and the mistress of a little shop over the 
 way, together with two or three other neighbours, 
 had assembled at the door on seeing the Rector, 
 and knowing the danger of the old man ; and at 
 this speech, which was very solemnly uttered, all 
 involuntarily, as it were, dropped a courtesy ; a 
 straggling traveller, who was drinking his pint on
 
 324. TREMAINE. 
 
 a Stone bench in the street, pulled off his hat ; and 
 even the ostler, who was remarkable for being a very 
 idle careless fellow, stopped whistling, and seemed 
 impressed with respect. 
 
 We are greatly mistaken if here were not exam- 
 ples of that religion of the heart (as it may be 
 emphatically called), the very existence of which the 
 world, and particularly the refined world, areibut 
 little disposed to allow. '-'' -r, 
 
 Be this as it may, the little audience collected 
 round the Rector looked their enquiries earnestly, 
 though respectfully, as to the state of both mind and 
 body, in which he had left the dying man. 
 
 The character and circumstances of old Giles 
 were in fact known to all his neighbours ; and as 
 his daughter Mary was very much beloved for her 
 unoffending manners, rendered still more interesting 
 by her having been an absolute slave to her father, 
 there seemed to be a sympathy in all the inhabitants 
 of the village as to her fate. 
 
 In truth, this old man was one of those capricious, 
 selfish tyrants, to be found in all ranks of life, and 
 only more noted in the higher, from their greater 
 power of making people unhappy. He had married 
 a meek and obsequious woman from the Doctoi**TS 
 family, who never ceased to lament the day when 
 she left his protection, and the care of the " sweet 
 Georgy," to bestow herself on a brute, who, having
 
 TREMAINE. 325 
 
 bruised her body with stripes, bruised her heart at 
 the same time till it broke. 
 
 To her place, as a sufferer, succeeded the mild 
 Mary, who, from a feeling of filial piety, bore with 
 all his tyranny, and nursed him through many 
 an illness, the consequence of the most intemperate 
 indulgence. on-^J-r-i/ 
 
 Her the young Christmas addressed, and not 
 only won, but won with her father's consent ; for 
 he was then heir to a neighbouring farmer, who was 
 supposed to be rich. But the farmer broke after the 
 banns had been published, and the news reached 
 Giles at the moment when the parties (all but 
 himself, who was confined to his chair) were assem- 
 bled at the altar. He could therefore take no step 
 to stop the ceremony ; and the parties married, 
 returned home to ask a blessing, and were instantly 
 turned out of doors. 
 
 The tears, the entreaties of Mary, and the pro- 
 mised industry of John, had no effect. This wretched 
 man was unappeasable in his revenge : he resolved 
 to crush them for ever ; yet was still so much im- 
 pressed by character, that having no relation whom 
 he personally knew, he sent for Evelyn, to whom he 
 offered to bequeath his whole fortune, amounting to 
 some hundreds of pounds. Evelyn not only refused 
 the offer, but seriously reproved him for his savage 
 injustice; and many a visit did he pay him, urging
 
 TREMAINE. 
 
 all that feeling, or morality, or religion could supply 
 — but urging in vain. 
 
 Nevertheless, and with all his brutality, Giles had 
 some sense of a life to come; and as his fits of 
 illness were more or less critical, it was observed, 
 he was more or less obstinate in his determination. 
 On the day our party dined at Careless's, his pains 
 having left him for an hour or two, he actually 
 ordered an attorney to be sent for from Belford, 
 with a view to leave his fortune (as Evelyn had re- 
 fused it) to the only relative he knew of, a tradesman 
 at Leeds ; and it was to obviate this that Evelyn (as 
 we have before related) visited the alehouse while 
 the syllabub was preparing. He succeeded in getting 
 a delay till the next day; and during the night 
 Giles's disorder having returned, Evelyn, who had 
 desired to be apprised of his state, went over to him 
 early, in order to take advantage of it. He found him 
 indeed dying, and represented so forcibly to him 
 the impossibility of his obtaining mercy who shewed 
 none, that the will was given up, and Mary and her 
 husband actually sent for. Such was the conduct, 
 and such the reward of the practical Evelyn ! 
 
 "I envy you," said Tremaine, as the servant, 
 whom the Doctor had despatched for Mary and 
 John, returned with them up the street. " I should 
 never have accomplished this, though I came with 
 that view.'*
 
 TREMAINE. 327 
 
 " Perhaps not," returned Evelyn, " but you don't 
 know unless you had tried, and at any rate the in- 
 tention " 
 
 " It was, unfortunately, but intention," inter- 
 rupted Tremaine, with a strong emotion of self- 
 blame, " for I was personally unknown." 
 
 " That's a fault that may mend, if you please^' 
 returned Evelyn. 
 
 " Shall I own to you that even my good inten- 
 tions were, I fear, not pure — not unmixed?" 
 
 " As how?" asked Evelyn, surprised. 
 
 " I had heard of Georgina's interest in these 
 poor people, and I wished to please Aer, as well as 
 relieve them." 
 
 " Bon!^^ said Evelyn; " but a good deed is not 
 the less so because it please a pretty girl as well 
 as our consciences ! You must at least shew these 
 poor people how willing you were to have served 
 them ; and I apprehend your breakfast will not be 
 eaten with the less appetite for this little exertion, 
 even though it be at Bachelor's Hall, and not of 
 the very best Spanish chocolate. Jack waits for us 
 by this, for he must be returned from Belford, 
 whither I sent him; so as soon as I have carried 
 Mary up to her father, I'll join you." 
 
 Tremaine just waited to make himself known to 
 Christmas and his wife, to whom he promised every 
 protection, and then proceeded to Jack's, whom he
 
 328 TREMAINE. 
 
 found occupied in placing part of a cpldiyound of 
 beef with his own hands on the table, frnrl^;*) 
 
 " This is what I never expected," said Careless, 
 staring, yet shaking him by the. hand; .you, surely 
 cannot be come to breakfast with me." 
 
 " Why not?" asked Tremaine, "as well a&yecur 
 coming to breakfast with me ?" . ; i.rr»ii> 
 
 "Deuced lucky, I can tell you, if you are; for 
 it is past ten, and if the Doctor had not sent me 
 over to Belford to old Qui Tarn, whom I was, en- 
 gaged in pounding, I should have been breakfasted 
 two hours ago." 
 
 " Vm the more fortunate," answered Tremaine ; 
 " but pray what do you mean by pounding, and who 
 is Qui Tam? ' -ir-'v jj,$ir ?/ 
 
 '' Why who should it be but the attorney? - His 
 name, indeed, is Vellum, but I always call him Qui 
 Tarn. He is queer about it, but I don't care." 
 
 "But what do you mean by pounding him?" 
 asked Tremaine. 
 
 " Oh ! keeping him a little on the jaw about my 
 brother's affairs, that he might not make that rogue 
 Giles's will till the Rector had seen him again. 
 The Doctor, I know, would have been angry if I 
 had told him my design, so I did it of my own head, 
 and you must not peach. Indeed, I believe it was 
 neck or nothing." 
 
 Tremaine was struck with this new instance of
 
 TREMAINE. 329 
 
 Jack's activity in the cause of benevolence, and 
 began to think of liim with less comparative self- 
 superiority. 
 
 " But come," said Jack, " you are as glum as if 
 you were really hungry. I'll get you some eggs not 
 half an hour old, for I have just took them myself; 
 and the Doctor will be here in a moment. I hope 
 he has succeeded for poor Molly though, and then 
 he'll eat like a coach-horse." 
 
 Tremaine was informing him of the result, when 
 Evelyn came in, and told them he had left Mary by 
 the bedside of her father, who was apparently more 
 comfortable for being reconciled, though still very 
 anxious to know if he might not yet live. 
 
 At that instant Vellum rode by, in a pair of knee- 
 topt boots, such as are worn by dignitaries of the 
 church ; and his pockets were full of papers. Jack 
 instantly darted out upon him, and from his wall 
 told him how things were. 
 
 " You'll lose all your labour," cried Jack. 
 
 " I hope I am not too late," said the attorney, 
 puUing up. 
 
 "Oh! but you are though," returned Jack ; "and 
 besides, he has changed his mind." 
 
 " Impossible, Sir," replied Vellum : " It was but 
 yesterday he sent me a note, which I have here in 
 my breeches'-pocket." 
 
 At this moment Evelyn and Tremaine appeared
 
 330 TREMAINE. 
 
 at the porch door, and beckoned him : a call which 
 Vellum, great as he was in the market-place at 
 Belford, could not disobey; for he was neither 
 more nor less than steward, and held their courts, 
 baron and leet, for them both. 
 
 Upon being informed of the circumstances, the 
 cautious Vellum observed it was quite impossible to 
 doubt their honours, particularly Dr. Evelyn. 
 
 " That is," hastily proceeded the man of law, 
 perceiving the mistake he had made, " as the Doctor 
 has himself heard the party, as it were, in articulo ; 
 for without that, God forbid I should make a dis- 
 tinction between two such worthy gentlemen, and, for 
 that matter, worshipful magistrates. By the way, 
 give me leave. Squire Tremaine, to congratulate 
 you on your appearance at the last Quarter Sessions ; 
 long may you be the same ornament that your grand- 
 father was to that great court." 
 
 Here he smiled with great self-complacency, and 
 all the other gentlemen smiled too; which the at- 
 torney mistaking, he went on with assumed dig- 
 nity : " But I crave your pardon, Doctor Evelyn, 
 although I am as sure as I am here and you are 
 there that the old man has changed his mind, if 
 only because you say it, and Squire Tremaine for 
 that matter confirms it (bowing to both), yet you will 
 excuse me" (bowing still lower) — 
 
 " What the devil ! do you question it ?" said Jack.
 
 TREMAINE. 331 
 
 " Heaven forbid, I say," proceeded Vellum; 
 " only as I received the positive instruction of the 
 party himself, I should, I conceive, ill deserve the 
 reputation, though I say it, of being principal soli- 
 citor in such a place as Belford, and being steward 
 
 to so many great gentry " (bowing again) " if '' 
 
 — but interrupting himself, " but I beg pardon, 
 gentlemen ; I must be minding my business, and go 
 to the dying man." 
 
 Tremaine, glad to get rid of him, assured him 
 they did not wish to detain him ; and observed to 
 Evelyn, as the lawyer remounted his horse, that he 
 seemed such a fool, he thought his courts could not 
 be safe in such hands : he felt inclined to take them 
 from him. 
 
 " No I my dear friend, you must not commit such 
 injustice.'^ 
 
 " But is he not a fool ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " By no means, professionally,'' said Evelyn ; 
 " his caution at this moment, in not, as he says, 
 legally believing us, demonstrates that ; and if he 
 is uncouth in general manners, it is because he has 
 sacrificed them to professional knowledge, and has 
 not mind enough for both. His integrity is un- 
 blemished — and depend upon it he will hold your 
 courts as well as any, and better than most." 
 
 In about half an hour the man of law returned, 
 and found the friends together, listening to an ac-
 
 BS2 TREMAINE. 
 
 count Jack was giving of a political dispute at the 
 Hound-and-Horn club. 
 
 " He is defunct," said the man of law. 
 
 " It was sudden, then, after all ! and Mary ? " 
 asked Evelyn. 
 
 " I left the poor damsel wailing ovei^ Mm, as 
 
 " He had been a better man," said Careless^ 
 " she was always a good girl." ■ 
 
 « And the will ? " questioned Tremaiiie^'^^^^^ " 
 
 " I shall have a right to charge the estate,*' 6hr- 
 served Vellum. ^ii^uo;U 1 
 
 « I don't understand," said Tremaine:^ ^^'^ ^^^^^ 
 
 "For my time and trouble," returri^dlfhe 
 steward; "it was his own appointmerit;^lil*r"can 
 prove — nevertheless I won't,'* added he,'^^'^hd^^o 
 I told the poor girl." ^^' "" ' ^'' •' ' 
 
 "I dare say she never thought' of "it," said 
 Evelyn ; " but that does not diminish your kindness. 
 Vellum." 
 
 "Your worship is always good," replied the 
 lawyer. " We indeed are not always so rajpacious 
 as we are thought ; and for my part, I should scorn 
 to take advantage merely because I had the power." 
 
 " Your name shall be chalked up, my old Vel- 
 lum," cried Careless; " well ! and the will was not 
 made ? " 
 
 " He was, as I said, in articuh,^' ansv/ered Vel-
 
 TREMAINE. 33 ^ 
 
 liim, " and could not have made even a nuncupa- 
 tive, when I was admitted; — besides which he 
 waved his hand when he saw me, as much^s to say, 
 get out of the room, which I thought very uncivil, 
 after all my pains ; however, I excused the ill- 
 breeding at such a moment.'' 
 
 '^ Were you with Giles when he died ? " asked 
 Evelyn. 
 
 "Why no!" answered the man of business; 
 " finding he was scarcely compos, and recollecting I 
 had a couple of leases to get executed in the village, 
 I thought I would just step out, and return again, in 
 case the old man should resuscitate ; but he was 
 then quite gone." 
 
 *' Mary Christmas, then, succeeds of course to all 
 her father's property," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Your pardon, good sir, for you know she is a 
 femme couverte ;" and he was going to explain, when 
 Jack told him that was all unnecessary, " for you 
 know," said he, " Mr Tremaine was a limb once, as 
 well as yourself: " an observation, as well as an as- 
 sociation, with which Mr. Tremaine seemed to be by 
 no means flattered. 
 
 Jack added (for he was fond of having what he 
 called a wipe at the attorney) that his two leases 
 were lucky, as, with the will that was not made, he 
 would have a right to charge three journies to his 
 different employers, instead of one; an accusation
 
 334 TREMAINE. 
 
 which Vellum was going into some length to dis- 
 claim, when Evelyn proposed they should walk iip 
 to the little inn, and see Mary and her husband put 
 quietly in possession. 
 
 This was instantly done. 
 
 Mary's grief, which was in truth by no means 
 deserved by the dece^ised, was consoled by many of 
 her old companions coming over to her. Some told 
 her not to take on so, for a father who had never 
 been a father ; a thing which she would never allow, 
 such was the natural meekness of this good creature's 
 heart. Her older neighbours reminded her too 
 (though they scorned to speak ill of the dead), that 
 the will would have been made, if it had not been 
 for the gentlemen, and that therefore, as they 
 phrased it, she had no right to grieve for him. But 
 all this, she said, could not excuse her, if she did 
 not shew duty to his memory : a point which, whik 
 we record merely her feelings upon it, we leave the 
 village casuists to settle. 
 
 As for the rest, very little settlement was neces- 
 sary ; for there being no will, Christmas and his 
 innocent wife were established at once in the inn. 
 Tremaine arranged every thing with him as land- 
 lord, and added some fields which it was material 
 for him to have ; for all which good work he was 
 more than rewarded, by the sight of Georgina 
 walking arm in arm with Mary in the garden ; or
 
 TREMAINE. 335 
 
 rather by the hearing her, — for that was the sense 
 most gratified by the scenes which we are to record 
 in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAP. XL. 
 
 Oh ! the world hath not so sweet a creature ! 
 She might lie by an emp'ror's side 
 And command him tasks." 
 
 SHAKSPEARZ, 
 
 " No, my dear Mary," said Georgina, as they 
 walked together in the little garden — while Tre- 
 maine was passing by the hedge that divided it 
 from the field : — <' no, I do not mean to say you 
 should not grieve ; for we must feel for a father, 
 although he may sometimes have been unkind. 
 But you have a kind husband and many friends, 
 and me you know at their head ; for I assure you I 
 never shall forget my old playmate." 
 
 "You have always been goodness itself. Miss," 
 returned Mary, and she almost laid her head upon 
 the offered shoulder of Georgina; for the poor 
 girl had been nearly sinking under her various 
 emotions. 
 
 " If my poor mother was alive now," said Mary, 
 with a sigh —
 
 336 TREMAINE. 
 
 " You would make her very happy,'' repUed 
 Georgina. " But," she continued after a pause, 
 " you have been very much obliged, I find, to Mr. 
 Tremaine." 
 
 *' yhey say he is very good," answered Mary, 
 " and has a deal in his power, as for that, and 
 would have used it for us; but he is not like 
 Dr. Evelyn to us poor folks, for all that," added 
 Mary. 
 
 " He will, I dare say, when he has lived longer 
 among you," returned Miss Evelyn. 
 
 Tremaine drew his breath shortly. 
 
 " People say he is too fine to care for us, or in- 
 deed for any body," continued Mary. 
 
 " That I am sure is a mistake," said her 
 friend. 
 
 " If he was but younger," observed Mary, wip- 
 ing away her tears, and almost smiling at the 
 thought as she uttered it, " we have been thinking 
 how fine it would be if such a lady as you was at 
 Woodington!" 
 
 " Nay, that is quite nonsense," replied Miss 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " I suppose it is," said Mary, a little frightened ; 
 " but we wish it for all that, if " 
 
 " If what ? " asked Georgina, not discouragingly. 
 
 " If he was not so cold and so solemn," an- 
 swered Mary.
 
 T R E M A I N E. 337 
 
 *' You know I am married already — -(Tremaine 
 became painfully attentive) — to papa," said Geor- 
 gina. 
 
 Tremaine was quiet again. 
 
 '' And, therefore, my good girl, let us think only 
 of establishing you for the rest of your life, now we 
 have saved your little fortune for you." 
 
 Now whether Miss Evelyn said this because she 
 did not like the conversation, or did not care for 
 it, or because she had sense and dignity enough 
 to feel that a little innkeeper's daughter, though 
 she had been her own playfellow till she was 
 five years old, was not a proper confidante, — certain 
 it is, the mild Mary felt she ought to drop the 
 subject, — which she did; only observing, with some- 
 thing like distress, " I hope I have not been too 
 bold. Miss — I would rather die than you should 
 think so ! " 
 
 " Not in the least, my good Mary," said Miss 
 Evelyn, with a smile of kindness; " but I am really 
 more interested, just now, about your affairs, than 
 any thing else in the world." ' 
 
 Mary kissed her hand, and said such a speech 
 did more good to her heart than all the fortune in 
 the land. 
 
 Tremaine, who had begun to accuse himself of 
 being a listener, now hastened to the gate of the 
 garden, in order to join them. Mary blushed when 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 TREM<AINE. 
 
 she saw him, and it is not quite certain that Georgina 
 did not blush too. 
 
 " It is only the air," said Tremaine to himself, 
 perceiving it ; "for it is evident her heart is "Com- 
 pletely vacant." * 
 
 " Mary is very much obliged to you, Mr. Tre- 
 maine," said Georgina, as Mary curtsied and 
 moved off. 
 
 " For what I should have endeavoured to do, but 
 could never have done," replied he. 
 
 " Your intentions were the same; and for one, f 
 feel much impressed with them, for the sake of my 
 protegee.^' 
 
 She said these last words ratlier falteringly, and 
 as if she hesitated whether to add for any other sake. 
 
 In fact, Evelyn, on her first arrival in the village 
 (for she was too much interested to stay by herself at 
 home), had told her of Tremaine's piece of energy^ 
 and rallied her unmercifully upon the share, he ^aid, 
 she had in it. 
 
 "He told me in terms," said Evelyn, " it wa& 
 all to please you, and even took himself to . task 
 for it." 
 
 " That did not do away his merit," thought 
 Georgina, and she began to regard him with .more 
 softness than she had ever yet done; so that when 
 he found her in the garden of the little inn, he at 
 least found her in no bad liumour with himself.
 
 TRJEMAINE. 339 
 
 " I have had an extremely anxious morning," 
 said she, " which you have kindly helped to com- 
 fort." 
 
 '"^'^ That Dr. Evelyn's daughter should be anxious 
 where good was to be done, is not surprising," an- 
 swered Tremaine; " but I know not whether I am 
 most surprised or pleased, to observe in her all her 
 father's activity !'* 
 
 " Being so active yourself!" remarked the lady 
 with archness. 
 
 " Active or not," replied Tremaine, " depends 
 upon the disposition of the moment, which we 
 sticklers for the free liberty of will assert should 
 always decide." 
 
 " Then let us decide upon sitting down till my 
 father comes," said Georgina ; " he promised to find 
 me here, when he had finished some village business, 
 and I have had a hot ride." 
 
 They entered a Uttle arbour at the end of a turf 
 walk. It was no more than some osiers bent into 
 arches, over which Christmas, in the days of his 
 authorized courtship with Mary, had trainetl a vine, 
 and a scarlet bean, which had just begun to flower. 
 A bench of a single plank composed all the rest. 
 Some roses, which bloomed, and perfumed the 
 air close by, attracted their senses, already n6t 
 undelighted. 
 
 " Confess, Mr. Tremaine," said the lady, perhaps 
 
 2
 
 340 TREMAINE. 
 
 tliinking of her father's discussion the evening before, 
 "confess, that the simplest and most unadorned 
 nature may sometimes be as attractive as the most 
 polished efforts of art." 
 
 " Quite papa !" cried Tremaine. 
 
 " No ! not quite, for I am too weak for argu- 
 ment." 
 
 Tremaine wished within himself that the Doctor 
 f^ometimes had been so too. 
 
 " What I mean is," continued Georgina, " that 
 the magnificent saloon and gilded palace of you 
 men of refinement, could not perhaps supply any 
 thing so soothing to sense as this cheap and simple 
 scene." 
 
 " More like still," answered Tremaine; '' I protest 
 I shall be afraid of you." 
 , '^ Are you then afraid of papa?" 
 
 " Oh no ! — and yet — that is — I am afraid I some- 
 times shock his prejudices too much." 
 
 "I assure you that fear is reciprocal." 
 
 "I wish we could oftener convince one another," 
 said Tremaine. 
 
 " Well, but we both think you improved, * ' observed 
 Georgina; "confess you are not half so listless as 
 you wercj and that you can even almost bear with 
 ordinary scenes and ordinary people. An arbour of 
 scarlet-beans, for example, instead of a magnificent 
 conservatory."
 
 TREMAINE. 341 
 
 " Agreed ! in such company," answered Tre- 
 maine, with an air of galhmtry, yet of sincerity, not 
 at all displeasing to Georgina. 
 
 " That speech shall not let you off. No ! I mean 
 even if alone ; if indeed," added she pausing, " to 
 be with one's own mind is to be alone." 
 
 " You are then, after all, fond of being alone ? " 
 
 *' Till I grow tired of myself," replied Georgina, 
 with simplicity. 
 
 " I should think that could not soon be.*' 
 
 " It all depends upon the humour one is in, you 
 know. There are moments when I long to dance, 
 or ride a race, if my father would ride one too ; — 
 which he never will. There are others when I could 
 sit still for hours, with almost no particular employ- 
 ment for my thoughts, and occupied solely in the 
 soft soothing of a reverie. It is at these times that 
 the simplest sights and sounds in nature seem the 
 most pleasant." 
 
 " I'm afraid it is because you have never been in- 
 troduced, or past a winter in town. I must refuse 
 you for a judge till you have for months been twice 
 a week regularly at the Opera," said Tremaine. 
 
 " That will not change me," rejoined Georgina, 
 " though the confession may lower me in your es- 
 teem." 
 
 " Nothing can," said Tremaine. 
 
 " Shall I try your sincerity ? "
 
 S49 TREHAINE. 
 
 "Willingly." 
 
 " Why then, much as I love music, I scarce know 
 the sound that enlivens me more than the crowing 
 of the cock we now hear; and I have seen my father 
 pleased, in such moments as we were talking of, by 
 listening without interruption to the mere rhythm ef 
 the dairy maid^s churn." 
 
 " No doubt he thinks them as beautiful as the 
 tones of Viotti, or the pipe of Tramezzani," said 
 Tremaine, ironically. 
 
 " Not so," replied Georgina ; " for the sounds are 
 not to be compared, and, as mere sounds, the one far 
 exceed the other. But my father says it is the asso- 
 ciations that make them so pleasing; — ^they are all 
 cheerful, and indicate the habitation and business of 
 a well-ordered family." 
 
 " Why this again is papa in petticoats," cried 
 Tremaine, apologizing at the same time for the li^ 
 berty of the observation. 
 
 " I wish it were," said Miss Evelyn. 
 
 " Well ! you are able advocates, I admit," added 
 Tremaine; "but I would wager you are ihe only 
 advocates that can be found for such mediocrity, or 
 rather such monotony in happiness." 
 
 " As for mediocrity, I am persuaded no drawing- 
 room could make me happier than at this moment*** 
 (Tremaine looked pleased, but Georgina was think- 
 ing more of Mary than of him) ; and for monotony,
 
 TREMAINE. 343 
 
 your favourite Madame de Stael gave me a passage 
 the other day, which seems too just not to be decisive 
 ou the two sides of the question." 
 
 " Do you remember it ? " asked Tremaine. 
 
 " I think I do," said Georgina ; " it is in her 
 work ' De TAllemagne,' and is tliis : ' Lamonotonie 
 dans la retraite, tranquillise Vdme : La jnonotonie dans 
 le gratid inonde, fatigue Vesprit.' Now I am ' dans la 
 retraite,'' and you in the 'grand monde ;' and hence, 
 I dare say, all the difference between us." 
 
 " Would to Heaven, " said Tremaine, admiringly, 
 bat with an involuntary sigh, "that were really 
 aU." 
 
 Georgina looked surprised, — but not quite com- 
 prehending him, went on : " Do you know there is 
 more than one passage in Madame de Stael that we 
 thought applicable to you ? for my father and I talk 
 of you often.*' 
 
 Tremaine was more and more pleased, and found 
 himself almost taking her hand ; it is certain he 
 gazed upon her with eyes that were not " lack lustre," 
 and that knew at times well how to speak. It almost 
 distressed her, and she was going to break up the 
 conference. 
 
 " I wonder where my father can be all this time," 
 said she ; " there must be some mistake ; I must 
 search for him." 
 
 Tremaine entreated, before she went, that she
 
 344 TREMAINE. 
 
 would favour him with the passage in which he was 
 so interested ; and as his manner, though most im- 
 pressive, was at the same time most respectful to 
 woman, and never more so than at that moment, she 
 found no difficulty in obliging him. 
 
 " The passage I particularly recollect," said Geor- 
 gina, " is where she talks of the necessity for the 
 solitary man's being also an active-minded man : 
 ' U Homme solitaire a besoin qn'une emotion intime lid 
 tienne lieu du mouvement exterieur qui lui manque^ 
 Now in town, I apprehend," added Georgina, "the 
 Opera, or, more probably, the House of Commons, 
 may be your ^mouvement exterieur;'' but as I am 
 neither a fine lady, nor a member, I am forced to 
 content myself with an ^emotion intime^^ and find it,, 
 where papa bids me look for it, in the simplicity of 
 nature ! " 
 
 " She is the loveliest-minded creature in the 
 world," said Tremaine to himself, as he delivered 
 her to her father, and took leave of them to return 
 to Woodington. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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