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 THROUGHOUT ENGLAND SCOTLANDanoIRELaMO.
 
 Mr. EDWARD SPENCER STIDOLPH. 
 
 Langdale, 
 
 Greenwich. 
 
 L I B RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or ILLl NOIS
 
 
 7
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/picturesofworlda01ward
 
 PICTURES 
 
 THE WORLD 
 
 VOL. I. 
 STERLING.
 
 PICTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE WORLD 
 
 AT HOME AND ABROAD; 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 " TREMAINE," " DE VERE," " HUMAN LIFE," 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 STERLING. 
 
 Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetse.— Horace. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIX,
 
 Printed by J L, Cox and Sons, 75, Great Queen Street, 
 Lincoln's-Tnn Fields.
 
 k 
 
 K / 
 
 GENERAL PREFACE, 
 
 ^ I HAVE a thousand fears for the reception of 
 these tales. The first of them, ' Sterling,' may possi- 
 bly not be disrelished by those who are interested 
 by pictures of the mind or heart strongly affected, 
 or struggling under any great bias or passion. 
 There are many Sterlings in the world, and the 
 view taken of them therefore may possibly engage 
 attention. 
 
 I am not so sanguine as to the other two, ' Pen- 
 ruddock' and 'Rheindorf,' although the former pre- 
 
 *=^3> tends, mirabik dictu, to something like a romantic, 
 
 ^^s well as a didactic character. 
 
 r 
 
 <2>
 
 VI GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 It is, however, about 'Rheindorf "^ that I am most 
 fearful, for I am quite alive to the danger of found- 
 ing a long discussion of political ethics (particularly 
 as demonstrated by the French Revolution), upon a 
 tale of fiction. The events, also, of that revolution^ 
 have so often been spread in detail before the world, 
 in all its thousand shapes — so often been examined, 
 (juestioned, and quoted, as it served to illustrate 
 particular lines of argument, that its very name 
 may probably fill men with affright, and deter them 
 from even approaching the subject. 
 
 Great part, therefore, of the discussions must 
 necessarily appear dry, even in these days of politi- 
 cal contest ; and, by those who seek only amusement, 
 will probably be left unread. And yet, if the object 
 of this sort of writing is to instruct as well as amuse; 
 if, in the language of the author's motto, 
 
 " Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetee," 
 
 those to whom political questions are of interest ; 
 who have imbibed strong governing principle's of
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. VU 
 
 public conduct founded upon facts, or notions of 
 the character of certain events, and certain actors 
 in history, which may be contested, according to 
 the views taken of them by different parties, such 
 persons may excuse a little labour for the sake of 
 the object, and if they begin to read, may perhaps 
 read on. Doctrines of importance to the well-being 
 of states, and the conduct of statesmen, will not 
 surely be less attracting because conveyed by 
 supposed speaking characters under a dramatic 
 form, than in a shape purely didactic ; possibly 
 (though that must depend upon the execution) 
 they may be more attracting. Religion has found 
 favour though conveyed in dialogues of fiction ; 
 then why not political disquisition ? 
 
 But even the supposed threadbare subject of the 
 French Revolution is not so exhausted, but that 
 lights, seemingly new, are often appearing above 
 the horizon. How many years was Brissot thought 
 an honest, though mistaken man, even by those 
 who blamed him in and out of France ? How many
 
 vni GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 elapsed before Dumont showed him in his true 
 colours ? How few have even now read Dumont ? 
 How fewer still are those who have reasoned upon 
 his report of him, as Winter reasons in the following 
 pages, in order to clear a warm young mind from 
 an inveterate prejudice? 
 
 Should the subject, therefore, be thought not 
 out of its place, by being engrafted on a work of 
 imagination, it may be hoped that a comment on 
 even so old a theme may not be without its use. 
 Old subjects indeed, may, be made new, by the 
 consequences deduced from them : witness the 
 thousand able commentaries of modern times, upon 
 questions thought to be worn out. 
 
 That I may not, however, be guilty of a sort of 
 literary suicide, by thus before its time letting the 
 reader into what may be thought insuperable faults, 
 let me hope that the heavy weight of an old politi- 
 cal discussion is not to be feared throughout the 
 story, but that there may be parts in it which, 
 although they may not by many be thought to
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. IX 
 
 repay the labour of digesting such arguments, may 
 both engage the fancy and touch the heart. 
 
 Much (though not quite so much) of what has 
 been thought likely to be objected to 'Rheindorf 
 may, perhaps, be applicable to ' Penruddock.' The 
 political discussions, however, as well as the poli- 
 tical feelings come home to English bosoms. The 
 aristocrats, as well as democrats, described in the 
 first part, are English, the manners English, and 
 the prejudices all English. The author has drawn 
 largely from Shakspeare in pourtraying the times : 
 but that, too, is supremely EngHsh. The discus- 
 sions are lighter, and it is to be hoped, therefore, 
 not so formidably ethical as in the German tale. 
 But, in addition to this, in the second part the 
 author (strangely for him) deviates into downright 
 romance, in a manner which may be thought not 
 unworthy the circulating libraries themselves ; and 
 he is not even sure, after all, that the character of 
 a novelist (such as he is) may not be fairly fastened 
 upon him.
 
 X GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 Indeed, he may be suspected of as much, when, in 
 the midst of politics, he comes to the Penruddock 
 Narrative, as it is called. But of the romance of 
 this, perhaps, he may not be thought absolutely 
 guilty, when he informs the reader, that the main 
 fact, the discovery of the lost heir, is a piece of 
 true family history. 
 
 Here, therefore, he must be acquitted of being 
 guilty of any thing like Imagination, and remain 
 still what he may have been thought, a would-be 
 philosopher, but a philosopher in disguise. 
 
 There is, as usual, a great deal of dialogue in 
 the elucidation of particular subjects. This mode 
 of conveying opinions has been objected to by 
 many, who prefer a regular treatise, and yet (surely 
 inconsistently) complain of the author for his taste 
 for the didactic. 
 
 Of course opinions differ; for my part, even 
 without the authority of Cicero, Hume, Hurd, 
 Leland, Berkeley, and many others, I should pre- 
 fer this mode of treating a subject, not merely as
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. XI 
 
 more dramatic, and, therefore, a more interesting 
 method, but as more convenient, and less burthen- 
 some to the attention. 
 
 In this respect I agree with a quaint old author, 
 near two centuries ago, who, in his preface, ad- 
 dresses himself thus : 
 
 " To the knowing reader, touching the method 
 of this discourse. 
 
 " There are various ways for the conveyance of 
 knowledge to the understanding, and to distil it by 
 degrees into the cells of the brain. 
 
 "It may be done, either by a downright narra- 
 tive and instructive discourse : 
 
 " Or by Allegories, Emblems, and Parables : 
 
 " Or by way of Dialogue, Interlocutives, and 
 Conference. 
 
 " The first is the easiest, and most usual way. 
 
 " The second is the most ingenuous (ingenious) 
 and difficult. 
 
 " The last is the most familiar and satisfactory, 
 when one doth not only inform, but remove and
 
 Xll GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 answer all objections and quaeries that may inter- 
 vene all along in the pursuit of the matter. 
 " I proceed, therefore, with colloquy.*"* 
 
 • Preface to " Sober Inspections," 1658.
 
 STERLING; 
 
 KNIGHT OF St. SWITHIN^S, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Club. 
 
 Everybody who has lived in London, knows 
 what an alteration for the better, in the lives of 
 the inhabitants, (particularly if bachelors), has 
 been made by the institution of clubs. The com- 
 forts, I may say luxuries, of good company, and 
 elegant living, formerly confined to men of for- 
 tune, may now be enjoyed by all ; and the great 
 variety in the conditions and manners of the 
 different members affords a perpetual supply of 
 food for observation, to those T»^ho have any taste 
 or talent for observing. Hence, for such persons, 
 there is always a stream of interest going on, and 
 ennui is unknown. I say, for such persons ; 
 because I would by no means insinuate that 
 ennui does not exist, or even that her very throne 
 is not sometimes established, in a club-room. 
 The ya\vns I hear at this moment all about me, 
 would convince me of it, had I any doubt. 
 b2
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To the observer of mankind, however, it is 
 very different, — as the tale I am about to narrate 
 will perhaps prove ; for it is to a club that I owe 
 the knowledge of it, and the permission to give 
 it to the world. 
 
 After having been three years a candidate on 
 
 the books of the Club (so numerous were 
 
 the applications for admission), my turn for the 
 ballot came round, and I was successful. The 
 first day I took possession of my honours, I of 
 course peregrinated through all the commodious 
 apartments which now, in a measure, belonged 
 to me: — the ample dining-room ; the magnificent 
 drawing-room ; the well-stored library ; and the 
 better-peopled coffee-room. 
 
 I was so pleased with every thing, that I think 
 for a month I did not fail a single day in attend- 
 ance. The company were heterogeneovis, but upon 
 the whole good. There were peers, members of 
 parliament, merchants, and men of office: forming 
 sufficient matter of curiosity for an Addison, or 
 a Steele, a Johnson, or a Mackenzie. I was none 
 of these ; nevertheless, I could not help being 
 struck with the constant sight of a person of 
 some figure, who seemed to be almost a fixture, 
 or at least a piece of furniture, in the mansion. 
 In the morning he was always to be found in a
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 particular corner of the eating-room, at break- 
 fast ; and at dinner in the same place. 
 
 During the day he had the library almost 
 entirely to himself ; for he seldom visited the 
 coffee-room ; and all the evenings he had his 
 little table and wax candle, at the farther end 
 of it, and in a voluptuous chair, he either read 
 or dozed away the hours, till he retired to bed, 
 at his lodgings close in the neighbourhood. 
 His figure was tall, and rather fashionable ; 
 his countenance open, but very pensive ; lines 
 of thought, and, as it struck me, of uneasy 
 recollections, had marked his cheek. All seemed 
 to know him, and treated him with a sort of con- 
 sideration due to his age, which was between 
 sixty and seventy. This he received with polite- 
 ness, but seemingly with no wish to enter into con- 
 versation with any but two or three old-fashioned 
 peers, Avho sometimes, not always, took their 
 parliamentary dinners at the club, in their way 
 to the House of Lords. With one of these, 
 Lord Langston, he seemed intimate, and talked 
 to him with animation : but this always subsided, 
 and left him in his usual abstracted state, as 
 soon as they separated. 
 
 I soon found out that the gentleman who had 
 so attracted my notice was a Mr. Sterling, son
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of a former Sir Robert Sterling ; but nobody 
 could give me any accurate account of him, 
 except that lie had been a daily visitor of the 
 club, ever since it was first founded. 
 
 As I was, however, acquainted with Lord 
 Langston, and had now observed this friend of 
 his for three months, I requested to be intro- 
 duced to him. 
 
 " I will introduce you,"*' said Lord Langston, 
 '^ if you wish it ; but I am not sure he will 
 repay you. He is a bit of a humorist ; and 
 though, as you see, he lives in a daily crowd, 
 he also, as you see, wishes to be as much aloof 
 from it as he can."" 
 
 Lord Langston, however, went up to him, 
 and saying something in a low tone, I heard 
 him reply, " Certainly, any friend of yours."' 
 Upon this the ceremony took place, and Lord 
 Langston going away, Mr. Sterling and I were 
 left alone. 
 
 I found him exceedingly well bred ; rather of 
 the old school ; and his conversation, as far as 
 it went, was agreeable, and showed mind. It 
 turned naturally on the club, which he said 
 was exceedingly convenient for people of small 
 fortune, but would be more agreeable if less 
 heterogeneously composed. " However," said
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 he, " we cannot have every thing ; and any 
 where I have very few friends." 
 
 I replied, I concluded that must be his own 
 fault ; at which he looked, as I thought, not 
 displeased, but only bowed by way of answer. 
 
 This concluded our first day's acquaintance, 
 which was renewed the next, and the next after 
 that, till a sort of intimacy commenced, and 
 we even dined and took coffee together — a thing 
 {as he told me) he had not done with any body 
 else, since he belonged to the club. Not only 
 this, but he allowed me to be the companion of 
 his daily walks round Hyde Park, or Kensington 
 Gardens, which he said he had come to consider 
 as his own, and which supplied him with all 
 he wanted of country ; so that now he never 
 went there, except once a-year, for a week or 
 so, to Langston Castle, the seat of his noble and 
 excellent old friend. 
 
 This produced a conversation upon the family, 
 with whom I supposed he must be intimate, and 
 I asked him if he knew Lord Langston's sisters. 
 Lady Valentine and Lady Lovel ? At this he 
 gave a sigh, which I thought he tried to conceal, 
 and said he had known them formerly, but he 
 had not seen them for years. " I suppose,''
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 added he, " they are like the rest of us, old, 
 changed, and worn out. But to think of their 
 former bloom, and see their present wrinkles, 
 would give me no pleasure." 
 
 He sighed again, and not choosing to press 
 him impertinently, I changed the conversation. 
 
 Our walks and dinners, and sometimes the 
 company of Lord Langston, improved our 
 intimacy ; and at last he even asked me to 
 take my cutlet in his chambers, near Pall-mall, 
 where he unbent still more. Here once, when 
 I observed upon the insulated life he led, 
 though seemingly so acquainted with the world, 
 he said, it was very true, he was acquainted 
 with, but not formed for it ; " which,'' added he, 
 with a half smile, " you will think extraordinary, 
 in an upstart like me.*" 
 
 " Upstart !" cried I, with surprise ; " can 
 the son of Sir Robert Sterling, and the friend 
 of Lord Langston, be an upstart .?" 
 
 " Aye, there it is,'' returned he. " Our 
 foolish titles give but false ideas of consequence, 
 and lead to errors which I have often rued. 
 Better for me, if my father had never been 
 knighted, or never stirred from the muddy 
 kennel where both he and I were born."
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 " You raise my curiosity greatly,*" said I, 
 ''but I will not be guilty of the impertinence of 
 seeking to have it gratified." 
 
 " Why, to tell you the truth," he replied, 
 " I have often thought my history, totally 
 barren as it is of a single incident to make it 
 interesting,— on the contrary, a most absolute 
 blank of above sixty years, — might yet furnish a 
 very useful lesson to a number of young fools in 
 the world, whom I see running the same career 
 as I did, to end, I dare say, in the same failures. 
 But you are not one of these." 
 
 This, far from allaying the desire I had to 
 know more, only increased it, and so I fairly 
 told him. 
 
 " The story," said he, " though of nothing, 
 is too long for mere conversation ; and though 
 I have quantities of notes, letters, and memo- 
 randums, yet are they in such confused heaps, 
 that to digest them into an intelligible form 
 would be beyond my own power, much more 
 yours, even were you willing to take the trouble. 
 And yet, as I say, the lesson it might give to 
 many who want it, might be so useful, that I 
 have sometimes thought of leaving it to the 
 world when I die. It will disgrace me ; but it 
 would be the best amends I could make for 
 bS
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 liaving abused so many opportunities, which I 
 believe I may say I had, of being a very 
 different person from what I am." 
 
 " How shall I understand this ?'' I asked. 
 " Is it that you would allow me to peruse and 
 arrange these papers if I could .?*" 
 
 " Even so," he rejoined ; " and I should 
 myself be curious to see what sort of a figure 1 
 make in them ; though I am so little inclined to 
 believe it can be any thing but ridiculous, that 
 I have never had the courage hitherto to make 
 the attempt myself" 
 
 This soon led to an understanding between 
 us. An escrutoire was unlocked, and a white 
 leather bag of tolerable dimensions, and crowded 
 with documents of all sorts, was placed at my 
 disposal ; Mr. Sterling absolutely blushing as he 
 gave them to me. 
 
 I took them home, and shut myself up for a 
 week, with no other companions; and the follow- 
 ing pages are the fruits. They, indeed, contain 
 a few, a very few animadversions of my own, 
 which I could not help adding after Mr. Sterling's 
 decease, and he had bequeathed them to me in 
 full possession. But not a fact is altered, nor 
 a reflection of his suppressed ; so that, whatever 
 the picture may be, it is at least genuine.
 
 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND EDUCATION, OF 
 ROBERT STERLING, 
 
 " Go, hang yourselves, all ! You are idle, shallow 
 things. I am not of your element. You shall know 
 more hereafter." — Shakspeare's Twelfth Night. 
 
 " The people here are really very civil!" said 
 Caroline, as her brother returned from the 
 Chelmsford races; "we have had near a dozen 
 visitors since you left us, and an intimation of 
 almost as many more." 
 
 " Wonderful !" exclaimed Robert Sterling;. 
 *'• What in the world can they see in our appear- 
 ance, to bestow so much of their tediousness 
 upon us ?"
 
 12 STERLING. 
 
 " O, it's all owing to our good father's charac- 
 ter. But really, Robert, you take all this as if 
 you were not obliged, or at least not pleased, by 
 such marks of respect," 
 
 " Sir Robert, no doubt, ought — nay, I dare 
 say he will — be much flattered," replied Robert, 
 junior, "by such a host of natives, thronging 
 down like savages to the beach, upon the arrival 
 of a ship on a voyage of discovery. But pray, 
 who are these civil people ?" 
 
 "Oh, there is Mr. Williamson, the great mer- 
 chant, who they say is worth a million, and lives 
 half the year (at least his family does) in the 
 great house upon the hill — " 
 
 " While he plods the other half," interrupted 
 Robert, " between his dwelling-house in Blooms- 
 bury Square (the first perch from the City) and his 
 house of business in Mincing Lane; but of a truth, 
 all very respectable, and not to be sneezed at." 
 
 " You are very provoking," said Caroline, 
 " and I wo'n't tell you any more of our good- 
 natured neighbours." 
 
 " Yet I should like to know, if only par curio- 
 *77e," returned Robert ; "for I have no doubt 
 my little sister will display her usual candour 
 and discrimination in all that she will have to 
 say of them."
 
 STERLING. 13 
 
 "And you, my difficult brother, will of course 
 receive it with your usual fastidiousness, be- 
 cause, perhaps, there are no very great people 
 among them ; though, now I recollect, there is 
 one : and every body says that old Lady Moun- 
 tain is an excellent creature, and does a great 
 deal of good ; and her son. Sir James " 
 
 " Endeavours to ape his betters in St. James's 
 Street, and is a miserable failure," remarked her 
 brother. 
 
 " I have done," said Caroline, beginning to 
 be annoyed; " yet there is one other, if that will 
 be any recommendation — Sir Capel Hopkins — 
 who married Lady Juliana Sallowfield — who 
 must please you, for she was an Earl's daugh- 
 ter you know — ^" 
 
 "And as sallow as her name," replied Robert. 
 " She was a despairing old maid, living upon 
 her relations, or she never would have thought 
 of him; for though a skeleton in her person 
 as well as her purse, she was one of the stifFest 
 of exclusives ; and I think he was the son of a 
 stock-broker, who named him Capel after Capel 
 Court, the Stock Exchange ; upon the strength 
 of which, he sets up for a connexion of the 
 Essex family."
 
 14 STERLING. 
 
 " My dear brother, I wish you would teach 
 me—" 
 
 " To distinguish Bristol^ stones from dia- 
 monds," said Sterling. "But you were made, 
 my dear sister, for what you are : a plain, ex- 
 cellent, pretty, and kind-hearted creature ; de- 
 lightful at home, but wholly ignorant of real 
 life abroad." 
 
 '' I give up in despair," said Caroline, " and 
 must leave you to cater acquaintance for your- 
 self." 
 
 " Not in this second-hand pretending town," 
 replied Robert, " that affects to call itself a 
 watering-place, upon the strength of being a 
 post-office station. No I if you will seek waters 
 and bathing for health, quaff, I beseech you, a 
 politer air than the fat Essex, — Bath, or Wey- 
 mouth, or Harrowgate, where there may be 
 some chance of meeting people distinguished for 
 something more than mere riches, though of 
 their own acquiring." 
 
 *'And pray what are we ourselves, Robert .^" 
 asked the sensible girl, though timidly. For she 
 loved and esteemed her brother, and did not like 
 to hurt him, by wounding that fastidiousness 
 which was his foible.
 
 STERLING. 15 
 
 "Aye, there's the rub l" replied Robert ; and 
 he left her, as was his wont when very thoughtful, 
 to wander along the shore by himself. 
 
 Robert Sterling (for we must now describe 
 him a little) was the son of a most respectable, 
 because a sensible, and very honest person, 
 whose only fault in Robert's mind was, that he 
 was a citizen of London. He had made, indeed, 
 what mieht be called a fair fortune there ; and 
 to this Robert had no objection, other than the 
 place where it was made. And yet the dis- 
 position which caused this distaste was rather 
 unaccountable. He had been born in St. Swi- 
 thin's Lane, and in his infant years saw nobody 
 but inmates of the neigl^ibourhood of Lombard 
 Street and Cornhill. 
 
 When a child, it was a treat to young Robert 
 to be allowed to walk with his father to the Royal 
 Exchange, where he saw him much respected, 
 and heard him converse with merchants of the 
 same rank and respectability, whose habits, ideas, 
 and language, seemed always on a level with his 
 own. 
 
 Nobility, titles, fashion, were never once men- 
 tioned ; nor did there seem to him a finer place 
 of residence than Broad Street, or a more airy 
 situation than Tower Hill.
 
 16 STERLING. 
 
 A t ten years old he was placed at a school at 
 Hackney, where his associates were of the same 
 class with himself, and not at all calculated to 
 give him any higher ideas of society than that to 
 which he had been accustomed. He, however, 
 even then had begun to imbibe notions that there 
 were people in the world who, at least, thought 
 themselves far superior to the circle in which his 
 family moved — superior in tone, and in what 
 had begun to strike his young imagination with 
 an unaccountable interest, the nondescript, and 
 almost indescribable thing called Fashion. 
 
 How a child, much more one born and bred in 
 St. Swithin^s Lane, whose parents, uncles, aunts, 
 and cousins were all, with one exception, sober 
 people, the highest of whom was an alderman, who 
 had been a sheriff, and narrowly missed knight- 
 hood — how he could have come by this notion, or 
 known that there was such a place as " the other 
 end of the town,**' may seem surprising. But it 
 came in this wise. His mother, though the daugh- 
 ter and sister of merchants like her husband, had 
 a brother, who, from a school-acquaintance with 
 a man in office, had become a courtier, as far as 
 a very slender place in the household could 
 entitle him to that name 
 
 He, at least on a birth-day, had a sort of
 
 STERLING. 17 
 
 place at the levee and drawing-room ; knew the 
 names of a number of great people, and thought 
 the Opera Elysium, and the playhouse hum- 
 drum. As for the City, though all his relations 
 lived there, he never would have thought of it; 
 only, as his place scarcely paid for his hats and 
 silk stockings, and he had very little else to live 
 upon, to dine in St. Swithin's Lane now and 
 then (or, indeed, as often as his brother-in-law 
 would let him) was far from inconvenient. 
 
 Whether from his smartness of dress or of 
 conversation, — which latter generally, if not 
 always, turned upon Royalty, or at least upon 
 Lords and Ladies of the Bedchamber, and Maids 
 of Honour (I think he did not descend to the 
 bedchamber women), — this hopeful gentleman 
 became a great hero in the eyes of his young 
 nephew, who was always admitted to the dessert 
 after dinner, admired his coiffure and sword 
 (for it was then the days of curls and swords), 
 and his talk of St. James's and the boxes at the 
 Opera, to which he had sometimes been actually 
 admitted. 
 
 This so fixed the boy, that even in those days 
 the notice of his other relations became insipid. 
 He asked why the king did not come to the 
 Exchange, where there were so many other kings;
 
 18 STERLING. 
 
 and was always impatient to know when uncle 
 George was to dine with them again. 
 
 This taste, which might have worn itself out 
 for want of food, and been exchanged for some- 
 thing more befitting his station, had nothing 
 intervened, was confirmed and became permanent 
 from the mere circumstance of liis having^ been 
 taken by his mother, at the suggestion of his 
 uncle, to see the company go to court on one of 
 the birth-days. 
 
 At that time he was but twelve years old; but 
 from that day, though by no means devoid of 
 natural sense — nay, with a great deal of sus- 
 ceptibility for other and better things, and a 
 disposition to literature, afterwards much culti- 
 vated — fine scenes and fine company became the 
 favourite objects of his imagination. He thought 
 uncle George the happiest of men ; and the con- 
 trast between Lombard Street, with all its mil- 
 lions, and the gilded throng of the palace, whose 
 poverty was at least concealed, became hateful 
 to him to think of. 
 
 How soon, and by what trifles, may not a cast 
 of character be thus decided ! But let us do the 
 boy justice. It was not merely this temporary 
 single event of a sight of the court, that pro- 
 duced the effect we have noticed. His imagi-
 
 STERLING. 19 
 
 nation was peculiarly warm, and his suscepti- 
 bilities remarkably keen. He had the seeds of 
 what is called a fine mind ; and among other con- 
 sequences, was feelingly alive, even at these years, 
 to a jealousy, far from happy, of both persons 
 above himself, and situations superior to his own. 
 A slight from such persons became early a source 
 of mortification, amounting to affliction ; and to 
 see any one so high as to be precluded from his 
 notice or acquaintance, was a matter of serious 
 disturbance to him. Whenever, therefore, there 
 was a barrier to this, it was the object of his 
 fondest ambition to break it down. On the other 
 hand, he was particularly sensible of the im- 
 pressions of real elegance, both of manners and 
 mind, and hence was still more disposed to 
 admire those above him ; while the jealousy 
 above-mentioned turned him w^ith horror from 
 the idea of courting them. 
 
 Of course, all this did not appear at the early 
 time we have commemorated ; but the seeds 
 were there, and we shall presently see how they 
 took root, expanded, and fructified, as his life 
 proceeded. 
 
 Uncle George fostered all these young preju- 
 dices, in regard to fashion at least, both by pre-
 
 20 STERLING. 
 
 cept and example ; and, having himself been 
 educated at Westminster School, where he had 
 played at cricket with an Earl's son, he had taken 
 a'violent repugnance to so mean a place of educa- 
 tion for his nephew as Hackney. This, therefore, 
 he had always opposed, as far as he dared; — for 
 he was somewhat in awe of his brother-in-law's 
 plain sense — to say nothing of his dining with 
 him once or twice a week. Out of the world, he 
 used to say, or what was worse, in the midst of 
 the vulgar world, there were no boys of fashion or 
 consequence, not even of commercial consequence 
 — for even these had now began to soar to West- 
 minster, if not to Eton; — no connexions could 
 there be formed ; nor could even very polite lite- 
 rature be acquired, at such a second, or third, or 
 fourth-rate place of education. 
 
 This, however, was always said to Mrs. Ster- 
 ling, not to her husband. But this was not all 
 the reform wished for, if not suggested, by uncle 
 George. He lodged(as he said) in Sack ville Street, 
 on the strength of a part of the house, which was 
 in Vigo Lane, having a window looking into it. 
 Not only this was a great distance from St. 
 Swithin's, but St. Swithin's itself was utterly 
 unworthy of any man who could live out of it.
 
 STERLING. 21 
 
 The people of Piccadilly thought it was the 
 same as Wapping. It was degrading, he said, for 
 a man of Mr. Sterling's substance to live there. 
 
 The two changes then, of the school and the 
 residence, were constant themes between uncle 
 George and his sister, when Mr. Sterling was 
 not by ; and, as to the school, it was warmly 
 seconded by young Robert himself ; who, young 
 as he was, had found out that scarcely any of 
 his schoolfellows had seen St. James's, nor ever 
 went to the other end of the town ; and that the 
 Hackney stages were incommodious, dirty, and 
 vulgar. This too had been much noticed and 
 complained of by two young gentlemen, the 
 only persons whose family did not reside in the 
 City, and who, being the sons of a baronet, were 
 treated with greater consideration than the other 
 boys, particularly by Robert Sterling. 
 
 All this was urged again and again ; and 
 Mrs. Sterling being brought to listen, the tran- 
 sition was not difficult to her good husband ; 
 who, though of a sufficiently decided temper in 
 all matters that concerned himself and his busi- 
 ness, had, even in these, consideration and affec- 
 tion enough for his wife sometimes to listen to 
 her, though he never gave her a voice. But, on
 
 22 STERLING. 
 
 the other hand, on subjects wherein she was 
 equally concerned (as in all matters of house- 
 hold regulation, and the management of her 
 children), as a just man, he not only thought he 
 was bound to consult her, but found it conve- 
 nient sometimes to yield to her sway. It is 
 certain, he said, he had never repented it. 
 
 On her part, on the present occasion she had 
 studied her husband enough to know, that to 
 propose the changes meditated, as suggestions 
 of uncle George — who was fit, in his brother-in- 
 law's opinion, only for what he was, a gentleman 
 usher daily waiter — woLild ruin the v/hole design. 
 So she lay by, and approached the subject by 
 degrees, as arising entirely out of her own ob- 
 servation. 
 
 Report indeed says, that the good lady herself 
 had caught a little of her brother's fashionable 
 propensities, and had begun to think there were 
 politer places than St. S within s, for men of her 
 husband's fortune ; and though, from the time 
 of her marriage, she had nexeY felt, much less 
 exhibited, any discontent at being so buried, yet 
 now and then, when chatting with a friend whose 
 husband had removed to Bedford Row, she 
 would confess that buried she was. At the same
 
 STERLING. 23 
 
 time^ being of a moderate temper, and a woman 
 who, in regard to a husband, 
 
 " If she rules him, never shews she rules," 
 
 she trusted to time and favourable changes to 
 brinoj about her washes. 
 
 These, in the end, were both of them gratified; 
 for though Mr. Sterling, having been at Hackney 
 himself, made a stout defence of it, saying it was. 
 worth all the public schools put together, and 
 would therefore on no account listen to a pro- 
 posal to send his son to Westminster ; he so far 
 yielded to his wife's wishes (especially as his 
 fortune was growing more and more flourishing) 
 as to consent that Robert should have a univer- 
 sity education ; and as a preparation for this, he 
 was placed with a clergyman who took but few 
 pupils, and those owZ^ of the gent eelest families. 
 
 Then, as to the change of abode, having him- 
 self no objection (as he could afford it) to get 
 into a purer air, Mrs. Sterling was gratified by 
 a remove to Bloom sbury Square. 
 
 Mr. Barker, the tutor who took pupils from 
 none but the genteelest families, was not quite 
 calculated to second Mr. Sterling's views in re- 
 gard to his son. From having been educated at 
 Eton and Cambridge, he had the most sovereign
 
 24 STERLING. 
 
 contempt for all the little academies (as they are 
 called) that throng the suburbs of London ; and 
 from having a sister married to a baronet, who 
 lived in Mount Street, the was equally fastidious 
 in regard to the City. But, as two hundred 
 pounds a-year was not to be despised, he con- 
 descended to give his time to the preparation of 
 young Robert for the University ; and it is only 
 fair to both tutor and pupil to say, that the 
 prejudices of the one wore away before the pro- 
 gress of the other, and, what was better, the dis- 
 play of many natural good qualities, which 
 shewed themselves pleasantly, whenever not ob- 
 scured by an uneasiness (the plague-spot of his 
 mind) which arose whenever he thought of, or 
 was thrown into company with, young men in 
 a more brilliant situation than himself 
 
 This spot, though not of much moment in the 
 quiet house of a private tutor in the country^ 
 afterwards enlarged, and became of serious con* 
 sequence to his happiness, when transplanted to 
 Oxford, — where in due time he arrived, with a 
 fair, nay, a considerable, portion of Greek and 
 Latin, some knowledge of books, and none at 
 all of the world.
 
 STERLING, 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MISERIES OF A FRESHMAN. 
 
 " How green are you, and fresh in this old world?" 
 Shakspeare. — King John. 
 ^' You all look strangely on me ! " 
 
 Hen, IV., Pt. ii. 
 
 As Sir Robert Sterling''s acquaintance with 
 the world out of his own sphere was very limited, 
 and in the literary world might be said to be 
 none at all, in sending his son to college he had 
 never thought of procuring for him any thing 
 like letters of recommendation to any of the 
 leading characters at Oxford. 
 
 He had, indeed, inquired after all the expenses 
 necessary to establish him at one of the best 
 colleges, and these he had provided for liberally 
 through the Oxford Bank — the only connexion 
 he thought necessary in the place. All the 
 rest, he said, might be safely left to take care of 
 itself. " If his abilities are what his tutor has 
 always assured us they are," said he to Lady 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 STERLING, 
 
 Sterling, " there is no doubt he will make his 
 way." 
 
 " No doubt," echoed Lady Sterling ; " but, as 
 they say, or at least my brother George does, 
 that there are many young men of high family 
 and fashion at his college, it is a pity we did not 
 think of getting him some special introduction 
 to them." 
 
 '' And from whom would you get it, my good 
 woman ?" asked Sir Robert. " If the Lord 
 Mayor or Sheriffs could have done it, I would 
 not have scrupled asking them." 
 
 " There's my brother George," replied Lady 
 Sterling. 
 
 " Psha ! I dare say he stands more in need of 
 recommendations than Robert himself." 
 
 So Robert was left to his own resources, to 
 battle it as he could against his own inexperience, 
 and the prejudices and illiberality of others ; the 
 only letter he had taken being from his private 
 tutor to one of the head tutors of his college, 
 imder whom he was to be entered. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe either his 
 amazement or his sense of loneliness, when the 
 ceremony of matriculation was over, and in the 
 midst of a crowd he was left to himself. The 
 venerable richness of the piles around him,
 
 STERLING. 27 
 
 dedicated to learning, with all their associations, 
 did not fail to interest and fix his observation ; so 
 that the first day he seemed absolutely in a 
 trance. But he was considerably annoyed by the 
 manner in which he was treated by his brother 
 gownsmen, who, seeing him a complete fresh- 
 man^ did not scruple to stare, to point, and, 
 after they had passed, to giggle, so as to agitate 
 his feelings, which were naturally sensitive, but 
 peculiarly alive to any thing that implied dis- 
 respect. 
 
 While, however, this was confined to the 
 lower classes of scholars, who were pacing the 
 High Street, with little to distinguish them in 
 their appearance, he was not much stung. But 
 in his own quadrangle he found himself criticised 
 by evidently higher personages — gentlemen in 
 silk gowns and silk stockings (remember, it was 
 a long time ago), with velvet caps on their heads, 
 and some of them with gold tassels floating over 
 them. These did not laugh or stare yer?/ rudely ; 
 but stare they did, with searching curiosity, as 
 if to ascertain the quality, birth, and parentage 
 of the greenhorn, whom nobody knew. 
 
 Greenhorn he certainly was ; for thinking tliat 
 all who were altered of the same college, and 
 engaged in the same pursuits, required no sort 
 c 2
 
 28 STERLING. 
 
 of introduction — nay, his very bonhommie itself 
 urging him to it — he saluted two of these sprouts 
 of fashion, as they stared at him, and actually 
 asked them how they did. To his astonishment, 
 their only reply was laughing with one another ; 
 and having looked around, to observe if he had 
 any, and what friends to protect him, and find- 
 ing none, they turned on their heel, with coun- 
 tenances denoting that he had gained little by 
 this primitive civility. 
 
 This annoyed him severely, and not the less 
 when, on inquiring of one of the scouts, he found 
 that the two velvet caps who had thus slighted 
 liim were the Honourable Mr. Tylney and the 
 Honourable Mr. Selwyn, sons of peers. 
 
 Their names and titles gave him a feeling of 
 discontent, when he thought of his inferiority in 
 family and station, which was perfectly ridicu- 
 lous. Yet, tyro as he was, he vowed within him- 
 self that he would force these very men, before 
 he left college, though he then knew not how, to 
 do him the justice to which he thought he had a 
 right, in being admitted to their society. 
 
 He was, however, doomed to still greater mor- 
 tification the next day. By that time, all the 
 little that was known about him by his tutor at 
 Oxford, from his tutor in the country, was
 
 STERLING. 29 
 
 spread sufficiently abroad, and he heard enough 
 merely in passing among his fellows, though 
 not intended for his ear, to sting his feelings 
 almost to madness, 
 
 " Have you seen the city knight, since ?" said 
 Mr. Tylney to Mr. Selwyn, while they were 
 walking before him, not knowing he was be- 
 hind ; while another gownsman asked his com- 
 panion, what sort of thing was the hackney 
 coach just arrived ? 
 
 Though awed by the novelty of his situation, 
 and aware that there was a conventional point of 
 merit to which he might not come up, in the 
 opinion of these self-sufficient and self-elected 
 judges of propriety, he was about to show his 
 resentment rather roughly, when the Head of 
 the House came by. 
 
 All caps were immediately off, and all 
 thoughts of vengeance stayed. 
 
 Doctor Gaston, the Principal, with a mix- 
 ture of pomp and good-nature (for he had both), 
 returning his salute, asked if he was not the 
 young person who had just entered under Mr. 
 Lambert, the principal tutor. 
 
 Replying in the affirmative, the doctor then 
 isaid he would be glad to have a little conversation
 
 30 STERLING. 
 
 with him, when he had more leisure, and bowed 
 liim away. 
 
 The startled tyro did not redeem himself with 
 his quizzing companions by the manner in which 
 he received this salutation of the great man. 
 Taught by his country tutor to consider the Head 
 of a college, particularly if he was of Eton or 
 Westminster, as one of the greatest men upon 
 earth, he blushed, stammered, and looked foolish, 
 and the amusement of his tormenting observers 
 was increased in proportion. 
 
 The worst was, he could not fasten a positive 
 affront upon any one person ; yet he felt that he 
 was an object of something very like ridicule, and 
 he retired to his room in an agony of rage and 
 indignation, which hardly ever wore out of his 
 recollection, even long after he had quitted the 
 character of freshman, and had taken a part in 
 the world itself. 
 
 In truth, our friend, though a person suffi- 
 ciently proud and independent, and even not 
 unconscious of a degree of mental superiority to 
 many who were above him in rank, added to this, 
 the not uncommon weakness of thinking him- 
 self often undervalued, and succumbing under, 
 instead of rising superior to, such a persuasion.
 
 STERLING. 31 
 
 Thus, whatever his real powers of mind, and 
 however able to prove them when neccessity 
 called for it, it required time and goading to 
 screw his courage to the proper point ; and 
 though panting to rise to a level with those 
 above him in rank or reputation, he was always, 
 when at first thrown with them, overawed, and 
 unable to use the opportunities he had sought, 
 from the very mauvaise honte that every booby 
 felt. 
 
 Though ambitious, and, when spurred, ca- 
 pable of energy, young Sterling'^s too sensitive 
 consciousness of inferiority, where he felt him- 
 self inferior, whatever the point of comparison, 
 disabled him ; and on those occasions no man 
 was so little like himself, so little what he wished 
 to be, or what indeed he might have been. Thus, 
 before a man of high birth, and still more if of 
 high fashion or breeding, the remembrance of 
 St. Swithin's Lane made him absolutely quail ; 
 and if it rained on that saint's day, and any 
 body observed upon it, he has been known to 
 turn pale and leave the room. 
 
 In the same manner, though a very fair 
 scholar, the consciousness of his original Cock- 
 ney school, and his inactive privacy of educa- 
 tion, afterwards made him awkward and timid,
 
 32 STERLING. 
 
 even to unhappiness, while surrounded by the 
 bolder fronts, and readier discipline, of the 
 numerous public schoolmen among whom he had 
 entered. 
 
 It is strange how long he laboured under this 
 disadvantage of character. At college it almost 
 weighed him down ; and even afterwards, in the 
 world, it never wholly quitted him : for his taste 
 and disposition were decided, and he carefully 
 avoided all acquaintance with persons inferior, 
 or even equal, to himself, from a fastidiousness 
 that made him any thing but happy. 
 
 Yet his consciousness of his half-breeding, 
 and the newness and homely manners of his 
 family, discomfited his efforts, and rebuked his 
 o-enius, whenever he found himself thrown with 
 those he most affected, and before whom he most 
 wished to shine. 
 
 Hence, a sort of jealousy and uneasiness, 
 which, in his most prosperous moments in after- 
 life, often mixed bitter alloy with what appeared, 
 perhaps, to the world a career of happiness and 
 success.
 
 STERLING. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A UNIVERSITY MAGNATE. 
 
 " I am one that would rather go with Sir Priest than 
 Sir Knight."— Sh A KSPE ARE.— T^i^W/if/i Night. 
 
 Some days after his rencontre with the Princi- 
 pal, our tyro felt a little alarmed on receiving a 
 message from that great person, through his but- 
 ler, an exceeding grave and stiff gentleman, that 
 his master desired to see him without delay ; and 
 when he was about to sally forth in his cap alone, 
 his flutter was not diminished at being told by 
 the same important person, that no one, not even 
 tutors, ever waited upon the Principal except in 
 full costume of gown, cap, and band. 
 
 But, before we proceed farther, it may not be 
 amiss to give some little account of this great 
 University magnate, who had thus, by his mes- 
 sage, thrown our youth into such a trepidation. 
 
 The Rev. Doctor Gaston, then, was one of 
 the best scholars of the university. He was, in* 
 c3
 
 34 STERLING. 
 
 deed, greatly distinguished ; and for that, as 
 well as his private good qualities, greatly re- 
 spected, notwithstanding some weaknesses, in- 
 separable from our nature. But these, being 
 not of a mischievous sort, did him little harm, 
 when compared with his real merits. His weak- 
 ness was a sort of pomp in tlie display of him- 
 self, even in his kindnesses ; and particularly in 
 his knowledge of the world, the government of 
 his college, and his penetration as to the charac- 
 ters of the young men who had been bred under 
 him. 
 
 A man of no birth, the greatness of Dr. Gas- 
 ton began at Eton, where, as a scholar, he was 
 much distinguished, and where, as at Oxford 
 afterwards, he laid the foundation of an incalcu- 
 lable prejudice in favour of public education 
 and literary eminence, over all other educations 
 and eminences in life. An aristocrat as to these 
 of the first order, though he honoured nobility, 
 and did not despise wealth, he thought the 
 laurels and high academical situations he had 
 acquired (to say nothing of its comforts) the 
 proudest place which a man could fill. It 
 brought him, in his own mind, to a level with 
 all but his sovereign, and raised him infinitely 
 above the greatest riches, particularly commer-
 
 STERLING. 35 
 
 cial riches — of which he did not pretend to 
 conceal his contempt. 
 
 Men of family, indeed, and high political 
 consequence, obtained from him a marked at- 
 tention ; partly from his general aristocratic 
 feelings ; not a little, from the honour he did 
 himself in honouring them. 
 
 He was, therefore, proud to see his college well 
 filled by promising young men ; proud of di- 
 recting their studies ; proud of influencing their 
 choice of friends ; and exceedingly proud of 
 pointing out the lines of demarcation which they 
 ought to draw in their intercouse with one 
 another. 
 
 But though in this he not a little favoured that 
 tendency to what is called exclusiveness, which is 
 so much seen in our national character, his prin- 
 cipal object in every rank was to inoulcate inte- 
 grity and honour, and promote knowledge ; and 
 it must be owned that, wherever he saw these 
 flourish, he gave them a very fostering care, 
 whaterer the station ; where they failed, what- 
 ever they were, he treated the parties with con- 
 temptuous neglect. 
 
 Hence, where his opinion was favourable, 
 and his prejudices not revolted, no one knew 
 better how to " pour the fresh instruction oVr the
 
 36 STERLING. 
 
 mind," or to conciliate the attachment of those 
 who received it. 
 
 On the other hand, no one could, when he 
 deserved it, humble another so well. But to do 
 this, he made it a rule to acquaint himself perso- 
 nally — that is, to examine by conversation (which 
 he well knew how to shape to his object) — every 
 young person who came under his sway ; and 
 as the result was, so he acted. 
 
 In this, notwithstanding his prejudices, he 
 was sufficiently considerate, and often kind ; for 
 though his high-mindedness made him little 
 scrupulous in demolishing a proud, and even a 
 high-born fool, real ability and modesty, what- 
 ever the condition, always claimed him as a 
 protector. 
 
 He thus was necessarily a great searcher into 
 the actions, conditions, and history of those he 
 governed ; and it was extraordinary how soon, 
 and how accurately, he obtained what he wanted 
 to know. 
 
 In the present instance, our tyro was no sooner 
 entered, than he had learned from his tutor all 
 that the latter himself knew of his antecedent 
 life, his present position, and his future desti- 
 nation ; and he proceeded in the appointed 
 interview accordingly.
 
 STERLING. 37 
 
 Upon arriving at the Principars lodging, our 
 freshman was shown into an ante-chamber, 
 where several of his fellow under-graduates 
 were waiting, some of them with fear and 
 trembling, their turn of audience. This over, 
 he was ushered into the august presence. 
 
 The room was well carpeted and arm-chaired, 
 and set off by tables loaded with open folios ; the 
 whole scene exhibiting, in its style and orna- 
 ments, a most imposing picture of ease and 
 comfort, and knowledge and learning at the 
 same time. 
 
 The heart of the freshman fluttered, and 
 yet not without some disposition to criticise, or 
 at least appreciate the mode of his reception ; 
 in which he showed one of the peculiarities of 
 his character, which was, that however surprised 
 or agitated, observation, investigation, and 
 comparison, never abandoned him. 
 
 The Principal, who was sitting, or rather 
 lolling, on a couch of rich Turkey leather, 
 returned his salute with a condescending nod, 
 meant to be of protection, and bade him to be 
 seated. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed,*" said he, smiling; 
 " I dare say you think the Head of a house at 
 Oxford a sort of bashaw ; but you have nothing
 
 38 STERLING. 
 
 to fear. Yet, I believe young people who have 
 been confined to the City, as I understand you 
 have been, or at best brought up at a private 
 school, or academy, as it is called — I think 
 you were at Hackney ?"" 
 
 " A very long time ago, Sir," said Robert, 
 " when scarcely more than a child." 
 
 " Well ! that is very well ; and you were 
 afterwards, I think, placed under a very respect- 
 able person, Mr. Barker, of whom I have 
 sometimes heard. Your Hackney master, how- 
 ever, I suppose, was one of the dissenting class. 
 We know Hackney is their hot-bed, and possibly 
 I may be speaking to one, or at least the son of 
 one of them ? They are very powerful in the 
 City." 
 
 The examinant here ventured an interruption, 
 by saying, though with some hesitation, " My 
 father. Sir, does not live in the City." 
 
 " O ! I had forgot : I believe he removed, on 
 being knighted, to some place more west .''" 
 
 " Bloomsbury Square, Sir." 
 
 " True ! true ! I had indeed forgot ; but he 
 still, I believe, keeps his old counting-house in 
 some Lane — I forget the name." 
 
 " St. Swithin's," replied Robert, now blushing, 
 and dashed down again, by perceiving that what
 
 STERLING. 39 
 
 he had no wish to disclose, and indeed most 
 wished to conceal, was perfectly well known. 
 
 "Well," observed the superior, encouragingly, 
 '' no harm in that ; indeed, I am told that a 
 great proportion of the City wealth is acquired 
 in many of those lanes and close places, where 
 the sun seldom shines. I never was in the City 
 but once, and that was in a place called Law- 
 rence Poultney, and up a court, where, I own, 
 the amplitude and magnificence of the house, 
 when in it, formed a strong contrast to the dirt 
 and gloom of the exterior. But Oxford spoils one."" 
 
 The youth bowed, and could have said he 
 thought so too ; but the principal went on 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " Your father is still in business .?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And your education has been somewhat 
 neglected, and indeed I may say private, 
 with the little exception of those Dissenters at 
 Hackney." 
 
 The youth assented again. 
 
 " You are now, therefore, embarked on a 
 sea to which you have not been accustomed, 
 and perhaps may require a little pilotage." 
 
 He said this kindly, and our tyro bowed his 
 thanks.
 
 40 STERLING. 
 
 " You have, I dare say," proceeded the 
 doctor, '* already observed, that exclusive of 
 beiijg a stranger, the persons with whom you 
 are to associate, at least in study, are, or look, 
 as if they were of a diiFerent race from that 
 with which you have hitherto associated." 
 
 Here observing his protege to redden, he 
 added, with some graciousness, " Observe, I 
 am not putting this disrespectfully to you, but 
 the better to get at your feelings on coming, in 
 so unprotected a manner, to a place for which 
 you are not exactly calculated ; like all, indeed, 
 coming from private schools, especially if of 
 commercial families. Your father, I think, 
 did wrong in not procuring you, as I dare say 
 he might, introductions to somebody of weight 
 in the college, who might rescue you from the 
 unpleasantness which I hear you have already 
 experienced." 
 
 Though this was certainly meant to be conde- 
 scension, we are afraid the youth did not thank 
 the great person who uttered it. He felt his 
 pride both hurt and roused, and not the less 
 from feelino; that what was insinuated was 
 true. With some firmness, therefore, he replied • 
 ^' I own. Sir, as you put it to me, that I feel 
 already as if I had been ill treated ; certainly
 
 STERLING. 41 
 
 not treated with the good breeding I expected 
 from gentlemen.'''' 
 
 The stress he laid upon this last word moved 
 the interest and curiosity of Doctor Gaston, who 
 was, in fact, struck with this Httle indication 
 of a spirit, which, from a person so underbred, 
 he had perhaps not expected. It induced him 
 even to change his tone, and he said, obhgingly 
 enough, " in regard to scholarship, I am glad 
 to think that you have little to fear ; for I am 
 pleased to find from Mr. Lambert, that, thanks 
 I suppose to Mr. Barker (we will say nothing of 
 Hackney), your progress has not been incon- 
 siderable. But, with your apparent feelings, I 
 much fear that, as a merchant's son, you may 
 be here exposed to some little mortifications you 
 did not count upon; unless you can balance the 
 advantage with some superiority of your own, 
 of another character .'' 
 
 Robert Sterling bit his lip almost through 
 and through, at this taunt, as he thought it, 
 though it w^as not so meant : he felt something 
 very like a tear scalding in his eye, and the 
 good Principal, totally unused to this exhibition 
 of hurt feelings, became himself a little discon- 
 certed. He even took the young man's hand, 
 and actually asked pardon, if he had uninten-
 
 42 STERLING. 
 
 tionally said any thing disparaging to him. 
 " My remark," said he, "was merely to put a 
 young man, who I see has a great deal to learn, 
 and has, perhaps, too much sensibility, upon 
 his guard against what may at first annoy him, 
 but which the good sense he seems to have will, 
 I have no doubt, soon disarm of its power. 
 However, I see you are a little overset, and we 
 will quit this subject for the present. Indeed, 
 I must shorten this interview, which has taken a 
 turn I did not intend. We will renew it another 
 time, for there is something in you which I like. 
 At present, I am waited for by the Vice-Chan- 
 cellor; so, adieu !" 
 
 At this he gave him two fingers ; and Robert, 
 ruffled, hurt, and even angry, yet somewhat 
 pleased, in spite of himself, with the Principal, 
 quitted the presence.
 
 STERLING. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WOUNDED PRIDE. 
 
 " What has broached this tumult but thy pride?" 
 
 Shakspeare. — Henry VI. 
 
 With a heart very full of what had passed, 
 yet ashamed of having been so affected, our 
 affronted tyro now sought to retire from the 
 strange world he seemed to be in, in order to 
 indulge in a self-examination which, in truth, 
 he much needed. 
 
 Yet where to go, or what solitude to find out, 
 safe from the gaze of the supercilious people he 
 had quarrelled with, he could not exactly tell. 
 
 One, and one only person, not very greatly ex- 
 ceeding him in age, in the whole University, he 
 happened to know. But not only their acquain- 
 tance had begun at Hackney, but his friend was 
 also a merchant's son, who had afterwards finished 
 at Merchant Tailor's School, and was thence, in 
 due course, transferred to St. John's College.
 
 44 STERLING. 
 
 Both the school and the college were exceed- 
 ingly respected for their literature, but little 
 could be said for either on the score of fashion. 
 This young Sterling knew, for there had been a 
 question raised by old Sir Robert, whether St. 
 John's would not have been the fittest seminary for 
 his son to enter at ; but this was vehemently op- 
 posed in secret by uncle George, and openly by 
 Lady Sterling. This annoyed Sir Robert; but the 
 private tutor, Mr. Barker, coming to their assis- 
 tance, made so powerful a diversion in favour of 
 Doctor Gaston, and a more extended view of the 
 w^orldly advantages which his college afforded, 
 that the good knight, multo gemens, was forced 
 to succumb ; and Robert, whose heart beat high 
 at the thought of the brilliant people with whom 
 he was intended to associate, was placed at the 
 college presided over by Doctor Gaston. The 
 consequences we have seen. 
 
 Upon the whole, then, it was matter of necessity 
 which led him to seek out his quondam friend 
 of St. John's, whose qualifications, to judge of 
 his position in a society of so much greater eclat^ 
 were at least extremely doubtful. 
 
 Nevertheless, had his humour been sufficiently 
 serene, or his understanding less obscured by his 
 feelings, he might have applied to a worse coun-
 
 STERLING. 45 
 
 seller than his friend, who was some years older 
 in the University than himself, and had taken 
 his degree. He also had much strong sense, 
 and, what was a great aid to it, was little trou- 
 bled with that inconvenient sensibility which 
 had so disturbed the quiet of young Sterling. 
 
 The friends met, and Wilson, proud of his 
 college gardens, one of the beauties of Oxford, 
 was glad to propose a walk in them, where they 
 might talk over their early days at Hackney, 
 and the neighbourhood of Cornhill. To his sur- 
 prise, his friend's heart did not seem to leap for 
 joy at the mention of those halcyon days. He 
 breathed quick, and looked gloomy, and ejacu- 
 lated, with some spleen, " Hackney ! Cornhill ! 
 for Heaven's sake do not let us think of those 
 odious places — that vulgar school, and that 
 kennel of a City." 
 
 " What," said Wilson, with rather a sturdy 
 look, " are you grown fine already ? Have three 
 days in your aristocratic college done such won- 
 ders, as to make you forget your cradle, and 
 quarrel with your nurse ?'"' 
 
 "Not so,'' replied Sterling; "but with due 
 respect for the City, it seems, in the opinion of 
 all here, fine or not fine, to cover those who 
 belong to it with its own mud."
 
 46 STERLING. 
 
 Wilson, who, as we have said, had a natu- 
 rally strong sense belonging to him, looked his 
 astonishment at this effusion of what seemed to 
 him to be a palpable, thougli unaccountable, 
 slander ; and eyeing his old associate with some 
 curiosity, asked what had happened that he 
 should so abuse the place of his birth ; adding, 
 " I find no such notions here." 
 
 " I dare say not,'"* said Robert, with a meaning 
 emphasis, which Wilson did not, or would not, 
 understand; and walking on with still more 
 gloom in his features, he observed, " I almost 
 wish I had followed your example, as my father 
 desired ; I should not then have been so un- 
 happy.'" 
 
 " Are you unhappy ?'' asked Wilson, with 
 kindness. 
 
 " Why yes, and asliamed that I am so ; for 
 nothing, I own, is so childish, so unworthy a 
 man of common sense — which, however, I doubt 
 myself to be.'' 
 
 " Come," said Wilson, recovering, by his 
 sympathy for his friend, " I see there is nothing 
 very serious to apprehend ; but what's the 
 matter ?'' 
 
 " Matter to rouse a less irritable disposition 
 than mine," observed Sterling. *' Nay, I ques-
 
 STERLING. 47 
 
 tion if your Merchant Tailor equanimity, happy 
 as it is, would bear it better.*" 
 
 '' But the matter ?" still urged Wilson. 
 
 " I am a merchant's son," said Sterling. 
 
 "Well.?'' 
 
 " A mere city knight !'' 
 
 "Well.?" 
 
 " Have been at Hackney Academy !" 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 " Well! By my faith, but it is not well. I am 
 surrounded by public school-men — peers' sons — 
 one a peer himself — by heirs-apparent of great 
 'squires ; all men of fashion, and belonging to a 
 class to which you, and I, and other miserables, 
 may seek in vain to be admitted. Nay, I feel 
 myself looked down upon, jeered, laughed at, 
 despised by sons of law^yers and country clergy- 
 men, who can hardly pay their battels^ merely 
 because my father once lived in St. Swithin's 
 Lane, and 1 was not educated at a public 
 school." 
 
 " More fools they, forgiving themselves such 
 airs," said Wilson ; " and, if I may say so, you, 
 for taking it so to heart." 
 
 " You say true," replied Sterling ; " but I 
 cannot account for this usurpation of a superio- 
 rity I do not own. I know not even if I am
 
 48 STERLING. 
 
 thought to have the same flesh and blood. Yet I 
 am as rich, and I believe as well grounded, as most 
 of these puppies. Would only that I could make 
 them feel it !" 
 
 At this he positively stampt upon the ground, 
 and Wilson, shocked as well as surprised, and a 
 total stranger to such feelings, could not even 
 answer, but looked astonishment. At last, think- 
 ing he had made a capital discovery to relieve 
 his friend, he fairly asked why he should not 
 leave such a foolish, fastidious college, and come 
 and take refuge with him at St. John's ? 
 
 Sterling started, and eyed him with almost 
 horror. 
 
 " What ! quit the field before I am even en- 
 gaged. How very little, Wilson, do you know 
 me. If you are satisfied with a Merchant Tailor's 
 garden and obscurity, well. I trust, and dare 
 say, you will be happy ; but I look to a higher 
 flight." 
 
 " And to be unhappy," answered Wilson, 
 not much pleased. " My proposal, however, was 
 merely to relieve you from the anxieties which 
 you yourself seem to liave created, and of which, 
 I thank God, I have no notion." 
 
 " Forgive me," cried Sterling ; " I have be- 
 haved very ill ;" and the good-natured Wilson
 
 STERLING. 49 
 
 heartily took the hand held out to him. *' I will 
 however stay where I am, and not, I was going 
 to say, eat, or drink, or sleep, till I have proved 
 to those two supercilious honourables that I am 
 quite as good as they/"* 
 
 Wilson professed his ignorance of his meaning, 
 " But if your grievance is, as I suppose,"" said 
 he, " some silly airs they have given themselves, 
 I would not add to their triumph by being silly 
 myself." 
 
 " I will cut them," exclaimed Robert, with 
 fierceness. 
 
 " My good friend," returned Wilson, drily, 
 " you had better wait till you are acquainted 
 with them. At present they seem to have cut 
 you." 
 
 This did not give Mr. Sterling the consolation 
 he had sought, and observing to his friend, ** I 
 wish I had your apathy," he took his leave, 
 allowing he had made a great fool of himself; to 
 which, as little offensively as he could, his friend 
 perfectly assented. 
 
 It would be more than superfluous to relate all 
 the corrodings of the mind of our friend (now 
 any thing but our hero), which were produced by 
 the mortifications he was forced to undergo ; but 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 STERLING. 
 
 such are the misfortunes of false ambition. He 
 tried to analyze his own character, with a view to 
 cure ; but in vain. The sore rankled. He was 
 too proud to make advances, even if he thought 
 they would be received : but the contrary was 
 evident, or seemed so to his jealous imagination ; 
 and as, in his then frame of mind, the advances 
 of men of his own calibre were poison to him, he 
 shunned them as much as he thought himself 
 shunned by those he wished to conciliate. 
 
 He was therefore, though in the midst of a 
 crowd, in a fair way of being left by himself. At 
 dinner he spoke not to his neighbours ; at lec= 
 ture he was insensible to the approbation of Mr. 
 Lambert, because it seemed not to make the 
 least difference in the demeanour of the men of 
 fashion who were his fellows in the class. In 
 short, he was like Haman, whose honours availed 
 him nothing, so long asMordecai the Jew refused 
 to do him reverence. 
 
 Even the public walks were hateful to him, 
 because thronged by people whom he wished to 
 know, but could not ; or who wished to know 
 him, and he would not let them. 
 
 Hence his perambulations were always soli- 
 tary. He rambled in the fields, or to Godstow,
 
 STERLING. 51 
 
 alone ; and often passed a whole hour among the 
 ruins of the latter, with no thoughts but his own 
 with which to communicate. 
 
 Wilson had always his respect, but very little 
 of his company. In fact, Sterling was afraid of 
 him. For though he excelled Wilson in fineness 
 of mind, and also in scholarship, he was far below 
 him in practical good sense, and sturdy decision 
 of conduct. Risum teneatis ? — but there are 
 such characters. 
 
 i).^ 
 
 ^^S«.on.u.o>s
 
 52 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. STERLING IS MORE AND MORE HUMBLED. 
 
 Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? 
 Shakspkare . — Midsummer Niqhfs Dream * 
 
 Sterling''s way of life, so different from tliat 
 of most young men of his age, could not fail of 
 being remarked. Those whose advances he had 
 rejected, for which they did not like him the het- 
 ter, thought him a proud dandy, as he thought 
 those who kept aloof from him. These last still 
 deemed him a city quiz, who had no business at 
 their college. 
 
 The college distinctions, however, which he 
 sometimes obtained, by degrees began to change 
 this opinion. 
 
 His themes, both Latin and English, were 
 read, and his verses were once, even by the 
 Etonians, pronounced not bad. 
 
 But his anxieties were not diminished ; on the 
 contrary, he was reduced to despair by a visit
 
 STERLING. 53 
 
 from some relations — excellent people, very fond 
 of him ; but whose new clothes, put on expressly 
 for the occasion, though early in the morning, 
 denoted their Cockney ideas, and who, to his 
 everlasting dismay, before numbers of his fellow- 
 students, told him they had been a towering in 
 a phe-aton, and begged he would squire them to 
 see the sights. 
 
 This was spread from one end of the college 
 to the other. Even Doctor Gaston laughed at 
 the cits, and the distress of our aspirant was 
 consummate. 
 
 In this dilemma he wrote to uncle George, 
 who advised him to persuade his father, if he 
 could, to change his academical rank to that of 
 a Gentleman Commoner ; a negociation which 
 he accordingly began, through his mother; with 
 what success will be presently seen. Meantime 
 he was again summoned to the presence of the 
 Principal. 
 
 That observing personage had seen, not with- 
 out interest, the struggles that were passing in 
 his mind, and were so palpably evinced by his 
 conduct. At first he had viewed them with not 
 much sympathy. In fact, his own prejudices 
 were sufficiently strong to prevent him from
 
 54 STERLING. 
 
 being surprised at a predicament, which, though 
 he did not encourage it, he said was only what 
 might have been expected. 
 
 " His father,'' said he to Mr. Lambert, the 
 tutor, " from the ignorance of the world which 
 belongs to his class, made a false step, prejudicial 
 to the lad himself. What had he to do with us, 
 or we with him, if he is to be buried in a count- 
 ing-house, as I suppose he is. However, I am 
 glad to think he may be made a scholar, though 
 to be thrown away." 
 
 Mr. Lambert fully assented to these sentiments, 
 and being himself the son of a wool- comber near 
 Windsor, hugged himself in his good fortune, 
 tliat from having been on the foundation at Eton, 
 he had not been thrown away. 
 
 Young Sterling obeyed Doctor Gaston's sum- 
 mons this time with less fear than the last. 
 
 '' I suppose,'' said he to himself, " I shall be 
 again treated with all my inferiorities. But when 
 I inform him of my hope for a higher rank in 
 the college, he may think differently. Yet, what 
 a fool am I, to feel as I do ! and how do I envy 
 Wilson for his want of ambition, and his com- 
 mon sense !" 
 
 With these reflections he was once more in the
 
 STERLING. 55 
 
 presence of the magnate ; and the usual sign to 
 be seated being given, the doctor rushed in 
 medias res, 
 
 " Confess, my good young man," said he, 
 " that you have not yet got reconciled to your lot 
 in this strange place — as it must still appear to 
 you. I assure you I have often directed my 
 thoughts towards you, and should be glad to 
 counsel you to your good.'' 
 
 Robert bowed low, in token of his gratitude, 
 and listened for more before he answered. 
 
 " I wish you to confide in me,'"* continued the 
 Principal, " a thing which nobody, I trust, ever 
 repented of doing." 
 
 Robert said he had every wish in the world to 
 do so. 
 
 " Tell me, then, in the first place," pursued 
 the doctor, " why it is you pass so much of your 
 leisure time alone. I say leisure, because as to 
 your studies, by which I have pleasure in think- 
 ing you profit, you cannot be too abstracted. But 
 in your hours of relaxation, it should seem, and 
 even at meals, I understand you act as if you 
 were an isolated being ; and either think your- 
 self not good enough, or too good, as the case 
 may be, for companionship with any of the 
 numerous members of the hall."
 
 56 STERLING. 
 
 " How the deuce could he know this?" thought 
 Robert ; and the Principal went on. 
 
 " Is it fastidiousness that occasions this ? 
 though that can hardly be in one so little known, 
 and educated as you have been ; or is it pride 
 (I will not say sullenness), at finding yourself 
 not exactly upon a level with those men of rank 
 into whose society perhaps you thought, without 
 the smallest introduction, you were to be received 
 with open arms ? Mr. Tylney or Mr. Selwyn, 
 for example, whom on the first day of your arri- 
 val you saluted without knowing them, nay 
 asked them how they did, with a bo7ihommie for 
 which, I assure you, they gave you credit." 
 
 Robert was still more surprised at the know- 
 ledge the Principal shewed of what he said and 
 did ; but answered as he felt, though in a half 
 murmur, half whisper, and not much liking to 
 look up, " I saw no signs of it." 
 
 " No !" said his chief, laughing (good-humour- 
 edly, however), " I do not suppose you did ; 
 for, to say truth, you made a mistake, and not a 
 small, though a very venial one. For, heaven 
 knows, 1 do not blame ^ow in the least, but those 
 who so rashly sent you here without friends, with- 
 out experience, or any thing like a carte dii pays 
 — which, be assured, is not to be found in the
 
 STERLING. 57 
 
 precincts of the Royal Exchange. Let us, how- 
 ever, try if we cannot remedy this ; and to do so 
 I Avill deal frankly wdth you, provided you will 
 assure me I may do so, without your being hurt 
 with what I may advise ; w^hich depends upon 
 your own frankness in answering my questions. 
 In the first place, then, is it your choice, your 
 taste, and are you designed to follow your father"'s 
 business .^" 
 
 Robert could not help blushing at the ques- 
 tion Why, he could not tell ; but he did blush, 
 while he stammered out in a low voice, *' Cer- 
 tainly not either my choice or my taste." 
 
 " But you are designed for it, then ?'''' 
 
 " I beheve so — and yet — " 
 
 " What r 
 
 " I am more than ever disinclined to it, since 
 I have been here.'' 
 
 The Principal smiled, and nodding his head, 
 answered with an emphatic '* I thought so.'' 
 He then added, in a dignified tone, " This is 
 indeed no place for lessons in trade." 
 
 He, however, thanked Sterling for his candour, 
 and went on — " It is a pity, I think, with the 
 progress you have made in common learning, 
 even stinted as you have been, that your father 
 had not opened more liberal views to you, before 
 d3
 
 68 STERLING. 
 
 he sent you here. A merchant'*s son is not exactly 
 the person we want, or who suits well with this 
 place, though there are colleges where he might 
 be less out of his element. But a merchant 
 himself can never, in the society here, be other 
 than uncomfortable. In truth, though it is a 
 rough truth, both scholars and men of real 
 fashion think there is something in trade, what- 
 ever its respectability in its own way, which 
 always thwarts the course of generous ambition, 
 which it confines to the sole object of making 
 money. Could your father, indeed, give you a 
 million by way of capital, the tone of things 
 might be altered ; for such a preponderance of 
 wealth might make up for other deficiencies. 
 But as that is not so, I could almost wish, for 
 your own sake, much as I desire to keep you, 
 that he had sent you to Amsterdam, or Ham- 
 burg, to learn business, where business is in 
 fashion, instead of to Oxford, or at least to this 
 particular college in Oxford, where it certainly 
 is not. For though the highest palms of learning 
 may here be acquired, nothing but very high 
 honours indeed can bring a man into that precise 
 and select class of society which ordinary wealth 
 will not, and indeed ought not to achieve."' 
 Our poor aspirant was completely floundered
 
 STERLING. 59 
 
 by this lowering intimation, wliich was given 
 ex cathedra, and in a manner most oracular. 
 And yet the oracle himself meant to do any 
 thing but distress his protege : for, perceiving 
 the youth again much hurt, he caught himself 
 up, and added, " Pray, observe, I mean no dis- 
 respect to your father, or to trade in general, 
 still less to you ; for, in truth, what I have said 
 was more with a view to what I wish to suggest 
 to your notice, than from any design to under- 
 value a most useful, and, in this country, a most 
 respectable vocation, however removed from more 
 elevated employments."" 
 
 Here the doctor glanced his satisfied eye round 
 his ample library, stopping a moment or so at 
 the most ponderous tomes, and then resting it 
 complacently upon the comforts of the apart- 
 ment at large. 
 
 The youth, as in duty bound, expressed his 
 thanks, and felt all curiosity to know what was 
 coming. 
 
 " In short,'*' pursued this learned magnate, " it 
 has struck me that you would do well either to 
 give up your commercial designation, and betake 
 yourself with vigour to some of the learned pro- 
 fessions, where you might in time distinguish 
 yourself, or else retire from this house for some
 
 60 STERLING. 
 
 one of less note, if not from the University 
 altogether." 
 
 This was a cruel blow to our hero's already 
 alarmed feelings, and death to his high-soaring 
 ambition. He felt angry, confused, mortified, 
 humbled, and scarcely capable of answering. 
 
 His fashion-loving uncle George had, indeed, 
 sufficiently made him awai'e that there existed 
 among many a prejudice (not less real for being 
 a foolish one) against trade, in this trading coun- 
 try ; but he now found that it was not confined 
 to gentlemen-ushers and fluttering courtiers. 
 Those who, from their absorption in literature 
 and philosophy, he thought would be most free 
 from it, seemed, in the instance of the learned 
 Doctor Gaston, at least, to be most under its 
 influence; and though he was a victim to it 
 himself, lie marvelled to think what there could 
 be in a square cap, a black gown, or college 
 battel^ to give their owner, or inhabitant, such 
 immense superiority, in his own mind, to a rich 
 merchant, even though he were Lord Mayor. 
 
 Such, amid all his confusion, were his reflect 
 tions, though the sense of the doctor's reputation 
 for scholarship and knowledge of the great made 
 him shrink from asserting himself. It even 
 generated a fit of that mativaise honte which we
 
 STERLING. 61 
 
 have formerly noticed, as sometimes belonging to 
 him; and he sat mute, twirling his fingers, though 
 not at all indifferent to the hints as to a change of 
 future plans which the Principal had thrown out. 
 «' Well, my young friend," said the latter, 
 more kindly, and after a pause, " what think 
 you of my suggestion ? Hamburg and wealth, 
 with middling society ; or Oxford, learning, and 
 the best company ? Not that in this country a 
 mere man of letters is of half the consequence of 
 the little ahhes in France. There is fashion in 
 every thing, and it pleased the nobility in France 
 to affect the character of learning, by patronising 
 learned men, or those who chose to call them- 
 selves so ; so that homme de lettres became a 
 sort of title, and a passport into good company. 
 But that is not the case in England ; and a man, 
 with us, to be at all distinguished beyond his 
 own class of life, must be really pre-eminent in 
 that learning or science to which his genius 
 impels him, to overleap the bounds which our 
 distinctions of society prescribe. Even with this 
 pre-eminence, he is by no means sure of suc- 
 cess ; for a man of learning, except in its appro- 
 priate seats — here, for instance (and the Principal 
 aorain looked round his room) — is not at all neces- 
 sarily a man of fashion,"
 
 62 STERLING. 
 
 The observation set young Sterling a think- 
 ing, and he began to allow his own mind fairer 
 play. He was more fixed by what followed. 
 
 " Should you persuade your father,"" conti- 
 nued the doctor, " to let you abandon the Ex- 
 change, and devote yourself really to letters (for 
 which, if I did not think you had some genius, I 
 should not wish to interfere)"' — the youth looked 
 pleased, and listened with all his ears — " in 
 that case, I say, you must shape all your efforts 
 to establish a reputation for abilities and learn- 
 ing, — for which regular application is absolutely 
 necessary. You may thus obtain honours, and 
 St. Swithin's may be forgotten ; and instead of 
 being distantly recognised by those whom you 
 affect, you may be courted by them.'" 
 
 All this the young man thought very sensible ; 
 and the Principal, who was always in his glory 
 in this sort of communication with his elcves, 
 seeing that his suggestions were properly appre- 
 ciated, took Sterling more and more into favour. 
 Sterling, on his side, thought he had now a 
 happy opportunity of opening to his patron, if hq 
 might so call him, the request he had made to hisi 
 father, to exchange his stuff gown for a silk one. 
 
 The Principal stared, and asked if he had 
 heard him right ? He then frowned ; and then
 
 STERLING. 63 
 
 laughed. We have said he had a talent, we will 
 not say a pleasure, in lowering the vanity of any 
 one who deserved it. On this occasion he was 
 really indignant, as well as surprised, that a poor 
 cast-away citizen, as he thought Robert, and 
 whom, out of pure compassion, he had intended 
 to protect, and put into a right course under his 
 own auspices, should have had the presumption 
 to think and act for himself. 
 
 The good Principal often did very kind things, 
 and was fond of helping youth in distress. It 
 pleased his real benevolence, and gratified his 
 love of power ; but he did this in his own way. 
 He had chalked out his own plan of bringing 
 Robert forward, spite of his private education, 
 and very homely connexions. He had done this 
 from having observed a modesty, and what he 
 thought a humble docility, in the youth, which 
 insured his grateful deference to all he might 
 advise. What was his surprise, and we may add, 
 displeasure, to find that he had resolved to take 
 so important a step, and display such decided 
 ambition, from the mere suggestion of his own 
 presumption. 
 
 " Pray," said Dr. Gaston, with severity, " has 
 any fool prompted you to this. We knov/ you 
 have no friend within these walls; but it seems
 
 64 STERLING. 
 
 you have a confident in a merchant-tailor out of 
 them — a scholar of St. John's. Has this person, 
 whoever he is, had any share in prompting you 
 to this extraordinary, and I must add, very silly, 
 plan of yours to get yourself (I must use the 
 appropriate word) white-washed V 
 
 The son of ambition, though also resentful, 
 was in a moment humbled to the dust. He was 
 also unspeakably disappointed, for he flattered 
 himself that his great friend would have been 
 absolutely overjoyed at the prospect he indulged. 
 In consternation, therefore, he mumbled, " No ;" 
 and said something of his father's being able to 
 afford it. 
 
 " But it by no means follows that he will be 
 willing," rejoined the Principal ; " and I appre- 
 hend he has more sense than not to see that those 
 who to their credit raise themselves from little 
 or nothing by trade, can best preserve that credit 
 by not seeking to blazon themselves too far. A 
 citizen's son, if a good scholar, may here, by 
 learning, achieve personal consequence. If he 
 attempt it by other means, or merely by his 
 purse, I am bound to tell you he will be laughed 
 at. In short, there is a cloth oifri^e and a cloth 
 of gold, that can never match together; and even 
 you, after being entered as you are, to show such
 
 STERLING. 65 
 
 a palpable design of becoming what you are not, 
 will be in danger of imitating the cat in the 
 fable, who was metamorphosed into a lady, but 
 remembered her original condition whenever a 
 mouse stirred." 
 
 This severity — more, we will allow, than was 
 deserved, especially from one who, like Wolsey, 
 matched himself with princes, though of humble 
 birth himself — fell hard and bitter upon the 
 poor under- graduate. He looked abashed, or 
 rather did not know which way to look ; he was 
 angry, yet frightened. Mortified to the quick, 
 he seized his cap, and got up to take leave — 
 which he did with very little ceremony — leaving 
 the redoubtable Principal, for the first time in his 
 life, discomposed at an interview with a subordi- 
 nate of his college.
 
 66 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. STERLING MOODY. 
 
 " He that's proud, eats up himself." 
 
 Shakspeare. — Troihis and Cressida. 
 
 In truth, the good doctor's really good heart 
 rather smote him. " I have hurt the boy," said 
 he to himself; " but all for his good. A. velvet 
 cap from St. S with iris's would be an extraordinary 
 thing. I have set myself against it, even with 
 the sons of court bankers. These are not times 
 to confound still more the distinctions of rank.'* 
 By all which it should seem, if it have not so 
 appeared already, that Dr. Gaston was no incon- 
 siderable aristocrat. 
 
 As for the poor aspirant, his misery was in- 
 deed great. He hurried to his rooms, with a 
 quick step and palpitating heart, and throwing 
 himself on his bed, gave way to an absolute 
 flood of grief — of which, when we consider 
 the cause, we are thoroughly ashamed. He 
 yowed vengeance against his Principal, whom he
 
 STERLING. 67 
 
 even called names, the softest of which were up- 
 start and time-server — the latter any thing but 
 deserved ; and at that moment two gold tufts, 
 and as many velvet caps, passing his window in 
 high glee and spirits, he wished them all, and 
 himself too, at the bottom of the sea. 
 
 In this situation, like Achilles eating his 
 heart, he passed near a quarter of an hour before 
 he noticed a letter lying on the table, which had 
 arrived during his absence. It was his father's 
 answer, containing a flat denial of his request. 
 
 Sir Robert Sterling, as may have been per- 
 ceived, though little brilliant, nay rather a plod- 
 der, was a man of that sort of sense called 
 mother-wit: — abnormis sapiens. He had already 
 begun to lament the hour when he gave way to 
 his wife''s wishes to remove his son from the 
 peaceful, unpretending Hackney, to the superin- 
 tendence of a proud private tutor, who took for 
 pupils none but of " the genteelest families,^' and 
 seemed much to have condescended in admitting 
 Robert to a share of his attention. 
 
 As, when in town, the said tutor always 
 lodged in a back-yard of Mivart's hotel, it was 
 downright impossible for him to drag up to the 
 neighbourhood of Cornhill ; and accordingly he 
 had never seen Sir Robert but once (when they
 
 68 STERLING. 
 
 met half way, at uncle George's lodgings), and 
 Lady Sterling never at all. The citizen was, 
 however, satisfied with his son's reported pro- 
 gress. He deferred much to the literary charac- 
 ter of the tutor, which, in fact, added to his wife''s 
 importunities, mainly decided him in sending 
 him to Oxford, instead of what was his own 
 darling project, to establish him at Amsterdam- 
 But young Sterling''s letters gave him every 
 thing but comfort ; and in this Lady Sterhng 
 was a fellow-sufferer; for the letters did not con- 
 ceal the mortifications of the writer. Even the 
 plain good knight, generally so unruffled, vented 
 a Httle spleen upon this occasion, and bestowed 
 the appellation of proud pedant upon Dr. Gas- 
 ton. Hewould then revive his complaints, that he 
 had ever been persuaded by a foolish gentleman- 
 usher, a woman who could know nothing of 
 these things, and a parson who had no doubt 
 his own ends to answer in serving his college 
 (such were the notions of the cautious knight), 
 — to make his son unhappy, by removing him 
 from his proper sphere. " Grant,"" said he, " that 
 he may get more Greek and Latin, which I have 
 heard is very doubtful ; will that teach him the 
 knowledge of exchanges, which I want him to 
 know ? Then, as to his young sprigs of nobility,
 
 STERLING. 69 
 
 if any thing could make me a radical, it would 
 be the airs they give themselves ; though that 
 does not excuse this silly boy for taking it to 
 heart. He must be moved — moved to Amster- 
 dam ; and then what will become of all the fees 
 I have paid for him at Oxford ?'' 
 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men !" 
 
 but this time it was not in favour of Robert 
 Sterling. His letter, and request to become a 
 Gentleman Commoner arrived in one of those 
 moments of complaint just described, and the 
 effect may be imagined. The knight of St. Swi- 
 thin"*s would not hear of it. " He complains of 
 their being all insolent puppies," said he, "and 
 yet he wants to become one of them himself.'" 
 
 In vain Lady Sterling used her eloquence and 
 intreaties, or talked of the lustre it would shed 
 upon the family, and even the occasion it might 
 give for the acquaintance of better connected 
 young men than usually visited them : a critical 
 point where there was a daughter just coming 
 out. The merchant was inexorable. 
 
 " The boy,"*"* said he, " has his fortune to 
 make. I will not mar it by adding to his vanity. 
 However," he added, as if recollecting himself, 
 " I know this is uncle George's doing ; the
 
 70 STERLING. 
 
 allowance is to be four hundred a-year. Let uncle 
 George pay it, and I will consent." 
 
 This was the severest cut against the pinched 
 courtier, his brother-in-law, the knight ever 
 gave ; though he was not disinclined to make 
 hits against pride and poverty, when opportunity 
 offered. The gentleman-usher, however, who 
 found that Bloomsbury Square was really not 
 intolerable, and far more convenient for dining 
 than the verge of the City, put up with it, and 
 peace was always preserved. 
 
 To return to Robert, — great was his mortifi- 
 cation at his father's answer ; the more so, be- 
 cause not only the Principal knew, and had ridi- 
 culed, his application, but he had not concealed 
 it from others; and though he loved and re- 
 spected Wilson, he had not been able to prevent 
 a sort of seeming triumph over the scholar of St. 
 John's from escaping in his manner and tone, 
 when he confided to him his expectation of soon 
 being upon an equality with the persons who had 
 given him such uneasiness. 
 
 "And are you sure,*" observed the shrewd 
 Wilson, " that your real object will then suc- 
 ceed ? Will your velvet cap place you upon a 
 velvet footing with these honourable exclusives ? 
 Will they speak to you the sooner, or forget the
 
 STERLING. 71 
 
 more that you wore bombazeen and cloth when 
 you first entered ? Pray think, whether the evi- 
 dent design of the attempt will not bring down 
 upon you the very ridicule you so much fear, 
 instead of the honour you so much court." 
 
 Sterling never thought his friend so disagree- 
 able, and more and more began to think that the 
 Principal was right when he said there was some- 
 thing in trade that thwarted the course of all 
 ambition, except that of making money. Great, 
 therefore, was his chagrin when he found him- 
 self under the necessity of communicating to him 
 that his design had failed. Wilson, however, 
 calling upon him at that moment, he could not 
 avoid it, and it produced no little unpleasantness 
 between the friends. 
 
 The rough sense and decision of Wilson could 
 not, or would not, enter into the nice sense of 
 dignity, in other words, the vanity of Sterling, 
 and Sterling could not bear the worse than no 
 sympathy shewn him by Wilson. Yet he fell 
 the force of the advice which he gave him, blunt 
 as it was, to get the better of feelings to which 
 he said he had no right. 
 
 " Every man,"' said Wilson, " has his place, 
 and might be happy if he but knew and kept to 
 it; quite as happy — quite as respectable as
 
 72 ^ STERLING. 
 
 those he thinks above him. It is only when a 
 frog wishes to become an ox, that he becomes 
 both miserable and — ''"' " ridiculous,"*'' Wilson 
 was on the point of adding : but he stopped in 
 time. 
 
 Sterling was not pleased with the comparison, 
 or this rough treatment of his wounded pride, 
 which wanted to be soothed rather than cau- 
 terized. He felt distressed, angry and confused, 
 and allowed Wilson to leave him in a sort of 
 dudgeon any thing but becoming. He even went 
 so far as to refuse his hand, when offered, and 
 gave himself the airs of an insulted man. 
 
 "It is too true," said he, striding his chamber 
 with indignation ; " we are not in the least alike, 
 — we were not made to be friends. Nor is he of 
 the description of those I was intended to asso- 
 ciate with in this place. I wish I had had time 
 to have closed my door against his visit, which 
 he repeats too often."' 
 
 In this Robert disclosed another of his follies, 
 all proceeding from the same weakness. For 
 thouo:h he liked as well as esteemed his earlv 
 schoolfellow and family friend, he felt that the 
 frequent visits of a Merchant Tailor's schoolman 
 
 did little honour to the polite inmate of 
 
 College ; and in particular, that the honourable
 
 STERLING. 73 
 
 Mr.Tylney, whose rooms were opposite to his, 
 took quizzing notice of the scholar of St. John's, 
 whenever he called. He had, therefore, even 
 given hints to his friend, that their meetings 
 should be more confined to St. John's, where the 
 gardens were so convenient, as well as pleasant, 
 for friendly communication. This hint, how- 
 ever, from not being understood, was absolutely 
 thrown away on the straight-forward Wilson. 
 
 To do Robert justice, he bitterly and soon 
 repented of his unkindness and disrespect to a 
 man whom he was not so blind as not to own his 
 equal; who was no way inferior, but, on the 
 contrary, exceeded him in good sense, however 
 fine his own intellect, and, unfortunately for 
 him, however keen his sensibility. He brought 
 himself, therefore, to severe account for all this ; 
 for his heart was good. 
 
 " The fellow is right," said he, " and I am a 
 fool, and not a little of a beast. I can easily make 
 amends by asking his pardon. Would to heaven 
 I could as easily rid myself of this ridiculous 
 pride he so justly blames, and from which I must 
 and will recover myself!" 
 
 At this, he seized his academicals, and pro- 
 ceeded after his friend, whom he found at the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 STERLING. 
 
 venerable gate of his college. In the way he 
 met several of the objects of his envy, whose 
 manners, though only the same with that of 
 other young men (un peu ava7itageuse), and 
 no more than the consequence of their age and 
 spirits, he declared insolent, and, what is more, 
 personally offensive to himself. This time, how- 
 ever, he behaved most philosophically. He re- 
 membered the resolution he had just been laying 
 down to himself, and without shunning them, 
 or looking defiance, as usual, as they passed, 
 actually proceeded to his friend's rooms with a 
 quiet pulse. 
 
 On seeing his friend, the frankness of his 
 nature returned, and half embracing AVilson, 
 who looked a sturdy sort of surprise, he said — 
 " I am come to confess that I am a brute and a 
 blockhead. I was angry with you for being too 
 true a friend, and treated you rudely. You 
 must forgive and forget ; truth is, I am a fool !'' 
 
 "Wilson, who, we have seen, though rough, 
 was not unkind, became immediately alive to 
 this, what he called, generosity. He returned his 
 embrace, and said, " Depend upon it, you are 
 neither a brute nor a blockhead. Bob !"' 
 
 He said no more, for in truth he was a good
 
 STERLING. 75 
 
 deal affected. The friends then sat down, and 
 renewed the conversation which had been so 
 abruptly broken off by Sterling's moodiness, — in 
 accounting for which, Robert v/as forced to relate 
 all that had passed with the Principal, whose in- 
 sulting condescension, he said, was worse almost 
 than his bitter taunts for having conceived the 
 design upon the velvet cap. 
 
 Wilson still said he thought it would do him 
 a great deal of good, and that, though a rough 
 remedy, it might cure his disease. " You see, my 
 good fellow," observed he, " thcugh you have 
 what is called a fine mind, it is but a sickly one 
 after all ; and though you are too proud to fly 
 the field, I think there is nothing left for it but 
 to take Gaston's advice : either quit his college 
 for another, or quit all, and go to Amsterdam." 
 
 Sterlino' made a wrv face at this. Amsterdam 
 was now wormwood to him. " No !" said he 
 " never will I quill-drive. Rather would I be 
 drowned in the Zuyder Zee." 
 
 " Come to us here, then !" said AVilson. 
 
 Sterling did not like to say that was worse ; 
 but at last he observed : '' You forget there is a 
 third alternative." 
 
 " What r 
 
 " Study, learning, literary distinction." 
 
 E 2
 
 76 STERLING. 
 
 " Good ! you will then be like Horace''s wise 
 man, 
 
 Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex, denique regum. 
 
 You will soon soar above Mr. Tylney himself : 
 at least here. What you may do with him in 
 Bond Street I don't know." 
 
 " Wilson, you are cruel,'"* answered Sterling. 
 " I acknowledge the weakness of my feelings ; 
 but you should not play upon them.*" 
 
 " I am dumb," said Wilson. 
 
 Both the friends paused, till Sterling, after 
 musing some time, asked his companion if he 
 knew what was the question just propounded by 
 the University, for the under-graduates' prize in 
 Latin verse. 
 
 " Liter CB humaniores^'^ said Wilson. " Are 
 you inclined to try for it .? It would well second 
 one part at least of Dr. Gaston's advice to you." 
 
 " And you .?" asked Sterling. 
 
 " O, no !" replied his friend ; " I have not so 
 polite a mind as yours, nor half your Virgilian 
 taste for hexameters. My Virgil, you know, is 
 to be Coke, Littleton, and acts of Parliament. 
 But seriously, I would try ; and if you succeed, 
 force the Tylney s and Selwyns, and all other 
 Etonians, to admit you of their clique."
 
 STERLING. 77 
 
 Sterling shook his head, but smiled, and soon 
 after the friends parted. 
 
 Wilson's suggestion was a mere piece of 
 raillery, and so Sterling treated it ; yet it is 
 astonishing how it laid hold of his mind. To 
 gain such eclat as success would give him, both 
 in and out of the University — but, above all, to 
 raise him in estimation far above the liighest 
 flights of a mere gentleman commoner — this gave 
 such a stimulus to his ambition, that, from that 
 moment, he could not part with the idea ; and 
 we are ashamed to ovn\, that this last circum- 
 stance was much the most powerful of the incen- 
 tives which operated upon him to think seriously 
 of Wilson's random proposal. It is certain he 
 could not sleep for meditating upon it, and from 
 that time the Mantuan song was never out of 
 his hands, and his soul " fed on thoughts that 
 moved harmonious numbers.'"' It is equally 
 certain that he had never yet been so happy, nor 
 so independent. He almost already looked down 
 upon the striplings of fashion who had so an- 
 noyed him. He seemed absorbed with some 
 great emotion which made other things little; 
 his figure at lecture was more and more con- 
 siderable ; his themes were read in the hall, and 
 his verses commended by the Principal himself.
 
 78 STERLING. 
 
 This rather added to his ambition, by shewing 
 that his object might be feasible, and that he 
 might obtain the laurel, though competed by 
 Eton. 
 
 Nobody now saw him except when all were 
 seen. He was either buried among his books, 
 employed chiefly upon classical criticism ; roving 
 among the different gardens ; seeking the most 
 retired spots; or kindling his rapt spirit to a 
 pitcli of sacred vehemence, among the ruins of 
 God stow. 
 
 This, in a youth of nineteen, could not fail to 
 challenge observation ; and Dr. Gaston, who had 
 noticed, both with pleasure and surprise, how 
 much his mind was allied to genius, when free 
 from the alloy we have depicted, grew really so 
 interested in his progress that he became no 
 inconsiderable favourite. Homer and Shakspeare 
 were in the Doctor's heart as well as at his fingers'* 
 ends, and he was struck, perhaps we may say 
 astonished, that a lad born in St. Swithin''s Lane, 
 who threw off at Hackney, and finished under a 
 private tutor, though that tutor was Etonian, 
 could cap verses out of his two favourite classics, 
 as well as the most thorough-bred public school- 
 men. He now frequently said, " This young man 
 is too good for Amsterdam ; we must not part
 
 STERLIXG. 79 
 
 with him :" by which it should appear the good 
 doctor had greatly changed his tone as to his 
 career. 
 
 This operated in more ways than one in regard 
 to Robert Sterling ; for it so far beat down the 
 PrincipaFs own prejudice against the mixture-of 
 what he called incompatible materials, in forming 
 the different societies of the young men under 
 him, that he thought for once he might make 
 an exception to his own rule, in favour of the 
 merchant's son. In doing this, too, it did not 
 escape him that his own power would be not 
 inconsiderably proved and illustrated by bring- 
 ing it to bear. 
 
 However, the doctor knew that in this he had 
 an ally. Among the nob. fils., or rather the 
 nobiles themselves, of the college, there had been 
 one already who had begun to show something 
 at least like common civility to Robert. He was 
 of the same public lecture with him, and had the 
 same tutor; and, whether from the distinction 
 he had obtained in his studies, and the taste for 
 classical lore which he had exhibited, or whether 
 this young nobleman's nature (different in this 
 from other young men) disapproved of the in- 
 sulting coldness that had been shewn towards 
 Sterling, he had certainly never joined, but had
 
 80 STERLING. 
 
 rather opposed, the disposition to keep aloof from 
 him, which we have recorded. 
 
 As he was, from the death of his father, a 
 peer in his own right, and a public schoolman 
 to boot. Lord Langston could afford this with- 
 out losing caste ; and as Robert's progress be- 
 came more marked, and his rawness as a fresh- 
 man wore oif, this favourable disposition, though 
 from a tuft to a commoner, shewed itself in a 
 way very pleasing to sometliing better than the 
 commoner's vanity, though to that also by no 
 means unpleasing. Their lecturing together 
 created in time, as it did indeed with others, a sort 
 of acquaintance, which however never could go 
 beyond a most distant nod of recognition, unless 
 known to one another from other circumstances. 
 Without this, to speak was forbidden by all the 
 laws of exclusiveness, human and divine. This, 
 however, was broke through by young Lord 
 Langston in Sterling's favour, even before the 
 Principal had resolved to interfere for him. 
 Langston, from his character as well as rank, 
 was a favourite too with the Doctor, and it was 
 to him that he determined to recommend our 
 youth for protection. From what has been said, 
 the task was not difficult. The young peer had 
 no nonsense about him : he had an open heart.
 
 STERLING. 81 
 
 a free manner, and a great fellow-feeling for 
 genius and literary merit. But, besides this, he 
 was peculiar in always resolving to think and act 
 for himself; and being so independent in situa- 
 tion above the other young men of his own rank, 
 he gave himself very little trouble about their 
 opinions ; while the respectability of his talents, 
 and his firmness, made them cautious of entering 
 into contests with him. Perhaps this did not 
 make him so popular as some of his inferiors ; 
 but, at least, it did not diminish his weight and 
 consequence, in carrying any measure of the 
 petite morale which he chose to countenance. 
 
 When the Principal, therefore, after ascertain- 
 ing his good opinion of young Sterling, asked 
 him if he had any objection to meet him at din- 
 ner, he found a ready assent. 
 
 " Yet it will be difficult,'' said Dr. Gaston, 
 " to contrive a proper party for him ; the gentle- 
 man is so strange a compound of pride and 
 mauvaise honte. He has never yet forgiven 
 Mr. Tylney for quizzing him on his arrival ; 
 and yet I am inchned to make them meet, if 
 only to give them a fair chance of rubbing off 
 their mutual asperities. 
 
 Lord Langston assented to this, and the 
 party was accordingly fixed. 
 e3
 
 82 STERLING. 
 
 The good-natured scheme, however, of the 
 doctor, was not quite so feasible as he imagined. 
 Tylney, whose only talent was quizzing, in 
 which his rank and expectations much aided 
 him, had added to his sins against Sterling, 
 by calling him sometimes the knight of St. 
 Swithin's, and lately (alluding to his destination 
 to Amsterdam, now perfectly well known) " the 
 Dutch gentleman.'''' This had so irritated our 
 hero when he heard it, that he actually consulted 
 Wilson upon the propriety of calling him out. 
 
 " To ruin yourself for ever,'" said Wilson ; 
 " and what is worse perhaps for your own 
 feelings, to spread still wider and wider an 
 affront which, left to itself, will die away of 
 itself, and perhaps already has died away." 
 
 " I should not mind it," observed Sterling, 
 " had it come from any body else : but his very 
 rank seems to authorize these airs in his own 
 mind, and this I am determined to show my 
 sense of." 
 
 " And be laughed at still more," answered 
 W^ilson, " by his whole clique of aristocratical 
 dandies, wlio will protect him here, and after 
 you are expelled, perpetuate in the world, 
 what, if you will moderate your high-minded- 
 ness, may to-morrow be forgotten."
 
 STERLING. 83 
 
 *' I should deserve his quizzing,'^ said Ster- 
 ling, " if I took no notice." 
 
 " Consider how your challenge will run,'" 
 interrupted Wilson. " Sir, as you have thought 
 fit to call me the 'Dutch gentleman,' which has 
 occasioned me to be laughed at " 
 
 " Hold !"*■* said Sterling ; " you are now 
 yourself quizzing. Am I then to have no 
 revenge.'' How can I curb this insolence, without 
 doing what I say ?^'' 
 
 " Quiz him again,"" said Wilson : " I never 
 knew one of these monarch s of ridicule, who 
 could bear a rebellion in their own subjects." 
 
 "But how ? He is invulnerable, if only for 
 his silk gown, w^hich covers a multitude of 
 impertinences." 
 
 "You are a strange medley," observed Wilson, 
 " Here you are not afraid of being shot in your 
 wish to shoot him, and yet you are afraid of his 
 silk gown. However, if you want one of his 
 own weapons, ask him, the next time he is saucy, 
 how he construed ' Silvestram musam' in old 
 Tityre tu "patulcEP 
 
 " I don't know your meaning," said Sterling. 
 
 " And yet all his schoolfellows could tell 
 you, for they have not forgotten it." 
 
 Wilson then related, what Sterling, from
 
 84 STERLING. 
 
 entering later than Tylney, had not known, 
 that the reputation of the latter for scholarship 
 had preceded him at the university ; and when 
 he first came, that the airs he gave himself 
 made his fellow-students gladly listen to any 
 little school gossip, that every body, more or 
 less, experiences. Amongst others, his fame for 
 understanding Virgil was quoted, as proved by 
 the following translation he once made of 
 
 " Silvestram tenui musam meditaris avena." 
 Tetiuij I have held fast, silvestram musam, a wooden 
 muse, avena, on the shore, meditaiis, of the Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 This admirable hodge-podge produced a 
 violent fit of laughter from Sterling. He forgot 
 his anger and his projected duel in a moment, 
 and heartily thanked Wilson for having taken 
 such a method to expel his moodiness. 
 
 " It will be impossible, henceforward," said 
 he, " to care for what this blockhead may say 
 or do." 
 
 " Notwithstanding his silk gown .'^" asked 
 Wilson. 
 
 " Silk gown notwithstanding," answered 
 Robert, stoutly, and taking his leave. 
 
 Did he keep his word ? We shall see. 
 
 On returning to his college, he met his
 
 STERLING. 85 
 
 enemy in the gateway, and was so impressed 
 with what he had just heard, that far from 
 bristling, as usual, which always amused Tylney, 
 he almost laughed in his face, to the great 
 surprise, and even annoyance of that gentleman, 
 who could not understand the change. I say 
 even annoyance, because, whatever his scholar- 
 ship, Tylney possessed, and, indeed, owed much 
 of his formidableness, which was considerable 
 among all ranks, to that composed and unruffled 
 intrepidity of assurance, which. Lord Chesterfield 
 says, is so essential to high breeding. In short, 
 whatever the occurrence, Mr. Tylney never 
 seemed annoyed. 
 
 It was not that he was well-bred : far from 
 it ; for good breeding and insult are incom- 
 patible. But he had that quietness of insolence, 
 that total insensibility to any thing like self- 
 blame, which confers almost all his power on 
 the quizzer, and can seldom be acquired, but, 
 like a genius for poetry, must be born with a 
 man. This repose, or, more properly, self- 
 possession, sits also generally most easily on 
 men of birth and fashion, who, from acknow- 
 ledged superiority in those respects, know 
 nothing of the conventional restraints of society 
 imposed upon others.
 
 86 STERLING. 
 
 It was hence that we have noticed, as some- 
 thing unexpected, and almost unnatural, the 
 annoyance of the honorable Mr. Tylney, at 
 being apparently laughed at by " the Dutch 
 gentleman." He could always bear, nay, almost 
 rejoiced in, the proud, resentful air he sometimes 
 exhibited ; but this sort of defiance, partaking 
 of rebellion, he could not account for ; and in 
 this humour on the part of both, they found 
 themselves, to their inexpressible surprise, intro- 
 duced to one another by the Principal in his 
 library, and afterwards seated next to each 
 other at dinner. 
 
 Here the superior tact and coolness of the 
 line gentleman carried it hollow over the 
 plebeian. Tylney, perfectly at his ease, nay, 
 enjoue^ as far as the repose of his manners 
 permitted it, with the other guests, all of whom 
 he well knew, treated his new friend as if he 
 had been an automaton, without language and 
 without sense. The seat next to him seemed an 
 empty chair, so totally unconscious did Tylney 
 appear to be that it was occupied ; while his 
 attentions for others, and the self-complacency 
 with which he spoke and looked (not smiled, 
 for that his finery forbade), only made his beha- 
 viour more marked by the contrast.
 
 STERLING. 87 
 
 We fear this made it fare ill with our hero, 
 who in vain thought several times of the wooden 
 muse. His ease and indifference would not 
 return. He viewed his neighbour with his 
 usual resentment, not so much for his ill beha- 
 viour to himself, as for his good behaviour to 
 others. He was angry that his enemy should 
 seem pleased, and he exemplified Sir Peter's 
 feeling towards Lady Teazle : " She may break 
 my heart, but she sha'nt keep her temper.*" 
 
 We grieve that truth compels us to allow, 
 that the poetical justice of this history was, 
 for some time, sadly violated in regard to this 
 episode of Tylney and Sterling, who were any 
 thing but Nisus and Euryalus ; and but for 
 Lord Langston and the Principal, we believe 
 our Euryalus would certainly have quitted the 
 fi^ld — that is, have gone to another college, given 
 up all hopes of the prize, and perhaps even 
 ended in Amsterdam. 
 
 Whether this might not have been better for 
 his ultimate happiness, may be made a question. 
 As it was, his desire of revenge against Tylney, 
 and his poignant jealousy of the w^hole set to 
 which he belonged, became both painful and 
 interminable ; while to be contented with asso- 
 ciates more upon a level with himself, from
 
 88 STERLING. 
 
 appearing like cowardice, was rendered daily 
 more and more difficult. 
 
 He had nothing left for it but to plunge deeper 
 and deeper into study ; to renew, with greater 
 fondness than ever, his intercourse with the real 
 Muse, which had been cruelly interrupted by 
 him of the wooden one ; and to dream of those 
 laurels, which, if gained, were to set every thing 
 right. 
 
 In this he was much encouraged by Lord 
 Langston, who, himself smit with the love of the 
 litercB hiimaniores, though he would not write 
 for the prize, became more and more struck with 
 the genius Sterling evinced for them ; and their 
 intimacy improving, Robert confided to him the 
 secret of his aspirations. 
 
 His versification, thanks to the Etonian Bar- 
 ker, to say nothing of the Etonian Lambert, was 
 always smooth, and, when the subject called for 
 it, particularly animated. 
 
 Thus, when in his prize poem the Pastorals 
 or Georgics of Virgil were the theme, or the 
 Elegies of Tibullus lulled the soul, or Petrarch 
 warbled his love to his melancholy fountain, — 
 the verse proved pure, and gently stole upon 
 the heart. But when he talked of 
 
 " The eternal adamant of Homer's throne ;"
 
 STERLING. 89 
 
 or of the Mantuan, 
 
 " Great, without pride, in modest majesty ;" 
 
 or of the Theban eagle, 
 
 " Sailing-, with supreme dominion, 
 *' Through the azure deep of air ;" 
 
 or of him, 
 
 *' Who rode sublime, 
 " Upon the seraph wings of ecstacy, 
 " The secrets of the abyss to espy, 
 " And pass'd the flaming bounds of space and time ;" 
 
 then he himself displayed the holy fury of those 
 fathers of verse whose enchantment he recorded. 
 
 Lord Langston, more and more struck with 
 Sterling's attainments, became more and more 
 his friend ; and when he reflected that this was 
 the man whom Tylney and his brother fops 
 affected to look down upon, and saw the effect 
 it had upon him (which indeed could not be 
 concealed), he marked his sense of it in the 
 strongest terms of reprobation. This bound 
 them more together ; and the Principal more 
 than once congratulated Robert on acquiring 
 such a friend. 
 
 The effect upon him was happy ; for although 
 I am afraid his original love of high people par- 
 took not a little of the mere vanity of uncle 
 George, unaccountable as it was, yet his anxiety
 
 90 STERLING. 
 
 about it proceeded more from too great a jealousy 
 of supposed insult, than any gratification from the 
 notice of more high, but otherwise ordinary per- 
 sons. While unsupported, therefore, and left to 
 fight the battle alone, he was, as we see, far from 
 easy ; but the more than civility of such a man 
 as the young earl, made Tylney and all his 
 regiment of coxcombs dwindle into nothing. As 
 far, therefore, as these were individually con- 
 cerned, his recovery was perfect. 
 
 To be sure, his equanimity might be a little 
 suspected, when, at a wine party at Lord Lang- 
 ston's, he turned his back upon Tylney for the 
 two whole hours they were in company together, 
 though seated close by him, and he never met 
 him in the streets without endeavouring to infuse 
 contempt into liis looks. 
 
 And yet, what weakness ! Had it not been for 
 having achieved the friendship of Lord Lang- 
 ston, this man of high attainments for his age, 
 and destined to still greater, might have con- 
 tinued to be annoyed, not by the sting of a wasp, 
 but the fluttering of a butterfly. With all the 
 rest of the world, in parallel cases, and on a first 
 introduction, this weakness continued. 
 
 But now arose a great epoch in the life of our 
 youth. The poems on the subject of the Uterce
 
 STERLING. 91 
 
 humaniores, five in number, were delivered in ; 
 and, with honest joy, Wilson broke into his 
 room, where he had shut himself up in breathless 
 expectation, to tell him of a report that he had 
 gained the palm. AVith all his hopes and his 
 labours to obtain this honour, he could scarcely 
 believe it, till a message from the proper autho- 
 rities announced it past a doubt. 
 
 Ere he could rouse himself, the Principal, who 
 was one of the judges, sent for him. His heart 
 beat high as he entered the well-known library ; 
 but a sort of mortification ensued when, instead 
 of smiles, and a burst of congratulation, the 
 countenance of the redoubted Principal seemed 
 peculiarly serious and dignified. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Sir, to return you my 
 thanks for the honour you have obtained for my 
 college, as well as yourself, in gaining from, I 
 assure you, no mean competitors, this great 
 academical distinction." 
 
 This was good, but formal and solemn, and 
 not what Robert either expected or wished. To 
 account for it, he began to think that Doctor 
 Gaston might be displeased at his having so 
 entirely concealed his intention from him, as it 
 was one of his characteristics to wish for the 
 unlimited confidence of the young men whom he
 
 92 STERLING, 
 
 favoured. Wilson gave another, perhaps a better 
 guess; for it is astonishing how all the other 
 colleges busied themselves about the motives, 
 conduct, and politics pursued by the Principal 
 and officers of the college gaining the prize. 
 
 Dr. Gaston had always a great share in the 
 adjudication, and it was said had, on this occa- 
 sion, given his countenance to another candidate. 
 This was a Mr. Henslow, an Etonian, and a 
 person of known ability in the classics, and 
 thence, from both causes, a particular favourite 
 of the Principal. Nay, it was said, that it was 
 by his special advice that he had become a can- 
 didate, and the disappointment of both the 
 doctor and his protege had been proportionably 
 great. 
 
 This might have been a little founded in 
 truth ; but let us do justice to the upright 
 mind of the Principal, who, notwithstanding this 
 supposed prejudice, had unhesitatingly joined 
 the other judges in awarding the prize where it 
 was obtained. And though Eton a little suffered, 
 yet as the college equally triumphed, the serious 
 brow of the doctor soon cleared, and he was 
 alive only to the merited, though unexpected, 
 success of a private schoolman. 
 
 The result made a considerable alteration in
 
 STERLING. 93 
 
 feobert'^s position, both in and out of college. 
 He was no longer the raw freshman, the knight 
 of St. Swithin''s, whom nobody knew; nor even 
 the Dutch gentleman, bound for Amsterdam ; 
 but the elegant scholar and man of genius, with 
 whom all wished to be acquainted. He was, be- 
 sides, the recognised friend of Lord Langston ; 
 and even the obdurate Tylney began to think 
 he might be tolerated. 
 
 We are a little ashamed to relate the conse- 
 quence of this ; for it does not tell in favour of 
 the grandeur d'^dme of our friend. Tylney had 
 actually sent him a note, begging to see him to 
 wine ; to which this answer was returned : — 
 
 " Mr. Sterling has received an invitation from 
 the Honourable Mr. Tylney, which, not being 
 acquainted with him, he supposes is a mistake, 
 and therefore returns it." 
 
 Tylney*'s comment upon this was sufficiently 
 characteristic : " Damn the fellow,'' said he, " he 
 may wait long enough before he gets another." 
 
 What surprised people, however, was, that 
 the honorable dandy lost his self-possession, and 
 actually broke into a rage at being, as he said, 
 bearded by a parvenu from Bloomsbury Square. 
 Tliis told against him even among his own 
 subjects, who said a man of real fashion was
 
 94 STERLING. 
 
 never ruffled ; and it was pronounced that his 
 shield of superciliousness was not impenetrable. 
 
 These heart-burnings, however, soon passed 
 away, and Sterling was left undisturbed to the 
 contemplation of his new situation. In a confe- 
 rence sought by the Principal for that purpose, 
 the latter, who was really anxious to keep him, 
 sounded him ao^ain as to his orimnal destination 
 to trade, and finding that his honors had by no 
 means diminished his aversion to it, fairly 
 offered to propose an alteration of plan to his 
 father, founded on his prospect of farther acade- 
 mical success. 
 
 Sir Robert, who, though as we have seen, he 
 thought the counting-house and Amsterdam 
 were worth more than all that learning could 
 accomplish, was by no means insensible to the 
 glory his son had acquired ; and this was not a 
 little enhanced by the compliments he received 
 upon it from all the city members, and most of 
 the aldennen. A very sensible letter, therefore, 
 which the Principal wrote to him, highly favour- 
 able to young Robert's views to a learned 
 profession, and a very urgent one from Robert 
 himself, pointing at the bar or the church, 
 although at first they threw the knight into 
 what he called a sad quandary, were not alto-
 
 STERLING. 95 
 
 gether rejected or despised. A suggestion, also, 
 which Robert made, not without adroitness, 
 that he had another son already preparing for 
 the counting-house, and who would feel quite in 
 his element at Amsterdam or Antwerp, engaged 
 much of the old gentleman's attention. 
 
 " It is hard," said he, " that I cannot do as 
 1 will with my own son ; but it is harder still to 
 kick against the pricks. This Gaston, they say, 
 has a deal of interest with the great people, 
 whom he makes what they are.'' 
 
 At this. Lady Sterling came in to Robert's 
 assistance ; for he had written to her too, setting 
 forth, among other considerations, the friendship 
 with which he had been honoured by the Earl 
 of Langston ; and uncle George, who happened 
 to be by when the letter arrived, by no means 
 weakened its force, when he pronounced that 
 the earl and his family were the very tip-top of 
 the fashionable world, the dowascer havinor been 
 lady of the bedchamber to the queen, and the 
 two young ladies, Euphrasia and Melusina, by 
 far the most brilliant ornaments of the court. 
 Their house, too, was in Grosvenor Square. 
 Heavens ! what a prospect for the friend of 
 their brother, and by reflection, perhaps, for 
 his parents themselves.
 
 96 STERLING. 
 
 These were considerations not at all thrown 
 away upon good Lady Sterling, who listened 
 with very great complacency indeed to all that 
 uncle George said about them. The knight, 
 too, felt the eclat of the prize ; and the friend- 
 ship of a peer added to the weight of the 
 Principal's recommendation ; so that at length 
 he was heard to say, that he believed the boy 
 might do worse. 
 
 The result was, that time should be taken to 
 ponder the proposal; and meanwhile brother 
 William was told to hold himself in readiness 
 to be consigned as an eleve to Pye, Rich, and 
 Wilkieson's house at Amsterdam.
 
 STERLING. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW MR. STERLIXG ACCOMPANIED A GREAT 
 XOBLEMAX TO HIS CASTLE, AND OF HIS 
 RECEPTION THERE. 
 
 " Herein fortune shows herself more kind than is her 
 custom." — Shakspeare, Merchant of Venice* 
 
 Robert was now expected home, it being 
 the long vacation. But though he would have 
 had pleasure in witnessing the pleasure of his 
 father and mother at the honours he had 
 acquired, the very little chance there was of 
 his meeting any one other person among their 
 acquaintance who could appreciate the real 
 value of literary reputation, threw cold water, 
 he said, upon the prospect. He was fated, 
 however, not to be put to the trial, by an event 
 of the very first consequence to his subsequent 
 conduct in life. This arose from the effect it had 
 in confirming for ever all those prepossessions 
 and refinements of feeling, which, for good or 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 STERLING. 
 
 for evil, we have seen had long exercised an 
 influence on his character and happiness. 
 
 The vacation commencing, Lord Langston 
 prepared to join his mother and sisters at 
 Langston Castle, in Berkshire ; but, from fond- 
 ness of reading, and similarity of taste in what 
 they read, he did not like to part with his 
 new friend, and very frankly proposed that he 
 should join his family party at the castle. "You 
 will find my mother, perhaps,'' said he, "a little 
 stiff at first ; for she still too often thinks herself 
 behind Queen Charlotte's chair ; but as for the 
 girls, you need not be afraid of their boring 
 you with ceremony. Besides, as I mean to be 
 671 philosophe ^vith you, and am rather, as you 
 know, helluo librorum, we shall not permit them 
 to plague us, even if they are so disposed." 
 
 Robert could hardly believe his senses at this 
 proposal. He turned very red, stammered, and 
 said something about pleasure and condescen- 
 sion ; but though the invitation filled him with 
 fears, from his conscious want of sufficient 
 breeding to encounter a countess, and an earl's 
 sisters, to say nothing of an earl's castle, still he 
 felt too excited in his favourite ambition to 
 flinch from it. The matter, therefore, was soon 
 arranged.
 
 STERLING. 99 
 
 Scarcely had the engagement been made, when 
 he hastened to his confidant, Wilson, to ask his 
 advice whether he should accept it. 
 
 '' Have you not determined to do so ?" asked 
 Wilson. 
 
 " AVhy, pretty nearly so."" 
 " Come, say fairly, is it not quite so ?"" 
 "Well; and if it is .^" 
 
 " Why then my advice is of no consequence." 
 " But I want your opinion.'*'' 
 " I don't know how to give one. I only 
 know what I would do, or rather not do, myself." 
 " You would not then accept it ?'''' 
 " Decidedly." 
 " But why .?" 
 
 " Because I am not made of the stuff to 
 please earl's daughters, and I know it.^'' 
 
 Sterling looked confused, perhaps hurt, cer- 
 tainly disappointed. 
 
 " Observe, my good fellow,'" continued 
 Wilson, " I only speak of myself. I am 
 mere matter of fact. You have poetry in you ; 
 and ladies love, or pretend to love, poetry.'*'' 
 
 " There is something more in this than you 
 choose to acknowledge, Wilson." 
 
 " Well, but it is settled, and there''s an end." 
 " But not if there is any objection — that is, 
 f2
 
 100 STERLING. 
 
 any very great objection — ^which I don't see"" — 
 continued Sterling. 
 
 " You, perhaps, may meet some of the 
 Tylney family there." 
 
 Sterling coloured. 
 
 " I do not mean his relations, but men or 
 women of the same kidney ; and that would 
 not suit you," added Wilson. 
 
 " Umph ! but I should be the best judge of 
 that," persisted Sterling. 
 
 " I doubt it," said Wilson, shaking his head, 
 " Besides " 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 " You will never be able to bear Blooms- 
 bury Square again." 
 
 " Come," cried Robert, " if that is all, I 
 think I shall be pretty safe. But you are so 
 oracular, you frighten one. I, however, shall 
 be chiefly with Langston in his library, and 
 that is only what we are here." 
 
 " Good," said Wilson ; " but enough. I am 
 off to-morrow. Have you any commands to 
 your father and mother.? Shall I tell them my 
 prophecy about Bloomsbury Square .?" 
 
 " Theyll not believe it, if you do," answered 
 Sterling ; and here the friends separated. 
 
 *' There is something in the rugged pith of
 
 STERLING. 101 
 
 this man,"" said Robert, as he soliloquized in 
 his way home, " that generally rebukes me. 
 Yet what the devil is there to fear ? Certainly, 
 nothing in Langston himself, nor, I suppose, 
 in his castle. Can three petticoats, then, make 
 such a difference, and one, as I guess, a starch 
 old woman ? Pooh ! Wilson and I are not 
 alike. His happiness lies little in refinement, 
 or high ambition; mine, perhaps, too much. 
 But courage! Allons, mes enfans^ a la gloire'^ 
 Now it will, perhaps, be recollected, that 
 when that paragon of old men of fashion and 
 men of honour. Lord Ogilby, uttered these 
 cheering words, the Wilson he carried about 
 with him (very different from our Wilson) — in 
 short, the illustrious Canton^-could not help 
 exclaiming, " Be-gar, mi lor is one coque of de 
 game !" So Lord Ogilby thought himself, and 
 so, perhaps, did Sterling, when he burst out in 
 the same strain. It is certain, though tolerably 
 frightened at the prospect of being domesticated 
 with people so entirely beyond his sphere, he 
 would not have shrunk from it through the fear 
 of any penalty. His curiosity, as well as ambi- 
 tion, was kindled. He was aware of his dispo- 
 sition to jealousy, and taking things wrong, and 
 he even knew his liability to mauvaise honte in
 
 102 STERLING. 
 
 tlie company of his superiors. Still he was 
 determined to go on. " My fate," said he, 
 " may perhaps depend upon it ;" and he longed 
 for the hour of departure. 
 
 The journey was not far. A very few hours 
 brought them in sight of the castle, towering 
 among woods ; and two immense columns sup- 
 porting military trophies, both of old and modern 
 warfare, which flanked the outer gates, gave an 
 imposing specimen of what might be expected 
 within. Lord Langston was, in truth, descended 
 from a long line of ancestors, chiefly military, 
 from the conquest to beyond Marlborough ; and 
 the memory of these was perpetuated in various 
 ways, by artificial representations all over the 
 place. The gates were a mile from the mansion, 
 and Robert had full time to recover his self-pos- 
 session, and to lose it again in wondering at his 
 situation ; seated as an equal by the side of a 
 peer, of plain sense and natural manners — ^but 
 still a peer — whose guest, by his own invitation, 
 he was about to be, amid his *' old hereditary 
 trees," and a castle of six hundred years'* standing. 
 The contrast between this and the gloom of 
 St. Swithin's, where he first saw light, or rather 
 darkness visible, and, still more, between what 
 he expected to see and his old associates, struck
 
 STERLING. 103 
 
 powerfully upon his fancy, and unstrung his 
 nerves — never particularly strong. He even 
 trembled with emotion, so that his companion 
 asked if he was not well. But all reply, if he 
 had one, was precluded by the approach of a 
 vision (for so it seemed), such as his fancy, even 
 when he wrote his prize poem, had never yet 
 conceived. He had read of oreads and dryads, 
 of fairies and genii, but never till now had his 
 imagination (though a poet's) bodied forth the 
 form of things unknown, as his eye now did, at 
 the sight of perhaps the most graceful girl that 
 ever made a man think woman lovely. 
 
 It must be owned, that if grace meant to show 
 itself, never could it have chosen a situation set 
 off to greater advantage. The fineness of a form 
 and the symmetry of limbs, such as are seldom 
 seen except among Grecian gems, appeared here 
 in all the fascinating ease of a perfect horse- 
 woman. She was mounted upon a beautiful 
 Arabian, of blood as high as her own, and who, 
 like the steed of BoHngbroke, "his aspiring rider 
 seemed to know.'' The aspiration, however, here 
 was any thing but Bolingbroke's ; for it seemed 
 to be only to have the power of directing at 
 pleasure the elegant creature she rode, into what-
 
 104 STERLING. 
 
 ever paces suited her humour, whether stately 
 and solemn, or frolicsome and gay. In this she 
 succeeded so perfectly, that the eye seemed to 
 drink admiration. To finish the picture (though 
 that was not wanting), her garments floated in 
 such folds about her person, and a little hat, 
 from under which, in her riding, several dark 
 ringlets had escaped, gave such an air to her 
 small and pretty head, that what one had heard 
 of the sylphs and sylphids seemed realized. 
 
 But if this was the effect at a little distance, 
 the admiration was exceeded on her approach. 
 A physiognomy that sparkled with gaiety and 
 innocence, features that spoke, and an eye that 
 laughed, told eloquently of the heart within. 
 Her cheek gave the notion of the most vivid 
 health, and her smile (for she smiled) proclaimed 
 the joy of natural spirits and sensibility to hap- 
 piness. 
 
 This smile was kindled by the sight of her 
 brother, the happy Langston, whom she had 
 rode forward to meet, and whom, as if it was the 
 only thing wanting to complete the charm, she 
 greeted in that silvery tone of voice which so 
 enhances, and, at the same time, is so absolutely 
 necessary to, female attraction.
 
 STERLING. 105 
 
 " My dear, dear, Langston," said she, " I 
 thought you so long coming, I could not wait, 
 and mamma and Euphrasia are behind ; but — "' 
 
 Here she was cut short by the sight of Sterling, 
 who she did not know was in the carnage, and 
 who, indeed, had been totally concealed by 
 Langston's having leant forward, almost through 
 the window, to receive the greeting of his sister. 
 
 That over, the ceremony of introduction was 
 immediately gone through, in which Lady 
 Melusina (for such she was) shewed a change 
 from that charming exuberance of frankness, 
 which was her nature, to the more dignified tone 
 of conventional manners. The change struck 
 deep into Sterling, who instantly set it down to 
 his unfortunate inferiority in every respect to 
 one who, in truth, appeared to him not less than 
 an angel. 
 
 This, however, was not the only alarm he had 
 to encounter ; for an avant groom, in green and 
 crimson and jockey cap, on a brisk trot, an- 
 nounced the approach of the dowager countess 
 and her eldest daughter. They were in an 
 elegant park phseton drawn by two milk white 
 Arabians, compeers of that rode by Lady Melu- 
 sina, driven by the countess herself, and at- 
 tended by another groom. The greetings between 
 f3
 
 106 STERLING. 
 
 mother and son, and brother and sister, were, as 
 may be supposed, most affectionate, but, on that 
 account, only more awkward, and even distress- 
 ing to poor Sterling, who, as indeed any other 
 person might, found himself de trop — a situation 
 always uncomfortable to one''s self-love. But, 
 besides this, he had to undergo the ordeal of 
 another introduction ; and the manner of both the 
 ladies, but particularly of the countess, struck 
 him as far more stately than that of the Lady 
 Melusina. Lord Langston, who knew his foible, 
 and saw he was distressed, did all that good 
 nature could suggest to put him at his ease; 
 but in vain. St. Swithin and a whole train of 
 ordinary aunts and cousins stalked before his 
 eyes, and only made the contrast between them 
 and the superior beings he now saw still more 
 distressing to his feelings. He was helpless, 
 humbled, and dismayed. 
 
 Who can account for these contradictions in 
 our nature ? Here was a youth, with what we 
 may call a fine mind, sensible, buoyant, and 
 alive to elegant manners — nay, unable to endure 
 the want of them ; yet, when thrown with them 
 in such a way, and with such advantages, as he 
 never could have contemplated, was oppressed, 
 humbled, and paralyzed, by a sort of factitious
 
 STERLING. 107 
 
 refinement concerning his own situation and 
 character, which men far his inferiors were 
 wholly without. 
 
 What would have been the impression made 
 upon the sturdy Wilson by these shining beings 
 is problematical ; but he most assuredly would 
 have done himself more justice than his sensitive 
 friend. St. Swi things, Shoreditch, Tower Ditch, 
 and even Houndsditch might have started into 
 his mind, and yet not have clouded his vision or 
 obscured his intellect. Which of the two had 
 the keenest sensibility, might be doubtful ; which 
 was the most independent, and therefore the 
 happiest, was out of all question. 
 
 To say truth, however, there was a little, a 
 very little, hauteur in the character as well as 
 manner of the countess, who had not forgot the 
 early court of George III. Perhaps this was 
 also participated by her daughter Euphrasia, so 
 as to have intimidated, on a first introduction, 
 a person far more phlegmatic than our friend. 
 In this, too, they were not altogether without 
 resemblance, in the younger, and less restrained 
 manners of Melusina herself ; but all soon wore 
 off upon farther acquaintance. At present the 
 ladies were too much occupied with their son and 
 brother, to give poor Sterling much trouble by a
 
 108 STERLING. 
 
 scrutiny, which was at least postponed ; and his 
 own proposal to leave them to each other, while 
 he proceeded slowly to the castle, was approved 
 and accepted. 
 
 '* This was very considerate of your friend,'' 
 said the countess ; "he seems well-bred, though 
 you said he was new to the world. He is, at 
 least, without the pushing assurance that now 
 distinguishes our modern youth. It was not 
 always so." 
 
 " He is handsome,'^ said Lady Melusina. 
 
 " I did not observe him much,"' said Lady 
 Euphrasia. 
 
 " He wants encouragement,"" said Lord Lang- 
 ston, " which I must bespeak for him." 
 
 " So much tlie better," observed the countess. 
 " 'Tis a fault on the right side." 
 
 Before they had reached the castle, Robert was 
 already there, and had had an opportunity of 
 examining some of its features. An immense 
 hall, that favourite characteristic of an EngUsh 
 residence, whether modern or ancient, in which 
 almost all our continental neighbours are so 
 deficient, at first engaged his interest. The ban- 
 ners and casques, the shields and lances, and the 
 portraits of all times, since portraits began, 
 though not new to him (for he was familiar with
 
 STERLING. 109 
 
 them at Oxford), fixed his eye, and still more, 
 his reflections. Bishops, and kings, and founders 
 of colleges, in a college hall, were only what 
 seemed natural — they were a part of the walls, 
 and created no particular sensations. But here 
 were the indices of an individual family, display- 
 ing a long line of ancestry, which had been rooted 
 for ages in this identical spot ; every relic declar- 
 ing them of the nobility of the empire, many of 
 them known in its history, and all proclaiming 
 a marked distinction between them and their 
 new visitor. 
 
 All this by no means relieved our hero from 
 feelings, already sufficiently alarmed by his 
 recent introduction to their refined descendants. 
 Lord Langston at college, indeed, seemed not 
 much more than another scholar ; the only great 
 difference being his gold tuft; which, Avhile all 
 were engaged in the same studies, was brought 
 down to something nearer equality. But here, 
 amid the 
 
 " Boast of heraldry and pomp of power," 
 
 and, might we not now add, 
 
 " All that beauty, all that wealth ere gave," 
 
 he seemed elevated to a height which made the 
 poor, unfledged merchant's son, sensitive as we 
 have described him, shrink within himself. In
 
 110 STERLING. 
 
 this he knew he was as foolish as we ourselves 
 think him ; nor are we sure, as it proceeded 
 from weakness rather than modesty, that Ave 
 agree with the countess, when she thought it 
 was a fault on the right side. 
 
 Out of the hall proceeded an immense stair- 
 case, cut into ponderous diamonds and lozenges, 
 and a variety of grotesque ornaments of the 
 ancient time. This conducted to a suite of apart- 
 ments, the prevailing taste of which was gran- 
 deur, but much combined with elegance. Here 
 Lord Langston's valet, to whom Sterling had 
 been confided on leaving the ladies, shewed him 
 into a bed-chamber hung with velvet, with a 
 light closet, in which books -were mingled with 
 dressing apparatus, and looking over woods, which 
 seemed not merely coeval with the castle, but to 
 have been there ever since the flood. This, he 
 was told, on the authority of a most respectable 
 lady, in a silk gown, who was putting things in 
 order, was destined to his use. The valet, with 
 great civility, offered his services, and informed 
 him that a sort of tocsin, which was then echoing 
 from the walls, announced that it was time to 
 dress for dinner. 
 
 How new was this to our fortunate scholar I 
 He could not proceed for thinking of it, but
 
 STERLING. 1 1 1 
 
 threw himself into an arm-chair, ^vith gilt legs, 
 which had been in the presence-chamber in the 
 time of Queen Elizabeth, and, instead of dress- 
 ing, fell into a reverie, in which all the ordinary 
 things that had passed in his life up to this 
 moment of enchantment, moved in review before 
 his charmed eyes. In this be sure tlie fairy vision 
 of the females he had seen in the way hither was 
 not forgotten. Yet, strange to say, his mind was 
 still so haunted by the contrast, that he was by 
 no means the happier for it. " It is impossible,'" 
 said he to himself, " they should know who I 
 am, or the mushrooms from whom I am sprung. 
 Ah !'"* — But here he checked himself: for thousrh 
 he -svished ardently and fondly that he had been 
 born in a higher station, he felt all the kindness 
 and goodness, in their way, of his father and 
 mother, and hated himself if an undervaluing 
 thought of them ever came across him.. 
 
 From his reverie he was roused by Lord 
 Langston, who had just come in, and who, with 
 good-nature as well as good-breeding, came up 
 to see that he was comfortable in his new apart- 
 ment ; telling him, moreover, that he had not 
 above ten minutes to dinner, and that he would 
 send AVilliams to help him in a moment. Against 
 this, however, our scholar protested.
 
 112 STERLING. 
 
 " My God !"" said he, shutting the door, 
 " what a contrast to that titled blackguard, 
 Tylney ! '' In this we will not stop to consider 
 how far he was right or wrong ; for dinner waits, 
 and we must get to it as soon as we can.
 
 STERLING. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MR. STERLING IS SUPREMELY HAPPY. 
 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
 That I am ready to distrust mine eyes." 
 
 Shakspeark.^- Twelfth Night. 
 
 The dinner, which was rather after the coun- 
 tess''s taste than her son's, was sumptuous, and 
 sumptuously served. Plate — some of it gilt, all 
 of it rich ; the finest old Dresden china ; flowers, 
 and noble fruits ; viands, of course of the best ; 
 six servants, one behind each chair, though only 
 the family ; — all this denoted magnificence. At 
 the same time, the regular order in wliich all was 
 conducted — the seemingly devoted attention of 
 the major-domo to the countess, and that of all 
 to Lord Langston and the young ladies — only 
 appeared the more remarkable, for the perfect 
 ease and freedom from restraint with which they 
 received it as a thing perfectly of course. The 
 conversation was equally easy, and the good-
 
 114 STERLING. 
 
 nature of his host and hostess, who saw the con- 
 straint he was under, so wrought upon our par- 
 venu (for so I fear we must here call him), that 
 before all was concluded he began to feel himself 
 somewhat more his own master. 
 
 He was all the better for it ; for the stateliness 
 of the dowager, and the recherche in dress of her 
 daughters (another of her tastes), had rather 
 added to his natural backwardness ; so that he 
 was far from doing himself justice. He had blun- 
 dered sadly indeed in the outset ; for Lord Lang- 
 ston having desired him to give his arm to his 
 mother, he hung back, and positively eluded it, 
 so that his friend was forced to escort the lady 
 himself; and as offering his arm to either of the 
 young divinities seemed to him to be a still 
 greater solecism, they were left to take care of 
 each other ; and he followed in the rear, very like 
 a bashful school-boy, whom he in many other 
 respects not a Httle resembled. 
 
 If this appear unnatural — and it may so to 
 many an aspiring, pushing candidate for notice, 
 above the restraints of such vulgar sensibilities 
 — let them only recollect the rawness of our 
 youth, his total inexperience of such company as 
 he had got into, and above all, what those who 
 laugh at him may not be troubled with, the
 
 STERLING. 115 
 
 effect of a consciousness of inferiority which they 
 never feel. 
 
 The great good-nature however of Lord Lang- 
 ston, and his acquaintance with the foible of his 
 humble friend ; the protection he seemed to stand 
 in need of (not at all displeasing to the countess, 
 when seemingly so sued for) ; added to the real affa- 
 bility and unsophisticated nature of the girls, 
 high as they were; all this by degrees effected the 
 change in Robert''s nerves and demeanour, of 
 which it must be owned he stood so much in need. 
 All the ladies had cultivated understandings : 
 and Langston had sent them a free translation of 
 his friend"'s prize poem, which had given them 
 the highest idea of his taste, particularly in one 
 so young. He was also, as Lady Melusina had 
 already pronounced, handsome; and though 
 bashful from inexperience, and, as the countess 
 was pleased to say, from respect, he was by no 
 means vulgar. A city knight, and Bloomsbury 
 Square, indeed, denoted little of fashionable or 
 illustrious; but neither did Hanover, nor any 
 other square, not even Grosvenor itself, in her 
 ladyship's mind, if the inhabitants were not dis- 
 tinguished (as many of them were not) by supe- 
 rior birth, manners, and attainments. Though 
 much devoted to the first, the two last had alwavs
 
 116 STERLING. 
 
 SO far attractions for this high, but by no means 
 frivolous lady, that the possessor of them always 
 drew from her unaffected consideration. On the 
 other hand, she was so wrapt up in her son, and 
 had so much esteem for his judgment, that any 
 one he respected was sure to gain from her more 
 than the mere lofty politeness which she bestowed 
 upon all who had not forfeited it by fault or mis- 
 conduct. Even if it had not been so, both she 
 and her daughters were too really what they 
 seemed, — ladies in the most exact sense of the 
 word, — to make him feel additional distress by 
 any unpleasant exhibition of an unfavourable 
 opinion of him, even if they had entertained one. 
 More at his ease, therefore, and the happier 
 for it, Robert became more natural, and was 
 almost even agreeable, when he allowed his friend 
 to draw him out upon topics in which the cur- 
 rent of his mind favourably displayed itself 
 Oxford; the associations of history with the 
 place he was in, particularly drawn from Claren- 
 don, the countess''s favourite historian ; poetical 
 descriptions, and much of the belles lettres, 
 prompted by allusions on the part of the young 
 ladies (who seemed to have a perfect idea of it) 
 to the prize poem ; — these made him almost elo- 
 quent. He felt in a new world — his eyes sparkled
 
 STERLING. 117 
 
 with feeling — he admired the beauty of his young 
 hostesses, was dazzled by their elegance, and 
 adored their condescension. The awe too he had 
 felt for the dignity of their mother was a good 
 deal relieved, by finding that it could be softened 
 in his favour ; and before they quitted the table 
 he found himself far advanced towards what had 
 always seemed heaven to his fancy, but of which 
 he had hitherto despaired — the enjoyment of high 
 and polished society, without being ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 When the ladies withdrew, of course he was 
 talked over. 
 
 " There is more in him than at first appeared,'' 
 said Lady Melusina. 
 
 " I never knew Langston wrong in his judg- 
 ment,"*"* said the countess. 
 
 " It is a pity he has seen so little of good com- 
 pany. He was absolutely, at first, almost sheep- 
 ish,*" observed Lady Euphrasia. 
 
 " We mil polish him," answered Melusina, 
 rather archly. " Shall we patronise him ? Will 
 your dignity be hurt if you tolerate him, sister .f'" 
 
 " Perhaps not in the country^'''' replied Lady 
 Euphrasia, " sxidifaute de mieuoc.'''' 
 
 "He is better than Mr.Trippet, at any rate," 
 returned Melusina, " whom you know, with all
 
 118 STERLING. 
 
 our pains, we could never teach the gallopade. 
 Do you think he can dance P'** 
 
 " Your spirits run away with you child," said 
 the countess. " He is Langston's friend, and I 
 will not have him laughed at." 
 
 " Indeed, mamma," returned the sprightly 
 girl, " I did not mean to laugh at him, or any 
 man of genius, especially, as you say, Langston's 
 friend ; only you know we all allow ourselves to 
 be diverted, Miss Sycamore and all, when we try 
 to make Mr. Trippet do the gallopade, which he 
 says he is particularly surprised that he cannot 
 perform, as his father was gentleman-usher to 
 one of the princesses, and he once tried it at a 
 ball in Green Street." 
 
 This hit at gentlemen-ushers and Green Street, 
 unintended as it was, passed at the moment the 
 gentlemen were entering the room from table, 
 and immediately covered Robert's whole body 
 with scarlet, much more his face ; but as it was 
 while he was moving, it was not perceived. At 
 the same time he felt, if Green Street was so 
 apparently fleered at, what must be the fate of 
 Bloomsbury Square. 
 
 Mr. Trippett was neither more nor less than 
 the curate of Doctor Langston, uncle to the 
 earl, who had the rectory ; but having also a
 
 STERLING. 119 
 
 deanery in another diocese, where he generally 
 resided, he allowed his deputy to live in the 
 rectory-house, close by the castle. This Mr.Trip- 
 pett having a few peculiarities, these sprightly 
 young ladies, when amusement ran low, used 
 sometimes to request it as a great favour that he 
 would help them, to fill up a quadrille in an 
 evening ; in which he was always assigned as a 
 partner to Miss Sycamore, their governess, who 
 still lived with them. 
 
 Mr. Trippett, who had more learning than 
 sense, did not perceive that he was the occasion 
 of amusement to the ladies who, he supposed, 
 so favoured him; but as he had more vanity 
 than either sense or learning, it would have 
 signified little if he had. 
 
 As it was, it added greatly to his happy self- 
 importance with the ladies, — in regard to whom, 
 in consequence of this distinction, he had a sort 
 of Malvolio feeling. 
 
 He had, how ever, with all his self-complacency, 
 and attempts to learn certain hard steps which 
 the ladies had amused themselves with endea- 
 vouring to teach him, never succeeded in obtain- 
 ing their hands as partners. They were always 
 engaged, either to their brother, or any chance 
 company that happened to be present, or danced
 
 120 STERLING. 
 
 with one another. The poor curate seemed stu- 
 diously avoided, and, as has been said, was 
 always turned over to Miss Sycamore; nor could 
 he, even with Miss Sycamore's help, divine why. 
 Whether this arose from any objection on the 
 part of the countess, who thought condescension 
 might be carried too far; or that the young ladies 
 themselves, though they took the liberty of play- 
 ing upon the vanity of this simpleton, did not 
 chuse him to come nearer to an equality with 
 them ; we will, without quite defending them, 
 .decline to inquire. 
 
 What Lady Euphrasia said was however 
 true, — that even the lengths they went could 
 only be permitted in the country, and as an 
 amusement, faute de mieux. 
 
 This was a favourite expression of hers ; and 
 the sentiment, which was uttered in Robert's 
 hearing, after he had joined the drawing-room 
 coterie in which the conversation had been con- 
 tinued, struck upon his jealous ear, and for a 
 while poisoned his enjoyment. 
 
 He was, in fact, more than once in danger of 
 relapsing, particularly when the countess asked 
 him if Sir Robert had no country-house ? 
 
 Alas ! the citizen box he had on Lavender 
 Hill, where the stage-coach took him up and set
 
 STERLING. 121 
 
 him down all the summer through, only shrank 
 into a smaller nutshell, from looking round the 
 castle. Lavender Hill, too, the pen of little 
 merchants, small lawyers, brokers, and clerks in 
 office ! The very thought confounded him, and 
 he answered, we are sorry to say with how little 
 ingenuousness, " Yes ! his father had a country- 
 house in Surrey."" 
 
 This subterfuge did not make him happy. 
 He took himself severely to task, became thought- 
 ful, looked at the closing evening, and began to 
 wish for a solitary walk in the wood. 
 
 Opportunely, a walk was proposed, though 
 the countess thought it was too late, and de- 
 clined ; but the younger party sallied forth to 
 enjoy the freshness, which they did with all the 
 exuberance of youth and romance. The place, 
 the time, the season, the novelty, and above all, 
 his companions, lifted our friend to enthusiasm. 
 He seemed never to have lived before, and, luckily 
 for himself, forgot his restraints. 
 
 It was not too late for nightingales, and the 
 concert was delicious. All voices were stilled 
 while the music went on. Even breathing was 
 repressed, in order not to interrupt it. Hearts as 
 well as ears were gratified. 
 
 Had his new friends been farmers'* daughters, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 STERLING. 
 
 nay, I believe grisettes from St. Swithin''s (cer- 
 tainly from Tottenham Court Road), his romance 
 alone would have made him happy ; but to have 
 an earPs daughters as companions, uniting the 
 manners of a court with these pleasures of nature 
 — it was too much — he was dizzy with the sorcery 
 of it. 
 
 The songs went on for many minutes, when 
 Philomel, jealous of interruption, flitted into a 
 deeper covert, and left our young group won- 
 dering with one another. 
 
 All wished to express their admiration. 
 
 "If any thing could make a poet,'*'' said Lord 
 Langston, " it would be this.*'"' 
 
 " I expect some beautiful verses from the poet 
 of the belles lettves^'' said Lady Melusina. 
 
 " I will be content with Milton's, and that he 
 should criticise them,'"* said Lady Euphrasia. 
 
 " It would be pleasant," observed Langston, 
 " particularly at such a moment as this, to enu- 
 merate all that has been said of the nightingale 
 by different poets, or even only one, when so 
 varied for example as in Milton."" 
 
 " She seemed his favourite bird, and almost 
 his muse, at least when in the woods,'"* observed 
 Sterling. 
 
 " I dare say you can repeat all the passages,
 
 STERLING. 123 
 
 Mr. Sterling," said Lady Melusina. '' There 
 is a charming sonnet express to her ; I wish I 
 could remember it in this spot.'"' 
 
 Robert recited the first stanza con amove ; 
 the more so, from observing the interest taken 
 in it by his high-born companion. 
 
 " Oh I nighting-ale, that from yon bloomy spray, 
 Warblest at eve when all the woods are still ; 
 Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart doth fill, 
 
 While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.'" 
 
 "Delightful!" said the ladies ; "but pray, 
 Langston, don't let your suggestion drop. Give 
 us some more of these descriptions from your 
 Miltonian stores.'' 
 
 " What think you," said Langston, " of the 
 lines where the bird of night, like her we have 
 just heard, 
 
 * Sings daikling, and in shadiest covert hid, 
 Tunes her nocturnal note?' " 
 
 " Charming ! " said both sisters. 
 " Or," proceeded he — 
 
 * The love-born nightingale, who 
 
 Nightly to thee (Echo) her sad song mourneth well.' 
 
 " Or again, where she is called 
 
 ' The night warbling bird, that now awake, 
 Tunes sweetest her love laboured song.' 
 
 r.9.
 
 124 STERLING. 
 
 " Or the ' amorous bird that sang spousals ;' 
 or the wakeful one 
 
 * Who all night long her amorous descant sung.' 
 How do we love her ' tuning her strain ? ' How 
 invoke her 
 
 ' In her sweetest, saddest plight, 
 Smoothing the rugged brow of night ?' 
 
 Lastly, how endlessly do we feel (though so 
 generally felt, that it is almost too common- 
 place to remember it) that she 
 
 ' Shuns the noise of folly, 
 Most musical, most melancholy.' " 
 
 •' Pray,""" said Sterling, " how do you interpret 
 that last line ? Is it as it first appears, namely, 
 that she is both musical and melancholy ; or, as 
 I am inclined to think, most musical when 
 most melancholy ?" 
 
 '' An ingenious distinction,*" said Lord Lang- 
 ston, " and I incline to your opinion.'"' 
 
 " Why does Shakspeare say so little of the 
 nightingale ?*" asked the ladies. 
 
 " I suppose,*" said their brother, " because he 
 said so much of every thing else ; but I am 
 rather glad of it, for it left so much more to 
 Milton." 
 
 " Yet Milton," observed Sterling, " describes 
 her as you say, as the love-lorn, the amorous
 
 STERLING. 125 
 
 bird, without reference to the ' Philomela 
 mcerens sub umbra'' of Virgil, wailing her 
 young." 
 
 " That would be true tragic," said Lord 
 Langston. 
 
 " But it is beautifully put by Spencer," 
 answered Sterling. 
 
 * Hence with the nightingale will I take part, 
 That blessed bird that spends her time of sleep, 
 In songs and plaintive pleas, the more t'augment 
 The memory of his misdeed that caused her woe.' 
 
 " That is very beautiful, indeed," said Lady 
 Melusina. 
 
 " It has been referred bv some," continued 
 Sterling, " to the crime of Tereus ; but I rather 
 think that is too far-fetched, though poetic 
 enough." 
 
 " Ovid would have so construed it," observed 
 Langston. " But it grows late and cold, girls, 
 and mamma will scold." 
 
 "It is all your's and Mr. Sterling's fault," 
 said Lady Melusina, " for being so agreeable." 
 
 Robert felt as if electrified with this speech.
 
 126 STERLING^ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ROBERT STERLING IN A DREAM, 
 
 " Am I a lord, and have I such a lady ? 
 Or do I dream, or have I dream'd 'till now? 
 I do not sleep. I see, 1 hear, I speak. 
 1 smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things. 
 Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly." 
 
 Shakspeare. — Taming of a Shreiv. 
 
 The evening described in the last chapter 
 was the happiest of Sterling's life ; perhaps 
 jiappier than any he ever passed afterwards ; 
 for he thought it a dream — and we are always 
 liappiest in dreams. 
 
 As the countess looked a little alarmed at 
 their staying in the wood so late, Lady Melusina^ 
 with a smile, which would have sealed her peace 
 liad her mother been really displeased, said, 
 ••' Indeed, mamma, it was all William's and 
 Mr. Sterling's fault; for they raved about the 
 nightingale to such a degree, that we could not
 
 STERLING. 127 
 
 get away. I am not sure whether the real one 
 we listened to was as sweet as those they 
 described from Milton and Spencer.'' 
 
 This produced a complaint from the countess, 
 that she had been excluded from sharing in this 
 pleasure, to which she claimed a right as well 
 as her daughters ; and it ended in the gentle- 
 men being called upon to make up the loss, 
 by reading from the authors themselves what 
 their memory only had hitherto supplied. In 
 short, the books were sent for, and reading, 
 and comments — some grave, some lively, all 
 pleasing — crowned this eventful day to general 
 satisfaction, and the fehcity of Robert Sterling 
 was perfect. 
 
 In the morning, when he waked, he felt like 
 one of those enchanted wights we read of, whom 
 genii and fairies have exhausted their humour 
 to play upon and deceive; or, rather, he was 
 like that Christopher Sly himself, the honest 
 tinker, whom we have quoted at the head of this 
 chapter, who did not know whether he was 
 a lord or not. Certain it is, that when Williams, 
 my lord's valet, called him by appointment, he 
 knew not where he was, and began to question, 
 whether all that had flitted before him in the 
 shape of noble and attractive ladies, on milk-
 
 128 STERLING. 
 
 white palfreys, obsequious squires, banquets, 
 and polished conversation, had not been the 
 effect of some enchantment, the spell of which 
 he dreaded every instant would be broken. 
 
 The sight of the ladies, however, who were 
 already up, and breathing the morning air 
 before breakfast on the terrace below, convinced 
 him that he was not dreaming, and that he was 
 not at Oxford, and still less in Bloomsbury. 
 " How delightful,'' said he, " to see beings so 
 noble, so little sophisticated, so entirely natural 
 in their tastes and habits ! What would even 
 Wilson say to this .^" 
 
 Their appearance hastened his own, and he 
 was charmed at being received by the whole 
 family with the same good breeding that 
 characterized their reception of him the day 
 before. If there was any thing not quite 
 perfect to his feelings, it was perhaps a little 
 remaining stiffness in the countess, who fre- 
 quently, instead of calling her son by the 
 endearing name of William, bestowed upon 
 him his title of Lord Langston ; in which, to 
 Robert's surprise, she was sometimes imitated 
 her daughter Euphrasia. Melusina, however, 
 sparkled with her usual vivacity, and usual 
 freedom.
 
 STERLING. 129 
 
 The breakfast had the addition of Miss 
 Sycamore, a lady of about forty years, of great 
 genius, and a consequent admirer of the prize 
 poem, which she only wished she could read in the 
 original Latin — which Lord Langston declared 
 she could. At any rate, her admiration, which 
 was not at all concealed, conciliated the author 
 very comfortably. 
 
 She had a very scrutinizing countenance, 
 which exercised itself on all that Robert said or 
 did, and often exchanged meaning glances with 
 her quondam pupils, who seemed to show her 
 great consideration ; and Robert thought her 
 an ally evidently worth cultivating. After break- 
 fast they had music, of which Robert found out 
 she was a perfect mistress, and she discovered 
 that in evening amusement he would make an 
 excellent figure in a tableau vivant. 
 
 All the morning long the ladies retired within 
 themselves, and Lord Langston engrossed his 
 friend in showing him the curiosities and beauties 
 of the castle, its monuments of ancient art, and 
 magnificent offices. Robert was enchanted with 
 every thing, but soon grew listless for luncheon ; 
 because afterwards a riding-party had been 
 settled, in which the ladies were again to take 
 part. 
 
 g3
 
 130 STERLING. 
 
 It came, and Robert was again in elysium* 
 
 So again at dinner, and so he hoped again in 
 another evening walk, but it rained. 
 
 However, the party had now been reinforced 
 by a very high lady, of great fashion, and who 
 measured all other people's merits by their 
 pretensions to a place in the same temple in 
 which she herself worshipped. This was Lady 
 Trelawney, a friend and great admirer of the 
 countess, because the latter was not only supe- 
 rior to her in rank (for she was only a viscountess), 
 but, from some cause or other, possessed a greater 
 consideration and following, without pains or 
 trouble, among the haute noblesse, than she, 
 who almost made it a business, could acquire. 
 However, she too had been of the old court, 
 and, like the countess, was fond of talking over 
 the good Queen Charlotte, and her fine family, 
 particularly the Prince of Wales. They, there- 
 fore, wanted no amusement ; and this gave fresh 
 interest to Robert's curiosity in his favourite 
 study of the manners, looks, and conversation, 
 of persons of really high consideration. 
 
 There was also a young son of Lady Tre- 
 lawney, who seemed disposed to give himself 
 airs; and a daughter, who, not having been long 
 out of the school-room, was a little more natural.
 
 STERLING. 131 
 
 They were not old enough to annoy friend 
 Robert much ; but they gave him no pleasure, 
 and he Avished them away. 
 
 None of the young party liked to sit still, 
 and Lady Melusina proposed a quadrille, which 
 was carried with acclamation, but had well nigh 
 failed for want of numbers. 
 
 There were but seven ; and of these. Miss 
 Sycamore said she would act as band at the 
 pianoforte, which would reduce them to six. 
 
 However, Lady Melusina, full of resource, 
 soon had a remedy. The groom of the chambers 
 was excellent at a quadrille on the violin, and 
 she asked, and obtained lea^ e of. Lady Langston, 
 to send for Mr. Trippett to tea. It was but just 
 across the garden, and he might bring his pumps 
 in his pocket ; and as he always obeyed Lady 
 Melusina's commands, and was really not a little 
 proud to be thought of consequence on these 
 occasions, he was sure to come. 
 
 All this was wonderful to Robert Sterling, 
 who was in raptures to think that people of 
 such quality, though so young, could be like 
 other young people, and amuse themselves so 
 unfastidiously. 
 
 All succeeded. Mr. Trippett brought his 
 pumps, and the groom of the chambers his
 
 132 STERLING. 
 
 fiddle. The Honourable Mr. Trelawney gave 
 great hopes of future eminence in knowledge of 
 the world, by saying of Trippett, after he was 
 gone, that he was just the sort of fellow to 
 hand ladies cups at tea, and get a bit of cake 
 himself after it was done. Whether Lady 
 Euphrasia was struck with him we know not ; 
 but she seemed to choose him for her partner 
 with some eagerness, though probably to provide 
 herself an answer against the application of Mr. 
 Trippett. 
 
 This being settled, Lord Langston could do 
 no less than take Miss Trelawney. Mr. Trip- 
 pett looked most wistfully at Lady Melusina ; 
 but she said Miss Sycamore could show him the 
 figure better ; and thus Robert Sterling became 
 a partner in the dance, not only of the lady of 
 his love, but a beautiful lady, a court lady, and 
 a lady, as uncle George had said, at the very 
 tip- top of fashion. 
 
 Let us, however, do him justice. Though 
 his fondest ambition was gratified, ambition was 
 not the feeling that was most pleased. Of all the 
 attractions of Lady Melusina, her title was now 
 become the least. Her beauty, her grace, her 
 unafFectedness, vivacity, and seeming talent, 
 added to a good- breeding, born with her, not
 
 STERLING. 133 
 
 acquired, would have afFected the youth as they 
 did, had she been a farmer's daughter : as 
 an earl's sister, the whole was irresistible, and 
 Robert's head was turned. 
 
 Who would have thought it three days be- 
 fore ? 
 
 But his good fortune did not end here. He 
 was really an excellent dancer ; his time was 
 perfect; he was quiet; and from nature and 
 youth, light and graceful. Trippet admired, 
 and tried in vain to imitate him; and Miss 
 Sycamore in vain wished to change partners. 
 
 Lady Trelawney herself complimented him 
 on his dancing, the rather because she knew not 
 who he was, except that she had been told he 
 had gained the university prize, and that his 
 father was Sir Robert Sterling, and had a seat 
 in the county of Surrey ; but she went farther, 
 and said that he was like the royal family. 
 
 Robert went to bed, in love with his situation, 
 a little in love with Lady Trelawney, and a 
 great deal with Lady Melusina. 
 
 In the walk before breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, chance threw him alone with Miss Sycamore, 
 who, from the figure he had hitherto made, which 
 she said was an interesting compound of accom- 
 plishments and shyness, had taken him into her
 
 134 STERLING. 
 
 good graces ; and, seeing his total inexperience 
 among scenes and persons such as he was at pre- 
 sent witnessing, resolved to bestow a little of her 
 o\vn knowledge upon him. 
 
 Upon his expressing his happiness, therefore, 
 in the friendship of Lord Langston, and the 
 opportunity it gave him of knowing such very 
 amiable people, and receiving such proofs of 
 affabihty from Lady Trelawney, to whom he 
 was so entirely a stranger, as well as the coun- 
 tess, who might show it for her son''s sake, — 
 
 " Why, yes," said Miss Sycamore, "it is 
 all very well ; and you young men, not yet au 
 fait as to the manners of the world, particularly 
 the great world, would perhaps do harm to your 
 stock of happiness if you marred your expecta- 
 tions with rash suspicions, which might, perhaps, 
 after all, be unfounded. But, I suppose, though 
 so young and inexperienced in society, you do 
 not expect to find always, and out of the draw- 
 ing-room, the manner and conciliation which so 
 please you within.*" 
 
 Robert expressed surprise at the observation, 
 and said that he thought Lord Langston, and 
 the countess, and the two young ladies, would 
 never change. 
 
 " Change ! no ; Heaven forbid !" replied Miss
 
 STERLING. 135 
 
 Sycamore. " My Lord is all nature and honesty, 
 and the countess is too really high-souled to have 
 two characters ; and as for the young ladies — "" 
 
 " Ay !" observed Robert, " they seem to be 
 nature and goodness, as well as elegance, them- 
 selves. Lady ]\Ielusina, for example.'' 
 
 " You cannot praise her too much."" 
 
 " And Lady Euphrasia ?" 
 
 " She, too, is excellent in her way." 
 
 "In her way ! What does that mean ?" 
 
 " Oh ! only that it is different from her sis- 
 ter's. Yet her sense of what high rank and 
 station require is no more than her own justify ; 
 and it would perhaps be well if many hoydens 
 of quality resembled her.'"" 
 
 '' I observed," said Robert, " something that 
 fell from her, about f ante de mieiix!''' 
 
 Miss Sycamore smiled. 
 
 Robert then turned to the civilities of Lady 
 Trelawney. 
 
 " Here," said Miss Sycamore, " let me caution 
 you ; nor compromise me for doing so. But I 
 have seen your elation at her compliments, which 
 may or may not be owing to the great deference 
 for the countess, and the court she thinks it right 
 to pay to her." 
 
 " Court !" observed Robert. " A woman of
 
 13b* STERLING, 
 
 her high station and lead in the world, herself a 
 viscountess, pay court to any one ! " 
 
 Miss Sycamore again smiled, and said he had 
 a great deal to learn. She then informed him, 
 that high and powerful as many supposed leaders 
 in society appeared, their power was not always 
 real or self-derived, but depended often upon a 
 reflection from others; that the countess was 
 really so high in herself, as to be perfectly inde- 
 pendent ; while others, though nominally in the 
 same class, only revolved round her, and were 
 not sorry to add to their own light, by borrow- 
 ing a little of her's." 
 
 Robert stared, and- Miss Sycamore went on to 
 say, that with all her grandeur. Lady Trelawney, 
 especially when in proximity with the countess, 
 felt, spite of herself, that there was an original 
 defect in her pretensions to the highest place in 
 the temple of fashion, and that by some of the 
 legitimate sovereigns she was even considered as 
 parvenue ; that she herself was a mere co-heiress 
 of a nabob, whom nobody knew out of India ; 
 and that her husband, who had enobled her, had 
 been himself the first peer of his family, his 
 grandfather having been deep in the iniquity of 
 the South Sea Scheme. 
 
 " Hence,'' concluded Miss Sycamore, " she
 
 STERLING. 137 
 
 stands in need of all the alliances she can make 
 with real old nobility, to confirm herself in the 
 rank she affects in the lead of fashion. She has 
 even sometimes her mortifications as well as 
 others, and is equally jealous with her inferiors, 
 to keep herself uncontaminated with any thing 
 plebeian. However," added Miss Sycamore, 
 " do not let this discourage you ; for your own 
 sake, as well as from seeing you the friend of 
 Lord Langston, I have no doubt she is sincere 
 in her civilities.'' 
 
 " And the son and daughter ?'' 
 
 " You see what they are. The girl not yet 
 spoiled ; the boy in a fair way of being so." 
 
 Robert thanked his informant heartily for 
 being so much interested about him, and said he 
 should remember her lesson ; after which, finding 
 both Lady Trelawney, and her son and daughter, 
 more and more condescending, as the favour of 
 Lord Langston seemed to increase, he began to 
 doubt the accuracy of Miss Sycamore's account, 
 and gave himself up, without any alloy, to the 
 good fortune that seemed to court him. 
 
 And so passed some happy days. But the 
 brightest sun may be overcast, and a cloud now 
 lowered — at a distance, indeed, but which fore- 
 lK>ded a storm. That terrible, though so despi-
 
 138 STERLING. 
 
 cable Tylney, with his insolence of birth, and 
 other adventitious advantages of fortune and 
 connexions, seemed born always to cross our 
 scion of St. Swithin's or of Bloonisbury, and 
 throw him into shade ; and though confessedly 
 his inferior in all accomplishments of mind, and 
 even in dancing (as all the ladies of Langston 
 afterwards pronounced) — though he cared not 
 for the nightingale, still less could quote Spencer, 
 and was, like Portia''s Neapolitan prince, " a 
 colt, indeed, who could do nothing but talk of 
 his horse ;'" still the appellation of Honourable, 
 his heirdom to a peerage and ten thousand 
 a-year, and his connexion in blood with a 
 duchess, added, as we have said, to an impene- 
 trable self-complacency, and most provoking 
 coolness of look and manner, always got the 
 better of Robertas firmness, and disconcerted and 
 defeated him whenever they met. 
 
 Account for this, ye moralists and philoso- 
 phers, ye Republicans and Utilitarians, if you 
 can ! 
 
 Robert Sterling had as much natural bravery 
 as any other young man. He had not the sturdy 
 decision of his friend Wilson, which would have 
 knocked Tylney down had he looked saucily 
 at him; but he would risk any thing in assertion
 
 STERLING. 139 
 
 of his honour, provided all forms of honour 
 were fulfilled. It was moral courage in which 
 he was deficient. He had too many sensibilities, 
 too many refinements to satisfy. He could wil- 
 lingly have shot Tylney, if affronted by him ; 
 but then he would only have shot, not mortified 
 him ; and without mortifying him, as he had 
 himself been mortified, the revenge would not 
 have been complete. Even if he killed him 
 in the duello, he felt that the haute noblesse 
 would have sided against, not for him, and 
 lamented that a man of such fashion should have 
 fallen by the hand of a mere bou7'geois.* 
 
 * It was this sort of insolence of caste which contri- 
 buted to the French Revolution. Injuries may be for- 
 given : insult never. His own vanity is quite as much 
 concerned in the affronted as the affronter. — I have 
 heard a story of a petit mditre of quality, in the petit 
 mditre days of Paris, which affords an useful lesson. In 
 those days of triumph to the chivalrous coxcombs of 
 the court over the roturiers, it had, by an exquisite 
 refinement of insolence, become a fashion with young 
 mousquetaires, and others, to go to the theatres with 
 bottles of phosphorus, and wherever a fine flaxen per- 
 ruque, then often worn by the bons bourgeois, appeared, 
 the bottle was emptied and the wig set on fire. However 
 laughed at, such was the demarcation between noblesse 
 and bourgeois^ that the latter could get no redress. 
 Once, however, on the thing's happening, the affronted 
 
 pursued
 
 140 STERLING. 
 
 Settle this with human nature as we may, it 
 was certain, that owing to the weakness we have 
 described in our hero, his genius succumbed 
 before the no genius of Tylney, — as he now, 
 spite of all his resistance, began to feel. 
 
 pursued the aifronter with such perseverance, and 
 threatened such manual chastisement, that the latter, 
 against the remonstrances of his brethren in insolence, 
 consented to a meeting-. They fought with swords, and 
 the insulter was carried off disabled. His progress was 
 watched by the insulted, and as soon as he was recovered 
 he was called out again. The same fate attended him, 
 only he was worse wounded, and he took six months to 
 recover his strength. He was then ordered to his regi- 
 ment at Toulouse, but was pursued by his enemy, who 
 presented himself at the mess door, and motioned him to 
 come out. The officers interfered ; the colonel examined 
 the story, and the result was, that though the insulter 
 had done wrong in consenting to satisfaction in the first 
 instance, yet having done so, and waived his privilege, 
 he was bound to go on. 
 
 A question was asked, whether enough had not been 
 done? The answer was, no; unless the mousquetaire 
 would submit to have his hair burnt off by the bourgeois. 
 This was refused, and they instantly prepared for the 
 combat. The colonel asked if the monsieur had no 
 second ? "My second is my cause !" answered he : "but 
 you are all of you men of honour." Many of the officers 
 exclaimed "Bravo!" The duel then began, and the 
 insulter was killed. Twice severely wounded, and once 
 
 killed.
 
 STERLING. 141 
 
 Four days of elysium had passed, during 
 which Robert not only had danced, but sung 
 with Miss Trelawney; and he was in such 
 favour with the viscountess, that she desired the 
 acquaintance might not cease, and gave him her 
 address in Grosvenor Street. On the fifth a letter 
 was received by Lord Langston from Tylney, 
 telling him, if he pleased, he would take him on 
 his way to Weymouth, to pass a few days, agree- 
 ably to frequent invitation. This news, which 
 seemed to please the ladies of the party, parti- 
 cularly Lady Euphrasia (though she gave no 
 reason for it, except that he was so well-bred, 
 and quizzed people so coolly), deprived Sterling 
 of his breakfast ; he turned pale, said he had a 
 head-ache, and lost all his vivacity : nobody knew 
 why. He, too, had had a letter. They hoped 
 no bad news ; he shook his head : said his 
 mother was ill (which was true), and that he 
 feared he ought not to trespass any longer; that 
 he never should forget that he had never lived 
 till now ; and that it would be quite a regale to 
 
 killed, one would think was revenge enough ; but the 
 bourgeois said, it would have been much sweeter if he 
 could have singed the insulter's whiskers, — without which 
 his revenge was not complete, nor the affront wiped out. 
 Just so was the feeling of Robert towards Tylney.
 
 142 STERLING. 
 
 his memory to hear of their welfare. These, and 
 a thousand et cceteras of the same sort, escaped 
 from the mortified Robert, who took the sudden 
 resolution, by hastening his departure, to avoid 
 a rencontre in which he knew he could by no 
 means command himself. The very commen- 
 dations of his rival, if so he could be called, 
 which were poured out by the ladies, even by 
 Lady Melusina, were wormwood and aloes to 
 him ; nor was Lady Trelawney more bearable, 
 when she declared, in a stately manner, that the 
 Tylneys had always shewn blood, and had been 
 declared by the queen among the best-bred 
 persons of the court. 
 
 Langston, assenting generally to the breeding 
 of the family, expressed a fear that this branch 
 of it was in danger of being spoilt : he was such 
 a coxcomb. 
 
 "And what very young man of fashion is 
 not.?" asked Lady Euphrasia; "His being 
 spoilt shows that he must have merit V 
 
 " I have heard,""* said Miss Sycamore, who 
 was always privileged to give her opinion, "that, 
 considering his education, he is terribly illiterate."" 
 
 " No matter,*' observed his defender ; "he is 
 not the less at his ease, or less able to keep others 
 at a distance."*"*
 
 STERLING. 143 
 
 All this told to the very heart of Robert. He 
 never thought Lady Euphrasia so agreeable as 
 hsr sister, but he now thought her positively 
 disagreeable. Lady Trelawney's favour too sank 
 to nothing ; and he perfectly hated her son, who 
 said, in a familiar way, he liked Tylney, for he 
 made such good fun of people. 
 
 " I see I have no business here,"" said Robert 
 to himself, and he resolved to get away as soon 
 as he could. 
 
 Lord Langston in vain attempted to alter his 
 resolution, and even the ladies said civil things, 
 but all in vain. As a last resource. Lord Lang- 
 ston said to him in his own room while packing 
 up: " I know your jealousy of Tylney, and see 
 your motive. You must not mind what Euphrasia 
 says, because she is flattered that she is the only 
 person he ever dances with. Stay — assert your- 
 self — and you will get over this foolish foible 
 of yours. To name Tylney wdth you would be 
 ridiculous.'"* 
 
 Even this could not dissipate the alarm with 
 which the mere fear of the mention of the " Dutch 
 gentleman,'' or the " Knight of St. Swithin's," 
 though to be uttered of course in his absence, had 
 begun to give him. In short, spite of the remon-
 
 144 STERLING. 
 
 strances of his noble friend, a chaise was ordered, 
 and, after a respectful leave-taking, he was off, 
 to brood over himself and the mockeries of his 
 fortune, in banishment from what had to him 
 been nothing less than Paradise.
 
 STERLING. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MR. STERLING IS DISGUSTED. 
 
 " Society is no comfort to one not sociable." 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 It cannot be supposed that Robert had kept 
 his parents ignorant of all that had been passing 
 in the last eventful days. On the contrary, he 
 had given his mother a glowing and florid des- 
 cription of all that had befallen him, from his 
 leaving Oxford with Lord Langston, to the time 
 he quitted the castle ; with all the beautiful epi- 
 sodes of dining, dancing, walking, riding, and 
 reading, and all that gentlemen and ladies of 
 high degree looked, or did, or said ; and of a 
 truth the account was devoured voraciously by 
 Lady Sterling, and tasted, certainly not without 
 relish, by Sir Robert. 
 
 The departure from the castle was now an- 
 nounced, but not the cause of it, and it was quite 
 sufticient that it was voluntary on his part, and 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 STERLING. 
 
 opposed on that of Lord Langston. " The boy 
 is quite right,'' said Sir Robert. " I never knew 
 good come of a visit where the departure was 
 not opposed by a request to stay. Bob begins to 
 show some knowledge of the world, and that his 
 father was born before him." 
 
 " He tells us he will be with us directly," said 
 Lady Sterling ; " and yet I wonder how he 
 could leave that Lady Melusina and that good 
 lord, and asked to stay too !" 
 
 " Quite right, quite right, I tell you, my good 
 lady ; and had he asked my advice I could only 
 have told him to do so. Well, he deserves some= 
 thing for his prize, though he has disappointed 
 me about Amsterdam." 
 
 Soon after this the subject of discussion drove 
 up to the door in a post-chaise. 
 
 " He might, though, have come by the coach," 
 exclaimed Sir Robert. " Coaches now-a-days are 
 even better than postchaises. But when a man 
 gets a prize from a whole University, something 
 may be allowed for forgetfulness." 
 
 " I think so," said Lady Sterling, running 
 down stairs to meet her son. 
 
 Robert was received by his father with a 
 hearty welcome, and compliments upon his aca- 
 demical honours, to which the old gentleman was
 
 STERLING. 147 
 
 by no means insensible ; and by his mother with 
 tears of joy, flowing perhaps from a different 
 source. For (we must not conceal it) the good 
 lady was in perfect rapture to think of the pro- 
 gress he seemed to have made at Langston 
 Castle. Four whole days' visit, all marked with 
 civility, to say nothing of having rode out in 
 the daytime with Lady Melusina and Lady Eu- 
 phrasia, and danced with them in the evening 
 in the family party ! To be sure, the curate had 
 danced also ; but then it was faute de mieux ; 
 and, besides, he danced only with the governess, 
 to make up the set. 
 
 The first days after his arrival all was gaiety, 
 and indeed happiness, in the Square. Sir Robert 
 gave a dinner in honour of his son, and invited 
 two of the City members and their wives, both 
 of them ladies, to greet liim. His mother did 
 more ; for thinking even these rather too homely, 
 and indeed not young enough, and having often 
 heard that the life and soul of a party was to be 
 well assortie, she prevailed upon two judges' 
 wives, her neighbours, to come in the evening 
 with their young ladies, to make merry, she 
 said, and have a little hop. 
 
 The very thought, however, when she men- 
 tioned it, turned Robert sick ; and uncle George, 
 h2
 
 148 STERLING. 
 
 who was upon this occasion consulted on the 
 selection, looked contempt which he could ill 
 conceal, though Sir Robert was present, and 
 very much approved of Lady Sterling's good 
 old-fashioned intention. 
 
 The young, pretty, and natural Caroline, 
 then only just turned fifteen, was to be admitted 
 to the party ; and both the knight and Lady 
 Sterling anticipated all the pleasure which the 
 preparation for it seemed to promise. 
 
 But vain are the hopes of man. The dinner 
 and the dance took place ; but Robert, for whom 
 it was planned, was out of spirits. He said he 
 was ill, which surprised his father, for he had 
 been riding in the park the whole day ; and Sir 
 Robert could not comprehend why a man who 
 had gained an university prize, and danced with 
 an earl's daughters, did not join, or not join 
 better, in conversation with the two aldermen, 
 who understood corporation politics so well ; 
 or show more alacrity in dancing with their 
 daughters, who were young and blooming. 
 
 Uncle George, indeed, explained that alacrity 
 in dancing, whether in ladies or gentlemen, was 
 very mauvais ton, and that at court they ap- 
 peared to dance in their sleep. 
 
 " Ah ! that was not so in my time,"" exclaimed
 
 STERLING. 149 
 
 the knight, " nor was it in yours, brother, at 
 the little Christmas hops we used to give in 
 S>nthin's Lane/' 
 
 Uncle George looked petrified ; and though 
 the party was not exactly such as made him very 
 much afraid of his reputation, he cast rather an 
 anxious glance around, to see who were within 
 earshot; and observing one of the law ladies, who 
 lived in Spring Gardens, to smile, he turned 
 away, evidently annoyed. Robert was scarcely 
 less so, and drooped, no one knew why, the 
 whole evening. 
 
 The young ladies "of the Square '"* thought 
 him fine, and he heard one say to another it was 
 too ridiculous. This gave him no disturbance, 
 for he was thinking of Langston Castle, and 
 these damsels of equivocal fashion could bear no 
 comparison with those thorough-bred females — 
 the ladies of that consecrated ground. Even 
 Miss Svcamore was wronged by a comparison 
 with the ladies of the Square. 
 
 The evening, as well as the dinner, was a 
 failure ; which puzzled Sir Robert, as he said he 
 had spared no expense — a remark which did not 
 add to the complacency of his son, any more 
 than the sad solecism which the senior Sterling 
 committed, in sitting with his Barcelona hand*
 
 150 STERLING. 
 
 kerchief spread over his new satin thirds, while 
 he poured out his tea into the saucer, and de- 
 voured no inconsiderable quantity of bread and 
 butter. 
 
 Most of the young men, too, were the " sort 
 of fellows who hand ladies tea-cups, and get a 
 bit of cake themselves ;*" to all which the re- 
 membrance of the observations at Langston 
 Castle made him uncomfortably alive. He, 
 therefore, was little happy in the entertainment 
 made for him; and when, the next morning, both 
 his father and mother told him he ought to go 
 and call upon his partners, he looked astounded, 
 and, to their dismay, absolutely refused. 
 
 *' The deviPs in the boy," said Sir Robert, 
 talking it over with his wife. " This prize has 
 absolutely turned his head, or bewildered his 
 faculties, which I rather thought it would have 
 sharpened.'' 
 
 Lady Sterling shook her head, but did not 
 give her opinion, though she was nearer the 
 mark. 
 
 Poor Sir Robert began to grieve for his son. 
 Instead of adding to the mirth and merriment of 
 the house, which his visit after so long an ab- 
 sence taught them to expect, this hope of the 
 family grew dull and listless, if not sullen.
 
 STERLING. 151 
 
 Nothing seemed to please him. Like Richard, 
 he had " no delight to pass away the time." 
 Certainly he had none in the men of business 
 who came often to his father ; still less in the 
 females who visited his mother. 
 
 If he was interested at all, it was with the 
 cheerful Caroline, who, Heaven knows, had no 
 care but to make herself and others happy — in 
 which she succeeded with all but her brother. 
 
 He sometimes, indeed, pleased himself with 
 giving her little literary lessons, in which she 
 delighted ; and sometimes condescended to walk 
 with her within the rails of the Square. But 
 then it was not Grosvenor Square — the diffe- 
 rence between which and plebeian Bloomsbury, 
 he sighed to think of 
 
 All this had an effect upon him for which few 
 could account. Instead of assisting in doing the 
 honours of the house to those who frequented it, 
 he fled them as if they had an infectious disease. 
 His life, even at home, became solitary ; he saw 
 none of his relations but at meals, and for the 
 greatest part of the day was bolted in his chamber. 
 
 As his father placed this to the account of the 
 love of study, he did not quarrel with it ; and 
 his mother only regretted that the hope she had 
 indulged of showing off the accomplishments of
 
 152 STERLING. 
 
 her son to a very numerous, but very ordinary, 
 acquaintance, should be so completely disap- 
 pointed. Robert, therefore, as far as parental 
 interference was concerned, was kept to himself; 
 and he led a listless life, except in those hours 
 which he gave to the Park, where he had, at 
 least, a chance of meeting those he liked better, 
 though only to look at, than the companions pro- 
 vided for him at home. Even uncle George had 
 very little, at this time, of his company : for since 
 the slighting things that passed about "gentlemen 
 ushers" at Langston Castle, he felt not the pride 
 he formerly did in his courtly relation. He 
 began to doubt his authority on many points 
 relating to fashion, and even as to his fashionable 
 acquaintance. He certainly discovered that it 
 was much more slender than he had thought it, 
 and that to be the nephew of a gentleman usher 
 was by no means a distinction of which to be 
 proud. Nay, he began to agree with his observ- 
 ing friend Wilson, that to be the son of Sir 
 Robert Sterling the merchant, though he lived 
 in Bloomsbury, was much the most respectable 
 of the two. 
 
 This was a step gained towards common sense, 
 but by no means towards happiness. His ideas 
 were above himself, above his parents, above
 
 STERLING. 153 
 
 their occupations and interests, and a great deal 
 above the circle in which they moved. To break 
 out of this circle, was as great a struggle to him, 
 and as great an object to accomplish, as if he had 
 been spell-bound by the wand of an enchanter ; 
 nor did he see at all at present how the spell 
 could be broken. 
 
 The effect was melancholy upon himself and 
 his family, to whose natural disposition to 
 cheerfulness he little contributed, if he did not 
 repress it. His father''s friends, who came, as 
 they said, sometimes to take pot-luck, gave him 
 a fit of the spleen, and drove him to his room ' 
 or, if the evening was without company, he 
 would sit silent and abstracted, and only relieved 
 when his parents got to their cribbage, and he 
 was allowed to dream away the hours over a 
 book, or his own thoughts, till a very early 
 bed-time. 
 
 In a word, the visit to Langston Castle, 
 though it had not generated his infatuation for 
 finer people than he found among his good 
 relations, that is, in his own sphere, yet had it 
 added so much to it, that his otherwise good 
 mind was cankered, and though alive to the 
 real worth of his father, and the tenderness of 
 his mother, their little homelinesses, and total 
 h3
 
 154 STERLING. 
 
 want of the conventional forms of high breeding, 
 made him shrink from them with a dislike, for 
 which he severely blamed himself, but could 
 not prevent it. 
 
 Wilson was the only one of his own sphere 
 whom he found he could tolerate ; his want of 
 fashion and blunt manners being outweighed by 
 liis attachment and fidelity to him amid many 
 rebuffs. Others were as worthy, but they were 
 not early friends, and there was no occasion, as 
 Robert thought, if he had to seek new acquaint- 
 ance, that he should search for them among 
 families as little distinguished as his own. 
 
 In this dilemma, chance brought him in 
 contact with his quondam tutor, Mr. Barker, 
 who, as we have said, had a sister married to a 
 baronet in Green Street, and whom, with others, 
 the holidays had brought to town. He had 
 sincerely rejoiced in Roberfs academical success, 
 — taking, as was not unnatural, a good deal of it 
 to himself. 
 
 " By the way," said he, after the first ques- 
 tions were over, " my sister. Lady Webly, has 
 a squeeze, or something of that sort, to-night, 
 and, if you will allow me, I will mention your 
 name to her, as one of her guests." 
 
 The first impulse of the changed pupil was to
 
 STERLING. 155 
 
 make a face at the word squeeze. The next to 
 ponder what might be expected from a rout in 
 Green Street, which had been unmercifully 
 stigmatized by Lady Euphrasia, when quizzing 
 her brother for his low tastes. However, as 
 Green Street was incomparably more west than 
 Bloomsbury Square, and therefore he hoped out 
 of the reach of the aspirants of the bar and the 
 counting-house, he accepted the invitation. 
 
 His mother, when he told it her, approved, 
 saying she believed Lady Webly was vastly 
 genteel; and, to guess from the fashionable 
 papers, saw none but the best company. " And 
 yet,'' said Sir Robert, rather gruffly, "I re- 
 member Sir William before he was an army con- 
 tractor, when he was not sorry to walk home 
 with me from Change, and take a bit of mutton 
 in Swithin''s Lane." 
 
 The very name of that odious place called 
 all the colour into Robert's cheeks. However, 
 he resolved to go ; and go he did ; calling for 
 Mr. Barker at Mivart's in the way. 
 
 At first his spirits were high at seeing the 
 blockade of carriages which, in a long line, filled 
 the street. For though the London season, as 
 it was called, was said to be at an end (the 
 first week in July), there was still left enough
 
 156 STERLING. 
 
 of the high monde to fill, and even overflow, 
 any single reasonable ball or assembly that could 
 have been held. 
 
 " She must, indeed,"" said Robert to himself, 
 " have an immense, if not a very fashionable 
 acquaintance, and Green Street cannot be so bad 
 as Lady Euphrasia made it out.'"* 
 
 His hopes, however, were abated, when he 
 found that by very far the majority of the 
 carriages he had seen were proceeding to 
 Grosvenor Square, where the lady of a great 
 foreign minister held an assembly of the very 
 first character for haute noblesse. This rather 
 lowered his expectations; which were not regene- 
 rated when he entered a hall almost denuded of 
 footmen; saw an inner room denuded of cloaks ; 
 and, on mounting the stairs, was met by strag- 
 gling parties, seemingly in a great hurry to get 
 away, although it was not quite midnight 
 
 The salon de compagnie, on his entering it, 
 seemed quite forlorn. It was well furnished, 
 well lighted, and a perfect temple of Flora ; but 
 without a priestess. Certainly Lady Webly, 
 though she had that day been to court, and 
 had retained her diamonds and feathers, had 
 not that character, any more than some eight 
 or ten other females (positively no more), who,
 
 STERLING. 157 
 
 scattered upon different sofas, made the empty 
 space seem greater than it was. These were 
 composed of three or four Indians, West and 
 East ; a millionaire and his wife, who had 
 come, however, from Cavendish Square ; and 
 two bishops' ladies. Two " others apart sat on 
 a couch retired f' for they seemed to know no 
 one but one another, though the lady of the 
 mansion was most particularly deferential and 
 attentive to them. These were virgins of a 
 certain age, daughters and sisters of peers, 
 and, from the rich style of their dress, the rubies 
 and diamonds on their fingers, and their quan- 
 tity of valuable laces, persons of fortune as well 
 as of birth. They seemed very conscious of their 
 dignified superiority, and, though alone, were not 
 in the least disconcerted on that account ; on the 
 contrary, their glasses were ever at their eyes, 
 criticising the dress, looks, and manners, of their 
 fellow-guests. In particular, they seemed struck 
 with the birds of Paradise which two of the 
 Indian ladies wore on their heads, at which they 
 interchanged smiles of something like contempt ; 
 and one was heard by Robert, (who, from 
 knowing no one, had ensconsed himself behind 
 their sofa,) to observe to the other in a low tone 
 of voice, " what a mistake .' — quite gone by ! —
 
 158 STERLING. 
 
 but no wonder !" — At which they renewed their 
 silent and imperturbable observation. 
 
 At length, though Miss Webly was at the 
 piano-forte, and had just began a cantata, with 
 her master, Signor Pistruzzi, one of them said, 
 almost loud enough to be heard by more than 
 Sterling, " do you think we have staid long 
 enough ? shall we go ?" At this they both got 
 up, and curtseying hastily to Lady Webly, 
 who was occupied with her daughter's music, 
 escaped, spite of her eagerness to intercept 
 them, and the sound of " To the Austrian am- 
 bassadress's,'"* was heard at the door, as they 
 rolled off. 
 
 This was a signal to one of the bird of Para- 
 dise ladies, who seemed to have been hitherto 
 rebuked by their superior genius, or superior 
 rank (no matter which), and who could not 
 help greeting Lady Webly with a " Well I I 
 never knew any thing so ill bred ; and just too 
 as Miss Webly was going to delight us. But 
 it is, indeed, unfortunate that this German 
 princess should have fixed exactly on your night. 
 Lady Webly, to give her last soiree.'''' 
 
 " It is particularly provoking,"'' answered 
 Lady Webly, " on a court- day, too, v/hen 
 so many of my friends, whom I met at the
 
 STERLING. 159 
 
 drawing-room, promised to be here in their full 
 costume, which made me keep on mine; and 
 now not one of them has been here but old 
 Lady Ashford ; and even she, perhaps, would 
 not, had she visited the ambassadress. But, 
 come, do not let us interrupt the music." 
 
 At this, all the party, now indeed greatly 
 reduced, drew near the instrument, and Miss 
 VVebly was about to begin again, when Signor 
 Pistruzzi was observed to turn pale, as he looked 
 through the first rank that encircled him, and 
 saw no others behind. He said something in 
 Italian to MissWebly, which that young lady 
 did not well understand, and the rest of the 
 company not at all, and then suddenly declared 
 he was very ill, — a sudden pain in the side, — it 
 was impossible for him to sing, — and he must 
 seek a fiacre^ and go home. 
 
 To do them justice, both Lady Webly and 
 her daughter carried it off very well, and 
 proposed going into the refreshment-room, as 
 there was nothing better. This was a small 
 conservatory, in which, instead of the dews of 
 heaven, ices and lemonades, and ponche d la 
 Romaine, seemed to flow from the urns of six 
 most attentive nymphs, clothed in white, and 
 of very pretty features and address ; one or two,
 
 160 STERLING. 
 
 the souhrettes of Lady Webly, the rest of the 
 magician Negri. 
 
 The worst of it was, that the <£*100, which it 
 cost, was totally thrown away ; for it is obvious 
 that the entertainment we have described was 
 a partie manquee. 
 
 The effect of all this upon Robert could not 
 be well defined. He undoubtedly felt that what 
 he had witnessed was very different from what 
 he had ever seen at home, or in its immediate 
 neighbourhood; and yet, inexperienced as he 
 was, his eye, or his tact, informed him that 
 neither Lady Webly, nor any of her guests, were 
 in their exact element. Then this cruel German 
 princess, who, without ever having heard of 
 Lady Webly, much less of the army contractor, 
 her husband, though a baronet— and who, by 
 merely existing, had extinguished glories which 
 for the previous month had been fondly antici- 
 pated!— Who, or what could she he? From 
 what regions had she dropped ? AVhen and where 
 had she lived, that thus, till yesterday known 
 only in a foreign land, she should now be able 
 to influence the whole noblesse, real, and would- 
 be, of London ? 
 
 These were questions that would have baffled, 
 perhaps, a more experienced intellect than that
 
 STERLING. 161 
 
 of our Oxford tyro. They certainly baffled Mr. 
 Barker's, genteel as he was held in Northampton- 
 shire, and by all Robert's relations. All he could 
 say was, that his sister was cruelly disappointed, 
 but that, with their fortune, it did not signify. 
 
 Robert's sagacity showed him that the expense 
 was the least part of the matter ; and he felt no 
 little indignation when he thought of the affront- 
 ing superciliousness of the two Honourables, 
 who had let out their sentiments so unguardedly, 
 in respect to the party they had condescended to 
 attend. It administered food to his malady of 
 jealousy, which required no aliment to keep it 
 alive. 
 
 As they passed through Grosvenor Square, too, 
 and he saw the great house of the redoubtable 
 ambassadress in a blaze of light, -with seemingly 
 hundreds of coronetted coaches, setting down 
 what appeared divinities, waving with plumes 
 and blazing with diamonds, which had that day 
 visited the court, a new world opened upon him, 
 and not a happy one. He fell into a dream of 
 splendid notions, such as he had never before 
 experienced ; but thought with emotion of the 
 superior lot of those to whom such scenes were 
 familiar, and at the same time with envv, and
 
 162 STERLING. 
 
 even indignation, that he should be excluded 
 from them. 
 
 In proportion to his sensibility to this, was his 
 wonder that his tutor, whose tastes and ambition 
 were of a very different sort, who had arrived 
 only that morning from Northamptonshire, and 
 whose bed-time had been past near four hours, 
 was asleep, and snoring by his side, when he 
 stopped at Mivart's, to set him down. 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, he was more 
 distrait than ever. The atmosphere w^as gloomy, 
 even at that time of year ; and he observed, that 
 Grosvenor Square, he thought, being higher, 
 must be a great deal more healthy than Blooms- 
 bury Square. 
 
 " What," said Sir Robert, shrewdly, " has 
 Green Street so bit you, that you do not relish 
 your home.?" 
 
 '" No, indeed, Sir," replied the youth ; " nei- 
 ther Green Street, nor any thing I saw in it, gave 
 me a thought." 
 
 " And who did you see ?" asked Lady Ster- 
 ling. 
 
 " Nobody worth remembering." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Barker said there were to 
 be Mrs. Loader from Cavendish Square, and
 
 STERLING. 163 
 
 I don't know how many nabobs?"" added Sir 
 Robert. 
 
 " There was scarcely any body," returned 
 young Sterling ; " nobody whatever of note, ex- 
 cept two old ladies of quality, who stared all the 
 rest out of countenance." 
 
 " They must have been of quality, indeed," 
 observed the senior Sterling, rather chuckling :* 
 " but who were they ? I suppose you were 
 introduced ?" 
 
 " That is not the custom at these places," re- 
 plied Robert. 
 
 " That is very extraordinary, not to say un- 
 friendly," rejoined the knight. " I thought all 
 in the same house knew one another, of course." 
 
 " No more than in the same college," answered 
 Robert, with some spleen. 
 
 " But who were the staring ladies ?" 
 
 " I understood, after they were gone, that 
 they were the Honourable Mrs. Vernon and the 
 Honourable Mrs. Throgmorton." 
 
 " Both married, then .?" 
 
 • Could we suspect the knight of reading plays, we 
 might think he was alluding to Ranger, when he first 
 meets Clarinda : " She must be a woman of quality, by 
 her staring."
 
 164 STERLING. 
 
 " Old maid^' said Robert, " but highly con- 
 nected."" 
 
 "Whew — w!"' cried his father, "you need 
 not have left our neighbourhood for old maids ! 
 Plenty of them here, and indeed every where — 
 they roost all about us."
 
 STERLIXG. 165 
 
 CHAPTER Xir. 
 
 OF THE NEW ADVENTURE THAT BEFEL MR. 
 STERLING, AND ITS EFFECT UPON HIS HEART 
 AND MIND. 
 
 " I cannot tell 
 What Heav'n hath giv'n him; let some graver eve 
 Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
 Peep through each part of him." 
 
 Henry Fill. 
 
 A LITTLE comfort now dawned upon our fas- 
 tidious, yet aspiring hero. Riding in the Park, 
 he met a travelling landau, driving as fast as 
 four post-horses could draw it. Arms, suppor- 
 ters, and a viscount's coronet on the panels ; 
 imperials on the top ; a young gentleman on the 
 box ; and, behind, a chaise, with a gentleman's 
 gentleman, and a very elegant souhrette^ evi- 
 dently the suite of the favoured people in the 
 landau. 
 
 It was the Lady Trelawney and her son and 
 daughter, who, having finished their visit at 
 Langston, were now coming to finish the cam-
 
 166 STERLING. 
 
 paign in London, or perhaps passing through on 
 some other excursion. 
 
 Robert's heart beat high at the sight of what 
 recalled to his remembrance the only paradise 
 he had known ; though little was necessary for 
 this purpose, since he thought of it every hour 
 of the day. But here were beings whom he had 
 associated with on the very spot ; who had left 
 those he so admired, perhaps only a few hours ; 
 who were identified with them, and whose mere 
 appearance, therefore, filled him with joy. 
 
 Besides, he had been particularly noticed, 
 nay, almost favoured, by Lady Trelawney ; had 
 danced and sung with the young lady ; and had 
 been told not to let the acquaintance drop. 
 
 Could any thing be more propitious to revive 
 his drooping spirits, and make him forget the 
 ordinary people with whom he had lately been 
 surrounded.? They lived in Grosvenor Street, 
 and he would call the next day. 
 
 That night he could not sleep for thinking of 
 it ; and he wished it the more, because it was 
 evident, from their countenances, that young 
 Trelawney, if not the two ladies, knew him; and 
 the servant out of livery, in the chaise behind^ 
 actually smiled, and touched his hat to him. 
 
 AVell, the morning came, and with it came
 
 STERLING. 167 
 
 hope, and confidence, and joyful expectation. 
 He had been told that nobody, that is, nobody 
 of any consequence, made early morning calls — 
 it was so like mere business ; he would wait, 
 therefore, till full two o'clock. His father said 
 they would be all out, and advised twelve. For- 
 tunately, he recollected that at Langston he had 
 heard that nobody ever visited before two or 
 three; because, otherwise, people were sure to 
 be at home. He thought the reason odd ; how- 
 ever, he resolved to wait till two, and his heart 
 beat rather high when he knocked at the door in 
 Grosvenor Street. 
 
 It was opened by a very fat porter, in a full 
 dress coat and waistcoat, with long flaps ; the 
 skirts and seams of both of which were trimmed 
 with livery lace. On asking for Lady Trelawney, 
 Cerberus professed absolute ignorance, but rang 
 a bell, which was answered, first by a footman, 
 then by Robert's friend, the groom of the cham- 
 bers, who had saluted him in the Park ; so he 
 thought himself sure. But the groom of the cham- 
 bers did not smile, as he had done the day before. 
 On the contrary, he shook his head, said my lady 
 had not yet come out of her room, and that the 
 young gentleman and lady had just then walked 
 out, but he would deliver his card.
 
 168 STERLING. 
 
 Robert pulled out his case with a disappointed 
 air, and while feeling for the card, plainly per- 
 ceived Miss Trelawney gliding along the landing- 
 place of the first story up stairs. From a door, 
 also half open, he heard a laugh, which he felt 
 sure was that of her brother, though both bro- 
 ther and sister had just then walked out. 
 
 He had no help for it but to leave the hall, 
 which he did in something like anger, though 
 he checked himself by thinking (not a very usual 
 piece of candour with him) that as they could 
 not possibly know who it was that called, the 
 denial could not have been pointed at him ; 
 and if at all the world, no express affront was 
 intended. 
 
 This consoled him during two whole turns 
 which he made round Grosvenor Square, while 
 endeavouring to unravel a problem which occu- 
 pied him to his bitter annoyance. Such was the 
 nature of our philosophic young gentleman. 
 
 But his negative satisfaction was again almost 
 instantly done away with, when he came to 
 recollect the precise part of the gallery in which 
 he had seen Miss Trelawney, and the open door 
 from which her brother's laugh had issued. 
 " Both must have seen me,"" said he ; " and if 
 so, what a picture of the fine world!"' The
 
 STEKLIXG. 169 
 
 thought distressed him; and he hurried he knew 
 not where, and wandered for an hour, completely 
 absorbed by this profound and painful disqui- 
 sition. 
 
 He had obtained no satisfaction, when, as 
 chance would have it, he perceived, waiting to 
 be put down at a shop-door in Pall IMall, the 
 very identical persons who had so engaged and 
 so embarrassed his thoughts. They were in an 
 open barouche ; Lady Trelawney seated by her- 
 self forwards, and her son and daughter on the 
 opposite side. As there was a stop among the 
 carriages, and the barouche was drawn up to 
 the pavement, and moreover Miss Trelawney 
 (whom we called, and not unfairly, a frank girl, 
 yet unspoilt) showed some pleasure in seeing 
 him again, it was impossible not to stop to pay 
 his devoirs and make inquiries. He also joyfully 
 acquitted her of the crime he had fastened upon 
 her, of having seen him when he called in Gros- 
 venor Street. 
 
 But, sad to say, the alacrity she exhibited on 
 his addressing her alarmed her lady mother, 
 who instantly made her quit her seat, which was 
 next the pavement, and come over to the vacant 
 cushion beside the old lady, who thus cut her 
 off from even seeing the person whose advance 
 
 VOL. 1. I
 
 170 STERLING. 
 
 she was disposed so impoliticly to encourage. 
 The demeanour both of mother and son were 
 very different from the daughter's. Lady Tre- 
 lawney was coldness itself, and said she had 
 supposed that by this time he had been at 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 A thunder-clap could not have roused him 
 more ; he reddened, and seeing young Trelawney 
 in an incipient laugh, he begged to know how 
 such a thing came to be imagined ? 
 
 " Oh !'"' said Trelawney, " Tylney told us all 
 about it after he came, and said they called you 
 the Dutch gentleman at College!"" 
 
 The young insolent then turned his head 
 another way, and Lady Trelawney, saying they 
 had business in the shop, begged he would not 
 trouble himself to offer his arm, for which he 
 seemed preparing, as her son always helped her. 
 With this she quitted the carriage, leaving him 
 in a fit of amazement such as he never had felt, 
 and from which he was a very long time indeed 
 before he recovered. 
 
 His situation was almost amusingly painful, 
 at least to any other but himself. He found 
 himself in the park, without knowing how he 
 got there. He rubbed his eyes, pinched his 
 arms, and asked himself if he was awake ? A
 
 STERLING. 171 
 
 confused dream seemed to haunt him, in which 
 there was a jumble of things, sensations, and 
 persons — Langston Castle enchantment, and 
 Tylne}' in the shape of an immense bear, break- 
 ing it all to pieces. 
 
 He walked first quick, and then slow, and 
 the trouble of his countenance challenged all the 
 passers-by. Certainly, if there had ever been a 
 cut, cool, determined, ungracious, and even in- 
 sulting, it was this ; and yet the difficulty to 
 understand or account for it made it still more 
 cruel. It was the more disappointing, because 
 the apparent first disposition of Miss Trelawney 
 had delighted him, and he was overjoyed to 
 think he had been in an error about her. Why 
 her mother so instantly and decidedly repressed 
 her good-nature, gravelled him. Why that mo- 
 ther herself had so changed, she — who had in- 
 vited him to her house, and compared him to 
 the royal family — she, who had praised his read- 
 ing, his dancing, his music, and hoped the ac- 
 quaintance would not cease ! Who could explain 
 it ? He would have forgiven it in the girl ; but 
 for an old woman to be fine, capricious, con- 
 temptuous ! — the thing was beyond imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 One conclusion he at last came to: that he would 
 I 2
 
 172 STERLING. 
 
 never trust an old woman of quality again ; and 
 tliat he would take the first opportunity of trounc- 
 ing her jackanapes of a son. As for Tylney, who 
 had been opened to view, he resolved to pursue 
 the scent, and if he found, as he expected, that 
 he had occasioned this unhappy contretetus, he 
 again resolved that he would not quit him till he 
 liad had a gentleman's revenge. 
 
 With these consolations he began slowly to 
 recover, so far, at least, as to wander towards 
 home ; in doing which we do not know whether 
 he was or was not relieved, by meeting his 
 friend Wilson. 
 
 That unsophisticated, straight-forward person 
 had only just arrived from Oxford for the long 
 vacation, having been forced, by some college 
 rules, to return to St. John s till now. His sedate, 
 but cheerful open countenance, his unclouded 
 brow, and firm step, betokened a man neither 
 dazzled nor disgusted with the world, but obser- 
 ving every thing, infatuated with nothing, enjoy- 
 ing what he could, and not in a rage because he 
 could not enjoy more. Sterling never envied nor 
 wanted him so much. 
 
 " I have used you ill,'' said he. "I broke my 
 promise of writing to you an account of my visit 
 to Langston.''
 
 STERLING. 173 
 
 '' I was eager to know it,"' replied Wilson. 
 " Did you return your own man P" 
 
 " Probe me not too deeply," returned Sterling; 
 *' few could venture upon the fascinations of that 
 enchanting place, and come off whole. I would 
 have informed you of them, however, but for — " 
 
 « What ?" asked Wilson. 
 
 " You were too good a prophet." 
 
 *' What, you met some of the Tylneys ?" 
 
 " Many : not positively met them, for, to my 
 shame, I left the field ; but they came, and 
 have done me more damage than I like to con- 
 fess ; certainly more than I mean to put up 
 with." 
 
 He said this in so agitated, and, at the same 
 time, so decided a tone, that Wilson felt obliged 
 to make a point of knowing all his griefs. He 
 detailed them with great fidelity, and finally 
 demanded of his friend, whether he could now 
 advise him, as he did before, to submit to these 
 injuries, and by submitting, encourage their 
 repetition. 
 
 " I would not do so," said Wilson, thouglit- 
 fully, "were the matter ripe enough to interfere 
 as you propose ; for I suppose you mean no less 
 than to call out JVIr.Tylney ?"
 
 174 STERLING. 
 
 " I do !" 
 
 " Then you are prepared with chapter and 
 verse to prove his delinquency ?"*' 
 
 " It is plain, from what Trelawney threw out, 
 and the consequent behaviour of his silly 
 mother !" said Sterling. 
 
 " You think her silly, then ?" 
 
 " I do !" 
 
 " Shall I tell you my opinion ? 
 
 '' I ask it." 
 
 " Imprimis y then : are you prepared to shoot 
 Mr.Tylney, or be shot yourself in the attempt, 
 because he has lowered you with a woman you 
 confess to be silly, and whose favour, therefore, 
 were you ever so high in it, would do you no 
 credit ? 
 
 " Secundo : how are you sure even of tlie 
 fact, much more of the colouring of it ? Your 
 only information is a very loose speech from a 
 very impudent boy as silly as his mother ; and 
 w^ho, probably, could not explain what he meant 
 by saying, ' Mr.Tylney told us all about it."" 
 
 '' Thirdly : are you prepared to give Mr.Tyl- 
 ney the triumph of knowing, and to publish it 
 yourself to the world, that he has quizzed you out 
 of the good graces of a silly old woman, and made
 
 STERLING. 175 
 
 her cut you, instead of being, as you expected, 
 taken to her arms, and made, as you hoped, a 
 man of fashion ?" 
 
 " Wilson," cried Sterling, disturbed beyond 
 his bent, " this is too much — you yourself are 
 presuming to quiz. I asked your assistance — 
 your advice, if you will give it — not your re- 
 proofs, still less your ridicule.'* 
 
 " My advice you shall have, and welcome,"' 
 returned Wilson, "and the rather because I 
 never was so clear or so sincere in any counsel I 
 ever gave."" 
 
 " For God's sake, then, let's have it, for I am 
 on thorns !" 
 
 " I would instantly turn my back upon such 
 silly, and by your own account, such unworthy 
 people. What is it that recommends them to 
 you .? Not their titles — not their riches ! Surely 
 you have a mind above being affected by them ? 
 But it is their fashion, from which you feel ex- 
 cluded : and this it is that pains you. Well^ no 
 doubt you are able to show the intrinsic supe- 
 riorities of this great idol, to all the other idols of 
 the world, and gravely prove that it is worth the 
 sacrifice of your ease and independence to acquire 
 it ; as if it was some great moral or religious 
 duty, for which we are ordered to risk martyrdom.
 
 176 STERLING. 
 
 No doubt, too, you have, on your part, nothing- 
 valuable in the world's eye, which fashion- 
 able people would give their ears to obtain, 
 and cannot : reputation for letters, accomplish- 
 ments, and real good-breeding, far higher than 
 theirs. 
 
 "And will you level all these to the ground, 
 because a cub of a boy, ignorant, probably, 
 certainly vulgar in mind, has presumed to show 
 himself a bear ? 
 
 " No, no ! assert yourself ! Feel and show 
 that you are made for better things ! I do not 
 bid you not revenge ; but my revenge should be 
 greater than what you contemplate, — which is 
 the common one, in every man's power. 
 
 " Go on in your career ; acquire new honours, 
 and make the butterflies shrink into insignifi- 
 cance, when weighed with you in the balance of 
 men's estimation. 
 
 " It moves my very spleen to think hoAV poor 
 the noblest of us can be, when such tinsel as 
 Tylney can for a moment enter into a comparison 
 with the gold of Robert Sterling." 
 
 " All that may be very well in the closet, in 
 retirement," replied Sterhng, " where, out of 
 temptation, we may be out of danger. But place 
 yourself in the midst of the uproar ; can you
 
 STERLING. 177 
 
 rest undisturbed, as if you had no feeling ? 
 Behold at this moment (they were now crossing 
 Bond-street) this emharras of carriages. Observe 
 the rich display, the beauty, the grace within 
 them ; every one moving in a sphere which we 
 seem forbidden even to think of; confined to 
 linsey-wolsey manners, as well as dress; and 
 daring as well to aspire to the moon, as to 
 mix with them; yet Avith souls to enjoy elegance, 
 both of manner and person, as well as them- 
 selves. Confess, does this give you no envy — 
 or, if that is too strong a word, no ambition — to 
 get above your hum- drum lot, and mingle with 
 theirs ? You are but right, believe me, in think- 
 ing that it is not riches or titles that move me ; 
 except as they indicate good company in those 
 who possess them : and good company, I need 
 not tell you, is a positive gain, and to be denied 
 it, a positive loss. 
 
 " We are now trudging home to our homely 
 dinners. Well; I quarrel not with them because 
 they are homely, and I duly value the kind com- 
 panions whom I love, and who will welcome me. 
 But where shall I find, in addition to the feast 
 of appetite, the ' feast of reason and the flow of 
 soul,"* which the men and women of note and 
 fashion, whom we see at this instant rolling in 
 i3
 
 178 STERLING. 
 
 personal elegance to their respective engage- 
 ments, will certainly find ? They are all on tip- 
 toe of expected enjoyment, from the brilliant 
 conversation of the brilliant characters whom 
 they are about to meet, and permitted by their 
 happier fates to join. They mix with them as 
 equals, while we can only slink into the common 
 comforts of common-place life. 
 
 " Is this or not a grievance which a generous 
 mind may seek to remove and to remedy, and 
 not be blamed for it ?"'' 
 
 The emphatic manner which accompanied this 
 rhapsody of Sterling moved Wilson ; for he was 
 himself not insensible to the same feeling v/hich 
 was now described by his friend. But his cool 
 judgment saw at once that Robert had departed 
 from his own question, which was the reasonable* 
 ness of giving to mere fashion the privileges and 
 superiorities which its professors assumed over 
 those whom they impudently thought the pro- 
 fane, and therefore stood aloof from them. 
 
 " I can easily understand," said Wilson, " the 
 feelings you describe, as to the superiority of those 
 banquets which have the distinguished, the well- 
 educated, and the elegant, for guests ; and to see 
 them assembling might certainly make me wish 
 to make one. But Heaven forbid that I should
 
 STERLING. 179 
 
 view them with envy, or regard my own lot 
 and companions as destitute of even the same 
 enjoyments. Mind, manners, and education, are, 
 thank God ! not above us, and where these are, I 
 can enjoy them without the supererogation of 
 plate, French cookery, or rich attire, — which seem 
 all the difference between your banquets and mine. 
 " But we have wandered from our question, 
 which is merely how it happens that the people 
 you have named have power to annoy you ? 
 Where have they acquired it ? By what conven- 
 tion of society, or what law, do they assume it ? 
 Does any such exist ? Is it from their own innate 
 superiority? No ! that would puzzle the deepest 
 moralist to prove. What are their weapons? 
 Wit — learning — science — virtue! No: they have 
 no more of these than the every-day people we 
 live with. Is it power, then, in the state ? Look 
 at them all, thronging the doors of a minister, 
 or humbling themselves at court, to partake a 
 little sunshine themselves. This terrible Lady 
 Trelawney — whom I, and you too, should call 
 my lady fool — had her own head turned by being 
 a kind of upper menial to another woman — a 
 queen indeed, but still a woman. And this, for 
 what I can see, is what chiefly gives her the 
 moral power she has over you.
 
 180 STERLING. 
 
 " Shall I ask another question r — "Would this, 
 could this l3e so, if you did not yourself supply 
 her with arms r Is it not yourself who lay your- 
 self bare, and court from these gentry wounds 
 which, but for yourself, a giant could not inflict r 
 This rod then is of your own furnishing. You 
 have armour that might laugh at it, but you 
 throw it off; you humble yourself before them, 
 and beg, and entreat, and implore that they 
 would do vou the honour of flagellating you." 
 
 " Vou, at least, flagellate with sufficient 
 vigour," said Sterling. '* But go on ; I am de- 
 termined to hear all.''' 
 
 '• I have done,"* answered Wilson, " and will 
 only ask, why am I not as susceptible of all this 
 as you ? How is it that the Tylneys and Tre- 
 lawneys of the world might pass by me by thou- 
 sands, nay, avoid me like the plague, and I not 
 care a farthincr whether they did so or not ? I do 
 
 o 
 
 not know them, nor care to do so. They have, 
 therefore, no power over me : they can only have 
 it bv my own consent : and, saving your presence, 
 I will not be such a fool as to give it. 
 
 *•' But, you will say, shall a man, my equal, 
 or my inferior, presume to think himself my 
 superior ? I reply — Why not, if he keep it to 
 himself.^ We are not disturbed when a madman
 
 STERLING. 181 
 
 does so ; and we must treat coxcombs, male and 
 female, like lunatics. If the exclusive break out, 
 indeed, into open insult, knock him down. But 
 if he confine his usurpation to his own mind, let 
 him see that you value it not ; nay, laugh at 
 him, if there is any thing about him that de- 
 serves laughter." 
 
 '' All very fine," returned Sterling, " and 
 perhaps very true, in the case of such impotent 
 or despicable people as you suppose — persons 
 without worth or merit, or perhaps themselves 
 upstarts : at them I should be the last to take 
 offence, and the first to laugh. But suppose the 
 insulting exclusive a man or woman of real 
 worth, as well as of birth — of really high charac- 
 ter and manners !" 
 
 " My good friend," interrupted Wilson, 
 " your supposition defeats itself Real worth 
 and merit, real high character and manners, 
 would never be guilty of what you impute to 
 them ; and nothing so much shows how blinded 
 you are by your ill-founded jealousy as this 
 inconsequence of reasoning." 
 
 " I am afraid that is true," said Sterling, 
 " But suppose they think disparagingly of 
 you.?" 
 
 Wilson laughed, and replied, " O ! if you are
 
 182 STERLING. 
 
 to resent a thought^ you may have quarrels 
 enough. You may then stand a chance of imi- 
 tating the glorious Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 
 ' Sir, you lie !' 
 
 ' Sir, that cannot be, for I have not spoken a word.' 
 ' I be^ your pardon. Sir, for a man may think a lie, as 
 well as speak it; and I say you lie.' " 
 
 This finale to Wilson's lecture put Robert 
 almost into good humour. He was even disposed 
 to laugh ; and shaking hands with his Mentor, 
 whom he called his matter-of-fact friend, said he 
 would go home and think of it,
 
 STERLING. 1 83 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MR. STERLING IN RETIREMENT. 
 
 " This lodging likes me better, 
 Since, I may say, now lie I like a king." 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 And think of it he did, all the rest of the day, 
 and the next day to that, when, to enjoy his own 
 thoughts the better (perhaps to get rid of the con- 
 trast between Bloomsbury Square and Grosvenor 
 Street), he went to what his father called his 
 hermitage (Mr, Tylney had called it his cockney 
 hermitage), at Lavender Hill. 
 
 Hence he was solitary, if not philosophical. 
 There was at least no citizen intruder, though a 
 good deal of the city air, which seemed to extend 
 all over Clapham, and all the adjoining commons. 
 As the inhabitants however all kept within their 
 own precincts, and there were many families 
 among them who might be really tolerated in 
 Robert's favourite classes of society, he tried to 
 forget that he was at Lavender Hill.
 
 184 STERLING. 
 
 And here we cannot but do justice to that hap- 
 piness of disposition which delights in natural 
 and simple pleasures, wherever found, spite of all 
 that our wayward fancies do to spoil them. 
 With all Robert Sterling's nonsense (and we 
 have seen that he had enough of it), his heart was 
 much alive to these pleasures ; and whatever his 
 moodiness, whether from disappointed hopes or 
 affronted pride, remove him from the object, and 
 place him where the images and attractions of 
 nature might have play, his artificial miseries 
 were forgotten, and his tranquillity restored. 
 Thus, he never could enter a garden, and give his 
 senses to the beauties of its shrubs and flowers, its 
 retirement, its shade, and its walks — promoting 
 meditation and reflection of the most pleasing kind 
 — but all his cares were soothed. The garden of 
 Lavender Hill, cockney as it was, and extending 
 over not above an acre and a-half of ground, in- 
 cludinga small orchard, was yet large enough, and 
 well enough distributed, to afford him always the 
 relief he sought. He was here generally alone, or 
 with only his books, and he confined his person 
 strictly within the paling which shut out this 
 mimic Tivoli from the rest of the world. He was 
 a sort of Vertumnus, or rather old Corycian 
 Senex, and cared not for the towers of CEbalia,
 
 STERLING. 185 
 
 much less for the " Fumum, et opes, strepitum- 
 que RomcE.^^ 
 
 To this spot he now flew, and though it made 
 him blush when he recollected his disengenuous- 
 ness in having represented it as his father's seat 
 in the county of Surrey, still he hailed it as a 
 known and tried refuge from what had even 
 already appeared to him the worry of the world. 
 
 He took a week to recover, and perliaps would 
 not then, if he had expanded himself in the rich 
 neiorhbourhood that surrounded him — Rich- 
 mond, Twickenham, Wimbledon — studded with 
 villas of nobility, and the roads infested with 
 riding parties of fashion,— which now, from the 
 remembrance of those flattering ones at Lang- 
 ston, always plunged him into melancholy. 
 
 Can we wonder, when we recollect that the 
 image of the sylph he had there seen had never 
 departed from him, and, hopeless as he was, 
 continued to be cherished as a part of his heart ? 
 Nor is this surprising, when we consider that her 
 power, personally great, was a thousand times 
 enhanced by the associations of grandeur, ele- 
 gance, rank, and high birth (all his favourite 
 propensities), which always now accompanied her 
 idea. 
 
 His garden, however, contained nothing but
 
 186 STERLING. 
 
 what was soothing. The roses were not capri- 
 cious, the laburnums always smiled, the shade 
 never refused shelter, or the seats repose. 
 
 He felt like a little king. To be sure, his 
 dominions were small ; but he was undisturbed 
 in his sovereignty, and feared no rebellion. In 
 short, from being delivered from rivalry without, 
 he felt at peace within. He had no affronts or 
 exclusiveness, present or expectant, to dread ; 
 and as long as he was thus aloof from the world, 
 he was happy. 
 
 All this generated many reflections, which he 
 turned to profit; proving in this how good it often 
 is (for a young mind especially) sometimes to be 
 alone. It then can weigh, without distraction 
 from strifes or temptations out of doors, the real 
 nature and value of things ; it examines its own 
 proceedings and character ; discovers and over- 
 comes prejudices ; and prepares, with refreshed 
 powers, for the scenes it has still to encounter. 
 
 Such is one of the advantages of temporary 
 solitude, particularly in youth, if youth will 
 submit to it ; and then it is that even youth can 
 discover 
 
 " How charming is divine philosophy, 
 
 Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute."
 
 STERLIXG. 187 
 
 One consequence of this was a resolution (how 
 often made, and how often broken, by many 
 besides himself!) to keep a journal— a fearful 
 resolve, if sincerely kept ; worse than useless, if 
 dishonestly fulfilled. I suppose he was at least 
 not dishonest ; for he never went beyond his pur- 
 pose ; which, to show his opinions, I subjoin. 
 
 " In this,"" says he, " I mean to draw a com- 
 plete picture of myself : the history of my mind 
 as well as my actions ; its operations, contests, 
 changes, improvements, fallings off, progress, 
 tastes, employments, passions. Serious or trifling, 
 the record will show me what I am, and, by con- 
 sequence, what other men are ; so that, by con- 
 stant and minute attention to myself, I shall be 
 able, without actual experience of others, to 
 discover human nature. 
 
 " But the sine qua non is sincerity — a tremen- 
 dous requisite ; for who would deliberately blast 
 his own character ? who frame a standing record 
 of his own weakness or infamy ? No ! I am not 
 such a presumptuous fool as Rousseau. If I can- 
 not, therefore, write good, I will write nothing."* 
 
 • We quite agree with Sterling in this notion of a 
 journal. How many have rued its truth, besides Rous- 
 seau, Laud, Bubb Doddington, Horace Walpole, &c., 
 who very honestly published their weaknesses or villanies 
 to the world. The world are much obliged to them.
 
 188 STERLING. 
 
 Thus, our strange medley of sense and non- 
 sense found relief; and the days he thus passed in 
 the seclusion of his father's garden (far different 
 from what it would have been had his father him- 
 self been there), were at least the most free from 
 mortification, and therefore the happiest, since 
 he had quitted the illecehrcB of Langston Castle. 
 
 On the other hand, to remember those illece- 
 hrcB as he did, was dangerous to his peace. The 
 charm, the grace, the exquisite nature of one, at 
 least, of the ladies he had met there, absorbed 
 all his thoughts, even, as we have said, without 
 a hope to bless them. Yet, strange to say, this 
 very hopelessness prevented his repressing the 
 thought of her. Had he been a duke, and able 
 therefore to pretend to her, he might have 
 balanced upon the conduct to pursue ; but con- 
 demned for ever to distance and silence, and his 
 adoration not even known, he imagined he had a 
 right to build what castles he pleased, so long as 
 they were in the air. 
 
 He was, however, sometimes alive to his 
 danger. 
 
 " I fear," said he once, as with folded arms 
 he wandered through his little wilderness, " that 
 visit did me no good, and Wilson was only right 
 in advising me against it. But in what is he not
 
 STERLING. 189 
 
 always more right than I ? And yet, as he says, 
 he never could have got the prize for the Uteres 
 humaniores. No matter ! though the Langston 
 visit has, as he said it would, made all other 
 things insipid, by showing me such a being as 
 Melusina, it has also told me there are such 
 vulgar great ones as the Trelawneys." 
 
 At this his thoughts took another turn, and 
 all his spleen revived. Like the royal family, 
 indeed ! Acquaintance not to cease ! and then 
 he stamped with vexation, and coloured with 
 anger, though alone ; and in this we own he 
 showed that he had made little progress in that 
 " divine philosophy '' which he had so much 
 souo;ht. 
 
 These, however, were small outbreaks— did 
 not last — became less frequent ; and, to banish 
 them altogether, he set about translating the 
 famous panegyric of Virgil upon the happiness 
 of the farmer, who, if he possess not palaces, nor 
 is flattered by crowded levees, nor clothed in 
 purple and fine linen, enjoys, as is supposed, 
 quiet and independence, and sincerity of cha- 
 racter. 
 
 To strengthen this still more, he pored over 
 Thomson's imitation of it (like most imitations,
 
 190 STERLING. 
 
 weakening the original), but still placing his 
 happy swain 
 
 " Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 
 Scorning fantastic joys." 
 
 He, at the time, agreed too with Thomson, 
 in ascribing to the spoiled children of the world, 
 " A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain." 
 To be sure, also, he preferred 
 
 " A solid life, estrang-'d 
 To disappointment and fallacious hope ."' 
 
 Between Virgil and Thomson, then, the 
 devil's in it if our hermit does not speedily re- 
 cover. 
 
 But was his 
 
 " A solid life, estrang-'d 
 To disappointment and fallacious hope?'' 
 
 The sequel will show.
 
 STERLING. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. STERLING GOES TO HARROWGATE, AND IS 
 NOT COMFORTABLE THERE. 
 
 '* Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye." 
 
 His sojourn in his retreat was cut short by 
 being summoned to attend his mother, who was 
 suffering in health, to Harrowgate, his father 
 being detained in town on pressing business. 
 As he loved his mother, this was a pleasing duty, 
 and they were soon comfortably installed at the 
 Green Dragon. The company, as is known, live 
 together at a tahle-d^hote, and the places are all 
 allotted according to seniority ; so that whoever 
 are neighbours on arriving, continue to be so to 
 the end. His mother being an invalid, lived in 
 her own room, and he had to seek his fortune as 
 last comer, at the bottom of the public table. 
 He lamented the uncertainty of this, in respect 
 of companions, as he was not sure that such 
 chance-comers would suit his ambition. Think
 
 192 STERLING. 
 
 then of his pleasure, on finding himself assigned 
 as a neighbour to a family the most distinguished 
 in the room, and, certainly, from their appear- 
 ance and conversation, of a superior order. Sir 
 William, Lady, and Mr. and Miss Manvers 
 composed the group among whom he was ad- 
 mitted ; but, sad to say, their very names terri- 
 fied him. He was seized with a retiring fit, and 
 having no kind Lord Langston to protect him, 
 was even unusually distressed. Sir William, 
 however, an unaffected country gentleman, of 
 large fortune and plain sense, made his situation 
 as easy to him as he could, by the trifling civi- 
 lities of neighbourhood which he was able to 
 show ; but his lady, w^ho was more stately, or 
 affected to be so, than Lady Langston herself 
 without its sitting so naturally upon her, seemed 
 jealously on the watch against any thing like 
 encroachment on his part ; and, in particular, 
 like Lady Trelawney, changed places with her 
 daughter, when he was introduced at the end of 
 the table by the maitre-cT hotel. Mr. Manvers, 
 her son, measured him with a cold, scrutinizing 
 eye, which was any thing but pleasant to his 
 jealous feelings ; for, though not very refined, 
 he was a man evidently of some fashion in his 
 way. The dinner, therefore, proceeded in the
 
 STERLING. 193 
 
 veriest style of an English dinner, where the 
 guests are unknown to one another, and each 
 seems to suspect his neighbour of the crime of 
 not being good enough to associate with. 
 
 This weighed, indeed, so much with Mr. 
 Manvers, after whispering with his mother, that 
 seeing the mciitre-dViotel near, he left his place 
 to speak to him ; and Robert plainly heard, in 
 part of the mditre-dlioteV s reply, his own name 
 pronounced, with the addition of " sick mother,*" 
 and "son of Sir Robert." With this, Mr. Manvers 
 returned to his place, and shouldered Sir Robert's 
 son a little less than he had done, but still with 
 no advance towards civility. 
 
 When the company broke up, however, and 
 at coffee, there was a considerable change, or at 
 least the looks were not so averted, and the 
 demeanour not quite so distant. Sir William 
 went so far as to say he believed he had 
 known his father at Edinburgh ; which, though 
 doubtful to Robert, as he could not gainsay it, 
 he only received with a bow. 
 
 The truth was, that on Mr. Manvers* report 
 of Sir Robert Sterling, Sir William set him down 
 as the Scotch baronet of that name, and Lady 
 Manvers said he had the air of a gentleman. 
 
 Young Manvers, who had been long trained 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 STERLING. 
 
 to the world, and was what is called knowing^ 
 thought, to use his own expression, that he was 
 rather unlicked. Be this as it may, Lady 
 Manvers so far relaxed her dignity, that seeing 
 him insulated near her table, she asked him if 
 he would take coffee ; and on his expressing his 
 thanks, Honora Manvers poured it out with an 
 air of frankness, which immediately made her 
 rise twenty degrees in the thermometer of his 
 favour. 
 
 In the evening there was a dance, and the ice 
 had now been so far broken, that Miss Manvers, 
 being as fond of dancing as other girls of 
 eighteen, wished to make one ; and her family 
 neither knowing, nor wishing to know, any of 
 the other young men, the advance was not diffi- 
 cult to a still closer acquaintance. 
 
 In short, upon the strength of his supposed 
 Scottish descent, and that alone, Robert Sterling 
 was allowed to dance with Miss Manvers, 
 though, as Lady Euphrasia would have said, 
 faute de mieux. 
 
 In fact, Lady Manvers, who, though some- 
 what of a higher calibre than Lady Wronghead, 
 resembled that lady in her ambition to shine in 
 high London society, and dragged her husband 
 every spring to a handsome house in Berkeley
 
 STERLING. 195 
 
 Square, had been a little anxious, by questioning 
 him about certain of her fashionable acquaint- 
 ance, to ascertain the extent of his own ; and 
 finding him utterly ignorant, was not quite at 
 her ease. 
 
 He was, however, allowed to be happy, and 
 the next day still more so ; for he seemed 
 established of the Manvers party, and Mr, 
 Manvers permitted himself to play at billiards 
 with him, and to win his money with an air even 
 of ffraciousness. He then invited him to his 
 stables, where he condescended to explain to 
 him — what he certainly stood in need of — the 
 merits of two fine horses of his, which had led 
 the field in a neighbouring hunt. 
 
 Passing, however, through the coach-yard, 
 and observing a chariot with only an S upon it, 
 which Robert said was his father's, he asked 
 what were his arms, and v/as a little surprised 
 to find that he did not know, for he had never 
 remembered the carriage with any thing more 
 than an initial. 
 
 Even this made no difference in the behaviour 
 of the Manverses, — which, indeed, became still 
 more encouraging, from Sir William having 
 learned from a Mr. Sydenham, an Oxford 
 graduate, with whom he had made a casual 
 K 2
 
 196 STERLING. 
 
 acquaintance at the Wells, that the son of Sir 
 Robert Sterling was considered there a very 
 promising scholar, and had gained the last prize 
 for Latin verse. 
 
 Both Lady and Miss Man vers were more 
 influenced in his favour by this account ; and 
 another engagement to dance with Honora that 
 evening met with no manner of difficulty, either 
 from the young lady or her mamma. 
 
 But, again, the vanity of sublunary prospects ! 
 At dinner a travelling carriage drove into the 
 inn-yard, and young Manvers exclaimed, " the 
 Trelawneys, by Jove r 
 
 Robert turned pale and red by turns, and in 
 a few minutes a note was brought from Lady 
 Trelawney to Lady Manvers, who it now turned 
 out was her sister, and had been expecting her, 
 which she read loud enough to be heard by the 
 party. " We are arrived, and mean to dine 
 en pnrticulier, but will join you in the rooms, 
 if you don^t come to us before.'"* 
 
 We are ashamed to say how much this affected 
 Robert Sterling*'s nerves. His philosophy was 
 all gone, and with it his defiance of the hollow- 
 hearted Trelawneys. He secretly cursed his 
 unhappy fate ; he wished to escape from Harrow- 
 gate, and but for his mother would have done
 
 STERLING. 197 
 
 so. He then changed, and resolved to meet the 
 enemy boldly, and conquer or die. 
 
 It was in the rooms, however, that the battle 
 was to be fought, where he was engaged to dance 
 with Miss Man vers, and, of course, could not 
 fail, even if he wished it. To this field he 
 proceeded, and had it been a real field of battle, 
 lie probably would not have felt greater palpi- 
 tation. 
 
 Luckily the Trelawneys had not yet appeared, 
 and he saw no signs that any thing had passed 
 about him between the great ladies. He there- 
 fore waited the signal for dancing, to claim his 
 partner, who, on her part, was equally ready to 
 be claimed. Before they stood up, however, 
 the two parties had joined, and Miss Trelawney 
 recognizing Robert, pointed him out to her 
 mother, who gave a faint exclamation of " bless 
 me !" which did not escape her sister. 
 
 " You seem to know Mr. Sterling," said 
 Lady Manvers. 
 
 " Yes I"' returned Lady Trelawney, " I have 
 certainly seen him. Are you acquainted with 
 him.?'' 
 
 " He danced with Honora last night," replied 
 Lady Manvers, " and is going to do so now. 
 His father is Sir Robert Sterling, a Nova Scotia
 
 198 STERLING. 
 
 baronet, an acquaintance long ago of Sir Wil- 
 liam ; so, as he is a good dancer " 
 
 " This is too good,^' said Lady Trelawney, 
 interrupting her ; and then the two ladies entered 
 into a close whisper, and then Honora was called 
 away, just as she was about to stand up, and 
 then Mr. Manvers ; and an earnest conference 
 of two or three minutes ensued, which placed 
 poor Robert upon tenter-hooks. 
 
 He waited the issue with as much fortitude 
 as he could muster ; at last, he was astounded 
 to see Mr. Manvers lead his sister out of the 
 room ; and Lady Manvers, advancing to him, 
 said she was sorry to say her daughter felt so 
 suddenly unwell, that it was quite impossible 
 she could dance with him, or, indeed, dance at 
 all that night. 
 
 Sterling had only to express his concern; 
 but, from the seeming disturbance of the ladies, 
 and a rather angry look of young Manvers, as 
 he led his sister away, it was easy for him to 
 perceive that something had passed in regard to 
 himself, which was the real cause of his partner's 
 indisposition. What it was he could not exactly 
 tell, but his heart beat, almost to bursting, when 
 he thought of it. He had fifty projects to 
 discover it. He would make young Manvers,
 
 STERLING. 199 
 
 or his father, or Lady Mauvers, tell him ; or he 
 would insist upon Lady Trelawney's doing so, 
 who had evidently originated the measure, per- 
 haps from slander, certainly from pride. Either 
 way, he would not submit to it ; either way he 
 was miserable ; he must and would act. 
 
 His action, however, for that night at least, 
 evaporated in a moodiness, if not a sulkiness of 
 behaviour, which we are ashamed to record. 
 He walked up and down the room with anger, 
 and even fierceness, in his looks, whenever he 
 came near any of the Man vers party. On the 
 women he turned his back ; at the men he looked 
 defiance ; and young Manvers he particularly 
 watched, to detect, if he could, any approach to 
 contempt, in manner or countenance, which would 
 have been the signal for instant war. A great 
 diversion, however, was at hand. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess of Derwent, two of 
 the greatest (perhaps the greatest) grandees of 
 England, with a brother of the duke «nd a 
 young sister of the duchess, had been all day 
 expected, in their way to their northern castle ' 
 and all the company of the hotel, particularly 
 the proprietor of it, had been in a proportionable 
 agitation- 
 
 They arrived so^ne hours later than expected.
 
 200 STERLING. 
 
 and finding the evening so advanced, and there 
 being no ceremony as to dress, they just looked 
 in at the rooms before supper. 
 
 The bustle they created may be supposed. 
 Many of the inmates had never seen a duke or a 
 duchess, and crowded with more or less effron- 
 tery, according to their greater or less sense of 
 propriety, to stare and judge. 
 
 The duchess, the most unaffected, modest 
 person, not merely of her rank, but almost of 
 her sex, totally unconscious that she was the 
 object of all this curiosity, walked quietly, lean- 
 ing on her husband's arm, to a bench opposite 
 the Trelawneys. 
 
 What most struck the gazers was the perfect 
 simplicity of her dress and manners, so entirely 
 without presumption, though inimitable, from 
 the natural grace and symmetry of her person. 
 A mere white gown, and little black lace cloak, 
 but showing an elegance of shape that laughed 
 at ornament, and a head totally unadorned, 
 except by the braiding of two dark tresses cross- 
 ing an oval polished forehead, — was all the out- 
 line which this pleasing lady exhibited ; while a 
 straw-coloured silk reticule, suspended from the 
 hand that was at liberty, gave an easy air of 
 occupation to her movements.
 
 STERLING. 201 
 
 Such was this beautiful proof that simplicity 
 can set off even the very first rank in life, as 
 well as the most moderate, 
 
 " And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art." 
 
 To almost all in the room the duchess was a 
 perfect stranger; but Lady Trelawney was happy 
 to think she was favoured with her acquaintance ; 
 that is, her name was upon her visiting-hst, and 
 they exchanged visits, or rather left cards mutu- 
 ally, once in a season. 
 
 This, however, Lady Trelawney naturally 
 supposed would swell into consequence, in such a 
 place as Harrowgate, where there was such a 
 dearth of proper companions ; and the thought 
 glanced rapidly through her mind, that as Der- 
 went Castle was not a very great way off, an 
 invitation might ensue. 
 
 Lady Trelawney, however, did not join the 
 throng of gazers, affecting to laugh at their 
 plebeian curiosity, and resolved, in all due dig- 
 nity, to keep her seat, till those great ones should 
 discover her. 
 
 " They will soon find me out,'' said Lady 
 Trelawney to her sister, looking at the duchess 
 with all her eyes ; " but we must really make 
 room for them, if they come." 
 
 Upon which she desired her son and Sir Wil- 
 K 3
 
 202 STERLING. 
 
 liam and Miss Manvers to move, in order to 
 show that there was sufficient space. Miss Tre- 
 lawney, however, was directed to sit still. 
 
 " I see," said her mother, " there is Lady 
 Elizabeth, whom I want you much to become 
 acquainted with, and who will naturally be glad 
 to sit by a girl of her own age. There is Lord 
 Alfred, too, to whom I should be glad to present 
 Ernest." 
 
 The arrangement, however, was a little inter- 
 rupted, by Lady Manvers filling the vacant space 
 with her very large person, in order to whisper 
 to her sister that this was an excellent time for 
 her, Lady Manvers, to be presented to the 
 duchess ; a thing she had much wished in Lon- 
 don, but had never been able to accomplish. 
 
 " Lord bless me, yes !" said Lady Trelawney, 
 rather hastily ; " but you really must not sit 
 there. I see they have made me out, and will cross 
 over directly, and there will be no room for her, 
 if you take it all up." 
 
 Lady Manvers, dignified as she was, felt rather 
 in an indignant bustle, but did as she was bid. 
 
 All this was a thorough treat to Robert Ster- 
 ling, who heard and saw enough to make it all 
 out, and was not now so raw and inexperienced 
 as not to see that his enemy, Lady Trelawney,
 
 STERLING. 203 
 
 and her stately sister, too, belonged to the class 
 of the great little. 
 
 " I shall have my revenge,"*"* said he. 
 
 And have it he did ; for though the duchess, 
 as Lady Trelawney said, had made her out, and 
 the empty space by her side was most comfortably 
 extended, so as to be as inviting as possible, no 
 advance had yet been made by the great planet 
 to cross the room ; and the whole plan had been 
 nearly overturned by the brusquerie of the wife 
 of a great Yorkshire grazier, who came annually 
 from the moors, to see a little of the polite world 
 at Harrowgate. This lady, having taken a full 
 view of the duchess, whom she was surprised to 
 see so poorly dressed, as she said, and observing 
 the empty space so vigilantly guarded by Lady 
 Trelawney, without ceremony squatted down in 
 it, to her lady6hip"'s great annoyance. It was in 
 vain that this great person looked a thousand 
 meaning things — first angrily, then contemp- 
 tuously, then beseechingly — and, at last, fear- 
 fully, when she saw the duchess about to move, 
 and, of course, to cross over. This last, how- 
 ever, determined her, and, with as much civility 
 as her indignation permitted, she informed her 
 neighbour that the place she had taken belonged 
 to the duchess, and entreated her to move.
 
 204 STERLING. 
 
 " That's impossible. Ma'am,"" said the grazier's 
 lady ; "for I have watched her ever since she 
 came into the room, and she has never been 
 on this side yet. However, if she is a friend 
 of your's, one seat's as good as another to me, 
 and I will move." 
 
 Lady Trelawney, mollified, made her a digni- 
 fied bow, and the intruder quitted the seat with 
 an actual laugh, in which Robert most maliciously 
 joined. 
 
 This, we allow, was exceedingly rude ; and 
 the affronted lady marked her sense of the liberty 
 taken, by looks in which anger and contempt, 
 mingled with something like mortification, were 
 palpably expressed. But all was put an end to 
 by an ominous movement of the duchess and her 
 party, who all got up ; but, instead of crossing 
 over, as was expected, they proceeded towards the 
 door, as if about to retire for the night. This was 
 a blow which could not be borne without an effort 
 to prevent it ; and Lady Trelawney, rising from 
 her seat, hurried to the door, as if she, too, was 
 retiring, in order that, at the exact point of junc- 
 tion, she might give and receive those greetings 
 which she had been so long planning in vain. 
 
 Robert Sterling, who followed her to watch 
 the result, did not envy her position, when, after
 
 STERLING. 205 
 
 infusing as much eagerness of interest into her 
 countenance and manner as they could admit of, 
 and dropping a lower curtsey than ever she did 
 in her life, except to the queen, the duchess, 
 with a politeness, but at the same time a coldness 
 of tone any thing but encouraging, returned her 
 salute, by saying she believed it was Lady Tre- 
 lawney, and hoped she was well. She then with- 
 drew, leaving both Lady Trelawney and Lady 
 Manvers, who had followed her in order to be 
 introduced, perfectly astounded. 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Lady Trelawney, when 
 she recovered, " she must be dreadfully fatigued, 
 and is hurrying away to bed."' 
 
 Now the duchess had only gone to supper; 
 and Sterling again laughed ; for, we are sorry to 
 say, he had now begun to enjoy a sort of triumph 
 in his turn, which he turned to account, when he 
 observed that titles, riches, and fashion left a 
 person, vulgar from nature, as vulgar in her 
 prosperity as the most vulgar of St. Swithin''s in 
 their mediocrity. The picture he had seen made 
 him, from better understanding them, laugh at 
 the pomps and vanities of this wicked world ; 
 and he went to bed, as he thought, once again 
 completely cured of all his silliness.
 
 206 STERLING, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HE DISCOVERS THAT ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT 
 GLITTERS, AND THAT THERE ARE MANY 
 LITTLE AMONG THE GREAT. 
 
 " What did this vanity, 
 
 But minister communication of 
 A most poor issue ?" 
 
 Kenry VIIL 
 
 The next day a fresh triumph, if triumph it 
 could be called, was in store for Robert. Mr. 
 Sydenham, the Harrowgate casual acquaintance 
 of Sir William Manvers, who had informed liim 
 of Robert'*s Oxford reputation, had, it seems, 
 been a very old college companion of the Duke 
 of Derwent, who was glad to meet him again, 
 particularly as he was at that moment anxious 
 to find some well recommended scholar, not so 
 much as a tutor, as a literary companion, while 
 at home, for his brother. Lord Alfred, a youth 
 of seventeen. 
 
 Chance does, or appears to do, many critical
 
 STERLING. 207 
 
 things in this world; for while the duke was con- 
 sulting Mr. Sydenham upon the subject, Ster- 
 ling passed by, and it occurred to Sydenham, 
 who had nobody else in his memory, to mention 
 his name, as having won the under-graduate's 
 prize; he added, that he had been spoken of 
 with favour by Dr. Gaston, and was known to 
 be the friend of Lord Langston. 
 
 By chance, again, it happened that the duke 
 had been himself educated at the same college, and 
 under the same principal. Dr. Gaston. Pleased 
 with Robert's appearance, he observed, he was 
 the very man, and desired he might be intro- 
 duced to him. " If he answers to what he seems," 
 said the duke, " I can easily know from Gaston 
 every thing I wish." 
 
 The only difficulty was, that Sydenham him- 
 self was not acquainted with him. That, how- 
 ever, was soon got over. Oxford, at a distance of 
 above two hundred miles, is a fair passport among 
 its members to one another ; and as Sydenham 
 was a Master of Arts, there was no great liberty 
 in his introducing himself. But when he went 
 farther, and told him that the duke, as an old 
 member of the same college, and who had heard 
 of his prize poem, desired he might be pre- 
 sented to him, Robert was astonished, and
 
 208 STERLING. 
 
 covered with blushes ; he even trembled, looked 
 sheepish, and felt in a dream. The plain manner 
 of the duke, however, restored him. He gave 
 him his hand, asked many questions of his old 
 haunts, and old chief, Dr. Gaston, and by de- 
 grees, as his mauvaise honte went off, Robert 
 found a good deal to approve, and nothing to 
 dislike. To crown all, the duchess and her 
 sister, and Lord Alfred, coming by, he was pre- 
 sented to them, and again admired the good- 
 breeding of real nobility. 
 
 The duke had much of Lord Langston in him, 
 though older ; and the duchess (with the excep- 
 tion of the absence of playfulness, from her being 
 more mature) reminded him sweetly of Lady Me- 
 lusina''s sweetness. We are not sure that the dif- 
 ference in age, and the superior dignity conferred 
 by the marriage state, did not invest the duchess 
 with even still more power over the mind and 
 admiring faculties, though not over the heart, of 
 our sensitive hero, than the youth, radiance, and 
 arch manners of the younger divinity. The diffi- 
 culty of Robert's position, however, was, to know 
 how he got into it ; particularly when, after some 
 hours' separation, and when the duke had in- 
 formed his family of his views founded on Mr. 
 Sydenham's report, the whole party, when they
 
 STERLING. 209 
 
 met again, were still more affable to our hero 
 tlian before. 
 
 His situation with this high bevy did not 
 escape the notice, and indeed the wonder of the 
 Trelawney and Manvers parties, and as little 
 did it escape the jealousy of at least one of their 
 number; for young Manvers had made what 
 might be called a dead set at both the duke and 
 his brother, in the billiard-room and the stable- 
 yard, where he had lavished all his eloquence 
 and knowledge in the praise of the duke^s horses 
 and carriages, but all to no purpose. The truth 
 is, he had the reputation of a jockey, and the 
 duke, both from his own taste, and from pru- 
 dence for his brother, was cautious. 
 
 While this was going forward with the men, 
 the ladies were not idle. The highest point of 
 Lady Manvers' ambition was an introduction to 
 the duchess, and this she insisted upon her sister's 
 carrying for her; while that lady found her own 
 situation with her grace too equivocal to em- 
 barrass it with more than it could bear. Still 
 she had her own reputation, as a leader of fashion, 
 to keep up, and if she could not carry so poor a 
 point as the introduction of so near a relation, 
 her star would be set for ever. 
 
 It is far beyond our power, and we believe
 
 210 STERLING. 
 
 much higher powers than ours, to penetrate the 
 secret motives and latent causes that govern the 
 different phases, aspects, and changes, that in- 
 fluence the orbits of fashionable society. Why 
 one star is to-day to be lord of the ascendant, 
 and to-morrow struck from its course ; why one 
 dignitary is all powerful in one set, and totally 
 powerless in another; what rivalries are occa- 
 sioned by what causes : — wit, taste, politics, 
 party warfare, birth and precedency, court 
 favour, to say nothing of beauty and mental 
 accomplishments — all these have their influence, 
 and divide the world under diff'erent chiefs. One 
 great lady is touchante ; another piqiiante ; 
 another a poetess ; another a novelist ; another a 
 blue ; most of them fine. Among the gentlemen, 
 there is the high courtier ; the high Whig ; the 
 giver of dinners ; the giver of balls ; the affable ; 
 the supercilious ; the sayer of good things ; the 
 sayer of nothing ; the lady'*s man ; the talking 
 man. Among all these, both men and women, 
 there may be acquaintance, but no amity ; inter- 
 course, but no identity : they are separated by 
 jealousy, avoid intimacies, and, among the fine 
 class, covet, or, as the case may be, have a 
 horror of introductions. 
 
 To which class our Lady Trelawney belonged,
 
 STEKLING. 211 
 
 may, by this time, be pretty well guessed ; but 
 nothing shows the precariousness of lier sort of 
 ambition more than that she was kept out of the 
 lead she coveted a whole year, by an unfortunate 
 pun of one of her rivals, who was at the head of 
 the witty class. We have related, that her father 
 owed his fortune to India, and, in fact, chiefly 
 to a great contract for supplying bullocks to the 
 army there during a long war. Now^ Lady Tre- 
 lawney not unfrequently made mistakes in lan- 
 guage, and, one day, a gentleman observing to 
 her rival that she was famous for bulls : " No 
 wonder," said the witty lady ; "for her father 
 had a contract for them in India." 
 
 This spread, and her progress was impeded. 
 Not that she would have cared for the joke ; but 
 the true sting consisted in its perpetuating the 
 knowledge of her origin, which she had no wish 
 to have proclaimed. 
 
 We are far from saying that this squib, which 
 was only made hurtful by the manner in which 
 it was taken, had any part in causing the sort 
 of distance which always prevailed towards Lady 
 Trelawney, on the part of the Duchess of Der- 
 went, to whom we now return. The mind of the 
 latter was too gentle, I had almost said, too 
 simple — by which I mean, too pure — certainly
 
 212 STERLING. 
 
 it was too little tainted by the unworthy squab- 
 bles of pride and vanity — to allow such a trifle to 
 operate in her likes or dislikes. The truth is, 
 that though her immense and uncontested supe- 
 riority of birth, rank, and fortune, gave her the 
 command of the whole world for acquaintance, 
 her own resources and quiet nature made her, 
 from taste, retire within a small, though very 
 select, circle of friends, for her social enjoyment. 
 Once, or at most twice a-year, the magnificence 
 of Derwent House in town was displayed to the 
 higher world ; which made all lesser stars, like 
 our Lady Trelawney, hide their diminished 
 heads. But after that, the gates were closed " to 
 the general," and the task of receiving visitors 
 devolved, for the most part, on the porter. 
 Nevertheless, her own consequence, whether 
 real from personal merit, or adventitious from 
 fortune, accompanied, too, by very high favour 
 at court, made the acquaintance of this great 
 and amiable lady of the first importance to a 
 numerous set of Trelawney s and Manverses, 
 which it was not at all her own wish to cultivate, 
 still less to enlarge. We can assign no other rea- 
 son than this for the sort of coldness she showed 
 towards our ambitious viscountess, and the stu- 
 diousness with which she endeavoured to avoid
 
 STERLING. 213 
 
 the presentation of Lady Man vers, which she 
 plainly perceived was the desire and design of 
 both the sisters. 
 
 Having brought this intricate matter to the 
 intelligible point, we return to the duchess and 
 our hero, whom we have too long neglected. 
 
 The wonder of the whole exclusive party at 
 seeing Sterling's miraculous promotion, for so it 
 appeared, may be conceived. 
 
 " It is extraordinary,'' said the younger IVIan- 
 vers, " how these pushing fellows get on. I was 
 riding in the stubbles an hour ago, and observed 
 this merchant's clerk, or whatever he is — " 
 
 " You forget," said the plain Sir William, who 
 had some justice in him, " that he is at least a 
 scholar, and the son of a gentleman." 
 
 " Of a knight, if you please. Sir : a Knight 
 of St. Switiiin's Lane, but surely no gentleman !"' 
 
 '' I don't know that," returned Sir William ; 
 "at least your grandfather, before he went to 
 India—" 
 
 " O, dear Sir," replied young Manvers, " let 
 us have nothing about blackguard contracts, and 
 bullocks. You, at least, are an old English 
 gentleman ; and how the devil this upstart, who 
 T dare say would pretend to Honora, if we would 
 let him, came to be walking arm-in-arm with
 
 214 STERLING. 
 
 Lord Alfred, and afterwards join the duke and 
 duchess, while we are avoided, and refused their 
 acquaintance, would puzzle a wiser head than 
 mine/' 
 
 " I am glad, Dick,'' said Sir William, drily, 
 " to find that you think in any thing there can 
 be a wiser head than yours." 
 
 Mr. Manvers bowed, and not liking the 
 conversation, sought his mother and aunt, who, 
 with the rest of the family, were preparing for a 
 walk. 
 
 " I declare," said Lady Trelawney, "if we 
 meet this proud woman, I have a great mind 
 not to speak to her. I wish I knew which 
 way she is gone, for I have no desire to meet 
 her." 
 
 Now in this. Lady Trelawney was not abso- 
 lutely speaking false; for with her sister, and 
 her sister's child upon her hands, all counting 
 upon a presentation, her self-confidence gave 
 way, and she wished there were no duchesses, 
 or at least none of such very old families, 
 among the nobility of England. 
 
 " I don't see why we should avoid her, either," 
 observed Lady Manvers, " and I hear they go 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I saw them on the Knaresborough-road,''
 
 STERLING. 215 
 
 said young Manvers, " and perhaps we shall 
 meet the Dutch gentleman with them.'' 
 
 " Ridiculous !" cried Lady Trelawney. 
 
 The Dutch gentleman, however, was with 
 them ; and, to the amazement of the party, was 
 seen arm-in-arm, and in earnest conversation, 
 with the duke. 
 
 " We can go on till they turn,'' said Lady 
 Manvers ; but, to her disappointment, they 
 turned through a gate into a wood, which 
 seemed to belong to a small house in the centre 
 of it. 
 
 Lady Trelawney felt rather relieved. " It is 
 impossible to follow them there," said her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 " I will, however," cried young Manvers. 
 " The keeper at that house has a pointer to 
 sell, and I believe the younker Alfred may want 
 to see it. I almost spoke to him and the duke 
 this morning in the stable-yard, and I should 
 like to see whether they choose to know me or 
 not." 
 
 " Do as you please," said his aunt, testily ; 
 " but I say again it is impossible we can go. It 
 would let us down too much ;" she therefore 
 walked on, and the aspiring but disappointed 
 Lady Manvers felt obliged to follow her.
 
 216 STERLING. 
 
 And thus, as we have before moralized, there 
 is a great vulgar, as well as a little one, and as 
 many humiliations and mortifications among 
 coronets and coaches and six, as in a shop or 
 counting-house, though of St. Swithin's itself. 
 All the difference is in the mind, which is always 
 our own, and determines the happiness or misery 
 of a duke or a dustman. 
 
 Mr. Richard Manvers was by no means satis- 
 fied by his experiment. Certainly it was not 
 for want of pushing it as far as it would go ; 
 for, under pretence of wishing to buy the dog, 
 he mingled himself with all the company, gave 
 his opinion freely and frequently, and did all 
 that volubility, unrestrained by bashfulness, 
 could do, to elicit notice and conversation with 
 the noble party in return. 
 
 The duke had been inexorable before; and 
 the duchess and her sister were disgusted with 
 his flippancy and forwardness. But that nothing 
 might be left unattempted, he all of a sudden 
 became particularly civil to Robert, to whom 
 he bowed, and asked how he did. 
 
 What are we to say of our hero, when forced 
 to record that, with something like a very 
 malignant pleasure, he received this as if it was 
 from a perfect stranger, and continued talking
 
 STERLING. 217 
 
 to the duke, as if he had not noticed the address. 
 No doubt this was a littleness to which he ought 
 not to have stooped. But it is our business to 
 record facts, not to defend them. 
 
 The anger kindled in Manvers by this recep- 
 tion of his advance, added, we fear, to the sweet- 
 ness of Robert's revenge ; and this was still 
 fa^ther enhanced by the duke's saying, though 
 not intending to be heard, " I did not suppose 
 you were acquainted with that person .'' 
 
 Whether Mr. Manvers heard this or not, we 
 do not know ; but, darting a look of excited 
 anger against both the duke and Robert, he 
 left liis errand about the dog unfinished, and 
 departed with precipitation. 
 
 On his return to the hotel, he found his father 
 and mother walking; before the door, and Ladv 
 Manvers asked him eagerly how he had suc- 
 ceeded ? 
 
 " O !"' said he, " I had no wish to make the 
 attempt ; for never in my life did I see people so 
 ill-bred. Lord Alfred seems a blockhead ; the 
 duke not much better; the duchess a prude, 
 and Lady Elizabeth a minx."" 
 
 " It seems,'" said Sir William, with some 
 sourness, " you did not get much by your 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 STERLING. 
 
 scheme ; which, with submission to you, was 
 both a foohsh and a mean one.'"' 
 
 " I differ with you," said Lady Manvers, 
 bridling. 
 
 " It is over,*" cried Manvers, *' and all dukes 
 and duchesses may go the devil for me." 
 
 " Exactly so," observed Sir William, " and 
 so I dare say thinks young Mr. Sterling in regard 
 to us." 
 
 " D — n him," said Manvers. 
 
 " I am not surprised at your imprecations," 
 returned his father, " for I think he beats you, 
 Dick, at your own weapons." 
 
 The causticity of Sir William did not please 
 either his wife or son. 
 
 " I wish," said Lady Manvers, " these people 
 had let us alone." 
 
 " Or rather that we had let them alone," 
 persevered Sir William. 
 
 " We shall see to-day at dinner," observed 
 the lady. 
 
 " They are in a private lodging," replied Sir 
 William ; " so we shall not have the felicity of 
 showing them how angry we are." 
 
 From all this, it should appear that Sir 
 William knew, and laughed at, his wife's foible,
 
 STERLING. 219 
 
 and fully understood the character of his son ; 
 as to both which, luckily for him, he exerted a 
 good deal of philosophy, where other fathers 
 and husbands might have been seriously annoyed. 
 
 The close of this little adventure was extra- 
 ordinary. Sir Robert Sterling joined his wife, 
 who was much better, and both the duke and 
 Lord Alfred were so much pleased with young 
 Robert, that they invited him to accompany 
 them to Derwent Castle, without waiting for 
 Dr. Gaston's reply to the duke's letter ; though 
 the duke did not open to Sterling his ultimate 
 design. 
 
 The Manvers and Trelawney parties were 
 absolutely lost in astonishment, when they 
 beheld the duke's three carriages drive off from 
 the door, into the first of which they beheld 
 Robert Sterling hand the duchess and Lady 
 Elizabeth, and, by the duke's invitation, place 
 himself by their side. 
 
 Whether this success of our hero, however, 
 was a gain to his happiness, whatever it might 
 be to his seeming prosperity, may be made a 
 question. 
 
 l2
 
 220 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 UNEQUAL FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 " Verily, 
 I swear 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers, in content, 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glittering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow." 
 
 Henry Fill. 
 
 It is an old and just observation, that unequal 
 friendships seldom end happily. There are a 
 thousand reasons for this, which we ourselves 
 would give, but that they are better done to our 
 hand in a letter, from the blunt but sagacious 
 Wilson, in answer to one from his mercurial 
 friend. 
 
 Wilson to Sterling. 
 I givey ou joy of having subdued your enemies, 
 but would rather you had had no enemies to sub- 
 due. You have knocked them down, one after 
 another, like children, when they have set up
 
 STERLING. 221 
 
 cards to play at soldiers ; and you and the chil- 
 dren have equal glory, for you both create the 
 enemies you conquer. This, you will say, is a 
 very ungracious answer to what you have in all 
 friendliness communicated. 
 
 But can I too often try to cure the only weak 
 point about you? The foolish people whose 
 defeat you so well describe, were certainly strong 
 enough to vex and mortify you. Could they 
 have done so, if you yourself had not been willing 
 to be vexed and mortified ? " Resist the devil/' 
 they say, " and he will flee from you." So it is 
 with people of fashion, who can only triumph 
 over us when we please to let them. But peace 
 to their manes ! I hope, if I do not trust, that 
 we shall hear no more of them. 
 
 Would I could say that I think you are not 
 in greater danger from causes of a totally oppo- 
 site nature. You were almost ruined from your 
 apprehension of being slighted. May you not be 
 quite so by being too well treated ? Never was 
 independent man so dependent ! Never modest 
 man so proud. Can you not solve the paradox ? 
 or shall I do it for you ? We saw what your 
 high spirit did for your happiness, in putting 
 you in the power of a set of butterflies, to whom 
 you gave consequence enough to let them treat
 
 222 STERLING. 
 
 you ill. What will your self-love now do among 
 the high beings who treat you so well ? 
 
 I tremble for you, Sterling ; for I know your 
 sensibility, and how it runs away with you, 
 whether for good or for evil. You were damaged 
 by your visit to an earl ; what will you be now, 
 in one to a duke ? There is a duchess, too ! all 
 sweetness, all beauty (and oh ! most dangerous 
 of all !) all condescension ! What guards upon 
 yourself will not these require ? 
 
 Suppose you should fall in love ! You adore 
 already at a distance ; and we shall have you, like 
 the warm-brained rascal of Geneva I have lately 
 been reading, kneel down in your hiding-place, 
 where you can see her and not be seen, to indulge 
 in the devotion of your humble worship. Pray 
 heaven the master do not catch you, as he did 
 Rousseau, and send you away in disgrace ! 
 
 But pardon me, good friend; I allow I am 
 savage, when I only meant to be wise. In good 
 truth, though you will hate me for saying so, I 
 wish you had never accepted the duke's invita- 
 tion. Were he a mere great man, or rather 
 grandee, I should not so much fear ; because a 
 good dose of mortification, now and then, might 
 carry off your false pride, by rousing the true. 
 But here, his very good qualities, and still more
 
 STERLING. 223 
 
 those of the amiable woman you describe, involve 
 you in greater danger. 
 
 "Danger of what ?" you will say ; and I think 
 I see you cast my letter from you. But pick it 
 up again and read ; for it is a friend (homely but 
 true) who writes. 
 
 If I know you right, you have a high spirit 
 of genuine independence. You have also a 
 quantum sufficit of vanity. The last may urge 
 and has urged you into situations, in which the 
 first only makes you the more unhappy. But pass- 
 ing the inferior quality, though the superior one 
 may and ought to do good, may it not, by being 
 improperly exposed to danger, do harm to your 
 happiness ? Courage is in itself a virtue ; but 
 does not rashess often involve it in difficulty ? 
 
 Well ; you have now entered a great house ! 
 you are patronised by a great man ! you mix, 
 almost as an equal, not only with him, but with 
 elegant and fascinating women. Their politeness 
 and unassuming natures allow you to know no 
 difference, in treatment at least, between them- 
 selves and you. But are you what you seem to 
 be ? Is your dependence less real, because you 
 are not made to feel it ? Are the duke"'s friends 
 your friends ? Will they ever regard you as 
 more than reader, or very humble companion, to
 
 224 STERLING. 
 
 Lord Alfred ? Are you sure, too, of the latter, 
 as you are of the duke ? He is young, and may 
 therefore be inconsiderate. May he not usurp, 
 and put on the patron, who can retain or dismiss 
 you as he pleases ? And if he do, what rebellion, 
 and therefore annoyance, will not be kindled in 
 your very combustible spirit ? 
 
 Were you an established tutor, the thing might 
 be more bearable. Your duty and your charac- 
 ter are then marked out. Your rights cannot be 
 invaded ; and you will not, by stepping beyond 
 them, be exposed to mortification. But here 
 your position is undefined. You are an indepen- 
 dent gentleman, and yet a retainer. A supposed 
 visitor, and yet (shall I name it ?) an implied 
 hanger-on ! Of all difficult situations, the most 
 difficult to manage I ever knew is this sort of 
 unequal alliance of a humble friend with a 
 powerful one. A thousand little feelings, indivi- 
 dually almost imperceptible on both sides, are 
 to be managed ; the want of due land-marks 
 confounding boundaries and involving mutual 
 discontent. A cold look ; a quicker tone of voice 
 in the superior ; too free a mingling of himself 
 in the inferior ; — how often do all these seeming 
 trifles, minute in themselves, swell into an un- 
 bearable account between the parties, inevitably
 
 STERLING. 225 
 
 most felt by the humbler one. In vain he seeks 
 a friend, to whom he may unburthen himself ; 
 in vain wishes for that cheerfulness which he 
 probably enjoyed when unknown to the ambition 
 that has ruined him. 
 
 " Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever med'cine him to that sweet sleep y- 
 That he owed yesterday." 
 
 In fact, his bed, which 
 
 " Knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care," 
 and seals the eyes of the man not above his con- 
 dition, becomes a restless torment to him who 
 has made himself a dependent. Forgive me if I 
 say, should this turn out to be your fate at the 
 castle, that Bloomsbury, and even St. Swithin's 
 itself, would be heaven in comparison. 
 
 But my preaching does not stop here. Grant 
 that all goes smoothly ; that the duke is always a 
 benignant star ; and that you revel in the sweet- 
 ness of the duchess's smile : — will these send you 
 happier to your home? Will they make your 
 family circle more bearable, whose worth, and even 
 whose affection, great as they are, may possibly 
 not make up for the new, but imperious, wants 
 you will have created for yourself — the refine- 
 ments of elegance and the attractions of rank ? 
 l3
 
 226 STERLING. 
 
 I know that if your mind were as rightly con- 
 stituted, as I trust it will be, there would be no 
 doubt upon this. But is it (excuse me) at pre- 
 sent thus constituted? and if not, will not the 
 difficulty of returning to your place be increased? 
 
 You have lamented that there is not more of 
 cultivation, more of scholarship, among your 
 father's friends, and a better tournure — that is, 
 more of ton — among your mother's. Would this 
 have been a complaint with you, if you had not 
 known Lord Langston, and made one of his 
 family ? And will the inconvenience be remedied 
 by being still more rooted in the duke's ? 
 
 You passed over the strong sense, and real 
 worth, and even the agreeable talents, which 
 many of your natural acquaintances possess, 
 because they do not shine in classic knowledge. 
 How many who do so shine are mere pedants, 
 and not to be compared in usefulness, and there- 
 fore in respectability, with those you pretend to 
 despise, but cannot in reality ? 
 
 Your females, too, are insipid, since you have 
 seen a Lady Melusina and a Duchess of Der- 
 went. But why ? Have those deities (whom I 
 by no means wish to undervalue) better hearts, 
 or better manners, or do they even dress with 
 more natural (I will not talk of artificial) taste.
 
 STERLING. 227 
 
 than your pleasing sister Caroline ? Have they 
 even finer minds, or are they more alive to real 
 cultivation ? I speak not of a variety of lan- 
 guages, or even accomplishments, if unaccom- 
 panied by a power to feel them ; and if they do 
 feel them, can they do so more than the amiable, 
 unsophisticated girl I have mentioned ? Then, 
 as companions, what is the great and only differ- 
 ence between them, but that the one lives in 
 Grosvenor,the other in Bloomsbury Square ; that 
 the companions of the one are, like themselves, 
 titled ; of the other, like herself, amiable. 
 
 There ! I see you despise me, as an ignoramus 
 — as one who has a dull soul. Take care that 
 you do not discover that you have a too sensitive 
 one ; and that, formed as you are for liberal 
 happiness, you have not mistaken glitter for 
 gold, and grandeur for content. 
 
 The Answer, 
 
 I TAKE your letter as you would have me — 
 in excellent part — for I see friendship in every 
 line of it. But are you so right and I so wrong- 
 as you imagine? Is there really such contagion in 
 an unequal alliance as you have painted ? Were 
 all the great, or those who call themselves so,
 
 228 STERLING. 
 
 Trelawneys, or Manverses, or Tylneys, I would 
 say, behold me already cured. I have given them 
 to the winds. But is this so — will this ever be so 
 — with the duke and duchess, with Langston, or 
 Melusina ? and if not, why put on armour where 
 there will be no combat ? Why not be happy in 
 weeds of peace ? 
 
 According to you, we are never to embark in 
 friendships, or form connexions, but with our 
 exact equals. If so, who would ever rise ? Where 
 the great impetus to honourable, to useful ambi- 
 tion ? A tinker's son must be himself a tinker. 
 The misery and impolicy of castes must paralyze 
 Europe as it does India ; and all our faculties 
 sleep for want of employment. Commend me to 
 the reply of an energetic character in a great pro- 
 fession, who eventually became a peer, and who 
 was taunted by a struggling rival with his being 
 the son of a tailor : " Yes, Sir ; and if your 
 father had been a tailor, you would have been a 
 tailor too.'' 
 
 You are eloquent, exciting, and pathetic, by 
 turns, in setting before me the miseries of de- 
 pendence. Think you I want warning ? or am I 
 not rather, as you say, too combustible myself .? 
 Were I to feel slighted, much more affronted, 
 would a finger be necessary to be held up to
 
 STERLING. 229 
 
 make me fly ? No : this you do not think. But 
 my weakness is your strong point. My vanity 
 (it would have been better expressed to have 
 said my ambition, best of all, perhaps, my taste) 
 is, according to you, the rock that will destroy 
 me. I am undermining my natural resources; 
 poisoning the simplicity of my enjoyments, and 
 rendering myself unfit for the moderate lot to 
 which I am destined ! 
 
 That may, or may not be ; but, at least, if it 
 has already been done, neither the duke nor Lord 
 Langston is guilty of it. It is nature, and the 
 education my father has given me, that are to 
 blame, if blame there be. You are wholly wrong 
 in thinking I ever could have relished the society 
 to which you recommend me, their strong sense 
 and worth notwithstanding. And as for the 
 women, name tliem not. I thank you for all you 
 say of Caroline — she is a tolerable specimen of 
 what may be done in her class ; but to compare 
 her to Melusina, still more to the queen who 
 reigns here ! — Goth and Vandal as you are ! 
 " thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.'' In 
 a word, I can renounce society altogether, but if 
 I am to live in it, let me at least have the plea- 
 sure of choosing for myself. You tell me of dan-
 
 230 STERLING. 
 
 gers, and T allow I may fail : my answer is — 
 " Magnis tamen excidit ausis'"' 
 
 After all, it is you who are the proud man, 
 who cannot bear to associate with persons greater 
 than yourself. Observe, and give me credit for 
 my humility. 
 
 Adieu. We shall meet at Oxford, where it is, 
 however, determined that Lord Alfred is not to 
 go. Till then farewell. 
 
 R. S. 
 
 Wilson to Sterling. 
 
 Your letter is a tissue of sophisms. Who ever 
 said that exertion was not to be made, or useful 
 and honourable ambition not pursued ? How 
 different is this from dangling after mere rank 
 and station, however accompanied by manners or 
 condescension. Condescension ! I hate the word. 
 Let the advantages be mutual, a quid pro qico^ 
 and independence is preserved. But a visitor 
 upon sufferance! — in other words, what I have 
 called it, a hanger-on ! Forbid it all spirit — 
 particularly yours. Be assured, in this respect, 
 the duke's butler is far more independent than 
 Lord Alfred's companion. The butler obeys
 
 STERLING. 231 
 
 orders. For tliis he was hired, and there an end. 
 The companion has an equivocal character, 
 which nobody understands. No orders can be 
 given ; yet if wishes are not obeyed, though 
 perhaps they are not even divined, harmony is 
 disturbed, and the implied contract broken. 
 
 You talk of connexions. Do I forbid them ? 
 No : only let them be co/z-nexions. Let not the 
 tie be all on one side ; let the advantage be mu- 
 tual, and draw to one another as closely as you 
 please. Let the duke be proud of you, and want 
 your assistance, and you may be proud to give 
 it. To seek his protection, would be to relin- 
 quish your own. You have already achieved 
 reputation — enlarge it by exertion — establish 
 still farther a character forabilities (it scarcely 
 signifies in what), and you open your own way 
 better than by being gentleman-usher to ano_ 
 ther, though that other were a duchess, or even 
 a queen. 
 
 I will not scold you for refusing Amsterdam. 
 The muse and literature will excuse much — 
 sacrifice much. But then it is with a view to 
 liberty, as the best means of philosophic happi- 
 ness ; not to let the delighted spirit evaporate in 
 the fumes of a tea-table, or the pageant of a 
 drawing-room. If so, the real votary of science
 
 232 STERLING. 
 
 in his garret is happier, becaure more dependant 
 upon himself, than all the Sir Plumes, with 
 golden snufF-box and clouded cane. 
 
 But though I would rather have you wise 
 than merely wealthy, wealth was not the only 
 thing you renounced in renouncing Amster- 
 dam. 
 
 Do you remember Voltaire's comparison be- 
 tween the courtier and the merchant ? " The 
 merchant begins his day by going to his count- 
 ing-house, where he sees a dozen clerks, depend- 
 ing upon him for their decent livelihood ; all 
 industrious, all useful. He opens a pile of letters 
 from all parts of the world, announcing ship- 
 ments of the various commodities necessary for 
 the welfare of his own and other nations, to 
 which his ships fly in all directions, east, west, 
 north, and south ; and these set to work and 
 produce the support of a hundred thousand 
 fellow-creatures, and contribute largely to the 
 revenues, that is, the safety of the kingdom. 
 He then gives directions to his correspondents, 
 which affect the interests of the most distant 
 states — perhaps the politics of kings, and the 
 liberty of subjects; and with careful foresight 
 he regulates the exchanges all over the world. 
 Thus, by his single head, which must be evi-
 
 STERLING. 233 
 
 dently an able one, he influences the condition of 
 millions. 
 
 " Now take the courtier, who begins his day 
 by making his way into the ante-room of the 
 king's bed-chamber. He is all anxiety to know 
 how the king slept, that he may be among the 
 Hrst to spread it among the coffee-houses of 
 Paris. But if he is told that the king slept with 
 the queen, no bounds to his rapture. He envies 
 the lord -in-waiting who presents the king's shirt, 
 and he waits in eager anxiety till the king shall be 
 dressed and come from his chamber, in order to 
 be honoured by a look or a nod. He then attends 
 the levee of the minister ; exchanges bows, and 
 afterwards, if he is of consequence enough, holds 
 a levee himself of half-a-score tailors, ' carving 
 the fashion of a new doublet,** which he hopes 
 may be followed by his brother courtiers. Per» 
 haps he may be admitted to a committee on the 
 Opera ; but if he be present at the reading of a 
 new play, he is in glory. He advances in happi- 
 ness by seeing the king dine, and winds up his 
 useful day by being present at the ruelle.'''^ 
 
 What think you ? Do you not in these pic- 
 
 • These passages may not be in the exact words of 
 Voltaire ; but the substance is correct.
 
 234 STERLING. 
 
 tures recognise many of those you admire in St. 
 James's Street, and shudder at in Cornhill ? 
 AVhich are most to be respected, I will not tor- 
 ment you by asking. 
 
 But if your good sense outweigh your pre- 
 judices, you will perhaps think that Amsterdam 
 might not have been so despicable. Still, as I 
 have said, I would not quarrel with your deter- 
 mination, if it Mas for the sake of the muse, or 
 of ambition of a still more useful kind, in any of 
 the learned professions — the bar, the church. 
 But if merely to bask in court sunshine, and 
 become like Voltaire's hero — perhaps not even 
 that — perhaps not beyond uncle George, who is 
 already on the wane ! No, my good friend ; assure 
 yourself for this you are not made. 
 
 Leave, then, your enchanted castle — tear your- 
 self from the gardens of your Armida — divine 
 though she be — and condescend to be a common 
 person at present, in order to be an uncommon 
 one hereafter. 
 
 Such was the sound advice of the plain-minded 
 Wilson. Was it followed ? We grieve to say, 
 no ! The attractions of the castle — the refine-
 
 STERLING. 235 
 
 ment, the luxury, the polish, the unction to his 
 self-love in the condescensions of the high per- 
 sonages who presided ; above all, the charming 
 duchess, made him like the deaf adder. As to 
 the duchess, what with her real merit, what with 
 her rank, his eyes, ears, and heart told him that 
 Nature, in her, 
 
 " From all that are, took something- good, 
 To make a perfect woman." 
 
 It is very certain that vanity was not the sole, 
 nor even the principal, cause of this effect. We 
 have mentioned his natural bias towards attrac- 
 tions such as were here displayed. He seemed to 
 worship the ground trod upon by a person he 
 thought little less than a divinity. He himself 
 shrank into nothing. He was a sincere devotee ; 
 he worshipped ; he was blind ; he was a fool ! 
 Could Wilson's homely truths have any weight 
 with him ? Alas ! No. To talk to him of the 
 bar, or the church, still more of Amsterdam, 
 revolted him as much as it did Tom the footman, 
 in the Conscious Lovers, when he was in love, 
 to be sent for a tea-kettle. 
 
 It must be owned the victory over the Tre- 
 lawneys was dearly purchased.
 
 236 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MR. STERLING IS AGAIN HUMBLED. 
 
 " When this ring 
 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence."' 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 All things must have an end. The Oxford 
 term approached, and Robert was called to head- 
 quarters. The duke, who had other views of 
 education for his brother, would not hazard him 
 at an English university, and Robert was not able, 
 and indeed was not invited, to accompany him to 
 Geneva, which was his destination for the next 
 year. Sterling, however, was made happy, and 
 I am afraid not indemnified, but damnified for 
 ever, by the assurances of both the duke and 
 duchess, how highly they had appreciated his 
 service, how much they esteemed him, and how 
 glad they should be to see him again. 
 
 This, and a cameo which the duchess took 
 off from her delicate finger, sent him, with some- 
 thing like consolation, into the coach which 
 passed by the castle, and in which, though en-
 
 STERLING. 237 
 
 closed with talkative and well-informed people, 
 for above two hundred miles, he did not utter 
 one single word the whole way to London. This 
 we can conceive; but why he should have viewed 
 a very pretty and modest girl, the daughter of 
 one of his companions, with positive distaste, 
 amounting to aversion, though we can guess, 
 we do not often see developed in the records of 
 human life. 
 
 For the sake of Robert's constancy, however, 
 do not let it be supposed that the duchess alone 
 absorbed him. His thoughts the whole journev 
 through were occupied by a comparison between 
 her and his first and only love, who had all his 
 heart, though the duchess possessed at that time, 
 most of his mind. 
 
 Behold, then, our hero now a second time at 
 Oxford : but oh, how changed ! Three months, 
 — three little months ! Strange that we should 
 be such puppets, so entirely in the power of the 
 springs and wires of the world ! What had not 
 passed since he left his college with Lord Lang- 
 ston, to make his essay in high life. At that time 
 he was the timid, nervous, conscious novice, 
 whom the mere glance of a man of condition, 
 much more a woman, filled with alarm. He now 
 arrived with his high soul elevated to its highest 
 pitch. The standard by which he measured
 
 238 STERLING. 
 
 every thing was nothing less than ducal. A 
 countess was no longer a goddess : for he had 
 seen, nay, had been tolerated by a duchess. He 
 still loved Lord Langston, he still reverenced 
 his mother, still thought his sisters charming ; 
 but they were no longer exclusively so. Above 
 all, he had found that a viscountess, though 
 pretending to the highest fashion, could be as 
 little, and as liable to be mortified, as ever he 
 had been himself. 
 
 One good effect which this had upon him was, 
 that he could now look at a velvet cap, and even 
 a gold tassel, without fear, and he even longed to 
 meet the man he had most avoided, and most 
 feared, in order to show with what vigour he 
 could shoulder him. Tylney, indeed, possessed 
 his eternal hatred, as did all others who had ever 
 shown a disposition to cut him ; while tlie 
 slighest inclination to civility, or good- will, much 
 more any expressed approbation or praise of any 
 kind, was, in his inmost feelings (often without 
 knowing it), never forgotten. This, you will say, 
 was, either way, prejudice ; but there are such 
 prejudices. 
 
 The change which the Langston visit had 
 begun, and which Castle Derwent had perfected, 
 now began to show itself. To be sure he was 
 still in a stuff gown, and his cap still of cloth ;
 
 STERLING. 239 
 
 but his countenance was no longer daunted, and 
 his figure was more erect. He of course waited 
 immediately upon the Principal, to thank him 
 for the good report he had made of him to the 
 duke, and the Principal, as usual, received him 
 kindly : that is, he gave him two fingers, and 
 said, " You are not the person I am the least 
 glad to see.*" In answer, however, to his thanks, 
 he observed, " I did you but justice with the 
 duke ; but whether I have done good or harm 
 to yourself remains to be seen. There are minds 
 that cannot bear elevation ; take care that your?^ 
 is not one of them." 
 
 Robert was struck : and could it have been 
 possible for Dr. Gaston to have had confidential 
 communication with a bachelor, educated at 
 Merchant Taylor's, he would have supposed he 
 had been consulting his friend Wilson about 
 him. However, this led to farther discussion ^ 
 both as to his plans and state of mind, and, in 
 particular, the Principal asked whether the divi- 
 nities of Langston Castle had done him no harm ''i 
 
 Robert looking surprised, the doctor added : 
 " My question arises, I assure you, out of inte- 
 rest for yourself. You have much sensibility, 
 and we know how a taste and distinction in letters 
 can level all other distinctions in the minds of
 
 240 STERLING. 
 
 those who possess them. I do not suppose, with 
 all the vanity, or, as you would call it, the high- 
 mindedness, that belongs to you, you would be 
 such a simpleton as to fall in love with one of 
 the Lady Langstons; but if you have, hide 
 yourself in the bottom of the sea, for you never 
 will succeed, any more than others far beyond 
 you in birth, fortune, and degree.*" 
 
 Robert coloured with something like pique, 
 although he confessed the sagacious doctor might 
 be right in his judgment. " How is it,"" thought 
 he to himself, " that I never can appear before 
 this man except to be humbled ? However, he 
 seems to mean me well."' He then asked if he 
 might know to what, or to whom he alluded ? 
 
 " To what, if you please," returned Dr. Gas- 
 ton, " but not to whom. In truth, then, having 
 heard of the witcheries of these ladies, and know- 
 ing that your nonsense about rank and elegance 
 would only endanger you the more, I think it 
 right to tell you, that with all their affability 
 and playfulness, which I myself have witnessed, 
 and with all the plain worth and sense of their 
 brother, they are all, including Lord Langston 
 himself, as alive as most, nay, more than most 
 of their rank and family, to the misfortune 
 (they would call it the degradation) of a mis-
 
 STERLING. 241 
 
 alliance. But possibly, though vanity blinds 
 one, and their condescension to you was, as I 
 am told, very great, you may have observed 
 some latent spark of self-consequence, under all 
 the unbending which a country residence, and 
 the want of other company, prompted." 
 
 Faute de mieux, thought Sterling, and he 
 fairly recounted that expression of Lady Eu- 
 phrasia to the Principal. 
 
 " I am glad you had the sense and tact to 
 observe it,"" said the doctor. *' It was, indeed, 
 this lady's conduct that I glanced at, at first ; 
 for, having trifled a whole summer, faute de 
 mieuo!, with a very rich, but not illustrious 
 baronet, sprung from trade, and he having, 
 upon the strength of it, offered hinriself and a 
 beautiful park to her disposal, her answer was, 
 that she should like the park, but without the 
 master." 
 
 " Very unworthy !" said Sterling with some 
 indignation. 
 
 " True," observed Dr. Gaston ; " but I men- 
 tion it to shew you that, under the most correct 
 good-breeding, and seeming condescension, where 
 there is real pride at bottom, it will certainly 
 show itself. The very condescension which so 
 beguiles us is pride, and you would miserably 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 STERLING. 
 
 deceive yourself if, by a high match, you thought 
 you could ever be more than Adrian Stokes, the 
 mean gentleman who married a princess of the 
 blood." 
 
 Here the trenchant doctor pointed to an engrav- 
 ing, by Vertue, of the Duchess of Suffolk and 
 her husband Stokes, ^'a. mean gentleman,"" — with 
 this appropriate inscription : 
 
 " Cloth of g-old, do not despise, 
 
 Thoug-h thou art match'd with cloth of frise ; 
 
 Cloth of frise, be not too bold, 
 
 Though thou art match'd with cloth of gold !" 
 
 " In the instance I have given you,*' added 
 the Principal, "even your friend Lord Lang- 
 ston, modest as in most things he certainly is, 
 was here keenly alive to the loss of caste which 
 would have ensued, had a mere milhonaire, with 
 at best an inferior title, presumed to match him- 
 self with his cloth of gold. He had his fears for 
 his sister, for the settlements offered were magni- 
 ficent. But she was as true to her blood as him- 
 self, and the baronet had the sense to console 
 himself with one more upon an equality witli 
 him in point of rank. When your time comes for 
 marrying, " go thou and do likewise.**' 
 
 He said this with such good-humour (for 
 Robert, from his talents and unartful display
 
 STERLING. 243 
 
 of all his feelings, had become no inconsiderable 
 favourite), that the young man could not help 
 wishing to prolong the conversation, and mal- 
 adroitly enough observed, that the anecdote only 
 concerned Lady Euphrasia. 
 
 " Oh," said the Principal, " I see how the 
 land lies ; indeed I knew it long ago. But be 
 assured that though Lady Melusina was glad to 
 hear you quote Spenser on the nightingale, and 
 danced with you, not merely because it was 
 faitte de mieuoc, — in regard to love and marriage, 
 and all that youngsters think should level all 
 conditions, she is the countess'*s daughter, and 
 the EarFs and Lady Euphrasia's sister. Miss 
 Sycamore gave you very good advice. So now 
 get ye gone."*' 
 
 At this, he almost thrust the poor martyr out 
 of the room, who went to his own, lost in won- 
 der to know how this magician (for such he 
 seemed), could know so much of him. 
 
 That the reader may not wonder too, it is but 
 right to tell him that Miss Sycamore was a cou- 
 sin only twice or thrice removed from the doctor, 
 who esteemed her for her shrewdness, and even 
 corresponded with her, that is, whenever his 
 usual policy made it necessary for him to obtain 
 any information which she had power to give. 
 M 9.
 
 244 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HE TRIES TO BECOME A LAWYER. 
 
 •' The hideous law, 
 I never yet could frame my will to 't, 
 And therefore frame the law into my will.*' 
 
 Henry VL, Pt. I. 
 
 However improved, our aspirant would have 
 been happier had he found his friend Lord 
 Langston in college when he returned to it. 
 But having taken a degree, honoris causa, he 
 had fled to the Continent, and with him fled 
 what would have been a support, still somewhat 
 wanted by the knight of St. Swithin's. 
 
 To be sure he was many degrees higher than 
 he had been. He had advanced at least a 
 couple of years in the manners of the world, 
 particularly of the high world. He no longer 
 blushed when a gentleman-commoner spoke to 
 him, and many did now speak to him on the 
 strength of his rising reputation. He had been 
 first in Classics; he was now first in Mathematics, 
 and bade fair to be the same in Logic; and he rose
 
 STERLING. 245 
 
 proportionably higher in favour with the Princi- 
 pal. But all this (to use the words of our general 
 motto) availed him nothing, so long as he saw 
 Mordecai the Jew sitting in the king's gate. 
 
 We humbly beg pardon of Mr. Tylney for 
 comparing him to a Jew; but he, we confess, is 
 the person meant by the Mordecai we have men- 
 tioned. If he like it better, we will say he was 
 the nightmare, which, spite of all his struggles, 
 still haunted the aspiring Robert, and pressed 
 him down like an incubus as he was, with peine 
 forte et dure. 
 
 Wilson too had departed, to exercise his sense 
 and sagacity on his own behalf, at LincolnV 
 inn, where at least mauvaise honte never comes, 
 and the only rank acknowledged is derived from 
 ability. Sterling was, therefore, left completely 
 to fight his own battles; and with all but this 
 thorn in his side, Mr. Tylney, it must be owned 
 he fought them well. 
 
 There was an insolent sneer about this gentle- 
 man, which even the known shallowness of his 
 attainments could not always disarm. On the 
 part of a very nervous person, such as our St. 
 Swithin friend, especially if like him he w^anted 
 the moral courage of getting the better of his 
 adventitious disadvantages, it was most severely 
 felt. The placid ignorance of Tylney in no wise 
 interrupted, it perhaps enhanced, the cool super-
 
 246 STERLING. 
 
 ciliousness with which he viewed almost every 
 body, equals or inferiors, but especially the last ; 
 exemplifying in this how true it is, that one of 
 the unbearable evils of life are 
 
 " The spurns 
 Which patient merit of the unworthy takes." 
 
 The success which had attended his first attacks, 
 when he gave Robert the nickname of the knight 
 of St. Swithin's, and the applause he received 
 from his low-born satellites, who ought rather 
 to have made common cause against him, en- 
 couraged him to go on. He found Robert vul- 
 nerable beyond hope, and he built much of his 
 reputation upon thus smoking, as he called it, 
 the freshman. The zest of this accompanied him 
 in his visit to Langston Castle; and though it was 
 repressed by Lord Langston, yet finding willing 
 hearers in the Trelawneys, and perhaps in Lady 
 Euphrasia, to say nothing of the absence of the 
 party concerned, he indulged to the utmost such 
 powers as he possessed, at the expense of the 
 citizen aristocrat. Returned now to college, he 
 found his old butt, though with a new face; 
 and having long ascertained his weak point, he 
 practised all the arts of ex clu si veness against him 
 — strange to say, with success. If they met in 
 company, he sneered ; if in the quadrangle, he 
 sneered ; if in the hall, where he sat at a high 
 table and passed Robert at a low one, he exceed-
 
 STERLING. 247 
 
 ingly sneered. Was this to be borne by a man 
 who dared to admire a Lady Melusina, from a 
 man who talked of a " wooden muse P""* Yet 
 such, in Robert's mind, was the power of rank 
 and family, to which he knew he never could 
 aspire, that, though he could have felled him 
 with pleasure with his fist, in a war of looks, of 
 manner, of insolent assumption of superiority, 
 he was paralysed, helpless, and subdued. We 
 wish, for the honour of human nature and St. 
 S within, that this was not so ; but the truth of 
 our history compels the avowal ; and, in good 
 sooth, by this one silly weakness, the whole life 
 of a man, in many things so superior, was capable 
 of being embittered, through the accidents of a 
 conventional mode of being, by a person who, 
 left to himself, would have been utterly without 
 significance. 
 
 We must leave it to philosophers and reformers 
 to settle this anomaly ; but such it is, and so 
 our hero felt it ; nor did the fault ever depart 
 from him in after life. So great a disadvantage, 
 indeed, with one of Sterling's particular character, 
 is the consciousness of being under-hred, that 
 we have known men of first-rate abilities, in 
 different professions, slink into nothing when 
 taken out of them, and yield the palm of ease to 
 impudence and inanity, even greater than that 
 of the honourable person whom we are describing.
 
 248 STERLING. 
 
 We could possibly indulge in a great many 
 wise reflections on this, — or, at least, tell what 
 others have said about self-independence, and 
 the true value of things ; by which we might 
 read a lesson to a Sterling how to meet the dis- 
 dain of a Tylney. But we find it so well done, 
 and in so plain and simple a manner, by a mere 
 caricature, which any body may see for nothing 
 on passing a print shop, that we shall adopt it, 
 and thus save ourselves and our readers a great 
 deal of trouble. 
 
 Two persons, a French marquis and John 
 Bull, are sitting snarling at one another. The 
 marquis, all lace and ruffles, is taking a pinch 
 of snuiF, and looking with exquisite disdain at 
 John, exclaiming, '* Vous etes une beteT to which 
 Bull, with quite as much contempt, and perfect 
 indifference, bawls out, " You be d— d !" 
 
 Were we to rack our brains till Doomsday, we 
 could not give a better account of the matter. 
 
 But though Sterling said, " You be d — d !'' 
 with excellent good-will in his heart, it was not 
 with indifference. He would have given much 
 to have fastened a quarrel upon Tylney ; erected 
 his chest whenever he met him ; turned his back 
 if in the same room with him ; and committed 
 other fooleries, which denoted his sensitive cha- 
 racter, and the power which this fashionable 
 blockhead had over him. But the dandy knew
 
 STERLING 249 
 
 better than to push things to open war. Positive 
 insult was never offered, and the disdain which 
 occasioned so much uneasiness, being mental, 
 could only be suspected ; and while this was so, 
 Tylney was safe. Besides, if he had been a 
 bolder man than he was (as he was once known 
 to say), he could have derived no honour from 
 shooting, or being shot by, " the Dutch gentle- 
 man." Things, therefore, remained as they were, 
 and our hero was no hero towards a man a hun- 
 dred times his inferior. 
 
 From this state he was at last, and only by 
 that circumstance, relieved, by the departure of 
 his enemv from college. 
 
 He now breathed somewhat freer. His studies 
 went on ; he became more and more considered ; 
 and his prospects would have opened fairly, if he 
 had known how to shape them. The Principal, 
 still his friend, begged him to decide — the Church, 
 the Bar, or Tuition. He was lost in difficulties, 
 but not such as are commonly experienced. His 
 judgment was balanced, not by the usual esti- 
 mate of their respective advantages or disadvan- 
 tages as to the means of advancement in the road 
 to fortune or power, but by the facilities which 
 they might afford to his almost only ambition — 
 the enjoyment of the best company. The visions 
 which had been opened to him at Langston Castle 
 and Castle Derwent had never been one moment 
 m3
 
 250 STERLING. 
 
 forgotten. He was not, indeed, so foolish as to 
 foster his passion for Lady Melusina with hope ; 
 but the images, manners, and conversation, of 
 both her and the duchess were always alive in 
 his memory ; by their standard alone he mea- 
 sured all other beings; and he could contemplate 
 no success with pleasure which did not hold out 
 a hope of bringing him in some measure on a 
 level with those divinities of his fancy. 
 
 Hence, though a bishopric k was a very good 
 ultimate object if he entered the church, his 
 primary consideration was, in what walk of 
 society he was to pass the long interval of his 
 passage to it. Though he thought, too, it 
 would be a fine thing to be a Chancellor, and 
 lead the House of Lords, much its greatest 
 attraction was the rank in the world, and the 
 intimacies with the great, which it would create ; 
 and this he must wait for many a long year, 
 probably to be disappointed at last. 
 
 Then as to tuition and university honours, 
 which the Principal, from his own success, re- 
 commended ; — though Robert had no objection 
 to succeed too, yet all was to depend upon the 
 nature of his situation with, and the rank and 
 consequence of, his pupils. Thus some eminent 
 men had been preceptors to princes of the blood, 
 and combined a court life with the delights of 
 learning. To this he would have no objection,
 
 STERLING. 251 
 
 but did not dare let out that ambition to the 
 Principal. 
 
 As to tuition in the families of inferior rank, 
 even of nobility, though, quasi nobility, it might 
 be tolerable ; yet he had been terrified by an 
 account of a very promising scholar in the 
 college, who had been twelve months established 
 in the family of a marquess, but left it from 
 the shocks that had been given to his self- 
 consequence. " I had expected," said this 
 preceptor, '• to dine at table with my pupils ; 
 but was turned over to the governess, who 
 treated me completely en egal, nay, gave hints 
 of hopes and expectations, which might end in 
 something to our mutual advantage, the very 
 thought of which drove me out of the house. 
 Then, though there was a footman appointed to 
 attend upon our table, and upon me personally, 
 I could never get the fellow to do his duty. It 
 seems his brother footmen did not admit that he 
 was of the same rank as themselves, as they 
 served my lord and my lady — he, only what 
 they called a rum tutor. Who could stay in 
 such an atmosphere ? who would not prefer his 
 potatoes, his liberty, and his books at home .''" 
 
 This completely determined our Robert in 
 regard to a proposal, which the Principal thought 
 sufficiently good to make him. The son of a 
 great coal-owner in the North, who rolled in
 
 252 STERLIXG. 
 
 thousands, was offered to his entire super- 
 intendence, with a stipend of ,£'400 a-year, 
 a quarter of it to be secured for life. But, what- 
 ever Sir Robert thought of it (and he thought 
 it, to use his own expression, not to be sneezed 
 at), young Robert despised it as pelf; and as 
 the coal-owner was, in his eyes, scarcely a gentle- 
 man, and his daughters any thing but Melu- 
 sinas, he rejected it with disdain. 
 
 For this he was well rated by the prudent 
 Sir Robert, who began to fear that learning was 
 not the productive thing, he was told it was 
 when he sent his son to college. He, however, 
 viewed the progress of his friend's son, Wilson, 
 with approbation, to whom the law seemed to 
 promise great things ; and he informed Robert, 
 that if he would tread in his steps, money should 
 not be w^anting. 
 
 Tread in his steps ! Alas ! we fear it was too 
 late. He loved Wilson, or rather esteemed him 
 beyond all men ; but he did not love him as he 
 did Lord Langston. 
 
 AVhy was this ? He could not tell. Can the 
 reader ? 
 
 Well : considering the great prizes of the 
 law, — peerages, wealth, and the very height 
 of fashion for his posterity, — he thought he 
 would make a trial ; and, having now done with 
 his course at Oxford, and taken a high degree.
 
 STERLING. 253 
 
 he communicated his resolve to his excellent 
 friend the Principal, who, from his continued 
 progress in all academical learning, his honour- 
 able candour, perhaps even his very weaknesses 
 (which so much required the assistance of exactly 
 such a protector), had become more and more 
 attached to him. 
 
 The doctor highly approved, and desired that 
 on all necessary occasions he would continue to 
 consult him ; and with this encouragement, he 
 again became the fellow-student of Wilson ; 
 if so he could be called, in regard to one 
 greatly advanced before him in their common 
 object. 
 
 In Wilson he was sure to find an able adviser; 
 and sure it was, he much wanted one. The 
 chambers of his special-pleading tutor, to whom 
 his father, according to promise, laid down 
 another hundred, seemed to him the Black-hole 
 of Calcutta ; and, sooth to say, Brick Court, in 
 which they were situated, has sometimes appeared 
 to ourselves not much better. The whole neigh- 
 bourhood of the Temple, — gardens, fountain and 
 all, — seemed to him of the same melancholy 
 character ; for who were ever to be seen in 
 those gardens but vulgar nursery-maids, sunning 
 the children of vulgar lawyers, inhabitants of 
 St. Dunstan's and St. Clement's Danes, and all 
 the variety of filthy courts, alleys, and second-
 
 254 STERLING. 
 
 rate inns, which so swarm in that, to him, 
 despised and hideous quarter. 
 
 Yet in this he was somewhat different from a 
 late departed genius, who once gladdened a 
 numerous bevy of polite scholars, enthusiastic 
 poets, and brilliant wits ; Avhose taste would not 
 have disgraced that of our bewildered friend, 
 and who, nevertheless, born in the smoke of St. 
 Dun Stan's, thought the Strand, as Johnson did 
 Fleet Street, the best, if not the only quarter in 
 which could be encountered the full current of 
 life. 
 
 Such was the feeling of Charles Lamb, once 
 dear to his friends, and still dear to the thinking 
 or humorous world.* 
 
 Bloomsbury Square was, indeed, of a some- 
 what better character. But of Sterling's opinion of 
 
 • Charles Lamb, of conversational and literary cele- 
 brity, born in the Temple, bred at Christ's Hospital, 
 and a mere clerk in the India House ; but the friend 
 and favourite companion of Coleridge, Southey, 
 Wordsworth, and Hazlitt. 
 
 During the early part of his life, he scarcely ever 
 stirred, not merely out of London, but out of the 
 precincts of Temple-Bar and the City. Yet he had 
 a flow of soul equal to that of the finest geniuses, and 
 superior to most of the deities of White's or Boodle's. 
 
 It is said he retained his love for St. Dunstan's and 
 the neighbouring town streets, nay, the very smoke of 
 London, to the last, because it was the medium most 
 familiar to his vision. (Vide his Memoirs.) 
 
 How
 
 STERLING. 255 
 
 that equivocal (it is now a most unequivocal) 
 quarter, we have already given some surmises ; 
 and the whole law neighbourhood, whether 
 under the name of square, place, fields, or row, 
 gave, to his now-refined imagination, the indi- 
 cations of so many dungeons. 
 
 The mental exercises at the desk of a special 
 pleader, after the liter ce htimaniores, were 
 sufficiently nauseous. But this was the least of 
 the suffering: for after the labours of the day (and 
 they were heavy) were over, the relaxation only 
 made the labour worse when he returned to it. 
 It had been hinted to his father and mother, that 
 it was of inestimable advantage to future Lord 
 Chancellors and Judges, to cultivate the families 
 of those of the present time; and, to Robert's 
 eternal dismay, the cards to and from Lincoln's 
 
 How well for Robert Sterling, if he could have said 
 the same of St. Swithin's. 
 
 There is a sketch in * Elia,' of the old abandoned 
 South Sea House, and all the associations which, 
 though now empty, it conjures up — which is equal to Ad- 
 dison, (and superior to the best of Washington Irving's). 
 In six or seven pages, it shev/s an observation and 
 knowledge of the world, and of human life as it exists, 
 or existed in times gone by, and that in a style quite 
 taking to the heart, such as is to be found in few con- 
 temporaries. It alone would stamp him with an impress, 
 though born in St. Dunstan's, which Sterling, had he 
 been ever so successful, could never have reached.
 
 256 STERLING. 
 
 Inn Fields, Bloomsbury Square, and Bedford 
 Row, were multiplied upon his mother's table, 
 till the sight of them gave him the jaundice. 
 
 An attempt was made, after office hours, to 
 seek higher fortune on horseback in the Park. 
 But as office hours recommenced at six, and 
 there was dinner in the interval, this, too, was 
 effectually circumvented ; and the grief and 
 disgust of our unfortunate tyro in law were 
 still more consummate than they had been in 
 the tyro at college. 
 
 The distress became most serious. He knew 
 not where to fly for comfort. Far from giving 
 it, nobody could enter into his feelings. Even 
 Wilson failed him : their elements, originally 
 different, had become incompatible. 
 
 In this unhappy state, bemoaning his desti- 
 nation, yet afraid to recede, — dead to all the 
 great interests, the liberal views, the research, 
 the magnificent objects involved in the study he 
 had embraced, — the ruling passion of his soul 
 paralysed every other. He longed, he pined for 
 the elysium of the castles of Derwent or 
 Langston ; the sight of a lady on horseback, 
 particularly if the steed were a white one, 
 thrilled him with emotion ; and a ducal coronet 
 chained up his official faculties, so as for a whole 
 day to render him perfectly useless. 
 
 Mr. Longbottom, his master, saw fully how
 
 STERLING. 257 
 
 little his mind was where it ought to be; and, 
 after having neglected office hours for a month, 
 and marred every plea intrusted to him, this 
 prince of special pleaders, being a conscientious 
 man, fairly told Robert's father that his son 
 would never make a lawyer. 
 
 " What the devil will he make P'** was the 
 emphatic reply. " However, if you discard 
 him, I suppose you will return a proportionable 
 part of the premium."" 
 
 Mr. Longbottom replied, that was a thing 
 never done; and saying he might attend the 
 office if he pleased, took his leave. 
 
 The consequence was a long coolness between 
 the father and son, and a threat on the part of 
 the former to stop the supplies.
 
 258 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HE TRIES DIPLOMACY. 
 
 Go forward, and be choaked with thy ambition !" 
 
 Henry VI. Part i. 
 
 It will be recollected that this eventful history 
 opened with a conversation between Sterling and 
 his sister Caroline — a pleasing natural girl, who 
 knew nothing of finery. The scene was Hai'wich, 
 and Robert had been left by the sea-shore, pon- 
 dering his miseries and disappointments in soli- 
 tude. We have now come to that blank epoch in 
 liis life, and would we could say that the dis- 
 order which had destroyed all that was healthy 
 in him, was at all in a way to be healed. Little 
 progress indeed had he made towards a cure, 
 though he wanted not the sense to point out 
 where it lay. 
 
 But his fate pursued him every where. The 
 only society he would cultivate, either rejected 
 him altogether, or, by not admitting him on his 
 own terms (for he was too proud to be merely 
 tolerated), forced him to reject them. On the
 
 STERLING. 259 
 
 other hand, those who would have held his 
 acquaintance an honour, were, in his mind, 
 either deficient in station, pursuits, education, 
 or manners, such as alone could make him 
 happy. The consequence was, that the poor 
 gentleman was in a fair way of having no friends 
 at all. 
 
 The duke seemed to have forgotten him 
 through two seasons in London ; though, as he 
 knew not what had become of him, and our 
 gentleman was too much on the qui viveto present 
 himself at his door uninvited, we see not how 
 he could have remembered him in the way which 
 Robert required. 
 
 His other great friend. Lord Langston, had 
 not yet returned from the Continent ; and as the 
 same jealousy of temper which always pursued 
 him overcame all temptations, great as they 
 were, to call in Grosvenor-square (perhaps a 
 little fear of the faiite de mieux aiding and 
 abetting), he remained a mortifying instance of 
 what an ill-regulated self-love, or foolish pride, 
 can effect, to the destruction of many excellent 
 natural qualities. 
 
 Things, however, began to look better. While 
 he was at Harwich, Lord Langston arrived from 
 abroad, and called inBloomsbury-square, leaving 
 a letter desiring to see him. We may suppose that 
 he instantly returned to town, though against his
 
 260 STERLING. 
 
 father's wishes, who declared he should make 
 no more wild-goose chases after lords. Bat this, 
 with Lady Sterling's help, was overruled. 
 
 To do Lord Langston justice, notwithstand- 
 ing his Norman blood, he was unaffectedly glad 
 to see his friend ; and after the usual mutual 
 inquiries were over, he observed, he was sorry he 
 had given up his thoughts of the bar, and par- 
 ticularly for the reason he had given. " You 
 might as well object,"*' said he, "to the noble 
 profession of arms, because a soldier has often 
 to make very dirty marches, or live in very 
 dirty barracks. However," added Lord Lang- 
 ston, " a law education, though not completed, 
 can never do harm, and it might be beneficial 
 towards another profession which I ha\e some- 
 times thought, particularly while abroad, would 
 suit you. What think you of diplomacy ? Not 
 only it will exercise your talents, but, from 
 the perpetually mixing yourself with courts and 
 company of all sorts, it will cure you of all your 
 jealousies and nonsense, which used, you know, 
 to interrupt your comfort." 
 
 Sterling was delighted. He liked the propo- 
 sal, and, we ought to say, liked Lord Langston 
 still more for this proof of his remembrance. 
 But how was the project to take effect ? 
 
 " Why, there may be some difficulty," said 
 Lord Langston, " for not only we must make
 
 STERLING. 261 
 
 our way at the Foreign Office, which is not 
 easy, but you must get your father to come 
 down still more than in preparing for the Bar. I 
 suppose you know that, for some time, the 
 honour of belonging to an embassy is all the 
 pay you can have, even if we succeed.*" 
 
 A plan so congenial to Robert's favourite as- 
 pirations, admitted of no difficulty. He thought 
 only of courts, ministers, and good company ; 
 he already began to despise Wilson's choice of a 
 profession, and more than ever shivered with 
 horror at the thought of Brick Court, and St. 
 Dunstan's. We may, therefore, estimate his 
 pleasure when his noble friend, who, though a 
 favourite at court, w^as no courtier, said he 
 would that instant seek the foreign secretary, 
 pour sonder le terrain. 
 
 Not to retard our story, we will at once say 
 he succeeded, and that in about a fortnight the 
 knight of St. Swithin's received an appoint- 
 ment to join the Marquess of Avington's em- 
 bassy, at one of the first-rate courts on the 
 Continent. 
 
 Even his father was perhaps a little flattered 
 with this, though he stood out stiffly till the 
 appointment was made. 
 
 " It is a little hard, I think," said he, " that 
 all these honours bring no profit, and that every 
 advance towards fortune, as it is called, only
 
 262 STERLING. 
 
 takes more money out of my pocket. The deuce 
 a thing has Robert yet earned, with all his 
 abilities, but fine speeches and a paltry ring, 
 which the blockhead says is invaluable, because 
 given him by a duchess. There is AVilliam, who 
 is younger by two years, and has already got a 
 salary at Amsterdam, with a prospect of more.'"* 
 These little groanings, however, were soon 
 allayed by Lady Sterling's influence ; nor was, 
 perhaps, either parent much displeased, any 
 more than Robert himself, when he was informed 
 that, as he had to appear at foreign courts in 
 his new character, it was necessary that he 
 should first be presented at his own. 
 
 This was the greatest incident which his life 
 had hitherto known ; and as his foreign outfit 
 had already incurred the expense of a court 
 dress, and nothing additional was demanded. 
 Sir Robert acquiesced. 
 
 We may suppose that uncle George had much 
 to do with this affair ; and as, if he understood 
 any thing, it was a matter of court etiquette, 
 he was really of use. For uncle George seemed 
 the very counterpart of Autolycus : 
 
 "Are you a courtier, an't like you, Sir? 
 
 " Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest 
 thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath 
 not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives 
 not thy nose court odour from me ? Reflect I not on thv 
 baseness court contempt?"
 
 STERLING. 263 
 
 Such was not precisely the sort of courtier 
 Robert Sterh'ng would have made, had his 
 fortune been to be born in that, at present, envied 
 rank. Had this been his lot, he would have 
 borne his faculties meekly. It was only because 
 he was not so born that this nonsense overtook 
 him. His love of fine, or high people, was not 
 because they were high, but because he him- 
 self was low ; and the consciousness of his being 
 so, while it was the bane of his life, formed 
 the strongest contrast to his great pride of cha- 
 racter. This induced him to pretend so far to 
 equality with the highest, that to recede an inch 
 in the exaction of what he thought his due, on 
 the score of personal respect, would have been 
 treason. 
 
 His appointment was communicated to him 
 by the under secretary of the Foreign Office, 
 not the secretary himself This was an affront ; 
 but the phraseology of the note of communica- 
 tion was still greater. The under secretary was 
 the son of a peer, and the note began drily 
 with — 
 
 Mr. informs Mr. Sterling that he is 
 
 appointed to form part of the embassy to . 
 
 Had this been from a junior clerk, or if lie had 
 been an honourable as well as Mr. — , it would 
 
 not have given him a thought ; but Mr. 
 
 being an honourable, and Sterling himself par-
 
 264 STERLING. 
 
 venu, he was wounded. ^' Informs T said he, with 
 «' scorn ; he might, at least, have written that he 
 had the honour to inform me.*" 
 
 It is astonishing what bitterness this infused 
 into his manner, when business made it necessary 
 afterwards to have an interview with the under- 
 secretary. 
 
 But these trifles, though they show the incon- 
 veniences of not understanding one's place, were 
 of little consequence. The effects of the appoint- 
 ment in another, and more tender respect, were 
 serious. 
 
 Sterling now "belonged to the king."" We 
 may remember how those magic words operated 
 upon Gil Bias ; but in Gil Bias, the parvenu 
 son of a mere eciiyer, or usher of a lady of 
 quality, this might be forgiven. AVas Sterling 
 then a parvenu ? Yes ! but only because he 
 made himself so. 
 
 Well, he now " belonged to the king ;'' and 
 what did not that promise for an aspiring nature.^ 
 Not merely establishment, and the chances of 
 high distinction (of which the young heart 
 never doubts), but an elevation of condition 
 which might even justify certain visions (distant 
 indeed, and obscure like twilight shadows, but 
 still visions), which flitted before his eyes, spite 
 of all warnings to the contrary. How impru- 
 dent, how useless, how dangerous, say Wisdom
 
 STERLING. 265 
 
 and experience ! How sweet, though it fail, 
 say youth and hope — those dear deceivers ! 
 
 In a word, Mr. Sterling, no longer the Dutch 
 gentleman, but in the pompous foreign phrase 
 conseiller (Tambassade, and " belonging to the 
 king,'' with the whole field of politics and diplo- 
 macy open to him — stars, and ribbons, and pen- 
 sions for life — what (though she was an earPs 
 daughter, and of Norman descent) was to pre- 
 vent his young heart from beating ? To beat 
 only was in itself a pleasure. Ah ! how en- 
 viable to those which had done beating, though 
 under stars and embroidery* 
 
 Had this been all, therefore, we might forgive 
 him. But, alas ! he went farther, and many an 
 hour did his bed witness him sleepless, yet 
 dreaming, as if Queen Mab had been " athwart 
 his nose." He would, no doubt, be soon pro- 
 moted ; he would move an equal in his beloved 
 circle. 
 
 Lord and Lady Avington were of the highest 
 consideration in point of consequence ; and their 
 daughters, the Ladies St. Maurice, in point of 
 fashion. They could not, indeed, equal the 
 ladies of Langston Castle — that was impossible ; 
 but if these had tolerated, nay smiled upon him, 
 how might he not pretend to the notice of the 
 others. 
 
 But this was the least of his dream. Melusina 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 STERLING. 
 
 began and ended every vision, sleeping or waking. 
 Her notice of him was somehow different from 
 all others ; in what he could not tell, but it was 
 sweet to think of, and very different from that of 
 Lady Euphrasia. Why should that be ? 
 
 Then again, was it true that men of no birth, 
 if of merit, never succeeded with the high-born ? 
 The very cloth of frise, quoted by the Principal 
 on this subject, proved that it might be.* Who 
 was the Bertie who, from a simple literary gen- 
 tleman, married the Duchess of Suffolk ? Who 
 was the Duke of Suffolk himself, who married 
 a queen ? Who the gentleman usher (not to a 
 queen, but only an ecclesiastic), who, by marry- 
 ing a great heiress, founded two dukedoms ? 
 
 All this was sweet to his imagination, and 
 nothing he thought now forbade him (though 
 even without such hopes he had done so a 
 thousand times) from running over every look 
 and word of tolerance (he had almost said of 
 kindness) which had been given him by the 
 frank, the generous, the lovely Melusina. 
 
 O ! love, love ! what sport dost thou make 
 with us ! Yet who would not, for the moment, 
 submit to be so sported with, for the joy, though 
 imaginary, which attends the illusion ? Here 
 was a youth to fortune unknown, with not a 
 drop of nobility in his veins, but, even in his own 
 • See page 242.
 
 STERLING. 267 
 
 mind, still reeking with the mud of St. Swithin's, 
 wlio dared lift his thoughts to one comparatively 
 a princess, and, without a pang of doubt or fear, 
 allowed his fancy to roam on high, and in the 
 language of him who addressed Fancy herself, to 
 exclaim, as he sometimes did, 
 
 *' The pangs of absence O remove, 
 
 For thou canst place me near my love ; 
 Canst fold in visionary bliss, 
 And let me think I steal a kiss."* 
 
 Had Peter Pindar, however, then been alive, 
 or had then written, it might have been better 
 for Sterling to have quoted him than Wharton ; 
 when, in enumerating the beauties and qualities 
 of the lips of the daughters of George the Third, 
 he ends with this quaint, but mortifying con- 
 viction : 
 
 " Lips which I never kiss'd, and never shall.'' 
 
 In the midst of these mental dangers, however, 
 as if to give him a still farther chance of recoverv, 
 he had the good, or bad fortune, to meet his old 
 acquaintance Miss Sycamore, the lady who, we 
 may recollect, took him under her protection, and 
 endeavoured to enlighten him as to the realities 
 of life at l.angston Castle. She was crossing the 
 Park, through Grosvenor-gate, when they met 
 in the gateway, and of course a greeting of 
 recognition followed. 
 
 ' Wharton. 
 N 2
 
 268 STERLING. 
 
 The meeting was a very friendly one on both 
 sides. Sterling asked leave to join her, with 
 which she was not displeased ; and as she had a 
 little of her kinsman, the Principal, in her, she 
 rather piqued herself on knowledge of the world, 
 and was not indisposed to communicate it where 
 the recipient was worthy. She fairly catechized 
 her former protege, not only on his progress in 
 society, but on the state of his heart. On this he 
 was open enough ; and having learned from him 
 that Langston Castle, and the society there, still 
 maintained their places in his memory, and, from 
 certain hints and phrases, discovered that her 
 favourite pupil, Melusina, was more paramount 
 in his breast than ever, she became grave, and 
 little propitious even to the prospects which he 
 told her had now opened upon him, 
 
 " As a man of business, or mere ambition," 
 she said, " they might be tempting ; but with 
 your sensibilities (pride and touchiness among 
 them), I cannot say I prophecy much addition 
 to your happiness. In truth, you are the same 
 youthful, inexperienced person you were three 
 years ago ; you have too strong a feeling, both 
 of your inferiority and your equality to others, 
 to make your passage easy." 
 
 This was so oracular, and so like her cousin 
 the Principal, that Robert began to question 
 whether it was not himself in petticofits. Seeing,
 
 STERLING. 26^ 
 
 however, that she really was interested about 
 him, he frankly answered many shrewd ques- 
 tions, and submitted to all her commentaries, 
 particularly on the imprudence of fostering his 
 attachment (now amounting, as her penetration 
 saw, to something like hope) to his paragon, 
 Lady Melusina. 
 
 '' I do not scold you," she said, '' for your 
 admiration of her — nay, I would forgive a little 
 love still lurking in the corner of your heart. 
 Neither do I absolutely condemn you for sup- 
 posing, that if you were her equal, you might 
 pretend to her. All that is not my affair, but 
 her's ; nor do I say (although it may be impru- 
 dent to such an aspiring gentleman) that you 
 were disagreeable to her.'" 
 
 Sterling started, and a gleam of joy suffused 
 his whole countenance. 
 
 " There now,"" said she, with a change to 
 sternness, that froze him ; " see what it is to risk 
 even a word of encouragement with a man of 
 your composition. When I said you might not 
 be disagreeable to Lady Melusina, did I tell 
 you that, though you were a duke, she could 
 love you ? For Heaven's sake lay aside this non- 
 sense, and listen to me as a friend, who, if she 
 tells you rough truths, does it to prevent the 
 shipwreck of your happiness. That you should 
 love Lady Melusina, herself so lovely in mind
 
 270 STERLING. 
 
 as well as person, does not surprise me ; but take 
 my word for it, even if she were inclined to you, 
 which on so passing and ephemeral an acquaint- 
 ance is impossible, never would she listen (I 
 must speak out) to such a mesalliance.'''' 
 
 '' She is proud, then?" said Sterling, proudly. 
 " No, no, indeed ! she is even modest in her 
 opinion of herself. Lady Euphrasia is proud, 
 but not her sister, who, like pious princesses of 
 old, would wash the feet of the poor. But she 
 is of an aristocratic family, whose feeling against 
 unequal marriages she fully shares," 
 
 " She has been prejudiced by Tylney," ob- 
 served Sterling. 
 
 *' Far from it ; she not only did not encourage, 
 but repressed his sneers against you in your 
 absence. She even told him — ^" 
 " What.?" 
 
 " That it would be better for him (you 
 know her spirits) if he imitated your modest 
 merit." 
 
 " God bless her !" said Sterling, and his lip 
 began to quiver. 
 
 "I see I have done wrong — very wrong ; 
 you are not to be trusted," said Miss Sycamore. 
 '' I have undone all I meant to do ; and yet 
 nothing is more fragile than the hope I see you 
 will build upon this. Let me, therefore, again 
 speak out, and say that no man, were his merit
 
 STERLING. 271 
 
 ten times your"'s, would make Melusina think of 
 an unequal alliance."" 
 
 " Has she not, probably, some preference else- 
 where ?'"* said Sterling. 
 
 " You have no right to ask,"" replied Miss 
 Sycamore, almost angrily ; " nor would I answer 
 if I knew, which I do not. But it is for your 
 own sake that I have thought it right to set 
 before you, that her mother and sister themselves, 
 to whom I may add your friend, Lord Lang- 
 ston, who really loves you, cannot have a greater 
 sense of the guards to be set to protect their 
 ancient house from being mis-allied, than this 
 otherwise humble, as well as amiable creature."*' 
 
 '* And yet one would have thought,'' answered 
 Sterling, in a tone of something like pettishness, 
 " that the growth of riches all about us, the 
 spread of education, and the liberal views in 
 regard to the equality of mankind, would have 
 opened their eyes to their real position. The 
 times are no longer Norman, whatever their 
 blood. Nor can I sit down quietly under your 
 assurance, were I really to succeed in the honour- 
 able career opening to me, that, if this just- 
 minded person were not other^vise unfavourable, 
 she would allow such mere prejudices to frus- 
 trate what )night be a path to happiness." 
 
 *' Admirably reasoned,'"* replied the sagacious 
 lady ; " and pray, may I ask whether, supposing
 
 272 STERLING. 
 
 even a predilection on her part, — which no doubt 
 (being tlie growth of three days' acquaintance, 
 succeeded by an absence of three years) must be 
 particularly strong, — you have the modesty to 
 believe that she would wait for you twenty years ; 
 for this it would take to achieve the ecldt and 
 the wealth you contemplate, which are to place 
 you upon an equality with herf'' 
 
 Sterling shrank within himself at this nipping 
 question. He found it comprehended the whole 
 subject ; refuted all that could be said for him ; 
 and quenched all the commotion which this re?i- 
 contre and conversation with Miss Sycamore had 
 raised. His countenance fell ; his step faltered ; 
 his hopes fled, even sooner than they had arisen. 
 " I own," said he, " I am a fool ; I will cease to 
 hope ; but Melusina's image my heart will never 
 give up.**' 
 
 Miss Sycamore, really pitying him, forbore 
 to say more ; but telling him she hoped to hear 
 of his recovery, and kindly shaking him by the 
 hand, they separated. 
 
 It is perhaps but right to say, that Miss 
 Sycamore had her reasons for assuming the 
 peremptory and decided tone she did upon this 
 occasion. She had conceived an esteem for Ster- 
 ling, and had seen the instantaneous and strong 
 impression which her pupil's loveliness and frank- 
 ness had made upon him. Yet, knowing that the
 
 STERLING. 273 
 
 affability of her natural manners, amounting 
 sometimes to playfulness, and even, as might be 
 thought, to kindness, did not prevent her feeling 
 all the aristocratic principles of her family in 
 regard to alliances, she had been, from the first, 
 anxious that the evident predilection of Sterling 
 might not increase to his destruction. That 
 there might be no mistake, she watched all that 
 passed on this subject, after his departure from 
 the castle, and Tylney's arrival, gave full scope 
 to opinions. 
 
 In this Lady Trelawney led the way to much 
 discussion, founded upon Tylney's report. "It 
 was really too bad," she said, " that upstarts 
 should, by false pretences, find their way into 
 places in society to which they had no right ; 
 and Lord Langston must pardon her, if she 
 thought him somewhat to blame for having lent 
 himself to such an imposition. I should not be 
 surprised,"*" added Lady Trelawney, " if, upon 
 the strength of such facilities and such encou- 
 ragement as have been given him, this person, 
 or others like him, should conceive designs 
 which it would shock one to think of." 
 
 And she looked at her daughter and the other 
 young ladies, as if agitated by fear. 
 
 At this, however, Lady Euphrasia, looking 
 at Tylney, gave a sort of incredulous laugh, as 
 k3
 
 274 STERLING. 
 
 if the thing was impossible ; and the look and 
 the laugh were returned by Tylney. 
 
 The countess, though she did not altogether 
 disagree in the general sentiment, had the justice 
 to qualify it, as to the particular instance before 
 them. " In that respect,'^ she said, " his educa- 
 tion and obvious turn of mind, his very back* 
 wardness of manner, but, above all, Lord Lang- 
 ston''s regard for him, would ensure him from 
 conceiving any such arrogant, not to say disho- 
 nourable design. But even if he did," added 
 the countess, bridling, " we should be perfectly 
 safe ; for I am very sure, whatever the merit, 
 no child of mine but would abhor such preten- 
 sions."" 
 
 " I am quite of mamma''s opinion," observed 
 Lady Melusina ; but whether in regard to the 
 favourable opinion of Sterling, or the denuncia- 
 tion of his pretensions, if entertained, did not 
 appear. 
 
 All this passed among the ladies at their work- 
 table, where Miss Sycamore had a seat, and the 
 harsh sentiments of Lady Trelawney in regard 
 to Sterling, his defence by the countess, and the 
 assent of Lady Melusina, did not escape her 
 The young lady had, before this, when occasion 
 occurred, expressed her favourable opinion of 
 him, with her usual openness ; and Miss Syca-
 
 STERLING. 275 
 
 more, who sincerely loved her, became interested 
 to know in what particulars of her mother's 
 opinion she agreed. 
 
 A morning walk, tete-a-tete, which was very 
 usual with them, afforded her an opportunity of 
 discovering it the next day. Melusina, indeed, 
 never had yet thought of concealing any thing slie 
 felt. She was as frank as she was innocent, and 
 Miss Sycamore had only to mention Lady Tre- 
 lawney and Sterling, to procure all she wanted. 
 " I never liked Lady Trelawney," said Melusina ; 
 *' and I like her less now, for her uncharitable- 
 ness. Whatever Mr. Sterling may be, I am sure 
 he is incapable of harbouring such designs as she 
 imputed to him. If he was not too timid, he 
 would be too honourable, as my brother's friend. 
 Besides, though he seems to have been much 
 pleased by his reception, and made himself agree- 
 able in his turn, he never showed any thing to 
 warrant Lady Trelawney's odious suspicions." 
 
 " But if he had, and to you — for I put Lady 
 Euphrasia out of the question,*" said Miss Syca- 
 more. 
 
 " Why then—'' 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 "I should have shewn myself my mother's 
 daughter, and my brother's sister, that is all," 
 said Melusina. 
 
 They then fell into a discourse upon unequal
 
 276 STERLING. 
 
 marriages, short, but sensible and pithy, wherein 
 this young lady, young and inexperienced as she 
 was, shewed the strong plain sense of her bro- 
 ther, whose mind she often reflected, mingled 
 with all the candour of her own, and all the 
 playfulness of her years. " I like Mr. Sterling," 
 said she, " better than any young man I have 
 yet seen ; but were he a duke, I am too young 
 to be addressed. In other respects ignorant as 
 I may be, I am too well convinced of the neces- 
 sity for a woman^s never looking down upon her 
 husband in any thing, in order to be happy, for 
 such an alliance ever to enter my head." 
 
 " And yet," said Miss Sycamore, trying her, 
 " though you derive from the Plantagenets, and 
 he from behind the counter, there is no distinc- 
 tion of blood in the eye of heaven." 
 
 " Nobody is surer of that than I am," replied 
 the youthful moralist, " and I remember it in 
 all my prayers; but till heaven declares that there 
 is and ought to be the same equality belov/ as on 
 high, we cannot govern ourselves by that opi- 
 nion, true thoucrh it be." 
 
 Here she looked grave, as if pondering the 
 subject. 
 
 " You quite astonish me, my dear," said Miss 
 Sycamore; '* where did you get this philoso- 
 phy r 
 
 <« I believe from my brother first," answered
 
 STERLING. 277 
 
 her pupil, "but afterwards from my own reflec- 
 tions, and particularly on my cousin Mary's 
 marriage." 
 
 This cousin Mary had given a lesson to her 
 whole family. She was the only child of a late 
 Earl of Langston, elder brother to Melusina's 
 father, whose mother had died in giving her 
 birth. She had been educated as an heiress, and 
 being a Lady Mary, was much sought after. 
 Nevertheless, being also of a soft and ductile 
 (perhaps we should say of a weak) composition, 
 she so far preferred her immediate feelings to 
 the conventional maxims of society, that she 
 matched with '' cloth of frise." Her choice was 
 no other than a young curate of Langston, and 
 (what was worse) one in no way distinguished by 
 either genius or learning. He certainly had 
 never obtained a University prize, and Robert 
 was worth a thousand of him. 
 
 There is no accounting for this, except per- 
 haps by what was said of her by her own 
 father, that Mary was always a groveller, for- 
 getful of her rank, and fit only for a plebeian. 
 
 The earl died soon after, leaving her mere 
 bread and cheese, with which she dragged on, in 
 truth, a homely and not very respectable exist- 
 ence, with a man who could neither elevate her 
 nor be elevated by her. He never cared for her 
 except for the advantages of the connexion, which
 
 278 STERLING. 
 
 he missed, and she hated him as the cause of a 
 palpable disgrace. 
 
 This was an example which the countess was 
 too proud to point out as a lesson to her daugh- 
 ters, but as such they both appreciated it ; and 
 with all her sweetness and gdite de cceur, not 
 less Melusina than Euphrasia. 
 
 There was no answering this case, nor, indeed, 
 did Miss Sycamore attempt an answer. She had 
 ascertained all she wanted as to her pupiFs mind, 
 and treasured it up accordingly, revealing it 
 only to her kinsman, the Principal, when he 
 made inquiries as to the effect of Sterling's visit 
 to the castle, both upon himself and its inhabi- 
 tants. From him, in after-life, it travelled to 
 Sterling himself. 
 
 Lady Melusina was true to her principles. 
 They were, perhaps, even a little tried. We have 
 seen that she distinguished Robert on their first 
 acquaintance. She thought him not an ordinary 
 person, and the impression did not wear off; 
 although, owing to his own jealousy and Lord 
 Langston's absence, the acquaintance was not 
 renewed. We are even obliged to say, that Miss 
 Sycamore related this critical conversation in the 
 Park to her quondam pupil, whom it not a little 
 affected. To think she had been beloved so long, 
 and yet so hopelessly — in absence, in silence, 
 in solitude, in the world ; no break in his feel-
 
 STERLING. 279 
 
 ings; no interruption to his constancy ; and 
 particularly the little burst, ** I will cease to 
 hope, but with her image I can never part r — 
 all this, it would be unjust as well as uncandid 
 not to say, gave some even tender emotions to 
 Melusina ; who, though so alive to what was de- 
 manded of her by her family and by the world, 
 was yet any thing but selfish, and a real daugh- 
 ter of nature. 
 
 Yet even this did not break in upon her firm- 
 ness. It revived the interest she had felt about 
 Sterling; she wished him success in his new 
 prospects, and she would not have been sorry to 
 renew acquaintance with him ; — but no more. 
 
 Hence, let no man, however sanguine, or 
 whatever his merits or opinion of himself, sup- 
 pose it easy to overleap the barriers set up by 
 society, to preserve the necessary distinctions 
 between ranks and orders ; or because a superior, 
 whether man or woman, smile upon him for the 
 good that may be in him, that therefore the line 
 of demarcation is to be thrown down in his 
 favour. Let this instance instruct him not to 
 expect, from a mere demonstration of good- will 
 and esteem, that a woman will descend from her 
 sphere and fair pretensions, and lower herself in 
 the world for his mere sake. As the moral of 
 this history, therefore, is the danger of not 
 knowing or not being content with our place, I
 
 280 STERLING. 
 
 have been tempted to enlarge upon it in this 
 little episode, though it interrupt the thread of 
 greater events. 
 
 To those events we now return, and must at- 
 tend upon our hero, where having been inspected 
 by uncle George with all a gentleman usher's 
 powers of scrutiny, and found wanting in 
 nothing, he proceeded to the drawing-room. 
 
 His heart beat high as he was set down at the 
 gate of the palace, — the identical spot where, a 
 dozen years before, he had imbibed those unfor- 
 tunate notions which had so coloured his life. 
 It swelled still higher when, in the ante-chamber, 
 he found himself in the midst of graceful men, 
 decorated with stars ; beautiful women waving 
 with plumes ; and felt that he had a right to be 
 among them. Perhaps a young ambition of any 
 kind had never been so gratified. But wlien he 
 got into the presence, and felt the awful stillness 
 which royalty imposes, he was nearly overcome. 
 Uncle George had long left him, to take his 
 place in the suite of his royal mistress ; and as 
 Lord Langston, who was to present him, had not 
 yet arrived, he felt painfully unprotected in such 
 a crowd of superiors, not one of whom he had 
 ever seen before. He looked with almost anguish 
 in search of Lord Langston, and in his solitude 
 (for such it was, notwithstanding the place,) 
 began to console himself with the thought of his
 
 STERLING. 281 
 
 low origin, and St. Swithin's, in order, we sup- 
 pose, to do away the effects of the comparison he 
 was making of himself with the brilliant people 
 around him. 
 
 In this torture of mind (for it was nothing 
 less), he would have given all he was worth to 
 have seen but one single face which he knew, 
 and to which he might turn for protection, — 
 when lo ! close to him he caught the eye of Lady 
 Euphrasia. 
 
 Notwithstanding his wish, this by no means 
 encouraged him ; for, exclusive of there always 
 having been some distance on her part towards 
 him, he was more than ever assailed by his mau- 
 vaise honte and sense of inferiority, and stood 
 motionless, in the hope of being voluntarily re- 
 cognized. This it was not his lot to be : on the 
 contrary, her eyes were perpetually averted. He, 
 however, was glad of her presence, because it 
 indicated, he thought, that her brother, and 
 l^erhaps her family, were not far off ; and accord- 
 ingly he took courage to look for them : — when, 
 — O, horror ! — instead of Lord Langston, he 
 beheld established at Lady Euphrasia's side, in 
 all the forms of a cavaliere servente, the hated 
 figure of Tylney himself ! — Worse, if possible, 
 even than this — he saw in succession (for they 
 had all come in together) the whole houses of 
 Trelawney and ]Manvers, who every one (parti-
 
 282 STERLING. 
 
 cularly young Manvers) pushed rudely by, and, 
 in fact, displaced him, which indeed any body 
 might easily have done. 
 
 Had this been all, he might have recovered ; 
 but the whispers and sneering smiles of the 
 whole party, which he was sure, he said, would 
 have been a laugh but for the restraint of the 
 presence, cut him to the quick, and deprived 
 him of defence. To quarrel with the men was 
 there out of the question, and though he despised 
 (or thought he did so) most of the women, the 
 proof that he was slighted by Melusina's sister 
 added poignancy to his other griefs. From this 
 he was somewhat relieved at last by the sight of 
 his friend, who whispered apologies for his delay, 
 the more so as he saw his forlorn condition. But 
 all was cut short by the ceremony of the presen- 
 tation, which took place under the eyes of his 
 band of enemies, who having passed the Queen, 
 stood still for some moments, and heard from the 
 lord chamberlain the cause of his presentation, 
 when his card was read, announcing him as 
 appointed to the embassy at 
 
 This immediately produced fresh smiles, every 
 one of which was a dagger to the aspirant, who 
 now hated the very thought of a court, as much 
 as he had formerly panted to belong to it. 
 
 In their way home. Lord Langston asked him 
 if his sister had spoken to him, and good-
 
 STERLING. 283 
 
 naturedly accounted for her not doing so by her 
 hurrying to catch the Queen's eye, and the 
 restraint which the immediate approach to the 
 presence always imposed ; adding, that she alone 
 of the family was in town, having come up on a 
 visit to Lady Valteline, Tylney's mother. 
 
 Robert heard this explanation as a proof of his 
 noble friend's good-nature. What he believed of 
 it, was a very different thing; but from that 
 hour he cordially hated Lady Euphrasia. 
 
 This presentation, so longed for, caused the 
 incipient diplomat three days' bitterness, from 
 which he was only relieved by setting out on his 
 mission; when, having recovered his elasticity, 
 with a heart still full of hope, notwithstanding 
 a great drawback, he landed at Calais in the 
 way to his destination. 
 
 The drawback might have been ominous to 
 one of a less sanguine mind ; for, previous to his 
 departure, having acquainted his old friend the 
 Principal with his having abandoned the law for 
 diplomacy, Dr. Gaston wrote to him a charac- 
 teristic letter as follows : 
 
 Dr. Gaston to Sterling. 
 
 " You were a blockhead for quitting the law, 
 and are not fit for diplomacy. 
 
 " T. G.''
 
 284 STERLING. 
 
 The effect of this did not last long ; for, as 
 we have seen, he combined high aspirations with 
 constitutional humility, and his heart told him 
 he would defeat the prophecy. 
 
 Having been provided by Lord Langston 
 with a letter to the Marquess of Avington, re- 
 commending him as his personal friend, and 
 bearing testimony to his Oxford reputation, he 
 was received by the ambassador and the mar- 
 chioness with all the proper favours and cere- 
 monies which belonged to their station. 
 
 No small part of the interest of the introduc- 
 tion was kindled by its being extended to three 
 daughters of the marquess, young, and very 
 elegant, at least as far as a languor of manner 
 amounting to almost sleepiness, permitted him 
 to judge; and they were reposing, one on a 
 superb chaise longue, occupied with a volume 
 of Voltaire ; the two others in voluptuous arm- 
 chairs with embroidered footstools, occupied with 
 fine work. They scarcely turned their heads, 
 though they not only opened, but put their 
 glasses to their eyes when he made his bow ; and 
 at least showed a wish to inspect their future 
 inmate. It seemed, however, that it was only 
 his person that excited their curiosity; for not 
 one word was uttered on either side ; and the 
 silence seemed relieved by the entrance of a 
 young man in great deshabille, but of a very
 
 STERLING. 285 
 
 distinguished air, who saluted all the company, 
 particularly the young ladies, with most perfect 
 ease and familiarity. 
 
 This was the Honourable Mr. Mauleverer, 
 the secretary of embassy, to whom Robert was 
 introduced, and his protection for him claimed 
 by the marquess. 
 
 Mr. Mauleverer made him a most condescend- 
 ing bend of the chin ; but the silence continued 
 unbroken, till he turned to the young ladies, and 
 asked what they had been about all the morning, 
 and whether they had recovered the last night's 
 ball ? They all instantly laid aside their books 
 and work, and made up for the previous silence 
 by absolutely chattering with Mr. Mauleverer, 
 upon the different incidents of the night, — 
 condescending to reproach him for his laziness 
 in never dancing. 
 
 " O heavens !" he replied, " the amusement 
 is rather too plebeian in the dog-days ; and Ije- 
 sides, I am overlaid with office work ; for my 
 lord, there, is determined I shall not be idle ; 
 and to write all day, and dance all night, is 
 rather too much for my weak shoulders." 
 
 This was thought so lively by the young 
 ladies, that it was rewarded with a titter. 
 
 All this while our Robert was left to himself, 
 to make out as he could the character of his 
 c<nnpanions. The young ladies were so occupied
 
 286 STERLING. 
 
 with Mr. Mauleverer, that they did not seem to 
 know any body else was in the room ; the mar- 
 chioness was absorbed with knotting in a recess ; 
 and the ambassador with the dispatches which 
 had been brought by Sterhng 
 
 That young gentleman soon began not to like 
 his situation ; for the comparison he was forced 
 to make between himself and Mauleverer, parti- 
 cularly in the notice taken of him by the ladies 
 St. Maurice, by no means redounded to his credit 
 with himself, either as a visitor or a comtnu ; 
 while the negligently-dressed secretary, in his 
 loose morning costume, seemed all in all to these 
 young persons, who had become perfectly awake 
 from the moment he came into the room. 
 
 " What a happy man,"' thought Sterling, " to 
 l>e so favoured !"" and the opinion was not weak- 
 ened when Lady Euphemia, the eldest of the 
 sisters, said familiarly, " come — get yourself 
 ready — for vou know you are to ride with us, 
 and there is nobody puts me on my horse so 
 well as you."*'
 
 STERLING. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A SECRETARY OF EMBASSY. MR. STERLING 
 
 OUT OF HUMOUR. 
 
 " Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap'd, 
 Showed like a stubble land at harvest home. 
 He was perfumed like a milliner." 
 
 Henry IV., Pt. i. 
 
 Cholmondeley Mauleverer was the son of an 
 English peer, and, by his mother's side, the 
 nephew of a duke. He was eight-and-twenty, 
 and by dint of his connexions in the House of 
 Lords, and being his father's heir, added to 
 decent talents and the quintessence of dandy 
 manners, went over the heads of half a dozen 
 secretaries of legation, to become secretary of 
 
 embassy at the court of . Indeed, in 
 
 addition Xo these acknowledged qualifications 
 for the post, he was powerfully bffcked by the 
 s<^)licitations of the ambassador ^himself, wIk) 
 was urged thereto by solicitations equally 
 powerful, on the part of his wife the mar-
 
 288 STERLING. 
 
 cbioness, and his daughters, the ladies St. 
 Maurice. This made him the envy of all his 
 rivals, and, with such accomplishments for 
 diplomacy and marriage, he was considered by 
 far the most rising young man of the age. 
 
 It is obvious, however, that this gentleman 
 was not the sort of companion-in-arms to make 
 our friend Robert happy ; nor, as far as he 
 could prognosticate from his reception, did he 
 anticipate any great delight from belonging to 
 any part of this diplomatic family. He found 
 he had little or nothing in common with them. 
 The qualification of the marquess for his high 
 post depended chiefly upon his being a man of 
 quality, and that the post itself required much 
 representation, but little knowledge of business. 
 He had sufficient urbanitv not to be disao^ree- 
 able, and showed to Robert the exact attention 
 due to his appointment, and no more. 
 
 The marchioness was not uncivil, but cold in 
 the extreme to all, except Mr. Mauleverer, 
 whom she, and all her daughters, treated as 
 enfant de famille. Robert could take nothing 
 amiss; but ah! how unlike the duchess, or 
 even Lady Langston ! 
 
 Then, as for the three ladies, Euphemia, 
 
 Paulina, and G ertrude ! ^ — ■ but they will 
 
 speak for themselves. 
 
 The day of his arrival, the embryo secretary
 
 STERLING. 289 
 
 dined with his chief; and his debut was not 
 favourable, either for his nerves or his ambition. 
 The marquess asked him to do him the favour 
 of sitting at the lower end of the table, in order 
 to carve ; but the poor fellow had never carved 
 even a leg of mutton, and all eyes were upon 
 him. The natural eyes possibly he could have 
 borne ; but all the three ladies St. Maurice were 
 blind, and their eternal glasses were levelled at 
 his exertions, evidently not successful, and this 
 only increased his trepidation. Two or three 
 foreigners of distinction, who were at table, 
 pitied his most pitiable predicament, and one of 
 them, who had been in his youth an aide-de- 
 camp to a great commander, offered to relieve 
 him from the back-bone of a hare, saying, good- 
 naturedly, it had been " hien son metier" But 
 this the marquess would not allow, and motioned 
 the mditre-d'' hotel to take it to the side-table ; 
 which occasioned more play than ever to the 
 hateful glasses, through which Robert's blushes 
 and mauvaise honte did not, certainly, show 
 to advantage. 
 
 To do Mr. Mauleverer justice, he offered to 
 take his office for him ; but this only made his 
 awkwardness still more noted ; and, besides, he 
 was sitting by Lady Euphemia, and the mar- 
 chioness desired him not to stir. 
 
 In the evening, when the foreigners were gone, 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 STERLING. 
 
 and en attendant the opera, there was a Httle 
 domestic tea, in which the ladies were somewhat 
 less unbending. Lady Gertrude, the youngest, 
 who rather piqued herself upon a iia'ive or frank 
 manner, bordering sometimes on brusquericy 
 made a seeming set at him ; but in questions 
 for which he did not thank her. 
 
 She asked him whether he had been at West- 
 minster, or Eton ? how long he had known 
 Lord Langston.'^ whether their famiUes were 
 intimate ? and where his father lived in town. 
 To all this he was not a little dismayed at being 
 forced to answer, that he had never been at a 
 pubUc school ; that he had seen very little of 
 Lord Langston ; that their families were not 
 acquainted; and that his father lived in Blooms- 
 bury Square. 
 
 Lady Gertrude's tone did not encourage him, 
 when she replied, " O ! that's where all the 
 merchants live, is it not ? somewhere near 
 Hio-hffate r 
 
 Things rallied, however, a little, when the 
 ladies found that he had been at Langston 
 Castle on a visit of some days, and all in one 
 voice asked which of the Ladies Langston he 
 liked best ? 
 
 This touched rather a tender string with our 
 friend, but he had just tact enough to stop the 
 utterance of Melusina, which was at his tongue's
 
 STERLING. 291 
 
 end ; and this the more rejoiced him, when he 
 found from Lady Euphemia, that Lady 
 Euphrasia was her bosom friend and corres- 
 pondent. " You have heard, I suppose,*" added 
 Lady Euphemia, " that her marriage with Mr. 
 Tylney is settled." 
 
 Sterling almost leaped from his seat at the 
 news, and showed so much more emotion than 
 mere surprise could occasion, that all the ladies 
 drew conclusions from it which the reader 
 knows were any thing but well-founded. Without 
 knowing why, much less being able to explain 
 it even to himself, the news disconcerted him ; 
 which shewed that he was not yet cured of the 
 Tylney-phobia. Thus, that gentleman was still 
 the Mordecai whom our Haman hated for sitting 
 in the king''s gate. 
 
 The Opera put an end to this debut of our 
 diplomat, who knew he had fought, at best, 
 incerfo marte ; and though very much disposed 
 to think he was not in his right place, he had 
 at least the good sense to postpone a decisive 
 opinion upon it till next day ; and meanwhile he 
 bestowed himself in the lodgings which had been 
 taken for him. 
 
 He tried to sleep, but could not ; he tried to 
 
 make out the characters with whom he was to 
 
 be domesticated, but failed. The ambassador 
 
 was seemingly so entrenched in forms and com- 
 
 o2
 
 292 STERLING. 
 
 mon-places, that there was no getting within 
 them. His lady was always well-dressed, and 
 alive to Mr. Mauleverer*'s attentions to her daugh- 
 ters, but cold to every thing else ; and if her 
 court duties, in all the varieties of etiquette, were 
 well got over, she had no further interest about 
 any thing. 
 
 As to the daughters themselves, the eldest was 
 evidently too much occupied with another ; the 
 second, with herself; and the youngest, with a 
 design to plague the knight of St. Swithin's with 
 disagreeable questions ; and all this gave him 
 little hope of impressing them in his favour. 
 Altogether, lie was any thing but happy, though 
 belonging to an embassy at one of the greatest 
 courts in Europe. 
 
 The next day his condition was far from 
 improved. Three or four other young diplo- 
 mats introduced themselves as his companions. 
 They all had heard that he had gained the prize 
 for Latin verse at Oxford ; all, too, that he had 
 sprung from St. Swithin's. How things travel ! 
 This had come from Lady Euphemia, who had 
 it from Lady Euphrasia, who had it from Mr. 
 Tylney. Well : — one said that he feared he would 
 find Greek and Latin of little avail in the mis- 
 sion, but supposed he wrote excellent French, 
 which was the thing to go over the world with. 
 Another asked him, if he had brought his horses
 
 STERLING. 293 
 
 with him, without which man was nothing, espe- 
 cially with the ladies St. Maurice, who were 
 always on horseback. A third said, the English 
 had established a cricket-club ; and only hoped 
 he was a good bowler, which was very much 
 wanted . 
 
 Robert thought these last were not the exact 
 qualifications required for diplomacy ; and owned 
 that he was but an indifferent Frenchman, had 
 no horses, and never played at cricket ; at which 
 all his brother commis laughed, and only won- 
 dered how he ever could have thought of diplo- 
 macy. 
 
 But though they did not inspire him with 
 much fear of their talents, they were all his supe- 
 riors in connection and fashion, so far as to 
 assume the unreal ascendancy which such per- 
 sons always were able to acquire over his con- 
 sciousness of half-breeding One was the son of 
 an old baronet; another of a general; and another 
 of a minister, not in, but very near the cabinet. 
 All, when in London, lived in the atmosphere 
 of Bond Street or May Fair. The difference 
 between them was insurmountable. 
 
 Once, and once only, our hero was offered a 
 place in the ambassadress's box at the Opera — 
 an honour only conferred by invitation. He 
 went, and had the honour of sitting by himself 
 in the back seat, while a whole round oi elegantes,
 
 294 STERLING. 
 
 in succession, but particularly Mr. Mauleverer, 
 engaged the attention of the ladies, who did not 
 seem to know he was of the party. 
 
 But if this was his situation with the ladies, 
 what was it with the high-soaring and highly- 
 favoured secretary himself.'^ 
 
 He was not either so ill-natured, or so ill-bred, 
 as Tylney; but it was easy to discover that 
 the son of old Sterling, a city knight, of St. 
 Swithin's, ought not to have come '* betwixt 
 the wind and his nobility ;" in short, that he 
 thought him out of his place in being attached 
 to an embassy where fashion and high manners 
 were far more in requisition than simplicity of 
 character or distinguished scholarship. This 
 might easily have been collected from his manner 
 towards Robert ; sufficiently civil to be not the 
 reverse ; but altogether indifferent and uncon- 
 fiding, as if his absence would have been a relief. 
 One week, however, proved Mr. Mauleverer's 
 opinion beyond all doubt. 
 
 The cabinet in which Sterling wrote, opened 
 upon a walk of the garden beneath ; and here 
 Mauleverer was heard by Sterling himself, in 
 conversation with Lady Euphemia, in which he 
 found himself thus pleasantly mentioned : — " I 
 
 wonder,*" said Mauleverer, " how Lord 
 
 (naming the foreign secretary), could have
 
 STERLING. ^95 
 
 made such a mistake as to send him here, where 
 he is so totally out of his element."" 
 
 " Oh !"" said Lady Euphemia, " it is entirely 
 owing to that formal primitive Lord Langston, 
 who is his friend. Euphrasia told us it was just 
 the same at the castle ; though they found him 
 rather agreeable, faute de mieUcvJ" 
 
 Mauleverer laughed, but added, '* Yes ! but 
 here, where there is no faute de mieux^ he had 
 better have stayed away. There seems no harm in 
 him ; and he may even have merit, but not of 
 the sort to go down here. He might have done 
 very well in the West-Indies, or as an attache 
 in Switzerland, or even in Sweden. But per- 
 liaps he may find his mistake, and leave."*' 
 
 Here the lady and gentleman passed on, and 
 no more was heard. The feelings of Sterling 
 may be imagined ; the pen fell from his hand ; 
 he sought the garden, and appeared no more 
 that day at the hotel of the British embassy.
 
 296 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 HE RESOLVES TO FLY. 
 
 " How does your Grace ?" 
 " Why, well. 
 Never so truly happy. 
 I know myself now, and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities." 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 " And am I this despised and incapable 
 being .f^"* said he, as he wandered about the 
 walks; '' and is a palace, open to so many, surely 
 not my superiors, to be closed only to me ?"" 
 
 This was not his bitterest reflection. The 
 idea that he too, like Mr. Trippet, had been tole- 
 rated at Langston, only faute de mieuco, almost 
 drove him mad, till he recollected that this came 
 only from Lady Euphrasia, and that Melusina 
 might still think of him with something like 
 respect. 
 
 That thought pleased ; but then again he 
 recollected all that had passed with the shrewd 
 observing Principal, not only upon the danger
 
 STERLING. 297 
 
 of a mesalliance^ but upon the hopelessness of it 
 with Lady Melusina herself. He, indeed, had 
 never forgotten the prophetic words : " Be 
 assured, that though she was glad to hear you 
 quote Spenser on the nightingale, and danced 
 with you, not merely faiite de mieua\ in regard 
 to love and marriage she is the Countess's daugh- 
 ter, and the EarPs and Lady Euphrasia's sister.'' 
 
 These words had always pressed like a lump 
 of lead upon his heart ; nor were they lighter 
 now, from the associations which his new 
 acquaintances had created. " A curse," said 
 he, in agony of feeling, " upon my vile and 
 wretched silliness, which can so put me in the 
 powef" of any one. I will break through this 
 spell, which is only of my own creating. Of 
 what consequence is it to me that she should 
 think well or ill of me, or think of me at all ? 
 When shall I ever see her again ? or if I do, in 
 what character but that of a poor and distant 
 worshipper, unworthy to mix with her family, 
 or perhaps to be thought of more than I am 
 here. Why, why, are these inec|ualities in lots, 
 where such an insect as Tylney can revel in sun- 
 shine, and myself must sink into gloom and 
 obscurity ?"" 
 
 This question he could not answer; and he 
 could only get rid of the thought of Melusina, 
 by vowing never to think of her again. 
 o3
 
 298 STERLING. 
 
 In order to ensure this, he resolved to break 
 off altogether with her brother, whose family 
 pride, notwithstanding his thousand merits, he 
 had never, as we have observed, ceased to remem- 
 ber, since his eventful conversation with the 
 Principal upon that point. 
 
 But this was the least of his present troubles. 
 His fate had pursued him from England to the 
 Continent. The lesson he had just heard from 
 Mauleverer rang in his ears. Had the ambassador 
 been a prince of the blood, and his daughters 
 princesses, they could not be less accessible, or 
 more impenetrable to him. They might not be 
 rude : though he was not sure as to Lady Ger- 
 trude — but it was clear he could make no way on 
 his own account. He was tolerated as an official, 
 imposed upon them by authority, but he was 
 scarcely not insulted ; and it was clear he never 
 could be considered but as the knight of St. 
 Swithin's. 
 
 Here, like the great enemy of all, in his mor- 
 tified and almost relenting state, when, on the 
 sight of the sun, he reflected upon his rebellion, 
 he exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah ! had His powerful destiny ordain'd 
 Me some inferior ang-el, I had stood 
 Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd 
 Ambition." 
 
 So thought Satan, when he pondered what
 
 STERLING. 299 
 
 might have been his fate had he never been 
 ambitious ; and so thought Sterling. 
 
 These reflections sank deep, and it was the 
 first time they really had done so ; for he now 
 felt the force of the wise Gaston's last letter, 
 telling him he was not fit for diplomacy ; as if 
 he prophesied the very catastrophe which had 
 now happened. 
 
 He thought, too, of the firm-minded Wilson's 
 frequent admonitions, and his foohsh contempt 
 of them. "What airs have 1 given myself!" 
 said he, " towards that attached friend and wise 
 adviser — as superior to me as that sun to the 
 surrounding planets." 
 
 It had taken years to bring Robert Sterling 
 to this conclusion, but he was now approaching 
 to it. And yet he was not flattered by thinking 
 how much this was owing to the opinions he had 
 heard from such beings as Mauleverer and Lady 
 Euphemia, whom he never would allow, in his 
 own mind, to be more than a couple of dandies, 
 male and female. 
 
 Nor was he far wrong ; for neither of them, 
 if deprived of the adventitious aids which fortune 
 had given them, would ever have risen beyond 
 whatever sphere they were born in. 
 
 Here was more food, therefore, for inquiries 
 into human nature, by our disappointed son of 
 ambition. Disgust and mortification, indeed.
 
 300 STERLING. 
 
 often make a philosopher ; and Robert Sterling 
 thought now he was about to prove it. 
 
 One good attended his present self-examina- 
 tion, which had never attended any other. He 
 did not prevaricate to his own mind. He saw 
 the truth, and did not wish to elude it. He 
 resolved to meet it boldly. 
 
 After a long investigation, therefore, of his 
 precise condition, which lasted till midnight, he 
 determined to fly ; and that he might leave no 
 opening for retreat, before he retired to rest he 
 wrote a letter to his sagacious friend, the Prin- 
 cipal, of which the following is an extract. 
 
 After describing many of the particulars we 
 have related, he went on to say : — 
 
 " You told me I was not fit for diplomacy ; 
 and though I ventured to doubt, and embarked 
 in it, you were, as usual, right. I certainly am 
 not fit to encounter the gross ill-breeding I have 
 met with in this family, — whether springing from 
 diplomacy, or their own nature, I pretend not to 
 say. Lord Avington is pompous and protect- 
 ing — which I expected ; but all the rest are rude 
 and insulting — which I did not expect. How 
 does it happen, that good company and good 
 breeding are not the same things ? The first, 
 these fine people are esteemed all the world over ; 
 to discover in them the last I have in vain 
 essayed. We have a secretary, the king of dan-
 
 STERLING. 301 
 
 dies, who lets no one approach his royal dignity ; 
 and ladies who think they show their quality by 
 being rude, contemptuous, and neglectful. 
 
 " But I am mildness itself in my expressions. 
 Thanks to you, I feel superior, in essentials, to 
 every one about me ; nor can I fasten upon any 
 one specific thing as an open affront ; and yet 
 I feel insulted every hour. You yourself would 
 not wish me to bear this ; you yourself would 
 tell me immediately to fly. This I have resolved 
 to do, unless you forbid me ; and in a few days 
 the world will probably be once more before me, 
 * where to choose ;' and would to God I could 
 be sure that Providence would be my guide. 
 " Your grateful, 
 
 " Robert Sterling."" 
 
 To this decided letter the Principal instantly 
 replied, and a fortnight brought him the follow- 
 ing characteristic answer : — 
 
 Principal Gaston to Sterling. 
 " What I foresaw has exactly come to pass, 
 though sooner than I expected. But my pro- 
 phecy was founded upon general observation of 
 your own character, without the aid drawn from 
 the character of the family in which you have 
 been placed. Any body that knows any thing of 
 the great world, knows the old people to be dull
 
 302 STERLING. 
 
 and common-place, in an unusual degree; and the 
 young ones, spoilt and malapert children, who 
 would behave to you exactly as they have done ; 
 and as to Mauleverer, though superior to your 
 old enemy, he is only different by being at the 
 head of what, in modern jargon, are called the 
 Exclusives. 
 
 " Cannot these be resisted, you will say ? 
 Yes, certainly ; but not by you. Why not ? 
 Merely because you are not able to handle their 
 weapons ; and though you have better of your 
 own, you choose to lay them aside, and fight 
 them with theirs. You also allow them to choose 
 their own field of battle. What good general 
 ever did this ? 
 
 " Leaving metaphor, you, being in a very 
 middling rank of life, with your fortune to make, 
 and homely connections, choose to aspire to 
 equality with those who are, in these respects^ 
 undoubtedly your superiors ; and this it is that 
 shocks you. 
 
 "Are there, then, to be no superiors — no dis- 
 tinctions in rank ? If there are, Mr. Mauleverer 
 was right in saying you ought to have gone to 
 the West-Indies. 
 
 " But you will say, there ought to be no dis- 
 tinction in manners, in behaviour, in good 
 breeding : and I say so too. If, therefore, this 
 Mr. Mauleverer, and his silly alhes, forget them-
 
 STERLING. 303 
 
 selves by treating you with ill-breeding, why 
 the fault is with them, and there I would leave 
 it. What would you say to yourself if a mob 
 should hoot and insult you, and you pouted 
 and swelled at them like a turkey-cock ? Would 
 you not rather think them what they are, and 
 leave them to their supposed triumph? — Just so 
 with these great vulgar. By not feeling their 
 indecorum, you deprive them of all power, and 
 their affronts are ' teliim imhelle sine ictu? 
 
 That they are the vulgar, not you, ought to 
 satisfy you ; and that they are so, I have, if 
 it were wanting, authority from your amiable 
 duke, even when a young man, and therefore 
 perhaps liable to what you call dandyism. In 
 this very place, a companion, his inferior in 
 degree, complaining that he cut him, he said to 
 him, with true dignity, " Why do you affront 
 me by imputing to me a thing so vulgar ?" 
 
 " But the truth is, you have, like W^olsey, 
 ' an unbounded stomach,' and ever would 
 'rank yourself with princes,' who, like most 
 princes, are jealous of intruders, and will not 
 admit you of their mystery. The fault, therefore, 
 is in yourself, for giving them this advantage. 
 
 " True, you will say, but their advantage is 
 adventitious, and not derived from themselves. 
 But does that make a difference ? Are not most 
 advantages of fortune adventitious ? Our duty
 
 304 STERLING. 
 
 is to take care that these advantages press not 
 upon us, so as to hurt us : and this you have not 
 done. A cannon loaded is a terrible thing in itself; 
 but when not pointed against us, it is to us, 
 nothing. Nobody would have pointed his cannon 
 against you, had you not courted it, and marched 
 up to its very mouth. If you do this, have you a 
 right to complain that the gunner with his match 
 in hand is more powerful than you, though in 
 muscle and limb you may be the strongest ? 
 
 " In the schools at Oxford, or the Courts, had 
 you pursued the law, you would have beaten 
 Mr. Mauleverer all to pieces, had he been as 
 injudicious as you have been, and engaged in a 
 contest to which he was unequal. 
 
 " Where he is, he is impregnable, at least by 
 you ; yet you think your honour is concerned 
 to enter the lists with him. 
 
 " Suppose he had been a rope-dancer, instead 
 of a secretary, — would your honour be concerned 
 to equal him in rope-dancing ? — or if he then 
 turned his back on you, would you deplore your 
 inequality ? 
 
 " I do not mean that ]\Ir. Mauleverer literally 
 turned his back upon you (that would have been 
 a tangible affront), nor that the ladies spoke in- 
 sulting things, whatever they might look. Had 
 this been so, you were at least on such terms of 
 conventional equality that you would have had
 
 STERLING. ' 305 
 
 a right, nay were bound, to show your sense of 
 it. 
 
 " As a clergyman, I do not go so far as Ches- 
 terfield, and say, if a man positively insults you, 
 knock him down ; but I do say that the7i your 
 expressed resentment would be legitimate. As it 
 is, all that I make out of your grievance is, that 
 you meet with coldness, want of confidence, and 
 hauteur, where you expected (what you had no 
 right to be sure of) warmth, deference, and 
 attention ; and if you cannot force these, you 
 will fly. 
 
 " Fly, then, by all means, as you would fly 
 any other nuisance ; but think it only a nuisance 
 which you can avoid, and do not pout about it, 
 particularly as it w^as one of your own seeking. 
 
 " Your question as to the distinction between 
 good breeding and good company, which springs 
 out of this untoward situation, is not unnatural. 
 But neither should it puzzle you. It w^ould not 
 be easy to define good company, according to 
 the understanding of it by the world ; — and this, 
 if only because there are so many different worlds 
 which erect themselves into judges upon the 
 subject. 
 
 " What may be good company with me, may 
 be execrated by another. Some suppose that 
 titles cannot fail to confer the distinction, what- 
 ever the manners ; others, with more reason, but
 
 306 STERLING. 
 
 still not successfully, assign it to manners alone, 
 whatever the calling. That cannot be, as long as 
 the standard of manners itself is so different in dif- 
 ferent classes and different countries. The good 
 manners of an Englishman at Paris might be 
 doubtful, and vice versa. The manners of trades- 
 men are looked down upon by merchants ; of mere 
 merchants, by nobility, or those, noble or not, 
 who call themselves men of fashion. The good 
 company of the law are not admitted to be so by 
 the subscribers to the Opera, or Mrs. Cornells ;* 
 and the City is generally neglected by the West 
 End. I even remember a French teacher who 
 asked me to patronize him among the young 
 men here ; assuring me, by way of reconnnenda- 
 tion, that he had always kept good company. 
 This, upon inquiry, I found was the company at 
 an eating-house, the Thirteen Cantons, in Seven 
 Dials, where he always dined. 
 
 *' Hence, unless we explain what we mean by 
 this most ambiguous phrase, we shall never 
 understand one another ; as in general it means 
 only those individuals with whom we are linked 
 together in the same society, who have the same 
 education, modes of thinking, and maxims of 
 conduct. Thus, when Hume, anxious about his 
 Essays, says with self-satisfaction, that he found 
 by Warburton's railing that the books began 
 * The Almacks of the time.
 
 STERLING. 307 
 
 ' to be esteemed m good company,'* he meant 
 such company as he himself chiefly esteemed, 
 hked, and associated with. 
 
 " What you and I, therefore, or Lord Langs- 
 ton, may esteem good company, may be very 
 different from what Mr. Alauleverer, or Lady 
 Euphemia, or my lord ambassador himself, may 
 consider as such ; and though they may, as you 
 say, be acknowledged by all the world to come 
 within the definition, it must be for something 
 greatly in addition to their mere titles or for- 
 tunes, however much these may add to their con- 
 sideration, united with such addition. Were they 
 brutes in personal manners ; did the ambassador 
 or his secretary habitually swear, get drunk, or 
 degrade themselves by any public indecency ; 
 or were the ladies, instead of being merely lan- 
 guid and indifferent, though affectedly so, rough 
 hoydens, or something worse; — not all their titles 
 or maonnificence would o;ive them a claim to be 
 called good company. They would be high 
 among the great vulgar, and that is all. 
 
 "I need not tell you that a marquess, qtia 
 marquess, or the power of driving half a dozen 
 coaches and six, and nothing more, is not on that 
 account alone an object of consideration. 
 
 " On the other hand, negation of particular 
 merits, if nothing more than negation, will not 
 deprive them of the advantages they cannot help.
 
 308 STERLING. 
 
 — such as birth, title, and fortune; to which, 
 while the lots of mankind are allowed to be un- 
 equal, they have assuredly a right. 
 
 "It follows, then, that good company may be 
 of a very mixed character, and its members may 
 enjoy very different degrees of estimation. It 
 may be full of inequalities, both as to rank, to 
 fortune, and to mind and accomplishments ; 
 and what is wanting in one, may be made up by 
 the other. 
 
 " Hence, too, distinguished merit in the 
 learned professions or liberal arts, if unalloyed 
 by coarseness of manners, gives its possessor a 
 right to equality in the social intercourse with 
 persons far beyond them in the gifts of fortune ; 
 and a poet or a painter may form a part of good 
 company, as well as a duke. Goethe, in the land 
 you are in, though roturier^ and in a country 
 full of prejudices as to birth, was always thought 
 an ornament of the literary court, that is, of the 
 good company of Wiemar. 
 
 " If I have made this understood, it may per- 
 haps account for the nice shades of distinction 
 that exist between good company and good 
 breeding, which, you see, are not convertible 
 terms. For though with good breeding you can 
 hardly fail of being in reality ^ooc? company^ you 
 may be ranked among good company, without 
 in reality having good breeding. Your secretary
 
 STERLING. 309 
 
 and his shallow friends may, for the reasons I 
 have given, be classed among the first; but, as 
 you have shown, they may be totally devoid of 
 the second. 
 
 " The reason is to be found in the very nature 
 of good breeding, which, or I am much mistaken, 
 must be founded in good sense, and so far in 
 good-nature, that though it is possible it may 
 eoeist^ it cannot be carried to perfection, without 
 it. Good sense, however, so as on occasions to 
 ensure self-possession, is its essence, its sine qua 
 non. For though I have known many a wise 
 man not well-bred, I never knew a really well- 
 bred man a fool. The reason is, that to have 
 good- breeding, you must never lose your self- 
 possession ; and to be always self-possessed, is 
 always to have your senses about you. 
 
 " Another, and most essential part of good 
 breeding is, to be always careful to avoid giving 
 pain, or rather always to study to put your com- 
 pany at ease with themselves ; and hence it has 
 been well called artificial good-nature. 
 
 " But, if the fiction can do so much, how 
 much more may be done by the reality ? Good 
 sense and good-nature, therefore, conjoined, can- 
 not fail to produce good -breeding: I mean the 
 thing, not the effigy of it, as found in mere con- 
 ventional manners — which any blockhead may 
 ape. Hence, if there can be no good-breeding
 
 310 STERLING. 
 
 without good-nature, real or artificial, an ill- 
 bred man is generally (though not as a logical 
 consequence) an ill-natured one; and a well- 
 bred man can never lose his temper, any more 
 than his presence of mind. 
 
 " Now to apply this. It should seem that your 
 people are any thing but well-bred, though they 
 may figure in the pageants of the world as good 
 company : and thus your difficulty is solved. 
 
 "But if they are not well-bred, or rather if thev 
 are ill-bred, need I ask you whether you should 
 feel mortified by such persons ? Their rank gives 
 them no claims over you, for more than that cere- 
 monial of respect which it injures not your self- 
 consequence to the very last iota to pay : while 
 their conduct deprives them of all inward respect 
 on your side; which, without departing from 
 conventional forms, you may easily let them see. 
 Your independence, and even your pride, there- 
 fore, may be safe if you please, though you may 
 choose to remain. AVhether you ought so to 
 choose, being a matter so entirely your own, it 
 is for you, not me, to decide. 
 
 " Confess that, in thus attending to your hu- 
 mours (I might say, your waywardness), I treat 
 you better than you deserve. You have, indeed, 
 so often rebelled against prudence and my advice, 
 that I might justly leave you to your fate, — 
 which, if I do not much err, is to be thrown
 
 STERLING. 311 
 
 away — and that at siocty^ when you have fallen 
 into the *sere and yellow leaf,' men will point 
 at you as one who might have done well, if he 
 had pleased * This I believe ; but there is some- 
 thing in you which I cannot abandon, and which 
 makes me sign myself still 
 
 " Your well-wisher, 
 
 "Thos. Gaston." 
 
 • The introduction to this work shows what a sage 
 observer this extraordinary Dr. Gaston was.
 
 312 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HE GIVES NOTICE TO QUIT. 
 
 Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The receipt of the PrincipaFs letter produced 
 no little satisfaction in Sterling's mind. He 
 had been upon tenter-hooks till he received it, 
 and could hardly wait its arrival to enforce his 
 resolution of retreating. 
 
 He was now confirmed in all his resolves, and 
 far more at his ease as to his estimate of the 
 people who had disgusted him. 
 
 Of the marquess he made little account ; of 
 the marchioness less ; and they at least demon- 
 strated the emptiness of high state and fortune, 
 when unaccompanied by any thing else, to pro- 
 duce consideration for the holders of them. But 
 the marked indifference of Maiileverer, and the 
 distinction he made between him and his better- 
 connected colleagues, stung him ; and not the less, 
 because he found that his literary attainments 
 among them all seemed to do him more harm
 
 STERLIXG. 313 
 
 than good. Indeed all of them appeared more 
 able, as well as more inclined, to invent a new- 
 tie of a neckcloth, than to feast on a passage in 
 Homer or Virgil, or even to unravel a question 
 in diplomacy. 
 
 If this was his situation among the men, it 
 was worse with the women, who seemed to 
 regard him as an absolute nonentity ; while 
 Mauleverer engrossed their more than smiles, in 
 a manner so undisguised, that the world came 
 in for its full share of knowledge of their par- 
 tiality for the happy secretary. 
 
 All this only whetted Sterling's resolution to 
 leave a field so unprofitable of honour, pleasure, 
 or advantage ; and he began to be really alive 
 to the folly of his attachment to views so little 
 belonging to his natural sphere. But the diffi- 
 culty now was, how to carry his resolution into 
 effect. After all that had been done for him by 
 Lord Langston, and the interest expended in 
 his service, to throw it all away, and in a pet 
 of caprice, as it would seem, to fling it in his 
 face, — this could not be justifiable on any prin- 
 ciple of common good conduct, much less of 
 gratitude. The marquess, at least, had not 
 appeared to despise him ; with the marchioness 
 he had not exchanged five words; and to tell 
 them he did not like their daughters, or Maule- 
 verer, would neither be politic or decorous. 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 STERLING. 
 
 It must be owned, if he had recalled his reso- 
 lution, at least for a time, he might not have 
 been thought very blameable. Prompted, how- 
 ever, by his new-raised courage, caused by 
 Doctor Gaston's letter, and his feelings of bitter- 
 ness at the slights of the last Opera, he made 
 a vow never more to trust himself in company 
 with the ladies St. Maurice. They might bestow 
 themselves, their favours, or their neglects, on 
 others, for him. Though he, therefore, attended 
 the office till he knew how to break away from 
 it, he avoided the dinner and the drawing-room 
 so constantly, that Lord Avington began to take 
 notice of it. 
 
 " I hope,'' said he, " nothing has happened 
 to annoy this young man. This may not be 
 exactly the place for him to throw off in ; but 
 he is in the king's employ, and we ought not to 
 discountenance him." 
 
 The young ladies tittered ; Mr. Mauleverer 
 gave a dry sort of smile ; which was returned 
 by Lady Euphemia, who said, " O ! I dare say, 
 if he is affronted, he will soon come round." 
 
 Not so soon, however, as her ladyship ex- 
 pected, or even might, in a possible case, 
 have wished :— for Lady Euphemia was, after 
 all, a coquet; and a coquet is an undeflnable 
 character, or at least subject to no rules. 
 
 Thus, though a marquess's daughter, she was
 
 STERLING. 315 
 
 flesh and blood, and subject, like any other 
 flesh and blood, to all human feelings, little and 
 common, as well as great and commanding. 
 Besides — 
 
 '* She was a woman, therefore to be won." 
 
 And we are also told that woman is divided by 
 two great passions, 
 
 " The love of pleasure and the love of sway." 
 
 Which is the most impetuous may be doubt- 
 ful, but at least the last is so engrossing, as to 
 become a Helluo; and rather than not be admired, 
 a duchess will sometimes angle for the eyes of a 
 shopkeeper. 
 
 I have heard, indeed, of a fine town lady 
 going to a country church, in order to turn the 
 heads of all the bumpkins; which she did, all 
 save one, who would not even look at her. 
 Piqued, and resolved to conquer, though the 
 contest was so inglorious, she played off* every 
 art that she would have used in a drawing- 
 room. Still, to her astonishment, and even 
 mortification, she could not succeed. After the 
 service, the riddle was explained; for she saw 
 the impenetrable clown led out of church by a 
 friend. The insensible was — blind ! 
 
 We are sorry to affront our hero by the appli- 
 cation of such a story ; but most certain it is 
 that, Mr. Mauleverer having been detached on 
 p5e
 
 316 STERLING. 
 
 the business of a week to a neighbouring court, 
 the attentions of all the other young men became 
 acceptable ; and among them, if he had offered 
 them, would have been those of the slighted 
 Sterling. 
 
 " The Dutch gentleman,'' was however inex- 
 orable ; and one day. Lady Euphemia meeting 
 liim in the garden, and actually dressing herself 
 in smiles, the conversation he had overheard 
 between her and Mr. Mauleverer came across 
 him so forcibly, that (O shame to gallantry !) 
 he pretended not to see her, and turned into 
 another walk when within arm's length. 
 
 Lady Euphemia's mollified feeling instantly 
 fled, and she became more contemptuous than 
 ever. Robert, however, was now beyond her 
 power ; for, acting upon his resolution, he had 
 worked himself up to the declaration of it to 
 Lord Avington, and, to the latter's astonishment, 
 asked for his conge. 
 
 The marquess heard him with cold politeness ; 
 hoped he had met with nothing disagreeable in 
 his family ; allowed he was the best judge of 
 his own affairs ; and would be glad if he found 
 seme other mission more agreeable to his views. 
 
 His departure was fixed, and he was pressed 
 to dine with the ambassador the day before he 
 went,— which, with high notions of insulted 
 dignity, he declined. For this he afterwards
 
 STERLING. 317 
 
 blamed himself, and allowed, in talking it over 
 with his friend Wilson, that it arose from 
 wounded vanity rather than independence. 
 
 And what did he get by it ? The day he left, 
 he was quizzed both by the ladies and the young 
 men, as the doughty knight of St. Swithin's, 
 and in twenty-four hours more was utterly 
 forgotten. 
 
 Robert Sterling's residence in this family was 
 upon the whole a bitter lesson ; and he beguiled 
 the journey home in pondering — what had now 
 become his favourite subject — the inequalities 
 of mankind. Whv such a beinsj as Lord Avins:- 
 ton should be created to be a marquess and an 
 ambassador, and himself to bend his body at his 
 nod; why a set of shallow young ladies, sucli 
 as he had left, or a dandy secretary, like ^Maule- 
 verer, should have the power of turning up their 
 noses at him with impunity, and cause him the 
 undefinable mortifications he had suffered, merely 
 because he had been born in St. Swithin's, and 
 his father lived in Bloomsbury Square ; — all 
 this was an inextricable puzzle to his philoso- 
 phical research, and lasted all the way to Hol- 
 land. But not a little shocked was he with 
 himself, when, in passing through the wine 
 countries of the Rhine and in France, he beheld 
 dancino: vignerons, after labour done, in all the 
 jollity of carelessness and present ease, though
 
 318 STERLING. 
 
 almost squalid with poverty. " Good heavens !'' 
 cried he, " is there so little difference in station, 
 on the question of happiness ? Is it pride alone 
 that causes the struggles we undergo, and which 
 we certainly create for ourselves ? ' Take physic 
 pomp,' and make me like one of these. In what 
 are the Avingtons or Mauleverers of the world 
 the superiors of these poor but cheerful people, 
 except that they do not wear patched petticoats 
 or trowsers, — which the others do, and feel it
 
 STERLING. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 HE THINKS OF COMMERCE. 
 
 Like a German from the waist downwards, all slops." 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 We have seen in the last chapter how our 
 tyro (for tyro in the world he still certainly was) 
 reasoned with himself during the weary miles 
 that spun out his journey; and he wore through 
 the days, now comforted now moody, but always 
 dissatisfied with himself. 
 
 At times he was such a convert to his new 
 notions of the inefficacy of rank or fortune to 
 elevate character, or make people happy, that 
 he actually once thought of overcoming all his 
 prejudices, and complying, late as it was, with 
 his father's wish, of going to Amsterdam. He 
 was, in fact, now so near it, — having readied 
 Rotterdam, in his way to England, — that he 
 resolved to stretcli over, and see how brother 
 William looked, with a pen behind his ear ; 
 and, curiously enough, he found him in that 
 very situation.
 
 320 STERLING. 
 
 As the counting-house of Messrs. Pye, Rich, 
 and Wilkieson, was easily known, he went there 
 without notice. To be sure, he felt a pang more 
 poignant than he liked, or thought possible, 
 when, taking out his card to announce himself, 
 he beheld upon it, for the last time, ornamented 
 with many foreign flourishes, M. Sterling, Con- 
 seiller de VAmhassade de V Angleterre. But he 
 swallowed the dose as well as he could ; and, 
 in a fit of disgust, giving all diplomacy to the 
 devil, scattered the rest of his cards to the winds. 
 
 His name produced instant admission, and one 
 of the partners, at his request, conducted him 
 into the counting-house, in order, as he had 
 planned, to catch his brother by surprise. 
 
 He found the young gentleman, as we have 
 stated, with the dreaded pen behind his ear. 
 He was seated upon a high stool, amid some 
 dozen or fourteen brother clerks, all of them 
 absorbed in the deepest attention, over ponderous 
 tomes, any one of which two of them could 
 hardly lift. 
 
 William Sterling had already put on much of 
 the Dutch merchant. Nay, the appellation of 
 " Dutch gentleman'" did not seem at all inappli- 
 cable to him, either in dress, figure, or counte- 
 nance. He seemed as heavily built, particularly 
 about the stern, as one of his own ships ; and 
 his large and ponderous limbs were not made
 
 STERLING. 321 
 
 lighter to the eye, by a mass of roomy clothes, 
 which seemed made for the convenience of much 
 in-door work. His face corresponded : he was 
 barely one-and-twenty, yet his brow was full of 
 care ; invoice seemed written on his forehead ; 
 and though his gills were rosy and sleek, his 
 cheek was as if unaccustomed to smile. 
 
 Robert was sincerely glad to see his brotlier ; 
 but nothing of this escaped, nor could he prevent 
 an uncomfortable feeling, when he thought what 
 would be the sensation of a Tylney or a Mauie- 
 verer, were they ever to catch him as he now did 
 his brother. 
 
 On the other hand, that brother did not appear 
 in the smallest degree affected by it. He was 
 dans son metier, and loved it. Far therefore 
 from being ashamed to be so found, he would 
 have felt disgraced if he had been discovered' 
 with a Horace before him, instead of his ledger. 
 This he afterwards told his brother, — who did 
 not fail to make very proper reflections upon 
 it, though unfortunately without any practical 
 effect. 
 
 The meeting between the brothers was charac- 
 teristic of both : — Robert animated, pleased, and 
 shewing that he was so ; William pleased, but 
 sedate, and not a little observant, as it should 
 seem, of tlie eye of tlie partner who presided \r\ 
 this room ; in fact, fearful tliat if there was a 
 p3
 
 322 STERLING. 
 
 scene, it might interrupt business. To avoid 
 this, he proposed a walk with his brother, but 
 first asked leave of his chief, — observing, by 
 way of inducement to give it, that he could, in 
 the course of it, deliver a number of bills for 
 acceptance, received that morning. 
 
 " Do so," said the chief; " and we will not 
 require you to appear again till to-morrow." 
 
 '' No, Sir," said William, " the casting of 
 the ledger will then be suspended." 
 
 Robert did not fail to remark this, and again 
 thought (though he hated himself for it) of the 
 Avingtons. The brothers then proceeded upon 
 their excursion, before which, Mr. Pye, the 
 chief partner, whose turn it was to give a dinner 
 that day, pressed them both to dine with him, 
 which was accepted. 
 
 " And you are perfectly happy, William," 
 said Robert, as they proceeded on their walk. 
 
 " Perfectly," replied WiUiam. «' I am ad- 
 vanced considerably in the counting-house, and 
 have been promoted to the ledger, and have had 
 my salary increased ; so that I now cost father 
 nothing." 
 
 Robert felt a little pricked with thi?, and 
 could not help ejaculating, he wished he could 
 say as much. 
 
 " O ! you will in time, I dare say," continued 
 William ; " but at present, you know, you are
 
 STERLING. 323 
 
 educating for the gentleman of the family. I 
 hope it will not be like uncle George." 
 
 Robert's pulse began to beat quick, with the 
 thought of what he might come to, and AVilliam's 
 with joy at what he had already achieved. In 
 fact, this good William reminds us of John Tipp, 
 so graphically described by Charles Lamb, in 
 the Sketch of the South Sea House, formerly 
 mentioned : " He neither pretended to high 
 blood, nor cared one fig about the matter. He 
 thought an accountant the greatest character in 
 the world, and himself the greatest of account- 
 ants." 
 
 Well," added WilUam, '' I have now got six 
 juniors under me, and my masters are so pleased, 
 and so kind !" 
 
 " Your masters !" cried Robert. " For God's 
 sake, are you a servant then ? " 
 
 " I must obey orders," replied William, *' and 
 do the work assigned me ; and so, I suppose, did 
 you, when you were apprenticed to that lawyer." 
 
 "Apprenticed !" cried Robert, with emphasis; 
 " and yet, I wish I had been so ; I should not 
 then, perhaps, be what I am now." 
 
 " Why, you are now training to be an ambas- 
 sador, as they say," proceeded William ; " and I 
 suppose on your way to that great lord who has 
 promised to make your fortune." 
 
 William said this with such simplicity, that
 
 324 STERLING. 
 
 Hubert's bile, Mbich had begun to overflow, 
 evaporated in a fit of laughter. 
 
 " I wish, my dear brother," said he, " I was 
 as ignorant and as happy as you." 
 
 " I don't see,"' returned William, with all the 
 phlegm of the Dutchman he had become, " why 
 you should call me ignorant ; and as to being 
 happy, I thought you were always a favourite 
 among those lords and ladies. So mother said ; 
 but I suppose it is as people think." 
 
 " I suppose so too," said Robert ; and he gave 
 a deep sigh. 
 
 " Well, I don't think you are happy, after 
 all," continued William. " But cheer up — there 
 is to be a noble party to dinner to-day at our 
 chiefs." 
 
 " Merchants, I suppose," said Robert. 
 
 " Merchants ! Yes ! and who better ? But 
 there are also to be several noblemen, and our 
 English ambassador at their head ; and I hope 
 that will satisfy you." 
 
 '• I had hoped," returned Robert, " never to 
 have seen an English ambassador again ;" and he 
 siorhed still more. 
 
 o 
 
 William could make nothing at all out of 
 this; but wondered that his brother, who had 
 had all his wishes granted, could possibly be 
 otherwise than happy. What a contrast between 
 tlie brothers !
 
 STERLING. 325 
 
 The dinner came, and was splendid, sunnp- 
 tuous, and even extravagant. All the quarters of 
 the world had been ransacked for the supply of 
 every thing, in and out of season. A side-board 
 of massive plate — servants without number. It 
 was an immense show, periodically given by this 
 great house, to prove that Dutcli merchants were 
 little less than princes. In short, it rivalled all 
 that Robert had seen at Langston or Derwent 
 Castles, or lately, at the hotel of Lord Aving- 
 ton himself. 
 
 In the company there were several Dutch 
 noblemen and their ladies, and, as William had 
 promised. Sir Joseph , the British ambas- 
 sador. In point of rank, therefore, there was 
 quite sufficient to conciliate Robert's utmost 
 craving; of fastidiousness. Still there was some- 
 thing wanting — he scarcely knew what. There 
 was not that ease and smoothness, that quiet 
 dignity, which had belonged to the other parties 
 which had so enchanted him. There was great 
 display, but little repose. All was bustle, as if 
 not in the usual routine. The three partners 
 were at different parts of the table, carefully, 
 painfully, and sometimes teasingly on the watch 
 to see that every one was served, and served to 
 his fill. There was too much bustle about the 
 ambassador — a tall soldier of quality, decorated 
 ^nth the Order of the Bath, which in Robert's
 
 326 STERLING. 
 
 mind, challenged a great deal too much notice 
 from many of the guests, particularly the com- 
 mercial ones. 
 
 Then, again, the ladies were not what he had 
 looked for ; what he had wished ; wliat he had 
 seen. There was much finery of dress ; silk and 
 diamonds ; much ceremony of manner, bows and 
 compliments ; but no ease. All was a lesson got 
 by heart, and anxiety lest it should fail. There 
 was beauty too, but beauty under constraint. In 
 short, there was none of that charm of self-pos- 
 session, that proof of their being in their natural 
 element, which formed the distinguishing feature 
 of those high parties which, with all their faults, 
 had so won upon his taste and delighted his 
 mind. For, even among the Ladies St. Maurice, 
 though he had had much to disgust him, much 
 to complain of, there was an ease and inde- 
 pendence in their nonchalance, which showed 
 natural freedom from constraint, and a polish not 
 to be suddenly acquired. 
 
 Nor was the conversation particularly grati- 
 fying, either to his classical or his fashionable 
 requisitions. The ambassador, though of the 
 highest of the court families of England, and 
 bred in camps, as well as diplomacy, was, whe- 
 ther from the last circumstance or from nature, 
 taciturnity itself, and seemed pleased that the 
 chief topics of discourse turned upon trade, in
 
 STERLING. 327 
 
 order that he might be a listener rather than a 
 speaker. Most of the Dutch guests, not mer- 
 chants, were jurisconsults, or magistrates, who 
 were busied with their gravamina^ which Robert 
 did not understand a word of ; so that the only 
 moment of interest which was afforded him by 
 this grand entertainment was, when the ambas- 
 sador, hearing that he was or had been attached 
 to Lord Avington's embassy, asked him some 
 questions relative to that mission. 
 
 Upon the whole, though the magnificence he 
 witnessed made him think that to be rich must 
 be an extremely pleasant thing, yet to be a rich 
 merchant, even at Amsterdam, did not satisfy 
 the taste for more fashionable society which had 
 made, and thus continued to make, such cruel 
 inroads upon his notions of happiness. 
 
 The result was, that if ever, in his resolutions 
 of reform, he had suffered the idea of betaking 
 himself to his original destination, commerce, to 
 enter his mind, — having now seen it under its 
 best aspect, it was for ever abandoned.
 
 328 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HE TAKES REFUGE WITH AN AUNT. THE 
 
 DELIGHTFUL CHARACTER OF THAT WOMAN. 
 HER HUSBAND, HOUSE, AND OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 Women are soft, mild, dutiful, and flexible." 
 
 Henry FL, Pt. iii. 
 
 A SERIOUS dilemma now awaited him at home, 
 for he returned with feehngs very like those of 
 the prodigal son. He had written to his father, 
 acquainting him with all his causes for disgust at 
 Lord Avington's, and his resolution to resign : 
 which had the effect that might be expected 
 upon the prudent and rather irascible Sir Robert. 
 
 " The fellow will drive me mad, and ruin me 
 into the bargain!"" said he, brandishing the letter, 
 as he stalked up and down the parlour in Blooms- 
 bury Square. " Nothing is good enough for him. 
 He refused first to be a merchant ; then to be a 
 tutor, with four hundred a-year ; then to be a 
 lawyer, whence he might have been a judge ; and 
 all because folks were not fine enough for Iiim.
 
 STERLING. 329 
 
 And now, when he has got among those he likes, 
 and has cost me a mint of money to get there, he 
 woVt stay. Is this to be borne, Lady Sterling ?" 
 
 Sir Robert said this to his wife, who was 
 pleading for her son, though herself sorrowful 
 and displeased at his renouncing his appoint- 
 ment — for reasons, indeed, but Mliich she could 
 not appreciate. Alarmed, however, at the serious 
 rage of her husband, who declared he would 
 withdraw all future assistance from so helpless 
 and perverse a creature, and let him shift for 
 himself, she set about soothing him in the best 
 way she could, and at last succeeded, but upon 
 conditions. 
 
 " The fellow must part with his nonsense,"' 
 said Sir Robert ; " I am determined upon it. 
 He shall have no more to do with lords ; — he 
 must get his own bread, or 1 shall soon have 
 none to eat myself {Mem. Sir Robert was at 
 that moment thinking of sixty thousand pounds 
 which he had in the funds.) " He shall go back 
 to Oxford — the only thing he is fit for, and bad 
 enough ; or he shall go to his aunt ]\Iaxfield's, 
 and see if she isn't as good as 'ere a countess he 
 knows."" 
 
 This aunt Maxfield was rather a favourite 
 with Robert — the only one of his numerous kin- 
 dred who was so. But this was for reasons 
 which might have made her a favourite with all
 
 330 STERLING. 
 
 the world. She had an excellent heart ; a temper 
 which nothing could ruffle; and so far a wise 
 head, that she envied nobody, and was perfectly 
 content with her situation. She had not a notion 
 that there was such a thing in the world as rivalry 
 or ambition, leading to unhappiness. She never 
 concealed a thought or a motive, and always spoke 
 strict truth, and believed that others did so too — 
 rather from not knowing that falsehood existed, 
 than from reflection upon its impropriety. 
 
 She was indeed 
 
 " A gem of purest ray serene," 
 
 and, like those fancied by the poet, was buried in 
 
 " The dark unfathoraed caves of ocean ;" 
 
 for she lived at Mile End Green, and such both 
 Robert and uncle George thought Mile End 
 Green to be. 
 
 From all this it was plain that she knew little 
 of the world ; and, indeed, she was of a vast sim- 
 plicity. Her plainness, however, added to an 
 undeviating benevolence, made her the delight 
 of her friends, and the idol of her husband and 
 children. 
 
 Perhaps aunt Maxfield was the happiest of 
 human creatures. But will this be believed by 
 the Sterlings of the day, when I add, that her 
 husband was a stockbroker, and went every day 
 through Whitechapel to the Stock Exchange !
 
 STERLING. 331 
 
 From childhood she had always distinguished 
 Robert with fondness, and many were the half- 
 crowns she had given him, and the pound cakes 
 she had made for him, till he grew too big for such 
 indulgences. She was fond of his sprightliness 
 and his talents, and prophecied great thincjs of 
 his career ; nor, as he repaid her affections always 
 with sincere attentions (though she lived at Mile 
 End), would she believe half the stories of his 
 passion for finery and great people. She could 
 not fancy that he would ever be like her brother, 
 uncle George, who, as she scarce ever stirred 
 from her neighbourhood, made the distance of it 
 an excuse for cutting her entirely. He might 
 however, have gone farther and fared worse. 
 
 Aunt Maxfield and her natural-minded and 
 natural-mannered husband lived in a comfortable, 
 substantial, and roomy house. It stood by the side 
 of a dry gravel- walk, overshadowed by old elms ; 
 was light and cheerful ; had a garden ; and was 
 surrounded by the houses of neighbours, who 
 gave them all their respect. In short, as Robert 
 often thought (though he always repressed the 
 thought), they exhibited in themselves and their 
 dwelling as much happiness as they could have 
 done in Park Lane itself. 
 
 Such was the banishment to which Sir Robert, 
 in his irate mood, had condemned his son. We 
 may judge that son's surprise, when, on his arri-
 
 332 STERLING. 
 
 va], he was acquainted with this determination. 
 His father, who, as we have said, was often 
 despotic, even with my lady (though, as John 
 Moody said of Sir Francis, " he cou'd na haud 
 it,") was inexorable to all intreaty. 
 
 In vain the mortified diplomat requested to 
 be sent to Lavender Hill. Sir Robert was stern 
 in his refusal. 
 
 " No !'*'' said he ; " you will then be too much 
 exposed to the fine people of Richmond and 
 Wimbledon. You shall go where you may get 
 wholesome lessons, and see whether a stockbroker 
 and his wife arVt as good as an ambassador. I 
 have settled it all with them. They will receive 
 you and your books, and you may walk to the 
 city by way of exercise, if you please, but not 
 to this end of the town, until you are wiser, and 
 have learned to be happy at the other." 
 
 Robert was now three-and-tw^enty, had been 
 in an honourable employ, and had a reputation 
 at Oxford, where he had taken a high degree. We 
 may suppose therefrom he did not like to submit 
 to such peremptoriness. But, as he loved his 
 father, and knew that, however towering his pas- 
 sion sometimes was, it could be mitigated by 
 submission, and he read as much in his mother'^s 
 eyes ; as he also loved his aunt, and moreover had 
 no pecuniary resources of his own ; and last, and 
 not least, as he was actually under a fit of disgust
 
 STERLING. 333 
 
 at all the grandees of the world, so that he had 
 begun to turn philosopher about it ; for all these 
 reasons, he unhesitatingly, and not ungracefully, 
 submitted, 
 
 " Possibly,"" thought he, " I may find my 
 father is ricrht ; and that an honest and sensible 
 stockbroker, and his single-hearted wife, may be 
 worth twenty titled blockheads and insolent 
 misses of quality .""* The tide, we see, was turned ; 
 and Robert, in liis new character of a moralist in 
 disgust, was even impatient to go to his (so- 
 called) penitentiary abode, at Mile End Green. 
 
 This resignation to his will, all the reasons 
 for which were certainly not penetrated by him, 
 operated kindly wqth Sir Robert. He now shook 
 his son kindly by the hand — thought he might yet 
 be a good lad — and hoped he might be a happy 
 one. His mother, too, was delighted ; and he was 
 asked to stay dinner, which his father had origi- 
 nally determined should not be. In the evening, 
 his books and trunks, together with himself, were 
 embarked in a hackney coach ; his diplomatic 
 servant he had discharged in Holland ; and thus, 
 in a comparatively reduced condition, and very 
 like an exile, he was conveyed to a dwelling, 
 which once he would have shuddered to think 
 he had ever been born to inhabit. 
 
 His uncle and aunt received him with kind-
 
 334 STERLING. 
 
 ness and affection. The reception of the former 
 was mixed with a little something like raillery, 
 at the penance he was about to undergo ; that 
 of the latter was pure, genuine, and full of 
 encouragement. She had often said she was 
 proud of him, and she said so still. 
 
 The evening was peculiarly soft and mild. 
 The garden, which was the only thing his aunt 
 piqued herself upon, threw a thousand scents 
 through the open windows ; all seemed serenity 
 without, and kindness within ; and Robert, the 
 disappointed, the mortified, the wayward, retired 
 to an excellent bed and comfortable room, un- 
 haunted by any corroding thoughts of slights 
 and affronts, evident to angry feelings, thouglf 
 not of a nature to be resented, and therefore felt 
 the more. Thus, he was even almost pleased with 
 the change ; and, from being so entirely removed 
 from the scene of his cares, he fell into a sweeter 
 sleep than for many months he had enjoyed. 
 
 In the morning, though he arose early, he 
 perceived through his window that his uncle 
 had had the start of him ; for he saw him pacing 
 a broad middle walk in the garden, with a book 
 in one hand, and a weed-cutter in the other. 
 The weeds sometimes employed him, but the 
 book often er. He was so occupied with the last, 
 that he would sometimes stop to ponder it ; and
 
 STERLING. 335 
 
 at last lifted up his hands and exclaimed, so as 
 to be heard, *' Oh, wonderful ! divine ! majes- 
 tic Milton!'' 
 
 " Can a stockbroker enjoy Milton ?^ said 
 Robert to himself. 
 
 But this was not the only thing that engaged 
 him. The garden attached to the house extend- 
 ed backwards to the size of nearly an acre. It 
 was filled with fruit-trees, flowers, and vegetables, 
 tastefully intermixed. The pears had succeeded 
 the almonds in beautiful blossom ; there were 
 absolute hedges of roses, and espaliers of apples 
 gave promise of a flourishing treat in the autumn. 
 All this luxuriance was the creation and effect of 
 the taste and vigilant care of the good aunt 
 Maxfield, seconded with greater industry by her 
 husband, because he knew he could not gratify 
 her by any indulgence in so great a degree ; and 
 often, on returning from the Stock Exchange, 
 particularly if he had had a successful day, he 
 brought her a new tulip root or carnation in his 
 pocket, which made her doubly happy — from 
 the addition it made to her favourite pleasures, 
 and still more for the additional proof it gave of 
 her husband's regard. 
 
 The Tylneys and Mauleverers, the St. Mau- 
 rices of the world, will laugh at this recital. A 
 stockbroker and his wife presume to be happy ! 
 Oh, death to all exclusiveness ! But it was even
 
 336 STERLING. 
 
 so ; and if the idea that he could be laughed at 
 by a courtier ever came across Mr. Maxwell, 
 his consolation always was, " Let those laugh 
 that win." 
 
 Robert, almost ashamed of being late, although 
 it was not eight oVlock, descended to breakfast, 
 which was served in a small book-room (we can- 
 not call it a library), which looked upon the 
 garden. Here he passed a few minutes in exa- 
 mining what could be the studies of a man who 
 consumed the whole of every day in the purlieus 
 of St. Bartholomew Lane. To his surprise, and 
 also his pleasure, he found many of the best 
 modern, and some ancient classics. A Horace 
 was absolutely thumbed ; INIilton studded with 
 pencilled notes ; and there was a BoydelFs Shak- 
 speare, which struck him with wonder ! These, 
 and Cook's Voyages, Annual Registers, and 
 several old divines, exhibited proofs of what he 
 had never imagined, — that a stockbroker might 
 have other employment than what he had sup- 
 posed absorbed him — the problem that two and 
 two make four. 
 
 His contemplation, however, was interrupted 
 by his aunt, who gave him her still smooth and 
 even dimpled cheek, beaming with pleasure? 
 though she was above fifty ; and he was not less 
 pleased with the uncommon neatness and precision 
 of her dress : a morning-gown of quaker silk, and
 
 STEELING. 337 
 
 linen white as snow. Her manner, too, was 
 so vinafFectedly easy, that she might have passed 
 for a woman of quality, but that a bunch of 
 small keys, hung by a silver stay-hook to her 
 apron-string, for morning use, denoted attention 
 to house affairs. He never thought his aunt 
 looked so amiable, and, for the first time in his 
 life when at Mile End, he forgot where he was. 
 The entry of Mr. Maxfield from his garden 
 avocation was the signal for breakfast, which 
 was served in china markedly elegant, and was 
 composed of edibles as luxuriously palatable 
 — tea, excellent cream, cold tongue, fresh eggs, 
 and honey from the garden hives. In fact, no 
 difference in comfort or taste could be shown 
 between these and the breakfasts he had partaken 
 with the nobles of Langston or Derwent Castles, 
 or even the fastidious Ladies St. Maurice ; while 
 the mild manners and attentions of his aunt, 
 and the hearty, but not vulgar, plainness of his 
 uncle, were by no means put to the blush by 
 any former recollections of those divinities. In 
 short, Robert Sterling (his fit of philosophy 
 still upon him) seemed as if a new light had 
 sprung up in his mind, and he preferred Mile 
 End Green at least to Bloomsbury Square. 
 
 They were waited upon at breakfast by a 
 most decent maiden, almost as well dressed as 
 her mistress, who, by her good manner, and 
 
 VOL. 1. Q,
 
 338 STERLING. 
 
 obsequious, yet cheerful observance of tea- 
 kettle wants and toast supplies, amply made 
 up for the horror which Robert at first expe- 
 rienced at her not being a footman. Here also 
 his new philosophy stept in, and he pronounced 
 it mere ridiculous finery to require a man servant 
 as a necessary for comfort ; a woman, by the 
 sort of blandishment which a woman always 
 possesses, was even the best of the two ! 
 
 But lest this, too, should be imputed as a 
 fault to a stockbroker's menage^ a groom, or 
 gardener, or rather man-of-all-work-looking lad, 
 in a brown coat, with blue cuffs and collar, 
 drove up a handsome gig and horse to the 
 door; and the Phillis, who waited at breakfast, 
 announcing that the chaise was ready, uncle 
 Maxfield prepared to depart for the Stock 
 Exchange, and saluting his wife, not at all as if 
 mechanically, and shaking Robert by the hand, 
 hoping to see him again at four o'clock, mounted 
 his vehicle with his liveried lad, who went to 
 bring it back, and he was left alone with his 
 aunt. 
 
 There was a primitiveness in all this, to which 
 Robert had not been accustomed, but which 
 was far from displeasing to the new feelings 
 which had begun to possess him. He felt, in 
 fact, the power of natural happiness to disperse 
 tlie mists with which prejudice and artificial life
 
 STERLING. 339 
 
 had hitherto blinded him ; and he thought his 
 uncle and aunt, with the pure and simple accom- 
 paniments of their position, far preferable beings 
 in themselves, and infinitely happier, than the 
 Avingtons he had left, if he did not think thev 
 might compete the palm with the worshipped 
 inmates of Langston itself. 
 
 *' What is there in a name?'' said he, as he 
 traversed a trellis-walk in the garden, which shut 
 out the noon-day sun. " Call this house a castle, 
 and this walk a terrace, though at Mile End, and 
 what are the superiorities which a palace possesses, 
 in the contentment it gives to its inmates — if, 
 indeed, the contentment does not preponderate 
 the other way ?" So much had the unaiFected 
 kindness and simple habits of his uncle and 
 aunt already won upon him. 
 
 The rest of the day he dedicated to settling 
 himself comfortably in his new abode. His 
 clothes were soon arranged, and the closet 
 assigned to him as a dressing-room being 
 furnished all over with shelves, they were filled 
 with his books, so as to give it very much the 
 air of an Oxford study. In this he was plea- 
 santly assisted by his aunt and the " neat-handed 
 Phillis'' who had waited upon them at breakfast. 
 
 A little before four his uncle returned, his 
 brown and blue servitor having gone for him in 
 the family equipage before-mentioned, though 
 
 Q 2
 
 340 STERLING. 
 
 in the mean time the said servitor, having doffed 
 liis livery, had made great progress in earthing 
 up sundry rows of peas and beans in the garden : 
 fresh room for recollections and comparisons in 
 the memory and mind of our incipient Mile End 
 philosopher. 
 
 And now will any body recognize this same 
 Robert under his new appearance? Not three 
 weeks had elapsed since his heart and mind were 
 all turbulence, love of the great, and mortifica- 
 tion, and strife, and resentment, the consequence 
 of that love not having succeeded. 
 
 A roast leg of lamb and mint sauce, accom- 
 panied with the freshest young peas (the mint 
 and peas the production of Mr. MaxfiekPs own 
 hands), formed the best dishes of the dinner; 
 but its truest sauce was the kind looks and 
 natural ease of manner of his hosts. Their 
 conversation, too — though lords and ladies, or 
 ambassadors, operas or court-balls, or the mar- 
 riage of maids of honour, were not the subjects, 
 though part of it even turned upon the Lord 
 Mayor — was made agreeable by the shrewdness 
 of observation which distinguished Mr. Max- 
 field, and tlie placid good sense which belonged 
 to his wife. 
 
 Thus passed the first day, and the next, and 
 very many days after that ; varied only by the 
 little plan of life which Robert found it necessary
 
 STERLING. 341 
 
 to lay down for himself, in which he was allowed 
 the fullest liberty by his kind relations. 
 
 It was not that he was now banislied from his 
 father's roof; on the contrary, he had permission 
 to return at the end of the first week. But there 
 was something in the pretensions and second- 
 hand airs of the greater number of persons who 
 visited his father and mother, which, while it 
 evidently brought higher scenes and parties to 
 his recollection, shocked him in the comparison, 
 and made him melancholy. Their fine carriages 
 and horses ; laced footmen with their canes ; 
 their own too fine dresses, which rather dis- 
 played than concealed their parvenu conse- 
 quence ; but, above all, their evidently affected 
 tone in talking of persons of fashion, whether 
 known to them or not— of the news and anec- 
 dotes of the Opera, where they seldom, or Mrs. 
 Cornelly's, or the Drawing-room, where they 
 never went; — all these indices of upstart riches 
 and vulgar ambition, shocked our new philoso- 
 pher the more, because, having seen the reality, 
 he knew the better how to detect the counterfeit. 
 
 Shall we say that these things turned his eyes 
 inward upon himself, and that he derived no 
 pleasure from the contemplation ? Be this as it 
 Avill, he preferred the despised Mile End and its 
 unpretending owners, to all the graces of Blooms- 
 bury Square. Here at least he was at perfect
 
 342 STERLING. 
 
 ease, by being so totally removed, not only from 
 what had formerly so excited, but from the 
 vulgar imitation of it, which now so shocked 
 him. 
 
 Here, too, he was allowed to join or not, as it 
 suited his humour, in any of the little parties or 
 occupations, social or otherwise, which his uncle 
 and aunt engaged in. The very mediocrity of 
 their acquaintance suited him. He could bear, 
 and unbend, with known inferiors, who pre- 
 tended to nothing which they were not, better 
 by far than with the soi-disant great, who aped 
 the real ones, and generally failed. 
 
 Most of Mr. Maxfield's friends were, like him- 
 self, unassumingly sensible, with plain, but not 
 coarse manners ; and though they were all of the 
 City, yet as they were content to be so, and strove 
 after nothing else, Robert's own sense of pro- 
 priety, in their case, though he had not shown it 
 in his own, made him not only easy in their com- 
 pany, but good company himself. 
 
 Once indeed, but only once, his decorum un- 
 derwent a shock which he could not for a long 
 time get over, and painfully brought home the 
 thought of where he was. This was when a Mr. 
 Bullfinch, a sort of " hail-fellow well-met'** neigh- 
 bour of his uncle, meaning to show him great 
 civility, asked him to come and " foul a plate" 
 with him — which, to his astonishment, he found
 
 STERLING. 343 
 
 was his mode of asking people to dinner. But, 
 with this exception, the manners of his new 
 society gave no umbrage to the refinement he 
 had imbibed elsewhere ; and in his uncle, who 
 was cultivated beyond what his perpetual avoca- 
 tions in business seemed to promise, he often 
 found a participator, though not a rival, in his 
 own mental tastes. 
 
 With few drawbacks, therefore, but, on the 
 contrary, with many appliances, he made good 
 use of the opportunities which his father's anger 
 though now forgotten, had originally created, to 
 give himself wholly up to reflection and study. 
 He passed all his mornings in his closet, more, 
 we fear, occupied with his beloved literce huma- 
 niores, and perhaps the thought of her who still 
 possessed him, than any very deep or professional 
 science. History, however, and philosophy, ab- 
 sorbed many of his best hours, and filled his 
 mind usefully to himself though not to the 
 world ; he mastered Italian, and made great ad- 
 vances in German literature, which he had begun 
 abroad, and which afterwards stood him in much 
 stead ; and he owned that, from the total abstrac- 
 tion he now felt from all his former fascinations 
 in regard to high society, he made greater pro- 
 gress both in literature and happiness than ever 
 he could have done at Oxford, exposed, as he 
 had been there, to the mortifications in which his
 
 344 STERLING. 
 
 weakness had involved him. His account of this 
 was as convincing as plain. 
 
 " I had here,"" says he, " no hankering for any 
 thing else, where I had shut out not only the 
 siglit but the thought of the world, and had 
 brought home within the walls of my uncle's 
 garden, and my own book-closet, the whole of 
 my mind's interests. I had not a wish or a 
 thought beyond them. Here is the whole secret, 
 and, at the same time, the sine qua non, of soli- 
 tude : not to hanker for any thing not within 
 your reach. With this requisite, a desert may be 
 a Paradise ; without it, a palace is Tartarus." 
 
 He was true to his theory. He adopted all the 
 simplicity of life enjoyed by his hosts ; he had 
 no temptations from without, and his relaxations 
 from study were confined to helping his estimable 
 aunt in her rational garden pleasures, or taking 
 long and daily walks in the neighbourhood. 
 
 These walks were certainly not very pastoral ; 
 for the landscapes afforded by Stratford, Bow, 
 and Old Ford, created no pleasure to the eye of 
 taste. But they teemed with riches for a John- 
 sonian mind ; for never was there such an inces- 
 sant throng of busy population ; and, as fashion 
 and nobility, and even the parvenu imitation of 
 them, were here totally out of the question, there 
 was no impediment to the complete indulgence of 
 his reflections or inquiries, whatever they might
 
 STERLING. 345 
 
 be. Thus he discovered that happiness is the 
 growth of no particular soil, and belongs exclu- 
 sively to no condition of life, but that all de- 
 pends upon individual character. Thus, too, he 
 found that the whistling carter, or busy shop- 
 keeper, had as much, perhaps greater, chance for 
 it than the worshipper of a great man's smile. 
 He was fond therefore of quoting his Horace 
 to himself: 
 
 " Quod petis hie est, 
 Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit sequus ;" 
 
 which, being interpreted, meaneth that happi- 
 ness may be enjoyed even at Mile End, if you 
 have only a well-balanced mind. Certain it is, he 
 confessed then, and afterwards, that the months 
 spent in that place, despicable as it had once 
 seemed to him, and still was considered in Gros- 
 venor Square, were, if not the happiest, at least 
 the freest from care, of all his wayward life. 
 
 q3
 
 346 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 OF THE HORRIBLE ADVENTURE WHICH DROVE 
 HIM FROM HIS RETREAT. 
 
 " So to your pleasures, 
 I am for other than for dancing measures." 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 After all that has been described in the last 
 chapter, it is really irksome, mortifying, and 
 lamentable, to have to record what follows : for, 
 "oh, the heavy change !" and alas ! for poor 
 human nature ! when through its weakness, 
 although it may mitigate, it cannot root out the 
 poison of a mischievous ruling passion ! 
 
 When I had got thus far in Sterling's papers, 
 I had hoped for something really and lastingly 
 bright, and that we should never have to return 
 to gloom and disappointment ; but truth must 
 be told. 
 
 The long suburban street that extends from 
 Whitechapel to Stratford is divided into rows 
 of various names, and amongst those, the range 
 of buildings called Assembly Row is conspicuous. 
 In this row, too, the tavern, from which it derives
 
 STERLING. 347 
 
 its appellation, challenges every body's attention. 
 It is an ancient building, with floors projecting 
 over one another, every one ornamented with 
 ponderous and most dignified cornices. Under 
 these are to be seen balconies, in which flourish 
 well-smoked evergreens, and sometimes the aloe, 
 in picturesque ugliness. In the midst is reared a 
 broad black board, on which, in golden letters, is 
 to be read, for the information of all the polite 
 neighbourhood," The George and VultureTavem 
 and Mile End Assembly Rooms."" 
 
 This, in his walks, often caught the attention 
 of our changed Robert ; not so changed, how- 
 ever, but that he smiled with aristocratic con- 
 tempt, yet mingled with curiosity to know of 
 what sort of company a Mile End Assembly 
 could consist. This he mentioned, as delicately 
 as he could, to his uncle and aunt, one day after 
 dinner. 
 
 " It would not suit you," said his aunt, smil- 
 ingly. " The ladies are too hoydenish, even for 
 me ; and the gentlemen, though very respectable 
 as tradesmen, have little pretensions to fine man- 
 ners, whatever they may have to punch, and 
 sometimes, though below stairs, to tobacco." 
 
 " And yet," observed Mr. Maxfield, ironically, 
 taking up the subject, " why should not we 
 citizens have our hilarities, be they of dancing 
 or smoking, as well as our betters ? The plea-
 
 348 STERLING. 
 
 sure of one evening a month for three-anJ-six- 
 pence is cheap and rare enough ; but if fine man- 
 ners are the question, I doubt whether there 
 is not as much finery at the Mile End Assembly 
 as at a court birth-night ball. To be sure, there 
 is no report in the papers, that Mr. Simpkins 
 danced with Miss Tompkins, or that Mr. Jacks 
 capered in a hornpipe ; but if there were, I have 
 no doubt the paragraph would be read with as 
 much avidity, and gratify as many people, as 
 any account of politer revels in the Morning 
 Postr 
 
 " Have you ever been there yourself, uncle T'' 
 asked Sterling. 
 
 "lam a subscriber," answered Maxfield," ^owr 
 encourager les aut7'es, though I seldom go ; yet 
 when I do, I meet two or three friends, get a 
 rubber, and see a great deal of enjoyment — rather 
 vulgar, I confess — but still enjoyment.'" 
 
 " And does my aunt go with you ?'"* 
 
 " Once in a way." 
 
 This introduction of the subject led to great 
 consequences; for, partly to comply with his 
 uncle's invitation, partly to satisfy his own cu- 
 riosity, which, in such an incognito, — he thought 
 lie might very safely do, — it was agreed that that 
 day week he should accompany his relations, as 
 a visitor, to the Mile End Assembly, at the 
 George and Vulture, in Whitechapel Road. And
 
 STERLING. 349 
 
 sure never was such an exemplification of what 
 great things may follow from what small causes : 
 the whole cast and complexion of our hero's life 
 was influenced by it. 
 
 At eight o'clock on a Monday evening, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Maxfield, attended by their nephew, 
 entered the ball-room of the George and Vulture. 
 It was some fifty feet long, formed by throwing 
 down the partitions of three other rooms, into 
 which it had usually been divided. At the upper 
 end, lighted with tallow candles, was a sort of 
 gallery, filled with a band of musicians, certainly 
 not Weippert's, under which sat Mr Deputy Rob- 
 son, Mr. Jobson, Mr. Hobson, Mr. Dobson, and 
 their ladies, and sundries of their progeny, from 
 the ages of fifteen to twenty. These instantly 
 made room among them for Mr. and Mrs. Max- 
 field, who were much respected by them, and 
 who introduced their nephew to them in form. 
 
 Robert's heart smote him as the awful cere- 
 mony proceeded. For the first time for several 
 months, symptoms of his old malady recurred ; 
 and he looked fearfully up and down the room, 
 to see if any of the companions of his former 
 greatness might not, by some miracle, be wit- 
 nessing this momentous debut. All, however, 
 was safe; and tea and bread and butter, and 
 a slight proportion of cake, were handed round, 
 previous to the commencement of the " Came-
 
 350 STERLING. 
 
 ronian Rant;'' for waltzes or quadrilles had not 
 then, as we know, reached England, much less 
 the George and Vulture. 
 
 Finding every thing safe, Robert began to 
 allow his pleasure at seeing people happy to gain 
 the ascendant, though he refused to dance ; but 
 while in the act of declaring so much to a Mr. 
 Tibbs, first clerk to a great banker in Comhill, 
 who acted as Master of the Ceremonies, and was 
 actually pointing out his proposed partner, an 
 extremely tall lady, covered with pink bows; 
 and while he was bowing his refusal with great 
 and earnest politeness ; as fate would have it, he 
 heard a titter from behind, which, from thinking 
 he knew the voices, filled him with dismay. 
 
 Oh reader, reader ! how will you not be affected 
 — how was I myself not affected — to find, that 
 on turning round, he discovered, in too full cer- 
 tainty, that the laugh proceeded from Mr. and 
 Lady Euphrasia Tylney. 
 
 Tell it not in Gath ; but it was no dream ! 
 Would that it had been ! But that it may not be 
 disbelieved, these were the circumstances of the 
 apparition. Mr. Tylney and Lady Euphrasia 
 had been married about a fortnight ; their 
 hymeneal plan was to pass some time on the 
 Continent; and on their way to Harwich, to 
 embark for the Hague, they had intended to 
 sleep that night at Colchester. By some over-
 
 STERLING. 361 
 
 sight of their coachmaker, it was theirs and 
 Robert Sterling's fate that a wheel of their car- 
 riage should come off; and, in fact, they were 
 overturned, though without personal damage, 
 exactly opposite the George and Vulture, on this 
 critical night of the Mile End Assembly. 
 
 Such an accident to a travelling carriage and 
 four, even without the shrieks of a terrified lady's 
 maid scrambling from under the dickey, would 
 have brought out, as it did, the landlord, the 
 landlady, and all the maids and waiters, perma- 
 nent or temporary, though it was assembly night. 
 These ran to offer all possible assistance, and, 
 in fact, disentangled the illustrious pair unhurt 
 from the carriage. They were then ushered, 
 lady's-maid, valet, and all, into the only vacant 
 room, or rather a very poor closet (it being 
 Assembly night), which the George and Vulture 
 at that time possessed. Here, while a smith was 
 sent for to look at the wheel, they ordered 
 tea, and hearing the sound of fiddles, and many 
 heavy beatings of feet, over-head, the freak took 
 them, seconded by the landlord's panegyric 
 upon the politeness of his assembly, to witness 
 what Tylney called its humours. But, O, too 
 fortunate ! — little did they think of the discovery 
 which awaited them, when almost the first thing 
 they saw was Mr. Tibbs, in black satin thirds 
 and paste knee-buckles, proposing the tall lady
 
 352 STERLING. 
 
 in pink bows as a partner to the knight of St. 
 Swithin's ! 
 
 Tylney's ancient spleen could not resist this ; 
 he laughed outright, and in that laugh all Lady 
 Euphrasia's respect for the hienseances could 
 not prevent her from joining. 
 
 The distress, the conflict of passions which 
 tore Robert Sterling, may be imagined, and his 
 usual ill-fortune attended him ; for, as his quon- 
 dam friends seemed only to laugh with one an- 
 other, he could not fasten it upon them as an 
 affront, without committing the self-exposing 
 blunder of Scrub — " I'm sure they were talking 
 of me, for they laughed consumedly."*' But ex- 
 clusive of this, he could not in any way notice it, 
 without also noticing, and therefore paying his 
 compliments to, his old acquaintance Lady Eu- 
 phrasia, — whose faute de mieiio), as well as her 
 alliance with his enemy,instantlycame across him, 
 and as instantly appalled him ; so that the poor 
 youth, surprised, overwhelmed, and confounded 
 with contending feelings of the most painful 
 kind, knew not how to look, or act, or speak. 
 
 To remedy all this, and at the same time avoid 
 the pain of a recognition in such a place, with 
 such a person as Lady Euphrasia, whose hus- 
 band, too, it would be so awkward to quarrel 
 with, he (most unlike a hero) fairly bolted, and 
 made but one step down stairs into the street.
 
 STERLING. 353 
 
 There he learned, by what was doing to the 
 carriage, what had occasioned the misfortune of 
 this infelicitous rencontre, and in moodiness and 
 misery, which can be conceived but not described, 
 walked, or rather ran home. Here, locking him- 
 self in his chamber, he passed such a night as 
 few even of the most miserable would envy. 
 
 To his uncle and aunt, who knew nothing of 
 Tylneys, or finery, or the woes of mortified am- 
 bition, this conduct appeared inexplicable, nor 
 could all their endeavours draw explanation from 
 him the next day. To tell the truth, he was 
 ashamed to own the cause, and disguised it as 
 well as he could even from himself ; but not the 
 less did it rankle and dwell in his mind, which 
 was completely overset by it. He brooded over 
 it in secret ; lost his cheerfulness ; and, as to his 
 new philosophy, it was all dispersed by the 
 return of old prejudices. Far from an asylum 
 against heart-eating cares, bethought Mile End, 
 and its accursed assembly, worse than Erebus^ 
 though the abode of anguish. It was at best the 
 cause and the scene of a disgrace he thought in- 
 delible ; nor could all the soft attentions of his 
 aunt, who saw that he had received a shock, 
 soothe its effects. 
 
 As for his uncle, whose plain sense on such 
 an occasion he was afraid to encounter, he
 
 354 STERLING. 
 
 avoided being alone with him, yet gained little 
 by being alone with himself. 
 
 " It was not,"" as he says, in one of his notes 
 upon this crisis, " that my foolish ambition had 
 returned — that I again panted for high society — 
 or that I had lost one tittle of regard or esteem 
 for my kind relations — or even my liking for 
 their pleasant way of life. But a hankering after 
 the world, in order to show that I was 7iot 
 afraid ofit^ had again got hold of me; and han- 
 kering after any thing, however small, is always 
 fatal to the happiness of seclusion. Perhaps I 
 deceived myself by these supposed motives ; and 
 the disgust I had now conceived at a place which 
 had lately been so pleasant, was in reality owing 
 to the occasion it had given for a triumph over 
 me by the only man I hated, in the only thing in 
 which he could have triumphed. Be that as it 
 may, I now thought my retreat cowardice, and 
 resolved once more to redeem myself.'" 
 
 In this he was encouraged both by his father 
 and his uncle, and also by his friend Wilson, 
 who often came to see him, and again set before 
 him the almost criminality, at his years, of aban- 
 doning all liberal and honest exertion with a 
 view to his own benefit and that of others. 
 
 Wilson, by his exertions and steadiness, was 
 already beginning to be noticed at the bar ; and
 
 STERLING. 355 
 
 Sterling, without being conscious of it, regarded 
 him with something like envy. What weighed 
 most with him, however, was the assurance which 
 his father gave him, that he neither could nor 
 would support him in idleness ; and that, having 
 other children to provide for at his death, his 
 means would be very slender if he did not add 
 to them himself. His return to law studies, 
 however, which was proposed, was rejected. It 
 was too late, too crabbed, too uncertain ; to 
 which his own heart, still cherishing the image 
 of Melusina and the elysium of Langston, whis- 
 pered the comparative inelegance of those he 
 would have to live with.
 
 356 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HE ENGAGES IX A NEW PURSUIT. CHARACTER 
 
 OF A GREAT MILITARY PRINCE. 
 
 " I am a soldier; 
 A Dame that in my thoughts becomes me best." 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 Great as was the dilemma to which our hero 
 was now reduced, he was again almost miracu- 
 lously relieved from it by Lord Langston. That 
 constant friend, who knew and approved his rea- 
 son for quitting the embassy, had still thought of 
 him, and kept his eye upon any opportunity that 
 offered to serve him ; and one had now arisen, 
 which at least appeared so advantageous as to 
 cause t s being laid before him. 
 
 A great foreign military prince, who had for 
 more than the last quarter of a century filled all 
 Europe with the glory of his name, and carried 
 the reputation of England, whose armies he 
 commanded (particularly at Minden), to a pitch 
 unknown since the days of Marlborough, had 
 intimated, it seems, to Lord Langston, whose
 
 STERLING. 357 
 
 father had been his companion in arms, his 
 want of an enhghtened, well-educated, and well- 
 mannered Englishman, who might act as his 
 English secretary, in the important civil employ- 
 ments he held, in addition to the highest military 
 commands. 
 
 This instantly brought Sterling to Lord Lang- 
 ston's mind, and he received a commission to 
 propose it to him. In the temper he was in, it 
 may be supposed he did not balance long in 
 accepting it ; and he was soon upon the seas to 
 join the great personage to whom he was now to 
 attach his fortunes, and who exercised almost 
 sovereign authority in a widely extended govern- 
 ment, where he put all abilities in requisition, 
 leaving no man to sleep upon his post. 
 
 Here opened a new and arduous field, worthy 
 of all Robert'^s ambition, had it been even greater 
 than it was. It combined, indeed, all his petty 
 views of personal pride, and the gratification of 
 his love of elegant society, with important objects 
 of a higher character ; for he found that he might 
 be honourably useful to the state. 
 
 The field of his exertion was a court, on a 
 Small scale indeed, but in which the etiquette of 
 high manners, and the influence and consequence 
 of office, were as powerful as in countries of the 
 very first rank. Sterling was therefore, after all, 
 to become a courtier, and live with courtiers. He
 
 358 STERLING. 
 
 was in daily intercourse with nobles, and com- 
 manders, with whom his official situation (the 
 public business of which he performed to his 
 chiefs satisfaction) placed him on, at least, a 
 temporary equality. On the other hand, that 
 situation, and the character he acquired in it, 
 gave him admission to all those elegant female 
 coteries which had such charms for him, and to 
 which his homely connexions were, on account 
 of the appointment he held, no bar. 
 
 AVhat a contrast to Mile End ! How vast ! 
 how sudden ! How impossible to have been fore- 
 seen ! The fairy metamorphose of Cinderella 
 could scarcely have been more marked ! 
 
 If ever Sterling was happy, it must have been 
 now. 
 
 And in truth he played his part well. His 
 talents, improved by experience, showed them- 
 selves, and were approved in the highest quarter. 
 His manners were agreeable to all he had to do 
 with, and he caught additional pohsh and good- 
 breeding from his well-bred associates. It was 
 known that he had no illustration from birth or 
 high connexion, yet this did not prevent his pro- 
 gress, and he actually often forgot that he was 
 the Knight of St. Swithin's. It is certain that in 
 this new career he met with no Tylneys, or Mau- 
 leverers, or Ladies St. Maurice. Still he too often 
 felt (probably from the ill star under which he
 
 STERLING. 359 
 
 was born) that there was something wanting to 
 his perfect content ; and though he felt that he 
 was no more than in his place, he could not 
 always say that his place was not too much for 
 him. 
 
 Why ? Why is this ? Why is our sweetest 
 cup always to be dashed with an alloy of bitter- 
 ness, either of our own infusing, or that of 
 fortune ? Here were respect ; observance from 
 without ; good conscience within ; and the appro- 
 bation of him who, from his own height of 
 diaracter, made his smallest approbation of 
 consequence. On the other hand, there was no 
 " proud man's contumely ;"*"' no affront to patient 
 merit; no open exclusiveness, whatever might 
 be the internal sentiment. 
 
 But ah ! that internal sentiment ! Here the 
 St. Swithin consciousness exercised its usual 
 tyranny, and made him dream of evils which 
 either never existed, or, at least, were never 
 unveiled. Jealousy, in short, never abandoned 
 Robert Sterling ; and Robert Sterling, therefore, 
 where he had superiors in rank and power, was 
 never happy. 
 
 It would be difficult to say where was now 
 the cause of his uneasiness. Every thing seemed 
 smooth, yet uneasy he was. There was no want 
 of respect from his chief, but there was little 
 soul-springing attachment. Why should there .^
 
 360 STERLING. 
 
 What right had he to it ? O ! but the prince 
 preferred the military as friends ; and secretly 
 despised civilians ! 
 
 If secretly, how did Robert know it ? 
 
 But his civilities were never personal ; merely 
 official ! Robert sometimes dined with him, but 
 only as secretary, not as Mr. Sterling. Well I 
 what was he else but secretary ? and if he had 
 remained Mr. Sterling here, would he ever have 
 known the prince ? 
 
 These ills of sensibility had their usual effect 
 upon his moody heart, upon which they insen- 
 sibly preyed ; nor was the official confidence 
 with which he was treated, and the approbation 
 he received in all matters of business, at all a 
 compensation for what was wanting. He was 
 trusted and esteemed, but never seemingly pre- 
 ferred as a companion : this was reserved for 
 aides-de-camp of high birth and fashion, and 
 staff officers, who had long been at the prince's 
 side in the field. Yet of this preference, though 
 so natural, he had the waywardness to complain ; 
 and thus the old Haman mortification pursued 
 him here also ; for his secretaryship availed him 
 nothing, so long as he saw even many Mordecais 
 sitting in the king's gate. 
 
 When these uneasy sensations first attacked 
 him, he could not well tell, for he was for many 
 months delighted with his career ; and the stu jy
 
 STERLING. 361 
 
 of the illustrious character under whom he 
 served, gave ample employment, and interest 
 of the most pleasing kind, to his love of obser- 
 vation. And well was it repaid on the part of 
 his chief, by the presentation of qualities and 
 public virtues, to which he did full justice, after 
 he had quitted him, and when he had nothing 
 to hope, or even to wish, from his notice or 
 patronage. 
 
 For quit him he did, by his own act ; nor 
 ever repented it ; though to have served him to 
 the best of his ability for some years was the 
 pride and gratification of his after-life, when all 
 other service had become insipid. 
 
 How this came about, is best told by himself 
 in a letter we shall subjoin ; observing only, that 
 the reasons were at least not so obvious, anv 
 more than (in our opinion) cogent, as they were 
 when he so suddenly broke away from the 
 Avingtonian embassy : for no slight had been 
 put upon him, nor was there even the least ill- 
 will shown by any of his official colleagues. 
 The princess and her little court always treated 
 him with the most perfect politeness; nor can 
 we enter into his feelings, when he said that it 
 was cold and formal, as if she could not forget 
 his origin, or overlook his want of pretension 
 to fashion, while her willing smiles were given 
 either to the old officers who had fought with 
 
 VOL. Iv R
 
 362 STERLING. 
 
 her husband, or the young ones of higher con- 
 nexions who were coming on under his auspices. 
 The true secret, perhaps, was, in what he 
 himself had discovered, that as a civilian, what- 
 ever his merits, he could not vie with the mili- 
 tary, in the real favour of a military hero. 
 His pride was, as usual, piqued, and, as usual, 
 it plunged him in mortifying disappointment. 
 After remaining near three years in official 
 confidence, but, as he said, not in companion- 
 ship, with the prince, he left the only service 
 which gave him present emolument, and pro- 
 mised him future honour. But, lest we should 
 do him injustice, let his letter to Lord Langston 
 speak for itself. 
 
 " My Dear Lord, 
 " You will be astonished to hear that I have 
 quitted the prince. I am almost astonished 
 myself at having done so, for I personally loved, 
 as much as I admired him. Nothing can exceed 
 his great, his heroic qualities, liis extraordinary 
 penetration, his stupendous abilities, both in 
 cabinet and field ; nothing but the simplicity, 
 straightforwardness and honesty of his character. 
 The most able of diplomatists, as well as of 
 generals, his heart never imagined, much less 
 did his tongue utter, the semblance, not merely 
 of untruth, but of the thinnest disguise of his
 
 STERLING. 363 
 
 opinions. This alone would fill one with vene- 
 ration ; and when we add to this, how greatly 
 our country is obliged to him for the renovation 
 of its honours, — how entirely, in short, it is to 
 him that she owes her present fame, and present 
 station, among the states of the world ; what 
 can we say, but that to him there is in existence 
 7iihil simile aut secundum. 
 
 " This, you will say, paints a great man, but 
 that nevertheless he may not be an amiable one. 
 Not so; for nothing can exceed his amenity, 
 his heartiness, I might almost say his jollity of 
 manner, which is altogether as simple and plain, 
 and yet as energetic, as his intellectual character. 
 The one is quite as undisguised as the other. 
 He is, perhaps, almost the only one who never 
 acts ; not only his word, but even his look, is 
 his bond. In the drawing-room, in the cabinet, 
 or in the street ; on foot, or on horseback ; with 
 a prince, or with a beggar ; he is always the 
 same. As he is the ornament and pride, so I 
 should say, he is the truest son of nature. Often 
 and often have I thought so, when I have hung 
 upon his frank and eloquent discourse in private 
 or public, which, whether himself or another 
 was the theme, always seemed to proceed from 
 the bottom of a heart laid open to his hearers. 
 
 " These are my genuine sentiments ; and as I 
 am under any thing but worldly obligation to 
 r2
 
 364 STERLING. 
 
 him, having served him to the utmost, with no 
 return but what his shoe-black might have 
 legally exacted (his wages), my sincerity and 
 impartiality cannot be questioned. 
 
 " Why then quit him ? you will say — or is it 
 his act, and not yours ? 
 
 " No, no, indeed ! for I should have left him 
 long ago, but for his own wish. 
 
 " You bid me unravel this. — I will. 
 " Spite of his kindness, and my zeal, and, 
 perhaps, unknown to himself, I found I had 
 two great faults not to be got over, and which 
 would for ever prevent my getting on one inch 
 in his favour, beyond what I was in the first 
 moment of our connexion. 
 
 " I was neither a soldier, nor of the Hoch- 
 wohlgeboren.* 
 
 " As a civilian, I felt proscribed ; since, bred 
 in camps, and his whole intercourse with com- 
 panions in arms, sharers of his dangers and 
 his glory, if there was a narrowness about him, 
 it was this natural and venial one, that he who 
 sat in what he thought idleness and indulgence 
 at home, could never be equal in any thing, 
 certainly not entitled to the same confidence or 
 rewards, as those who had braved death in the 
 field, and encountered all the evils of war. 
 
 • Of high birth.
 
 STERLING. 365 
 
 "This I could at least understand. But 
 another of his evident, and, to me, still more 
 ungracious prejudices was, that as a man of the 
 first rank himself, and a prince among the sove- 
 reigns of Germany, he looked down upon all out 
 of his profession, who were undistinguished by 
 birth. This, then, not being my lot, anymore than 
 a mihtary character, it was easy to see that, while 
 my services were used and appreciated (I am 
 willing to own), higher than they deserved, 
 with my personal character there was no conge- 
 niality ; and that while rules of civility were 
 always fulfilled, no progress could ever be made 
 towards intimacy or esteem. 
 
 " You know how little this suits my feelings, 
 or my views, reasonable or unreasonable ; and 
 the history of my departure from his service is 
 told. 
 
 " He was pleased to say he regretted it ; and 
 as I felt how sincere he was in character, I was 
 pleased too ; but it was the only pleasure he 
 ever caused me ; nor can I ever think myself 
 wrong in putting myself somewhat higher than 
 a common servant, who, while his service is used 
 (perhaps valued), is treated as a mere machine, 
 unworthy of other notice than the word of com- 
 mand. 
 
 " I return to obscurity — perhaps to poverty ; 
 for I know how this will operate on my father ;
 
 366 STERLING. 
 
 but if I return to independence and freedom of 
 thought, I am not to be pitied. 
 
 " Ever, ever, my dear lord, your grateful 
 and affectionate, though perhaps you may think, 
 your impracticable friend, 
 
 " Robert Sterling.^' 
 
 We will pass the impression made by this 
 letter upon his noble friend, who, at first angry, 
 as well he might be, exclaimed, " there are 
 some persons whom it is impossible to serve !" 
 
 But the effect of his conduct on his father was 
 serious indeed ; for he utterly forbade his return 
 home, and telling him he might draw for ^200 
 a-year, which was all he must ever expect from 
 him, left him to seek his own fortune, and 
 gave all his favour to his steady and less sensi- 
 tive son William.
 
 STERLING. 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 HE CONTINUES A LOVER, SPITE OF DESPAIR. 
 
 ** Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; I have 
 not the art to reckon my groans ; but that I love thee 
 best, oh, most best, believe it." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Strange to say, though his father's displea- 
 sure affected Robert Sterhng, this reverse of his 
 fortune did not, at the time, seriously afflict him. 
 He felt even rather heroic at having made such a 
 sacrifice to what he chose to think his indepen- 
 dence. It must be owned, however, he did not 
 dream of the difficulties which this reverse would 
 oblige him to encounter. 
 
 His first impulse was to return to his uncle 
 and aunt, who would willingly have again granted 
 him an asylum. And here the sweet mildness of 
 woman"'s character, and her power to soothe and 
 console the evils of life, whether mental or per- 
 sonal, shone out in that amiable aunt, in a man- 
 ner to touch him for ever. She was quite alive 
 to his imprudence ; she blamed — she almost
 
 368 STERLING, 
 
 reproached him ; but, at the same time, she held 
 her arms wide open to his return, which she even 
 courted, with an affection which, she said, could 
 never be interrupted. 
 
 Robert felt this to the bottom of his soul ; but 
 as to Mile End he was an altered man. The 
 high scenes he had been engaged in had, in truth, 
 dissipated whatever philosophy he had acquired 
 in the temporary retreat it had afforded him 
 from very factitious and self-created evils. The 
 numbers of really great men and really well-bred 
 women he had been living with, disabled him, 
 more than ever, from the enjoyments of a mere 
 simple life. It was not that he did not love his 
 aunt and respect his uncle quite as much as ever; 
 but a too powerful diversion had been given to 
 his thoughts. Accustomed to discourse on the 
 interests of Europe, he could not return to 
 anecdotes of the Stock Exchange ; and though 
 the delightful singleness of heart, evinced in 
 every word and look of his aunt, always charmed 
 him, whatever his vein, the vein was now unhap- 
 pily much altered ; and he would at least have 
 required a great deal of time, before he could be 
 sufficiently estranged from the mental effects of 
 the last three years, to return to calm forgetful- 
 ness. 
 
 It must be owned, and it goes against us to 
 own it, that there was another strong, though
 
 STERLING. 369 
 
 strange, impediment to such a return. The appa. 
 rition of Tylney at the Assembly, haunted him 
 like a ghost ; and his sneering laugh, and Lady 
 Euphrasia's astonished look, were still in his ears 
 and eyes whenever he thought of that part of the 
 town. The very name of the George and Vulture 
 was horror, even on the Continent ; how much 
 more, if to be in its close neighbourhood ! 
 
 All this, we own, as he did himself, redounded 
 little to the credit of Mr. Sterling's strength of 
 mind ; but we are describing a fine, not a strong 
 mind, and must go on. 
 
 He made several attempts, through various 
 relations, to appease his father's indignation; but 
 they all failed. To be sure, his mother and aunt 
 having done so, he could have had little hope of 
 success through uncle George, who was now 
 grown an old and neglected beau, scarcely tole- 
 rated, or only out of compassion, at the court 
 where he served, and wholly discarded from the 
 ranks of fashion, But from Wilson he derived 
 some hope. 
 
 That faithful and adhering friend had never 
 abandoned him, and, least of all, when he had 
 seemed to have abandoned himself. He was 
 now, too, better able to give him assistance ; for 
 by his excellent, though perhaps not brilliant 
 talents, sound judgment, and undeviating indus- 
 try, he was making his way rapidly at the bar ; 
 R 3
 
 370 STERLING. 
 
 and his merits were crowned by having obtained 
 the heart of the pretty and sensible Caroline, 
 and the consent of her father to their union. 
 
 While this sincerely rejoiced Robert, it also 
 gave him a pang of severe regret, to think of his 
 own position, in comparison with Wilson'*s. 
 
 But this was now of no avail. It was too late. 
 Sir Robert was not to be approached. He had 
 already done too much. He would do no more. 
 He had made his will. 
 
 Thus cast off from his home ; without profes- 
 sion, without fortune, and without the comfort 
 of self-approbation, the knight of St. Swithin's 
 seemed very nearly shipwrecked, though the 
 buoyancy of his mind still bore him up. 
 
 As his only powerful friend, Lord Langston, 
 had been any thing but pleased with his letter, 
 and he was absolutely afraid of even consulting the 
 Principal, and as there was positively no chance 
 of any amelioration of his lot, except by taking 
 a place as clerk under his brother William, now 
 in partnership with his father, he had nothing 
 left for it but to banish himself forth of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 While abroad, particularly in the countries on 
 the Rhine and in Switzerland, he had often been 
 struck with the sight of foot travellers, hale and 
 rubicund young men, who with their knapsacks 
 slung upon their shoulders, a staff, and generally
 
 STERLING. 371 
 
 a book in their hand, which they seemed to de- 
 vour, traversed the beautiful landscapes, whether 
 of mountain, plain, or river, with an alacrity of 
 spirit and elasticity of foot which denoted any 
 thing but care. Most of these were young 
 students, going to or returning from different 
 universities. 
 
 Students or not, he often envied them their 
 liberty, their carelessness, and their evident en- 
 joyment of the books that were their companions. 
 Full of his Avington disgusts, he felt that he 
 could be happy as one of these, and the thought 
 now struck him that he v.ould be so still. He 
 was a disappointed man, but had nobody to 
 blame but himself ; and though apparently aban- 
 doned by fortune, he still retained health, strength 
 of limb, and a sanguine heart. Why should he 
 not return to the Continent, though with such 
 diminished resources ? He loved to examine 
 nature, whether physical or moral ; whether in 
 beautiful tracts of country, or the characters of 
 their inhabitants. He had seen the countries 
 before, but rather had rolled through, than 
 studied them. As a pedestrian, though with a 
 very few po\mds in his pockets, he had a better 
 chance of understanding both them and the peo- 
 ple, than enclosed in a carriage, in the suite of an 
 ambassador or commander-in-chief. 
 
 These considerations, and the state of his
 
 372 STERLING. 
 
 purse, determined him ; and, with as little 
 baggage as possible, he once more got into a 
 Dover coach, — where, however, notwithstanding 
 his changed situation, he sat (as he always before 
 had done in a stage-coach) with his handkerchief 
 in his hand, ready to cover his face, under pre- 
 tence of his nose, when any gentleman's carriage 
 or bevy of dandy horsemen passed the windows. 
 
 Oh ! ill-weaved Ambition ! But, no matter ; 
 proceed we with him to France. 
 
 He had traversed half the kingdom ; had been 
 with Sterne and La Fleur at Montreuil, and 
 with IMaria at Moulines ; nay, had penetrated to 
 the Rhone, before he asked himself whither he 
 was going, and what to do ? His answer was, to 
 get rid of himself; but he knew that was in vain. 
 ''Post equitem sedet cura ;''"' and though he 
 was not on horseback, the moral was the same. 
 
 He saw Lyons, however, and hated it ; be- 
 cause, with Jaffier of the Venetians, he thought 
 the bulk of the people " money-loving villains."'' 
 He got to Avignon, that gloomy, but aristocratic 
 city, and wished himself one of that old noblesse 
 whom he resembled in nothing but their poverty. 
 But he was now in the neighbourhood of the 
 Vaucluse, 
 
 There was but one drawback to his delight in 
 Petrarch— he had first read him in that odious 
 neighbourhood — we need not say of the George
 
 STERLING. 373 
 
 and Vulture ; but the sweetness and the love 
 overcame all bitterness of memory, and he read 
 him again on the borders of the Vaucluse. 
 
 Will the world believe that was Sterling still 
 in love ? Spite of all vicissitudes — all disap- 
 pointments — absence — other attractions — higli 
 employments — high-charactered companions — 
 present abandonment — his memory still dwelt, 
 and his heart still lived, upon that charming 
 vision which had met his eyes full six years 
 before in the shape of Melusina Langston. 
 
 Heaven help us ! if such things should be for 
 the world at large — for what would then become 
 of it ? But let us not lament it. Constancy in 
 love is certainly not of every day's occurrence ; 
 but when it does occur, it has its advantages. 
 It generates whatever is liberal and refined ; it 
 purifies all that is gross ; it spurns all meanness; 
 creates a nobleness of sentiment, and equals in his 
 mind a beggar with a prince. The denizens of 
 the world, indeed, whether votaries of ambition, 
 of wealth, or of sensual pleasure, are not able 
 easily to understand the all-absorbing power of 
 a pure love passion, when it has once taken pos- 
 session of a sensitive mind. They know not of 
 how little worth all other objects, all other things, 
 seem in comparison ; how totally it suffices of 
 itself for all mental, we had almost said, all 
 bodily food ; how entirely it can supply happi-
 
 374 STERLING. 
 
 ness, from mere meditation on the beloved image. 
 Hopelessness itself, as to the future, cannot de- 
 prive such a mind of the treasures of the past ; 
 for the heart dwells upon what has been, with 
 sometimes even more vivid feeling than upon 
 what is. In this, even a despairing lover, pene- 
 trated by the recollection of what he has enjoyed, 
 though lost, may be compared to a bereaved 
 parent or husband, whose very agony is often 
 soothed by remembrances, which might, by some, 
 be thought to increase it. 
 
 " Ask the faithful youth, 
 Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd, 
 So often fills his arms, so often draws 
 His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 
 To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
 Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds 
 Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 
 That sacred hour." 
 
 Just so was it with the love of Sterling. He 
 had cherished it as his most pleasing, most 
 consoling inmate, when all hope was lost and 
 withered. Under depression and penury, in soli- 
 tude and in banishment, it still was his compa- 
 nion, and relieved many a weary day of half its 
 weariness ; and often in a peasant's cottage (so 
 poor that the only warmth arose from the scat- 
 tered embers of the hearth, and the only light 
 from the flickering of an exhausted lamp), his
 
 STERLING. 375 
 
 thoughts conjured up warmth, and light, and 
 joy, in the visions of Langston Castle, and the 
 ornament of it, which continued so to distress 
 and so delight him. 
 
 Thus, degrading as his recollections still were 
 of his St. Swithin's origin, still a martyr to false 
 ambition, and with scarce a sixpence in his 
 pocket, the spirit of our friend rose above his 
 fortune, and swelled his heart with importance, 
 when, on the borders of the Vaucluse, he recol- 
 lected his own emotions at the sight of IMelusina, 
 and compared them with those of Petrarch at 
 the sight of Laura. 
 
 Perhaps he had the advantage of the poet, who 
 had only seen his mistress, in transitory vision, 
 passing into church; while he had enjoyed the 
 conversation of his — had danced with her, walked 
 with her, read to her, but, alas ! could, no more 
 than Petrarch, say he was remembered by her. 
 On the contrary, his long and uninterrupted 
 exile was without an indication, spite of her bro- 
 ther''s friendship, that she ever thought of days 
 the recollection of which to him was Paradise. 
 But his enthusiasm rose to its height in this 
 consecrated spot of his brother enthusiast, parti- 
 cularly when he read the thousand tributes to 
 his love and constancy which overflowed from 
 the pens of visitors to his house at Arqua ; and 
 only substituting in idea Melusina for Laura, in
 
 376 STERLING. 
 
 the manner, as he thought, of his master, he 
 gave vent to his smothered feehngs in the follow- 
 ing stanzas : — 
 
 *' Love flutters round her, full of envious wiles, 
 Dwells on her cheek, with softest dimples prest; 
 
 Plays round her mouth, and lightens it with smiles, 
 Swims in her eye, and revels on her breast. 
 
 Too vent'rous youth, to court the pleasing pain ! 
 
 To drink such pois'nous draughts of the sweet madness ! 
 Though seen but once, those beauties still remain. 
 
 And fill the soul with a soft-thrilling sadness. 
 
 Yet, led by thee, sweet Fancy ! still I view 
 Those countless graces, and can still behold 
 
 That speaking visage, and those eyes so true. 
 So true to Nature, in her fairest mould. 
 
 Led on by thee, methinks by faery stream 
 
 She sleeps, her friend the balmy slumber guarding; 
 
 And when awoke from some delicious dream, 
 With a soft smile his pleasing care rewarding. 
 
 Too powerful Fancy ! all your dreams are vain, 
 I'll heed no more the visions you inspire ; 
 
 The proud one cares not for my humble strain. 
 Nor even knows I strike the sounding lyre." 
 
 Other visitors, both poets and lovers, had felt, 
 and told the same sentiments, inspired by the 
 contemplation of the house, history, and conduct 
 of Petrarch, and these they had detailed, with 
 more or less genius, in the inscriptions they had 
 left behind them. But these were not consola- 
 tory ; for all their lines, like his own, denoted
 
 STERLING. 377 
 
 despair ; — save only one, and that, we fear, only 
 made him more melancholy ; for the happiness 
 it described, as well as the beautiful turn of the 
 thought, he felt he never could reach. He copied 
 it in his notes, and as it seems long after to have 
 greatly impressed him (for he read it to me, at 
 sixty, with all the fervor of five-and-twenty), 
 I cannot help inscribing it, if only for the effect 
 it had upon him : — 
 
 " Mary, when we to Arqua's village came, 
 Saw the reard tomb, the fountain's hallowed rill, 
 And clirab'd the summit of that verdant hill. 
 
 Where Petrarch's dwelling bears the poet's name ; 
 
 When I beheld the crowded leaf proclaim, 
 In varied tongues, the homage of each clime, 
 Then crown'd with bay, the meed of deathless rhyme, 
 
 I sigh'd myself to share the poet's fame. 
 
 Yet ah! when I remeraber'd how in vain, 
 His lyre he strung to soften Laura's pride ; 
 
 Fated thro' life to tune the mournful strain. 
 His grief unpitied, and his pray'r denied ; 
 
 Ah I Mary, then thy yielding hand I prest, 
 
 Nor sigh'd for fame, who was in love so blest."* 
 
 • The Editor fears he has been impolitic in placing 
 these very pleasing lines in juxtaposition with those of 
 his hero. Sterling; for the author of them exceeds him 
 as much in his poetry as in his happiness. We are only 
 withheld from mentioning his name, because we have 
 not permission to do so. It scarcely need be added, 
 that " Mary " was his wife.
 
 378 STERLING. 
 
 This occupation of his thoughts, and all the 
 associations of the romantic place he was in, 
 added to his total indifference where to bestow 
 himself, and his perfect liberty to bestow himself 
 where he pleased, kept him several weeks in the 
 neighbourhood of the Vaucluse. Nismes tempted 
 him to pursue antiquities in Italy, where, like 
 another man of genius, and little steadiness, he 
 walked, 
 
 " Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow." 
 
 But Sterling vvas richer than Goldsmith, and 
 sometimes took the aid of a voiturier. He 
 emerged, however, on foot, through the Tyrol 
 into Switzerland, where the republican manners 
 of the people (not at all more simple because 
 republican) disappointed him. 
 
 Here he encountered an affront, which angered 
 him more than he liked to confess. A rich 
 dealer in Dutch cheese, in one of the cantons, 
 took a liking to him, and hearing he had been 
 
 secretary to Prince , whose reputation was 
 
 well known, by way of mending the breed, 
 offered him his daughter, with twenty thousand 
 florins for a dowry. This, though the daughter 
 was what is called very passable, was rejected 
 with indignation, and the lady became much 
 happier by espousing a manufacturer of aqua- 
 busade.
 
 STERLING. 379 
 
 I mention this incident, only to show how true 
 Sterling was to his early impressions, both as to 
 Lady Melusina and his aristocratic prejudices. 
 As to the first, too, we must do him the justice 
 to say, that the sacrifice, if it was one, was at 
 least hopeless ; for very soon after his ebullition 
 at the Vaucluse, he heard that she had given 
 herself to a high-born friend of her brother's, 
 the young and accomplished Lord Lovel, with 
 whom she had every prospect of being happy. 
 
 To the credit of the purity, at least, of his 
 attachment, this made no difference in Robert's 
 feelings of devotion to her, — which he cherished 
 through all his variety of fortune, to his last 
 hour. 
 
 It is not necessary to the task I have under- 
 taken, to pursue our knight through all his 
 no-adventures on the Continent, which, though 
 not unpleasant, had nothing in them uncommon ; 
 unless it be that at Vienna, whither he had 
 wandered, he again met with Lord Langston, 
 whose anger had long been forgotten, and who 
 was in an instant heartily reconciled to him ; 
 perhaps, with increased interest, when he saw 
 how dearly he had paid for his silly prejudices, 
 and how well he had borne his punishment. He 
 would, indeed, have pressed upon him to take 
 refuge ^nth him, and strongly proposed his 
 sharing his house. But this was rather peremp-
 
 380 STERLING. 
 
 torily refused ; and, indeed, the liberty Sterling- 
 had now so long enjoyed, in the power of trans- 
 porting himself whithersoever he pleased, had 
 become so sweet, that I question if any appoint- 
 ment, however advantageous, would have been 
 preferred to it. 
 
 His way of life was so independent of others, 
 and even almost of circumstances, as to produce 
 exactly what it did. It made him a humorist. 
 This almost always accompanies solitariness, — 
 and he was solitary ; it belongs to love, — and, 
 though his mistress was married, he was still a 
 lover ; it eminently emanates from disgust, — and 
 he was disgusted. He was not, indeed, a Timon ; 
 — he did not rail at the world ; — at least, not the 
 unfashionable part of it ; — yet he shunned it ; 
 the higher ranks, because, as he said, they 
 looked down upon him ; the middling, because 
 he looked down upon them. The lower, there- 
 fore, were those he chiefly regarded ; and this, 
 by giving him entirely his own way, confirmed 
 all his self-indulgences. He loved a peasant as 
 he loved his dog, because he let him do as he 
 pleased. And hence, he was oftener seen in a 
 cottage, where he would sometimes lodge for 
 weeks, than in the purlieus of palaces, once so 
 interesting to him. 
 
 These habits gained upon him, and lasted 
 some years, during which he traversed almost
 
 STERLLXG. 381 
 
 the whole of Europe ; nor could he entirely 
 throw them off, even after his return to England, 
 to which he was forced by circumstances alone. 
 
 His father was now in his last sickness, and, 
 long mollified, sent him his blessing, and wished 
 to see him ; which was strongly urged by Wilson, 
 now his brother-in-law. He instantly complied ; 
 but, to his consternation, arrived too late ; for, 
 though alive. Sir Robert was insensible, and 
 (unfortunately or not may be doubtful) had 
 not the power of altering his will, as he intended. 
 By this it appeared that two thousand pounds, 
 in addition to the two hundred pounds a-year, 
 w^hich had been settled upon him, was the whole 
 of his share of his father's fortune; while ten 
 thousand pounds were given to his sister, and 
 the whole of his lucrative business, and the 
 residue of the property, to his brother William. 
 
 We will not say that he was not disappointed ; 
 for the hope of being restored to his father"'s 
 favour had never abandoned him. But he bore 
 it with his usual spirit ; and when William and 
 Wilson offered most liberally to increase his 
 legacy, on the ground of his father's known 
 intentions, he utterly refused it. 
 
 To eke out his modicum, his brother proposed 
 to manage his two thousand pounds for him in 
 trade, demonstrating to his and AVilson's satis- 
 faction that, almost without risk, he could make
 
 382 STERLING. 
 
 it yield more than twice the interest he could 
 obtain for it elsewhere. But this, too, was 
 refused, and for a reason which, considering his 
 now changed life, is astonishing. He did not 
 doubt the security, and ten or twelve per cent, 
 was as welcome to him as to most ; but, changed 
 as he was, he had not parted with the old leaven. 
 " Coelum non animum mutanf seemed to be 
 his motto. In a word, though all chance of fine 
 company was at an end, the thought of being 
 involved in trade continued to be revolting- 
 Rather with somewhat increased means, he would 
 have resumed his knapsack, together with his 
 plan of exploring the Danube, which had been 
 interrupted by his father^s death. 
 
 While busied with these designs, a prospect 
 opened which totally changed them. His old 
 friend, the Principal, was still in being, and 
 still his friend ; and being so, we must do 
 justice to the real goodness of that extraordinary 
 man, who never abandoned any one he had loved, 
 except for defect in moral conduct. Imprudences, 
 even such as Robert's, he could reprehend, but 
 also forgive ; and having learned from himself 
 that his only reason for having shunned him 
 for the last few years, had been from a sense of 
 shame ; and seeing, as he said, hoAv absolutely 
 he was thrown away ; he endeavoured once more 
 to interpose and improve his condition.
 
 STERLING. 383 
 
 Roberts scholarship was known and un- 
 doubted, and his muse had never been aban- 
 doned, when his waywardness had made him 
 abandon every thing else. There was a contest 
 for a lay-fellowship at Oxford impending, which 
 would give to the successful candidate honour 
 and comparative comfort. Something depended 
 upon interest ; much upon a successful exami- 
 nation. Robert was a bachelor of arts, and 
 still a member of the university ; he was there- 
 fore eligible, and it was the PrincipaFs proposal 
 that he should stand. He added an offer of 
 his house, books, interest, and all personal as- 
 sistance, during the contest. 
 
 For once, Robert, as he said himself, was 
 not a fool. He became possessed of a genuine 
 ambition for a really worthy object. He accepted 
 the offer. He was in his element. He called 
 up all his powers ; and what with his own ener- 
 gies, and the exertion of the Principars exten- 
 sive influence, he succeeded.
 
 384 STERLING. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 *' One that knows the laM', go to;— and a rich fellow 
 enough, go to ; — and a fellow that hath had losses ; — and 
 one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome 
 about him." — Much Ado ahout Nothing. 
 
 Behold now our would-be man of fashion, in- 
 tended merchant and barrister, embryo diploma- 
 tist and statesman, and Continental traveller, 
 brought at last into port, as a real Fellow of a 
 College ! 
 
 And we are glad to say that, whether from 
 having experienced so many disappointments, 
 or being now above thirty, he began to see the 
 world in a truer light ; — or, being deprived by 
 the death of his father of all hope of fortune, he 
 found it necessary to trifle no longer with his 
 well-being; — he settled himself down in his new 
 capacity, with a content to which he had hitherto 
 been a stranger. 
 
 Nor ought we to be surprised. Of all other
 
 STERLIXG. 385 
 
 positions, except that, perhaps, of being in a 
 station to pretend to, and gain, the object of this 
 early love, " for whose dear sake, they say, he 
 did now abjure the sight and company of 
 women," none probably could have suited him 
 so well. No longer a freshman, aiming at tilings 
 which he could not obtain, — laughed at for his 
 rawness, and deservedly thwarted in his ill- 
 directed ambition, — he was now enrolled among 
 the dignitaries, as it were, of the place. He 
 was a man of authority, and, as his designation 
 implied, consorted with the superiors of the 
 college. This, and his scholastic reputation, 
 procured him the notice, nay, the court, of all 
 persons of eminence, whether for place", power, 
 or birth, in the University. Nor were his ori- 
 ginal propensities without gratification, to find 
 that even the Tylneys of the then day gave him 
 voluntarily that respect and deference which he 
 had in vain endeavoured to extort from those of 
 a former time. And thus the remark of the 
 sagacious Principal was confirmed, that the ori- 
 ginal sin of a private education, and a want of 
 birth and station, might be balanced in a uni- 
 versity, by literary merit and academical distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 Fortune, therefore, now seemed to smile upon 
 our knight, and he at last had sense enough to 
 discover why. He had quitted all the strivings 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 386 STERLING. 
 
 and swellings of the frog, which with such uncom- 
 fortable appositeness had been formerly alluded 
 to by his then young friend, Wilson. He had 
 found, and knew his place ; nor was it an un- 
 pleasant one. His literary tastes were not only 
 consulted, but gratified : nay, they added to his 
 consequence. The finest libraries in Europe were 
 open to him, and good use did he make of them, 
 for every day saw him at the Bodleian. The most 
 scientific lectures added to his stores — the most 
 elegant relaxations, particularly music, to his 
 pleasures. Every thing was personally respect- 
 able, and delightfully as well as academically 
 aristocratic. The walks and learned groves ; the 
 banquet halls (worthy of palaces); the common 
 room, for social intercourse ; the retired cham- 
 ber, for private study ; liberal public disquisi- 
 tion, and secluded philosophical meditation ; — 
 these are the real and attainable enjoyments of a 
 Fellow of a College, if he pleases : and si sua 
 bona norint ; and these Robert Sterling did 
 not now throw away. 
 
 Still his old passion did not altogether take 
 leave of him. His favourite companions, pro- 
 vided they were equally gifted with others, were 
 always among the aristocracy ; and we fear the 
 influence of gold tufts and velvet caps, if also 
 accompanied by genius and talent, had still a 
 hidden charm for him, not possessed by stuff
 
 STERLING. 387 
 
 gowns. It is certain that by many of his more 
 homely colleagues he was still reckoned *' fine," 
 notwithstanding his experience of the deceptions 
 of finery. 
 
 To one proof of old prejudices he very frankly 
 owns. Having taken his degree in civil law, and 
 assumed the civilian's silk gown, he felt rather 
 more on a level with those who were entitled to 
 it from the rank in which they were entered. But 
 being a civilian, many of his friends pointed out 
 to him the impoUcy of confining his sphere to 
 Oxford, when the great university of the world 
 lay open to him in London. 
 
 They showed him illustrious examples of great 
 academical characters, who had become greater 
 still by transferring themselves to the civil law 
 courts as practitioners. Fame, fortune, power, 
 and the peerage itself, were all open to him : nor, 
 though late, was it yet too late. 
 
 Had these representations produced no effect 
 — had he bounded his ambition by Avhat he now 
 possessed — the calm enjoyments of literary re- 
 search, 
 
 " Atque inter sylvBS academi quaerere verum," 
 
 we should not have been surprised. 
 
 But, will it be believed ? he listened to these 
 suggestions, and entertained golden dreams upon 
 them ; yet waked from them in horror, because 
 s2
 
 388 STERLING. 
 
 he found he should have to pass the greater part 
 of his life in the vicinity of St. Paul's. 
 
 This was the last act of his folly. For having 
 now made up his mind to his present fortune, — 
 meagre, though not unpleasant, — and determined 
 to confine himself to the sylvas academic where 
 he had few competitors in any thing-^he beguiled 
 his Hfe for very many years in a sort of learned 
 leisure, or rather slumber, into the utility of 
 which to others, or even to himself, he was 
 afraid to inquire. 
 
 The death of the excellent Principal be- 
 reaved him of one of the greatest supports of 
 his consequence. He became more and more 
 abstracted, — was less and less known, — and, 
 from growing inaction, ceased even to desire 
 to replace the friends he had lost by new ones. 
 Lord Langston was the only man of conse- 
 quence who remained to him, and with those of 
 no consequence he had no ambition to be united. 
 With him who, from peculiar circumstances, 
 had remained all his life a single man, he main- 
 tained correspondence and intercourse, the only 
 interest he had left in the world ; and, at last, 
 Oxford itself, from his total abandonment of its 
 business, and the objects it held out, became so 
 changed and vacant, that, from sheer necessity, 
 to get rid of the tedium of life, at Lord Lang- 
 ston's suggestion he removed to town.
 
 STERLING. 389 
 
 Here, with his slender funds, and the help of 
 such allurements as a club such as I have de- 
 scribed can exhibit, to a man thrown away and 
 wholly without pursuit, he contrived to 
 " Wesir out his age with shapeless idleness." 
 
 I speak in the past time ; for soon after I had 
 put the bulk of these facts together, by one of 
 those sudden turns of fate which so often sur- 
 prise us, though apparently in health, I was 
 deprived of him. 
 
 " No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode ; 
 
 There they alike in trembling hope repose, 
 The bosom of his father and his God." 
 
 Reader. 
 If you want a moral to this long story, — 
 follow your place, wherever it may lead you, — 
 but never go beyond it. If you do the first, you 
 will, like a healthy plant in its natural soil, 
 flourish, luxuriate, and live : — if the last, like 
 a forced exotic, you will sicken, languish, and 
 die. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by J. L, Cox and Sons, 75, Great Queen Street, 
 Lincoln's- Inn Fields.
 
 UNIVERSmr OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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