i 56' 'A "ft,-: - iV\s" ^:« ^v«';"'' ^?# y.^'Ar* SI '\t -ill,' m M m 5>j;;,v. '>f»v^ATIOXS. 31 orator lie was transcendent. In a dearth of that public talent for the possession of which the whigs have generallj been distinguished, Bui'ke came forward and estabUshed them alike in the parhament and the country. And what was his reward ? No sooner had a young and dissolute noble, vvho with some of the aspirations of a Cfesar oftener realised the conduct of a Catiline, appeared on the stage, and after some inglori- ous tergiversation adopted their colour's, than thev transferred to him the command which had been won by wisdom and genius, riadi- cated by unriyalled knowledge, and adorned by accomphshed eloquence. "Wlien the hour aiTived for the triumph which he had prepared, he was not even admitted into the Cabinet, Tu*tually presided over by his gi'aceless pupU, and who, in the profuse suggestions of his teem- ing conrei^se, had found the j^rinciples and the information which were among the chief claims to public confidence of 'Mi. Fox. Hard necessity made !Mi\ Burke submit to the yoke, but the humiliation could never be forgotten. Nemesis favom's genius : the inevi- S3 SYBIL, OR THE table hour at length amved. A voice like the Apocalypse sounded over England and even echoed in all the courts of Europe. Biu*ko poured forth the vials of his hoarded vengeance into the agitated heart of Christendom; he stimulated the panic of a ^rorld by the wild pictures of his inspired imagination ; he dashed to the ground the rival who had robbed him of his hard-earned greatness ; rended in twain the proud oligarchy that had dared to use and to insult him ; and followed with serviHty by the haughtiest and the most timid of its members, amid the frantic exultation of his country, he placed his heel upon the neck of the ancient serpent. Among the whig followers of Mr. Burke in this memorable defection, among the Devon- shires and the Portlands, the Spencers and the Fitzwilliams, was the Earl of Marney, whom the whigs would not make a duke. What was his chance of success from ]Mr. Pitti If the history of England be ever written by- one who has the knowledge and the courage, TWO NATIOJS-S. 33 and both qualities are equally requisite for the undertaking, the world would be more asto- nished than when reading the Roman annals bj Niebuhr. Generally speaking, all the great events have been distorted, most of the impor- tant causes concealed, some of the principal characters never appear, and all who figure are so misunderstood and misrepresented, that the result is a complete mystification, and the perusal of the narrative about as profitable to an Englishman as reading the Republic of Plato or the Utopia of More, the pages of Gaudentio di Lucca or the adventures of Peter Wilkins. The influence of races in our early ages, of the church in our middle, and of parties in our modern history, are three great moving and modifying powers, that must be pursued and analyzed with an untiring, profound, and unimpassioned spirit, before a guiding ray can be secured. A remarkable feature of our written history is the absence in its pages of some of the most influential per- sonages. Not one man in a thousand for in- VOL. I. D 34 SYBIL, OK THE stance lias ever heard of Major Wildraan : yet lie was tlic soul of Pjii^rlisli politics in the most eventful period of this kin^alom, and one most interestin<,^ to this age, from 1640 to 1688; and seemed more than once to hold the balance which was to decide the permanent form of our government. But he was the leader of an un- successful party. Even, comparatively speak- ing, in our own times, the same mysterious ob- livion is sometimes encouraged to creep over personages of great social distinction as w^ell as political importance. The name of the second Pitt remains, fresh after forty years of gi'cat events, a parliamentary beacon. He was the Chatterton of politics ; the "marvellous boy.'' Some have a vague impression that he was mysteriously moidded by his great father ; that he inherited the ge- nius, the eloquence, the state craft of Chatham. Ilis genius was of a different bent, his eloijuonee of a diiierent class, his state craft of a dillcrent school. To understand Mr. Pitt, one must un- derstand one of the suppressed characters of Enirlish historv, and that is Lord Shelburne. TWO NATIONS. Si When the fine genius of the injured Boling- broke, the onlj peer of his century who was educated, and proscribed by the oligarchy be- cause they were afraid of his eloquence, " the glory of his order and the shame," shut out from Parliament, found vent in those writings which recalled to the English people the inhe- rent blessings of their old free monarchy, and painted in immortal hues his picture of a pa- triot king, the spirit that he raised at length touched the heart of Carteret born a whig, yet sceptical of the advantages of that patri- cian constitution which made the Diikeof Newcastle the most incompetent of men, but the chosen leader of the Venetian party, virtu- ally sovereign of England. Lord Carteret had many brilliant qualities : he was undaunted, enterprising, eloquent ; had considerable know- ledge of continental politics, was a great linguist, a master of public law ; and though he failed in his premature effort to terminate the dogeship of George the Second, he succeeded in maintain- ing a considerable though secondary position in public life. The young Shelburne married his D 2 3S SYBIL, OR THE daughter. Of him it is singular we know less than of his father-in-law, vet from the scattered -traits some idea may l>e formed of the ablest and most accomplished minister of the eighteenth xjcntm-y. Lord Shelbm-ne. influenced probably by the example and the traditionary precepts of his eminent father-in-law, appears early to hare held himself aloof from the patrician con- nection, and entered public life as the follower of Bute in the first great effort of George the Third to rescue the sorereignty from what Lord Chatham called "the Great Revolution families.'' He became in time a member of Lord Chatham's last administration : one of the strangest and most unsuccessful efforts to aid the grandson of George the Second in his strug- gle for poHtical emancipation. Lord Shelbume adopted from the fii*st the Bolingbroke system ; a real royalty, in lieu of the chief magistracy ; a permanent alliance with France, instead of the whig scheme of viewing in that power the natural enemy of England ; and, above all, a plan of commercial freedom, the germ of which may be found in the long-maligned negotiations TWO XATIOXS. 37 of Utrecht but which in the instance of Lord Shelbume were soon in time matured bv all the economical science of Europe, in which he was a proficient. Lord Shelbume seems to hare been of a reserved and somewhat astute dispo- sition : deep and adi*oit, he was howerer brave and firm. His knowledge was extensive and even profoimd. He was a gi'eat linguist: he pursued both Hterary and scientific investiga- tions; his house was fi*equented by men of letters, especially those distinguished by their pohtical abihties or economical attainments. He maintained the most extensive private cor- respondence of any pubhc man of his time. The earhest and most authentic information reached him fi'om aU comts and quart ei^ of Europe ; and it was a common phi*ase, that the minister of the day sent to him often for the important information which the cabinet could not itself , command. Lord Shelbiu'ne was the fii*st great minister who comprehended the risin g impor- taiLce^ the_middle c^assj and foresaw in its fatm'e power a bulwai'k for the thi'one against "• the Great Revolution families." Of his qua- 38 SYBIL, OR THE lities in council we have no record; there is reason to believe that his administrative ability was conspicuous ; his speeches prove that, if not supreme, he was eminent, in the art of par- liamentary disputation, while thev show on all the questions discussed a richness and variety of information with which the speeches of no statesman of that age except ^Ir. Bm-ke can compare. Such was the man selected by George the Third as his champion against the Venetian pMl;y after the termination of the American war. The prosecution of that war they had violently opposed, though it had originated in their own poHcy. First minister in the House of Lords, Shelbume entmsted the lead in the House of Commons to his Chancellor of the Exchequer, the youthfid Pitt. The administra- tion was brief, but it was not inglorious. It obtained peace, and for the first time since the Revolution introduced into modern debate the legitimate principles on which commerce should be conducted. It fell before the famous Coali- tion with which "the Great Revolution families" TAVO NATIONS. 39 commenced their fiercest and their last conten- tion for the patrician goyernment of rojal England. In the heat of that great strife, the king in the second hazardous exercise of his preroga- tive entrusted the perilous command to Pitt. Why Lord Shelburne on that occasion was set aside, will perhaps always remain a mysterious passage of our political history, nor have we space on the present occasion to attempt to penetrate its motives. Perhaps the monarch, with a sense of the rising sympathies of his people, was ^^rcscient of the magic power of youth in touching the heart of a nation. Yet it would not be an unprofitable speculation if for a moment we paused to consider what might have been the consequences to our coun- try if Mr. Pitt had been content for a season again to lead the Commons under Lord Shel- burne, and have secm-ed for England the un- rivalled knowledge and dexterity of that states- man in the conduct of our aflairs during the confounding fortunes of the French revolution. Lord Shelburne was the only Enghsh minister 40 SYBIL, OR THE competent to the task ; lie was the only public man who had the previous knowledge requisite to form accurate conclusions on such a conjunc- ture; his remaining speeches on the subject attest the . amplitude of his knowledge and the accuracy of his views ; and in the rout of Jena, or the agony of Austerlitz, one cannot refrain from pictming the shade of Shelbm-ne haunting the cabinet of Pitt, as the ghost of Canning is said occasionally to linger about the speaker's chair, and smile sarcastically on the conscien- tious mediocrities who pilfered liis hard-earned honom's. But during the happier years of Mr. Pitt, the influence of the mind of Shelburne may be traced throughout his policy. It was Lans- downe House that made Pitt acquainted with Dr. Price, a dissenting minister, whom Lord Shel- burne when at the head of aflairs cqm-ageously offered to make his private secretary, and who furnished ^Ir. Pitt, among many other im- portant suggestions, with his original plan of the sinking fund. The commercial treaties of '87 were struck in the same mint, and are TWO XATI02s"S. 41 notable as the first effort made bj the English government to emancipate the country from the restrictire policy which had been introduced by the ''glorious revolution;'' memorable epoch, that presented England at the same time with a corn law and a public debt. But on no sub- ject was the magnetic influence of the descen- dant of Sir William Petty more decided, than in the resolution of his pupil to* curb the power of the patrician party by an infusion from the middle classes into the government of the country. Hence the origin of Mr. Pitt's famous and long-misconceived plans of parliamentary reform. AVas he sincere, is often asked by those who neither seek to cUscover the causes nor are capable of calculating the effects of public transactions. Sincere! Why, he was struggling for his existence ! And when baffled, first by the Venetian party, and afterwards by the panic of Jacobinism, he was forced to forego his direct purpose, he still endeavom-ed par- tially to effect it by a circuitous process. He created a plebeian aristocracy and blended it with the patrician oligarchy. He made peers 42 SYBIL, OK THE of second-rate squires and fat graziers. lie caught them in the alleys of Lombard Street, and clutched them from the counting-houses of Comhill. When Mr. Pitt in an ag^ of bank restriction declared that CA^ery man with an estate of ten thousand a-year had a right to be a peer, he sounded the knell of " the cause for which Hampden had died on the field, arid Sydney on the scaffold.'' In ordinary times the pupil of Shclburne would have raised this country to a state of great material prosperity, and removed or avoided many of those anomalies which now perplex us ; but he was not destined for ordinary times; and though his capacity was vast and his spirit lofty, he had not that pas- sionate and creative genius required by an age of revolution. The French outbreak was his evil daemon : he had not the means of calcu- lating its effects upon Europe. He had but a meagre knowledge himself of continental poli- tics: he was assisted by a very inefficient diplomacy. His mind was lost in a convulsion of v/hidi he neither could comprehend the TWO NATIONS. 43 caused nor calculate the consequences; and forced to act, he acted not only yiolentlj, but in exact opposition to the very system he was called into political existence to combat ; he appealed to the fears, the prejudices, and the passions of a privileged class, revived the old policy of the oligarchy he had extinguished, and plunged into all the ruinous excesses of French war and Dutch finance. If it be a salutary principle in the investiga- tion of historical transactions to be careful in discriminating the cause from the pretext, there is scarcely any instance in which the application of this principle is more fertile in results, than in that of the Dutch invasion of 1688. The real cause of this invasion was financial. The Prince of Orange had found that the resources of Holland, however con- siderable, were inadequate to sustain him in liis internecine rivalry with the great sovereign of France. In an authentic conversation which has descended to us, held by William at the Hague with one of the prime abettors of the invasion, the prince did not disg-uise hia 44 SYBIL, OR THE motives ; lie said, "■ nothing but such a consti- tution as Tou haA'c in England can have the credit that is necessary to raise such sums as a great war requires." The prince came, and used our constitution for his purpose : he intro- duced into England the system of Dutch finance. The principle of that system was to mortgage industry in order to protect property : abstractedly, notliing can be conceived more unjust; its practice in England has been equally injurious. In Holland, with a small population engaged in the same pursuits, in fact a nation of bankers, the system was adapted to the circumstances which had created it. All shared in the present spoil, and there- fore could endure the futm-e bmthen. And so to this day Holland is sustained, almost solely sustained, by the vast capital thus created which still lingers amongst its dykes. But applied to a coimtry in which the circum- stances were entirely difierent ; to a consider- able and rapidly-increasing population ; where there was a numerous peasantry, a trading middle class struggling into existence; the sys- TWO XATIOIs^S. 45 tern of Dutch finance, pursued more or less for nearly a centmy and a lialf, has ended in the deoradation of a fettered and builhened mul- titude. Nor have the demoralizing conse- quences of the funding system on the more favoured classes been less decided. It has made debt a national habit ; it has made credit the nding power, not the exceptional auxiliary, of all transactions ; it has introduced a loose, inexact, haphazard, and dishonest spirit in the conduct of both public and private life ; a spirit dazzling and yet dastardly ; reckless of conse- quences and yet shrinking from responsibility. And in the end, it has so overstimulated the energies of the population to maintain the ' material engagements of the state, and of society at large, that the moral condition of the people has been entirely lost sight of. A mortgaged aristocracy, a gambling foreign commerce, a home trade founded on a morbid competition, and a degi'aded people ; these are great evils, but ought perhaps cheerfully to be encountered for the gi*eater blessings of civil and relidous libertv. Yet the first would seem AS in some degree to depend upon our Saxon mode of trial bj our peers, upon the stipulations of the great Norman charters, upon the prac- tice and the statute of Habeas Corpus, — a prin- ciple native to our common law, but established hy the Stuarts ; nor in a careful perusal of the Bill of Rights, or in an impartial scrutiny of the subsequent legislation of those times, though some diminution of our political franchises must be confessed, is it easy to discover any increase of our civil privileges. To those indeed who believe that the English nation, — at all times a religious and Catholic people, but who even in the days of the Plantagenets were anti-papal, — were in any danger of again falling under the yoke of the Pope of Rome in the reign of James the Second, religious liberty was per- haps acceptable, though it took the shape of a discipline which at once anathematized a gi'eat portion of the nation, and A^irtually establishing Puritanism in Ireland, laid the foundation of those mischiefs which are now endangering the empire. That the last of the Stuarts had any other TWO NATIONS. 47 object in his impolitic manoeuyres, than an im- practicable scheme to blend the two churches, there is now authority to disbelieve. He cer- tainly was guilty of the offence of sending an envoy openly to Rome, who, by the bye, was received by the Pope with great discourtesy ; and her Majesty Queen Victoria, whose Protes> tantism cannot be doubted, for it is one of her chief titles to our homage, has at this time a secret envoy at the same court ; and that is the difference between them : both ministers doubt- less working however fruitlessly for the same object ; the termination of those terrible mis- conceptions, political and religious, that have occasioned so many martyrdoms, and so many crimes alike to sovereigns and to subjects. If James the Second had really attempted to re-establish Popery in this country, the Eng- lish people, who had no hand in his overthrow, would doubtless soon have stirred and secured their " Catholic and Apostolic church/' indepen- dent of any foreign dictation ; the church to which they still regularly profess their adherence ; and being a practical people, it is possible that they 48 SYBIL, OR THE might have achieved their object and jet re- tained their native princes : under T\-hich cir- cumstances Tve might have been saved from the triple blessings of Venetian politics, Dutch finance, and French Tvars : against which, in their happiest days, and with their happiest powers, struggled the three gi*eatest of English states- men, — Bolingbroke, Shelburne, and lastly the son of Chatham. We have endeavoured in another work, not we hope without something of the impartiality of the future, to sketch the character and career of his successors. From his death to 1825, the political history of England is a his- tory of great events and little men. The rise of Mr. Canning, long kept do^Ti by the plebeian aristocracy of Mr. Pitt as an adventurer, had shaken parties to their centre. His rapid dis- appearance from the scene left both whigs and tories in a state of disorganization. The dis- tinctive principles of these connexions were now difficult to trace. That period of public lan- guor which intervenes between the breaking up of parties and the formation of factions now TWO NATIONS. 49 transpired in England. An exhausted sen- sualist on the throne, -who only demanded from his ministers repose, a voluptuous aristocracy, and a listless people, were content, in the ab- sence of all public conviction and national pas- sion, to consign the government of the country to a great man, whose decision relieved the sovereign, whose prejudices pleased the nobles, and whose achievements dazzled the multi- tude. The Duke of Wellington brought to the post of first minister immortal fame ; a qua- lity of success AYhich would almost seem to include all others. His public knowledge was such as might be expected from one whose con- duct already formed an important portion of the history of his country. He had a personal and intimate acquaintance with the sovereigns and chief statesmen of Em-ope, a kind of infor- mation in which English ministers have generally been deficient, but without which the manage- ment of om* external afikirs must at the best be haphazard. He possessed administrative talents of the highest order. VOL. I. E 00 SYBIL, or. THE The tone of the age, the temper of the coun- trj, the great qualities and the high character of the minister, indicated a long and prosperous administration. The only individual in his cabinet who, from a combination of cu'cum- stances ratlicr than from any intellectual supre- macy over his colleagues, was competent to be his rival, was content to be his successor. In his most aspiring moments, Mr, Peel in all probability aimed at no higher reach ; and with youth and the leadership of the House of Commons, one has no reason to be surprised at his moderation. The conviction that the duke's government would only cease with the termination of his public career was so general, that the moment he was installed in office, the whigs smiled on him ; political conciliation became the slang of the day, and the fusion of parties the babble of clubs and the tattle of boudoirs. How comes it then that so great a man, in so great a position, should have so signally failed"? Should have broken up his govern- ment, wrecked liis party, and so completely TWO IS-ATIONS. 51 annihilated his political position, that, even with his historical reputation to sustain him, he can since only re-appear in the councils of his sovereign in a subordinate, not to say equivocal, character 1 With all those great qualities which will secure him a place in our history not perhaps inferior even to Marlborough, the Duke of Wellington has one deficiency which has been the stumbling-block of his civil career. Bishop Burnet, in speculating on the extraordinary influence of Lord Shaftesbury, and accounting how a statesman, so inconsistent in his conduct and so false to his confederates, should have so powerfully controlled his country, observes, " His strength lay in his knowledge of y^ England/' Now that is exactly the kind of knowledge which the Duke of Yv^ellington never possessed. When the king, finding that in Lord Gode- rich he had a minister who, instead of deciding, asked his royal master for advice, sent for the Duke of Wellington to undertake the govern- ment, a change in the carriage of his grace was E 2 u»-sr'" SYBIL, OK p^eimxed bj some irho had the opportunity to font an (pinion cm sodi a subject. K (Hie ■^it Tentnre to use sadk a word in reference to sndi a man, we mi^it remarL that the duke kad been sonewliat daunted by the sdecticm of Mr. Canmi^ It dis^f^pcHnted great belies, it baffled great plans, and dispelled for a season tiie ooffifictioni tlia^ it is bdiered. had been long iDatmiiig in bis grace's mind; that be was titt man ci the age, that bis mibtaij career bad been onlj a pi^araticm for a dril course Bot less ilhistiioiis; and that it was reared for bim to ctmtnd for the rest of his life nn- di^patEd the destinies oi a coantrr. which was inddited to bim in no sLi^t degree for its European pre-emineiioe. The death of Mr. Canning reTrredL tbe rout of Lc*rd Goderidi restored, these riews. X^deon, at St. Hekna, speculating in OQUTeisaticm on the fotnre career of his con- qooor, asked, " What will Wellington do l After all be bas done, be will not be content to be quiet. He will change the djnastj.'' Had tbe great exile be^i better acquainted TWO yATioxs. 53 ■with the real character of our Venetian con- stitution, he would hare known that to gorem England in 1820, it was not necessary to change its dynasty. But the Emperor, though wrong in the main, was right by the bye. It wa.s clear that the energies that had twice en- tered Paris as a conqueror, and had made kings and mediatised princes at Vienna, would not l>e content to subside into ermined insig- nificance. The duke commenced his political tactics early. The cabinet of Lord LirerpooL especially during its latter term, was the hot- bed of many intrigues ; but the obstacles were numerous, though the appointing fate, in which his grace believed, removed them. The dis- appearance of Lord Castiereagh and Mr. Canning from the scene was alike unexpected. The Duke of Wellington was at length prime minister, and no indiyidual ever occupied that post more conscious of its power, and more determined to exercise it. This is not the occasion on which we shall attempt to do justice to a theme so instructiye as tiae administration of his srace. Treated 54 SYBIL, OR THE with impartiality and sufficient information, it would be an invaluable contribution to the stores of our political knowledge and national experience. Throughout its brief but eccentric and tumultuous annals we see continual proof, how important is that knowledge "in which lay Lord Shaftesbury's strength/' In twenty- four months we find an aristocracy estranged, without a people being concihated ; while on two several occasions, first, the prejudices, and then the pretensions of the middle class, were alike treated with contumely. The public was astonished at hearing of statesmen of long parliamentary fame, men round whom the in- telligence of the nation had gathered for years with confidence, or at least with interest, being expelled from the cabinet in a manner not unworthy of Colonel Joyce, while their places were filled by second-rate soldiers, whose very names were unknown to the great body of the people, and who under no circumstances should have aspired beyond the government of a colony. This administration which com- menced in an^ogancc ended in panic. There TWO NATIONS. 5S was an interval of perplexity ; when occurred the most ludicrous instance extant of an attempt at coalition; subordinates were pro- moted, while negotiations were still pending with their chiefs ; and these negotiations, un- dertaken so crudely, were terminated in pique ; in a manner which added to political disap- pointment personal offence. When even his parasites began to look gloomy, the duke had a specific that was to restore all, and having allowed every element of power to escape his gi'asp, he believed he could balance everything by a beer bill. The growl of reform was heard but it was not very fierce. There was yet time to save himself His grace precipitated a revolution which might have been delayed for half a centmy, and never need have occurred in so aggravated a form. He rather fled than retired. He commenced his ministry like Brennus, and finished it like the tall Gaul sent to murder the rival of Sylla, but who dropped his weapon before the undaunted gaze of his intended victim. Lord Marney was spared the pang of the 56 SYBIL, OR THE catastrophe. Promoted to a high office in the household, and still hoping that, bj the aid of his party, it was jet destined for him to achieye the hereditary purpose of liis family, he died in the full faith of dukism ; worshipping the duke and belieying that ultimately he should himself become a duke. It was mider all the circumstances an euthanasia ; he expired lean- ing as it were on his white wand and babbling of strawberry leayes. TWO KATIOl^S. 57 Chapter IV. " My dear Charles/' said Lady Marnej to Egremont the morning after the Derby, as breakfasting with her in her boudoir he detailed some of the circumstances of the race, "we must forget your naughty horse. I sent you a little note this morning, because I wished to see you most particularly before you went out. Affairs," continued Lady Marney, first looking round the chamber to see whether there were any fairy listening to her state secrets, " affairs are critical.'' " No doubt of that," thought Egi'emont, the horrid phantom of settling-day seeming to ob- W SYBIL, OR THE tnide itself between bis motlier and himself; but not knowing precisely at what she was driving, he merely sipped his tea, and inno- cently replied, " Why T *' There will be a dissolution,'' said Lady Marney. " What are we coming in T Lady Marney shook her head. " The present men will not better their majority,^' said Egremont. " I hope not," said Lady Marney. "AVliy you always said, that with another general election we must come in, whoever dis- solved.'' " But that was with the court in our favour,'^ rejoined Lady Marney mournfully. " AYhat, has the king changed V said Egre- mont. '^ I thought it was all right." " All was right," said Lady Marney. '' These men would have been turned out again, had he only lived three months more.'' " Lived ! " exclaimed Egremont. " Yes," said Lady Marney ; " the king is dying." TWO yATlOKS. 59 Slowly deliyering himself of an ejaculatiou, Egremont leant back in liis cliaii'. " He may live a month/' said Lady Marney ; "he cannot live two. It is the greatest of secrets ; known at this moment only to fom* individuals, and I communicate it to you, my dear Charles, in that absolute confidence which I hope will always subsist between us, because it is an event that may greatly affect your career/' " How so, my dear mother V^ " Marbury ! I have settled Yvith Mr. Tad- pole that you shall stand for the old borough. With the government in om* hands, as I had anticipated at the general election, success I think was certain : under the circumstances which we must encounter, the struggle will be more severe, but I think we shall do it : and it will be a happy day for me to have om- own again, and to see you in Parliament, my dear child." " Well, my dear mother, I should like very much to be in Parliament, and particularly to sit for the old borough ; but I fear the contest 60 SYBIL, OB THE will be very expensive," said Egremont inqui- ringly. " Oh ! I hare no doubt," said Lady Marney, *' that we shall have some monster of the mid- dle class, some tinker or tailor, or candlestick- maker, with his long purse, preaching reform and practising corruption ; exactly as the liberals did under Walpole : bribery was un- known in the time of the Stuarts ; but we have a capital registration, Mr. Tadpole tells me. And a young candidate with the old name will tell,'' said Lady Marney, with a smile : " and I shall go down and canvass, and we must do what we can." " I have great faith in your canvassing," said Egremont ; " but still, at the same time, the powder and shot — " " Are essential," said Lady Marney, " I know it, in these corrupt days ; but Marney will of course supply those. It is the least he can do : regaining the family influence, and letting us hold up our heads again. I shall write to him the moment I am justified," said Lady Marney, " perhaps you will do so yourself, Charles." TWO NATIONS. 61 " Why, considering I have not seen mj bro- tlier for two years, and we did not part on the best possible terms " " But that is all forgotten/' " By your good offices, dear mother, who are always doing good : and yet," continued Egre- mont, after a moment's pause, '' I am not dis- posed to write to Marney, especially to ask a favour/' " Well, I will write," said Lady Marney ; " though I cannot admit it is any favour. Per- haps it would be better that you should see him first. I cannot understand why he keeps so at the Abbey. I am sure I found it a me- lancholy place enough in my time. I wish you had gone down there, Charles, if it had been only for a few days." "Well I did not, my dear mother, and I cannot go now. I shall trust to you. But are you quite sure that the king is going to die r " I repeat to you, it is certain," replied Lady Marney, in a lowered voice, but a decided tone ; " certain, certain, certain. My authority can- 62 SYBIL, OR THE not be mistaken : but no consideration in the world must throw vou off your ^uard at this moment ; breathe not the sliadow of what you know." At this moment a servant entered and deli- Tcred a note ta Lady Marney, who read it with an ironical smile. It was from Lady St. Julians, and ran thus : — " Most confidential. " My dearest Lady Mainiey, " It is a false report : he is ill, but not dangerously ; the hay fever ; he always has it ; nothing more ; I will tell my authority when we meet ; I dare not write it. It will satisfy you. I am going on with my quadrille. " Most affectionately yours, "A. St. J." " Poor woman ! she is always wrong," said Lady Marney throwing the note to Egrcmont. " Her quadrille will never take place, which is a pity, as it is to consist only of beauties and eldest sons. I suppose I must send her a line," and she wrote : TWO NATIONS. 63 My dearest Lady St. Julians, '^How good of you to write to me, and snd me such cheering news ! I have no doubt 3u are right ; you always are. I know he id the hay fever last year. How fortunate r youi' quadrille, and how charming it will be ! et me know if you hear anything further from )ur unmentionable quarter. " Ever your affectionate " 0. M.^' 64 SYBIL, OR THE CHArTER V. Lord Marney left several children; liis heir was five years older than the next son Charles who at the period of his father's death was at Christ church and had just entered the last year of his minority. Attaining that age, he received the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, his portion, a third of which amount his expenditure had then already anticipated. Egrcmont had been brought up in the enjoyment of every comfort and every luxury that refinement could devise and wealth furnish. He was a favourite child. His parents emulated each other in pampering and indulging him. Every freak was pardoned, every whim was gratified. lie might ride what TWO NATIONS. 65 horses he liked, and if lie broke their knees, what in another would have been deemed a flagrant sin, was in him held only a proof of reckless spirit. If he were not a thoroughly selfish and altogether wilful person, but very much the reverse, it was not the fault of his parents, but rather the operation of a benig- nant nature that had bestowed on him a generous spirit and a tender heart, though ac- companied with a dangerous susceptibility that made him the child and creature of impulse, and seemed to set at defiance even the course of time to engraft on his nature any quality of prudence. The tone of Eton during the days of Charles Eoremont was not of the hiojh character which at present distinguishes that community. It was the unforeseen eve of the gTcat change, that, whatever was its purpose or have been its immediate results, at least gave the first shock to the pseudo-aristocracy of this country. Then all was blooming ; sunshine and odour; not a breeze disturbing the meridian splendour. Then the world was not only made for a few, but a very few. One could almost VOL. I. F 66 SYBIL, OR THE tell upon one's fingers tlie liappj families who could do anything, and might have eveiything. A school-boy's ideas of the Church then were fat-li\dngs, and of the State, rotten-boroughs. To do nothing and get something, formed a boy's ideal of a manly career. There was nothing in the lot, Httle in the temperament, of Charles Egremont, to make him an exception to the multitude. Gaily and securely he floated on the brilliant stream. Popular at school, idolized at home, the present had no cares, and the fiiture secured him a family seat in Parliament the moment he entered life, and the inheritance of a glittering post at court in due time, as its legitimate consequence. Enjoyment, not ambition, seemed the principle of his existence. The contingency of a mitre, the certainty of rich preferment, would not reconcile him to the self-sacrifice whicli, to a certain degi'ce, was required from a priest, even in those days of rampant Erastianism. He left the colonies as the spoil of his younger brothers ; his own ideas of a profession being limited to a barrack in a London park, varied by visits to AVindsor. But TWO NATIONS. c6^ tliere was time enough to think of these things. He had to enjoj Oxford as he had enjoyed Eton. Plere his allowance from his father was extravagant, though greatly increased by tithes from his mother's pin-money. Wliile he was pursuing his studies, hunting and boating, driving tandems, riding matches, tempering his energies in the crapulence of boyish banquets, and anticipating life, at the risk of expulsion, in a miserable mimicry of metropolitan dissipa- tion, Dukism, that was supposed to be eternal, suddenly crashed. The Reform Act has not placed the admini- stration of our affairs in abler hands than con- ducted them previously to the passing of the measure, for the most efficient members of tho present cabinet with some very few exceptions, and those attended by peculiar cu'cumstances, were ministers before the Reform Act was con- templated. Nor has that memorable statute created a Parliament of a higher reputation for public qualities, such as politic ability, and popular eloquence, and national consideration, than was furnished by the old scheme. On F 2 68 the contrary ; one house of Parliament has been irremediably degi-aded into the decaying position of a mere court of registry, possessing great privileges, on condition that it never exercises them ; while the other chamber that, at the first blush, and to the supei^ficial, exhi- bits symptons of almost unnatural vitality, engi'ossing in its orbit all the business of the country, assumes on a more studious inspection somewhat of the character of a select vestry, fulfilling municipal rather than imperial offices, ,! ^ and beleaguered by critical and clamorous millions, who cannot comprehend why a privi-. leged and exclusive senate is required to ^ perform functions which immediately concern ^ all, which most personally comprehend, and which many in their civic spheres believe they could accomplish in a manner not less satisfac- tory, though certainly less ostentatious. But if it have not furnished us ^vith abler administrators or a more illustrious senate, the Reform Act may have exercised on the country at larjre a beneficial influence. Has it ? Has it elevated the tone of the public mind ? Has TWO NATIONS. 69 it cultui'ed the popular sensibilities to noble and ennobling ends '? Has it proposed to the people of England a higher test of national respect and confidence than the debasing quali- fication universallj prevalent in this country since the fatal introduction of the system of Dutch finance ? Who will pretend if? If a ^^ spirit of rapacious coveteousness, desecrating all ^ the humanities of life, has been the besetting sin of England for the last century and a half, since the passing of the Reform Act the altar of Mammon has blazed with triple worship. To acquire, to accumulate, to plunder each other by virtue of pliilosophic phrases, to propose an Utopia to consist only of wealth and toil, this has been the breathless business of enfran- chised England for the last twelve years, until we are startled from our voracious strife by the wail of intolerable serfage. Are we then to conclude, that the only efi*ect of the Reform Act has been to create in this country another of those class interests, which we now so loudly accuse as the obstacles to general amelioration '? Not exactly that. The 9tf SYBIL, OR THE indirect influence of the Reform Act has been not inconsiderable, and may eventually lead to vast consequences. It set men a-thinking ; it enlarged the horizon of political experience ; it led the public mind to ponder somewhat on the circumstances of our national history ; to pry into the beginnings of some social anomalies which they found were not so ancient as they had been led to believe, and which had their origin in causes very diiferent to what they had been educated to credit ; and insensibly it created and prepared a popular intelligence to w^hich one can appeal, no longer hopelessly, in an attempt to dispel the, mysteries with which for nearly three centuries it has been the labour of party writers to involve a national history, and without the dispersion of which no political position can be understood and no social evil remedied. The events of 1830 did not produce any change in the modes of thought and life of Charles Egi-emont. He took his political cue from his mother, avIio was his constant corre- spondent. Lady Marney was a distinguished TWO :n^ation.s. 71 " stateswoman," as they called Ladj Carlisle in Charles the First's time, a great friend of Lady St. Julians, and one of the most eminent and impassioned votaries of Dukism. Her first im- pression on the overthrow of her hero was, asto- nishment at the impertinence of his adversaries, mingled with some loftj pity for their silly ambition and short-lived career. She existed for a week in the delightful expectation of his grace being sent for again, and informed every one in confidence, that " these people could not form a cabinet.'' When the tocsin of peace^ reform, and retrenchment sounded, she smile^ bitterly ; was sorry for poor Lord Grey of whom she had thought better, and gave tliem a year, adding with consoling malice, " that it would be another Canning affair." At length came the Reform Bill itself, and no one laughed more heartily than Lady Marney; not even the House of Commons to whom it was presented. The bill was thrown out, and Lady Marney gave a grand ball to celebrate the event, and to compensate the London shopkeepers for the loss of their projected franchise. Lady Marney 72 SYBIL, OPv THE was preparing to resume lier duties at court when to her great surprise the firing of cannon announced the dissohition of ParUament. She tm-ned pale ; she was too much in the secrets of Tadpole and Taper to be deceived as to the consequences ; she sank into her chair, and denounced Lord Grej as a traitor to his order. Lady Marney who for six months had been writing to her son at Oxford the most charming letters, full of fun, quizzing the whole Cabinet, now announced to Egremont that a revolution was inevitable, that all property would be instantly confiscated, the poor deluded king led to the block or sent over to Hanover at the best, and the whole of the nobility and princi- pal gentry, and indeed every one who possessed anything, guillotined without remorse. Whether his friends were immediately to resume power, or whether their estates ulti- mately were to be confiscated, the practical conclusion to Charles Egremont appeared to be the same. Carpe diem. He therefore pursued his career at Oxford unchanged, and entered TWO NATION'S. 73 life in the year 1833, a younger son with extra- vagant tastes and expensive habits, with a reputation for lively talents though uncultivated, — for his acquisitions at Eton had been quite puerile, and subsequently he had not become a student, — with many manly accomplishments, and with a mien and visage that at once took the fancy and enlisted the affections. Indeed a physiologist would hardly have inferred from the countenance and structure of Egremont the career he had pursued, or the character which attached to him. The general cast and expres- sion of his features when in repose was pensive : an air of refinement distinguished his well- moulded brow ; his mouth breathed sympathy, and his [rich brown eye gleamed with tender- ness. The sweetness of his voice in speaking was in harmony with this organization. Two years passed in the most refined circles of our society exercised a beneficial influence on the general tone of Egremont, and may. be said to have finished his education. He had the good sense and the good taste not to permit his pre- dilection for sports to degenerate into slang ; W SYBIL, OR THE he yielded liimself to tlie delicate and profitable authority of woman, and, as ever happens, it softened his manners and brightened his wit. He was fortunate in having a clever mother, and he appreciated this inestimal)le possession. Lady Maniey had great knowledge of society, and some acquaintance with human nature, which she fancied she had fathomed to its cen- tre ; she piqued herself upon her tact, and indeed she was very quick, but she was so energetic that her art did not always conceal itself ; very worldly, she was nevertheless not dcA^oid of impulse ; she was animated and would have been extremely agreeable, if she had not rest- lessly aspired to wit ; and would certainly have exercised much more influence in society, if she had not been so anxious to show it. Never- theless, still ^dth many personal charms, a frank and yet, if need be, a finished manner, a quick brain, a lively tongue, a buoyant spii'it, and a great social position, Lady Marney was univer- sally and extremely popular ; and adored by her children, for indeed she was a mother most affectionate and true. TWO NATIOIn'S. 75 When Egi'emont was foiu'-and-twentj, he fell in love — a real passion. He had fluttered like others from flower to flower, and like others had often fancied the last peifame the sweetest, and then had flown away. But now he was entirely captiyated. The divinity was a new beauty; the whole world raving of her. Egremont also advanced. The Lady Arabella was not only beautiful : she was clever, fascina- ting. Her presence was inspiration; at least for Egi'emont. She condescended to be pleased by him; she signalized him by her notice; their names were mentioned together. EgTe- mont indulged in flattering di'eams. He regi'etted he had not pursued a profession ; he regretted he had impaired his slender patri- mony ; thought of love in a cottage, and rent- ing a manor; thought of living a good deal with his mother, and a little with his brother; thought of the law and the church; thought once of New Zealand. The favourite of nature and of fashion, this was the first time in the life of EgTemont, that he had been made conscious that there was something in his 76 SYBIL, OR THE position T^hich, with all its superficial bril- liancy, might prepare for him, when youth had fled and the blaze of society gi'own dim, a drear and bitter lot. He was roused from his reveries by a painful change in the demeanour of his adored. The mother of the Lady Arabella was alarmed. She hked her daughter to be admired even by younger sons when they were distinguished, • but only at a distance. Mr. Egi*emont's name had been mentioned too often. It had ap- peared coupled with her daughters, even in a Sunday paper. The most decisive measures were requisite, and they were taken. Still smiling when they met, still kind when they conversed, it seemed, by some magic dexterity which even baffled Egi-emont, that their meet- ings every day grew rarer, and their opportimi- ties for conversation less frequent. x\t the end of the season, the Lady Arabella selected from a crowd of admirers equally qualified, a young peer of great estate, and of the " old nobility," a circmnstance which, as her grandfiither had only been an East India du*ector, ^^as very gra- tifvinf' to the bride. TWO XATIOXS. 77 This imfortiinate passion of Charles Egre- mont, and its mortifjing circumstances and consequences, was just that earliest shock in one's Hfe which occurs to all of us : which fii-st makes us think. We hare all experienced that disheartening catastrophe, when the illusions fii'st vanish : and om' balked imagination, or our mortified vanity, first intimates to us that we are neither infallible nor in-esistible. Hap- pily "tis the season of youth for which the fii*st lessons of experience are destined ; and bitter and intolerable as is the fii*st blight of om- fi'esh feel- ings, the sanguine impulse of early life bears us along. Om* first scrape generally leads to our first trayel. Disappointment requii-es change of air : desperation change of scene. Egi'emont quitted his country, never to return to it again ; and retmned to it after a year and a-half ^s absence, a much wiser man. Having left Eng- land in a serious mood, and having already tasted with tolerable freedom of the pleasm-es and frivolities of life, he was not in an inapt humour to observe, to enquii'e, and to reflect. The new objects that sm-rounded him excited 7B SYBIL, OPw THE his intelligence; he met, which indeed is the principal advantage of travel, remarkable men, whose conversation opened his mind. His mind was worth opening. Energies began to stir of which lie had not been conscious; awakened curiosity led him to investigate and to read; he discovered that, when he imagined his education was completed, it had in fact not commenced; and that, although he had been at a public school and a university, he in fact knew nothing. To be conscious that you are ignorant is a great step to knowledge. Before an emancipated intellect and an expanding intelligence, the gi'eat system of exclusive man- ners and exclusive feehngs in which he had been 'torn and nurtm-ed, began to tremble; the native generosity of his heart recoiled at a recurrence to that arrogant and frigid life, alike devoid of sympathy and real grandem*. In the early spring of 1837, Egremont re- entered the world, where he had once si)arkled, and which he had once conceived to comprise within its circle all that could interest or occupy man. His mother, delighted at finding him TWO ]S\4TI0NS. 79 again under her roof, had removed some long- standing coolness between him and his elder brother; his former acquaintance greeted him with cordiality, and introduced him to the new heroes who had sprung up during the season of his absence. Apparently Egremont was not dis- inclined to pursue, though without eagerness, the same career that had originally engaged him. He frequented assemblies, and lingered in clubs ; rode in the park, and lounged at the opera. But there was this difference in his existence, before and since his travels: he was now conscious he wanted an object ; and was ever musing over action, though as yet ignorant how to act. Perhaps it was this want of being roused, that led him, it may be for distraction, again to the turf It was a pursuit that seemed to him more real than the hfe of saloons, full of affectation, perverted ideas, and factitious passions. Whatever might be the impulse Egi'emont however was certainly not slightly interested in the Derby; and though by no means uninstructed in the mysteries of the tmf, had felt such confidence in liis infor- 80 SYBIL, OR THE mation that, Avith liis usual ardour, he had backed to a considerable amount the horse that ought to have won, but wliich neyer- thcless only ran a second. TWO NATIONS. 81 Chapter VI. Notwithstanding the confidence of Ladj St. Julians, and her unrivalled information, tlie health of the king did not improve : but still it was the hay fever, only the hay fever. An admission had been allowed to creep into the Court Circular, that " his majesty has been slightly indisposed within the last few days;'' but then it was soon followed by a very posi- tive assurance, that his majesty's favourite and long-matured resolution to give a state banquet to the knights of the four orders, was immedi- ately to be carried into effect. Lady St. Julians had the first information of this impor- tant circumstance; it confirmed her original conviction ; she determined to go on with her VOL I. G 82 SYBIL, OR THE quacli-ille. Egrcmout, with somctliing interest- ing at stake himself, was staggered bj this announcement, and bj Lady St. Julians' un- shaken faith. He consulted his mother : Ladj Mamey shook her head. "Poor woman!" said Lady Marney, " she is always wrong. I know/' continued her ladyship, placing her finger to her lip, " that Prince Esterhazy has been pressing his long-postponed inyestiture as a Grand Cross, in order that he may dine at this yery banquet; and it has been announced to him that it is impossible, the king's health will not admit of it. When a simple investiture is impossible, a state banquet to the four orders is yery probable. No," said Lady Marney with a sigh ; " it is a great blow for all of us, but it is no use shutting our eyes to the fact The poor dear king will neyer show again." And about a week after this there appeared the first bulletin. From that instant, though the gulUsh multitude studied the daily reports with graye interest; their hopes and specula- tions and arrangements changing with each phrase ; for the initiated there was no suspense. I TWO NATIONS. 83 All knew that it was over; and Lady St. Julians, giving up her quadiille, began to look about for seats in parliament for her sons. " What a happiness it is to have a clever mother," exclaimed Egremont, as he pondered over the returns of his election agent. Lady Marney, duly warned of the impending catas- trophe, was experiencing all the advantages of prior information. It delighted her to meet Lady St. Julians driving distractedly about town, calling at clubs, closeted with red tapers, making ingenious combinations that would not work, by means of which some one of her sons was to stand in coalition with some rich parvenu ; to pay none of the expenses and yet to come in first. And all this time, Lady Marney, serene and smiling, had the daily plea- sure of assuring Lady St. Julians what a relief it was to her that Charles had fixed on his place. It had been arranged indeed these weeks past ; " but then, you know," concluded Lady Marney in the sweetest voice and with a blandishing glance, " I never did believe in that hay fever." G2 84 SYBIL, OK THE III tlic meantime the impeiidinir event changed the whole aspect of tlie poHtical world. The king dying before tlie new registration was the greatest blow to pseudo-tor jisni since his majesty, calling for a hackney coach, v»ent down and dissolved parliament in 1831. It was calculated bj the Tadpoles and Tapers that a dissolution by Sir Robert, after the registration of 1837, would give him a clear majority, not too great a one, but large enough ; a manageable majority; some fiyc-and-tv>'enty or thirty men, who with a probable peerage or two dangling in the distance, half-a-dozen positive baronetcies, the Customs for their con- stituents, and Court balls for their wives, might be induced to save the state. 0! England, glorious and ancient realm, the fortunes of thy polity are indeed strange! The wisdom of the Saxons, Norman valour, the state-craft of the Tudors, the national sympathies of the Stuarts, the spirit of the latter Guelphs strug- gling against their enslaved sovereignty. — these 4ire the higli (|Ualities, tliat for a thousand years have secured thy national developement. TWO NATIONS. 85 Aud now all thy memorial dynasties end in tlie huckstering rule of some thirty unknown and anonymous jobbers! The Thirty at Athens were at least tyrants. They were marked men. But the obscure majority, who under our present constitution are destined to govern England, are as secret as a Venetian conclave. Yet on their dark voices all depends. Would you promote or prevent some great measure that may afifect the destinies of unborn millions, and the future character of the people, — take, for example, a system of national education, — the minister must apportion the plunder to the illiterate clan ; the scum that floats on the sur- face of a party ; or hold out the prospect of honours, which are only honourable when in their transmission they impart and receive lustre ; when they are the meed of public virtue and public services, and the distinction of worth and of genius. It is impossible that the system of the thirty can long endure in an age of inquiry and agitated spirit like the present. Such a system may suit the balanced interests and the periodical and alternate command of 86 SYBIL, OR THE riyal oligarchical connections: but it can sub- sist only bv the subordination of the sovereign and the degradation of the multitude; and cannot accord with an age, whose genius will aoon confess that Power and the People are both divine. '* He can't last ten days." said a whig secre- tary of the treasury with a triumphant ghmce at ^Ir. Taper as they met in PaU Mall; '• You re out for our lives.** '• Don't you make too sure for yourselve- rejoined in despair the dismayed Taper. " It does not follow that because we are out, that you are in. * " How do you meanl* " There is such a person as Lord Durham in the world,*' said Mr. Taper very solemnly. "Pish,*' said the secretary. " You may pish," said Mr. Taper, " but if we have a radical government, as I l^elieve and hope, they wiU not be able to get up the steam as they did in — 31 : and what with church and com together, and the Queen Dowager, we may go to the country with as good a cry as some other persons." TWO XATIOXS. ^7 " I will back Melbourne against the field, nov/'^ said the secretary. "Lord Durham dined at Kensington on Thursday," said Taper, "and not a whig present" " Ay ; Durham talks very ^e at dinner," said the secret aiy, " but he has no real go in him. "When there is a Prince of Wales, Lord Melbourne means to make Durham govenior to the heir apparent, and that will keep him quiet.'*'' " ^Tiat do yon hear?" said Mr. Tadpole, joining them: *'I am told he has quite rallied-" " Dont you flatter yom\sel£"" said the secre- tary. " WeU, we shall hear what they say on the hustings," said Tadpole looking boldly. '•Who's afraid!"' said the secretary. "Xo, no, my dear feUow, you are dead beat ; the stake is woith playing for. and don't suppose we ai'e such flats as to lose the race for want of jockeying. Your humbugging registration will never do against a new reis^n. Our STeat men mean to shell out, I teH you ; we hare got Croucher : vre wiU denounce the Cailton and 88 SYBIL, OR THE corruption all over tlie kingdom ; and if that won't do, wc will swear till we are black in the face, that the King of Hanover is engaged in a plot to dethrone our young Queen:" and the triumphant secretary wished the worthy pair good morning. " They certainly have a very good cry," said Taper mournfully. " After all, the registration might be better," said Tadpole, " but still it is a very good one." The daily bulletins became more significant; the crisis was evidently at hand. A dissolution of parliament at any time must occasion great excitement ; combined with a new reign, it in- flames the passions of every class of the com- mimity. Even the poor begin to hope ; the old, wholesome superstition still lingers, that the so- vereign can exercise power ; and the suffering multitude are fain to believe that its remedial character may be about to be revealed in their instance. As for the aristocracy in a new reign, they are all in a flutter. A bewildering vision of coronets, stars, and ribbons ; smiles, and places at court ; haunts their noontide speculations and TWO NATIONS. 89 their midniglit dreams. Then we must not for- ojet the numberless instances in which the cominc: event is deemed to supply the long-sought op- portunity of distinction, or the long-dreaded cause of utter discomfiture ; the hundreds, the thousands, who mean to get into parliament, the units who dread getting out. What a crashing change from lounging in St. James's street to sauntering on Boulogne pier ; or, after dining at Brookes' and supping at Crockford's, to be saved from destruction by the friendly interposition that sends you in an official capa- city to the marsupial sympathies of Sydney or Swan River ! Now is the time for the men to come for- ward who have claims ; claims for spending their money, which nobody asked them to do, but which of course they only did for the sake of the party. They never wrote for their party, or spoke for their party, or gave their party any other vote than their own ; but they m^ge their claims, — to something; a commissionership of anything, or a consulship anywhere ; if no place to be had, they are ready to take it out in dig- 90 SYBIL, OR THE nities. Thej once looked to the privj council, but would now be content with an hereditary honour ; if they can have neither, they will take a clerkship in the Treasury for a younger son. Perhaps they may get that in time ; at present they go away growling with a gaugership ; or, having with desperate dexterity at length con- trived to transform a tidewaiter into a land- waiter. But there is nothing like asking — except refusing. Hark ! it tolls ! All is over. The great bell of the metropolitan cathedral announces the death of the last son of George the Third who probably will ever reign in England. lie was a good man : with feelings and sympathies ; deficient in culture rather than ability ; with a sense of duty ; and with something of the con- ception of what should be the character of an English monarch. Peace to his manes ! We are summoned to a different scene. In a palace in a garden — not in a liaughty keep, proud with the fame, but dark with the violence of ages ; not in a regal pile, bright with the splendour, but soiled with the intrigues, of TWO NATIONS. 91 courts and factions — in a palace in a garden, meet scene for joutli, and innocence, and beauty —came tlie voice that told the maiden she must ascend her throne ! The coimcil of England is smnmoned for the first time within her bowers. There are as- sembled the prelates and captains and chief men of her realm ; the priests of the religion that consoles, the heroes of the sword that has conquered, the votaries of the craft that has decided the fate of empires ; men grey with thought, and fame, and age ; who are the stewards of divine mysteries, who have en- countered in battle the hosts of Europe, who have toiled in secret cabinets, who have stmg- gled in the less merciful strife of aspiring senates ; men too, some of them, lords of a thou- sand vassals and chief proprietors of pro- vinces, yet not one of them whose heart does not at this moment tremble as he awaits the first presence of the maiden who must now ascend aer throne. A hum of half-suppressed conversation Tvhich would attempt to conceal the excitement, which 92 SYBIL, OR THE some of tlic greatest of tliem have since ac- knowledged, fills that brilliant assemblage ; that sea of plumes, and glittering stars, and gorgeous dresses. Hush ! the portals open ; She comes ! The silence is as deep as that of a noontide forest, xlttended for a moment by her royal mother and the ladies of her court, who bow and then retire, Victoria ascends her throne ; a girl, alone, and for the first time, amid an assemblage of men. In a sweet and thrilling voice, and with a composed mien which indicates rather the absorbing sense of august duty than an absence of emotion, the Queen annoimces her accession to the throne of her ancestors, and her hum- ble hope that divine providence will guard over the fulfilment of her lofty trust. The prelates and captains and chief men of her realm then advance to the throne, and kneeling before her, pledge their troth, and take the sacred oaths of allegiance and supre- macy. Allegiance to one who rules over the land that the great Macedonian could not conquer ; TWO NATIONS. 93 and over a continent of wliicli even Columbus never cbeamed : to the Queen of every sea, and of nations in every zone. It is not of tliese that I would speak ; but of a nation nearer her foot-stool, and which at this moment looks to her with anxiety, with affection, perhaps with liope. Fair and serene, she has the blood and beauty of the Saxon. Will it be her proud destiny at length to bear relief to suffering millions, and with that soft hand which might inspire troubadours and guerdon knights, break the last links in the chain of Saxon tln-aldoml EXD OF THE FIRST BOOK. TWO NATIONS. 95 BOOK 11. Chapter I. The building wMcli was still called Marney x\bbey, though remote from the site of the ancient monastery, was an extensive structm*e raised at the latter end of the reign of James the First, and in the stately and picturesque style of that age. Placed on a noble elevation in the centre of an extensive and well wooded park, it presented a front with two projecting wings of equal dimensions with the centre, so that the form of the building was that of a quadrangle, less one of its sides. Its ancient lattices had been removed, and the present 06 SYBIL, OK THE windows thuuL^li convenient accorded little witli the structure; tlie old entrance door in tlic centre of llic ]»iiildiii.i: however still remained. a wondrous specimen of fantastic carving : Ionic columns of black oak, with a ])rofusion of fruits and flowers, and heads of stags and svlvans. The whole of the building was crowned with a considerable pediment of what seemed at tlie first glance fanciful open work, but which examined more nearly offered in gigantic letters the motto of the house of Marnej. The portal opened to a hall, such as is now rarely found ; with the dais, the screen, the gallery, and the buttery-hatch all perfect, and all of carved black oak. Modern luxury, and tlic refined taste of the lady of the late lord, had made Marney Abbey as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. The a])artments were in general furnished with all tlie clieerful ease and brilliancy of tlie modern nuinsion of a noble, but the grand gallery of the seventeenth century was still preserved, and was used on great occasions as the chief reception-room. TWO XATIOXS. 97 You ascended tlie principal staircase to reach it through a long corridor. It occupied the Avhole length of one of the wings ; was one hundred feet long, and fortj-fiye feet broad, its walls hung with a collection of choice pictures rich in history ; while the Axminster carpets, the cabinets, carved tables, and Tarietj of easy chairs, ingeniously grouj)ed, imparted even to this palatian chamber a lively and habitable air. Lord Marney was several years the senior of Charles EgTemont, yet still a young man. He was handsome ; there was indeed a general re- semblance between the brothers, though the expression of their countenances was entirely different ; of the same height and air, and tliroughout the features a certain family cast ; but here the likeness ceased. The countenance of Lord Marney bespoke the character of his mind ; cynical, devoid of sentiment, arrogant, literal, hard. He had no imagination, had ex- hausted his slight native feehng, but he was acute, disputatious, and finn even to obstinacy. Though his early education had been very im- perfect, he had subsequently read a good deal, VOL. I. H 98 SYBIL, OR THE especially in French literature. Tie had formed his mind by Ilelvctius, Avho.sc system lie deemed iiTefutablc, and in whom idone lie had faith. Armed with the principles of his great master, lie believed he could pass througli existence in adamantine armom*, and always gave you in the business of life the idea of a man who was conscious you were trying to take him in, and rather respected you for it, but the \vorking of whose cold, unkind, eye defied you. There never had been excessive cordiality between the brothers even in their boyish days, and shortly after Egremont's entrance into life, they had become estranged. They were to meet now for the first time since Egi-emont's return from the continent. Their mother had arranged their reconciliation. They were to meet as if no misunderstanding had ever existed between them ; it was specially stipulated by Lord Marney, that there was to be no ''scene." Apprised of Egremont's impending arrival, Lord Marney was careful to be detained late that day at petty sessions, and entered the room only a few minutes before dinner was TWO NATIONS. 99 announced, where lie found Egremont not only with the countess and a young lady who was staying with her, but with additional bail against any ebullition of sentiment in the shape of the Vicar of Marney, and a certain Captain Grouse, who was a kind of aide-de-camp of the earl ; killed birds and carved them ; played bilhards with him, and lost ; had indeed every accomplishment that could please woman or ease man ; could sing, dance, draw, make arti- ficial flies, break horses, exercise a supervision over stewards and bailiffs, and make every body comfortable by taking everything on his own shoulders. Lady Marney had received Egremont in a manner which expressed the extreme satisfac- tion she experienced at finding him once more beneath his brother's roof. When he arrived indeed, he would have preferred to have been shown at once to his rooms, but a message immediately delivered expressed the wish of his sister-in-law at once to see him. She re- ceived him alone and with great warmth. She was beautiftd, and soft as May ; a globing yet H 2 100 SYBIL, on TIIK delicate face ; licli brown liair, and lar^^e blue eyes ; not yet a mother, but with something of the difniitv of the matron blendin<^ with the lingering timidity of the girl. Egremont was ghid to join liis sister-in-law again in the drawing-room before dinner. He seated himself by her side ; and in answer to her enquiries was giving her some narrative of his travels ; the Vicar who was very low church, was shaking his head at Lady Marney's young friend, who was enlarging on the excellence of Mr. Paget's tales ; while Captain Grouse, in a very stiff white neck-cloth, very tight panta- loons, to show his very celebrated legs, trans- parent stockings and polished shoes, was throw- ing himself into attitudes in the back ground, and witli a zeal amounting almost to enthusiasm, teaching Lady ]\Iarney's spaniel to beg ; when the door opened, and Lord Marney entered, but as if to make security doubly sui'e, not alone. He was accompanied by a neighbour and brother magistrate, k>ir Vavasour Fircbrace a baronet of the earliest batch, and a gentle- man of great family and great estate. TWO NATIONS. 101 "WeU diaries r " How are joii George T And the brothers shook hands. 'Tis the English way ; and if they had been inclined to fall into each other's arms, they would not probably have done more. In a few minutes it was announced that din- ner was served, and so, secured from a scene, having a fair appetite, and surrounded by dishes that could agreeably satisfy it, a kind of vague fraternal sentiment began to stir the breast of Lord Marney : he really was glad to see his brotlier again ; remembered the days when they rode their poneys and played cricket ; his voice softened, his eyes sparkled, and he at length exclaimed, " Do you know, old fellow^, it makes me quite happy to see you here again. Suppose we take a glass of wine." The softer heart and more susceptible spirit of Egremont were well calculated to respond to this ebullition of feeling, however slight ; and truly it was for many reasons not without considerable emotion, that he found himself once more at Marney. He sate by the side of 102 SYBIL, OR his gentle sister-in-law. wlio seemed pleased by the unwonted cordiahtT of her husband, and anxious by many kind offices to second erery indication of good feeling on his part. Cap- tain Grouse was extremely assiduous : the vicar was of the deferential breed, agreed with Lady Mamey on the imponance of infant schools, but recalled his opinion when Lord Mamey expressed his imperious hope that no infant schools would erer be found in his neighbour- hood Sir Varasour was more than middle aged, comely, very gentlemanlike, but with an air occasionally of absence which hardly agreed with his frank and somewhat hearty idiosyn- cracy : his clear brow, florid complexion, and blue eye. But Lord Mamey talked a good deal, though chiefly dogmatical or argumentatire. It was rather difficult for him to find a sufficient stock of opposition, but he laid in wait and seized every opening with wondeiful alacrity. Even Captain Grouse could not escape him; if driven to extremity Lord Niamey would even quemon his principles on fly-making. Captain Grouse gave up, but not too soon : he was well J TWO XATI02fS. 103 atrare that Ms noble friend's passion for con- troversy was equal to Ms loTe of conquest. As for Ladv Mamev, it vas evident that vrith no inconsiderable talents, and with an MteUigence ricMy cultivated, the controversial gemus of her husband had completely cowed her con- versational charms. She never advanced a pro- position that he did not immediately bristle up, and she could only evade the encounter by a gi*aeeful submission. As for the vicar, a fre- quent guest, he would fam have taken refuge in silence, but the earL especially when alone, would what he called " draw him out," and the game once unearthed, vrith so skilled a pack there was but little fear of a bad run. ^Tien all were reduced to silence. Lord Mamey re- Imquishing controversy, assumed the positive. He eulogized the new poor law, wMch he de- clared would be the salvation of the country, provided it was '' can-ied out '' m the spirit in wMch it was developed m the Mamey Umon ; but then he wotdd add that there was no dis- trict except their umon m wMch it was pro- perly observed. He was tremendously fierce <: 104 SYBIL, OR THE against allotments, and anahsed the system with merciless sarcasm. Indeed he liad no inconsiderable acquaintance ^vith the doctrines of the economists, and ^vas rather inclined to carry them into practice in every instance, ex- cept that of the landed proprietary, which he clearly proved " stood upon different grounds '^ to that of any other "interest." There was nothing he hated so much as a poacher, except a lease ; though perhaps in the catalogue of his aversions, we ought to give the preference to his anti-ecclesiastical prejudice : this amounted even to acrimony. Though tliere was no man breatliing who was possessed with such a strong repugnance to subscriptions of any kind, it de- lighted Lord Marney to see Ijis name among the contributors to all sectarian institutions. The vicar of Marney, who had been presented by himself, was his model of a priest : he left every body alone. Under the influence of Lady blarney, the wortiiy vicar had once warmed up into some ebullition of very low churcli zeal ; tliere was some talk of an evening lecture, the schools were to be remodelled, certain tracts TWO NATIONS. 105 were actually distributed. But Lord Marney soon stopped all this. "No priestcraft at Marney/' said this gentle proprietor of abbey lands. " I wanted rery much to come and canvass for you," said Lady Marney to Egi-emont, " but George did not like it." " The less the family interfered the better," said Lord Marney ; " and for my part, I was very much alarmed when I heard my mother had gone down." " Oh ! my mother did wonders," said Egi'e- mont ; ''we slioidd have been beat without her. Indeed, to tell the truth, I quite gave up the thing the moment they started their man. Before that we were on yelvet ; but the instant he appeared everything was changed, and I found some of my Avarmest supporters, members of his committee." " You had a formidable opponent. Lord Marney told me," said Sii"Yavasom'. "Who was he V " Oh ! a ch-eadful man ! A Scotchman, richer tlian Croesus, one McDruggy, fresh from Canton, 106 SYBIL, OR THE with a million of opium in each pocket, denoun- cing corruption, and bellowing free trade/' " But they do not care much for free trade in the old borough V said Lord Marnej. " No, it was a mistake," said Egremont, " and the crj was changed the moment my opponent was on the ground. Then all the town was placarded with ' Vote for McDruggj and our young Queen/ as if he had coalesced with her Majesty." "My mother must have been in despair," said Lord Marney. " We issued our placard instantly of ' Vote for om^ young Q,ueen and Egremont,' which was at least more modest, and turned out more popular." " That I am sure was my mother," said Lord Marney. " No," said Egremont ; '' it was the effusion of a far more experienced mind. My mother was in hourly communication with head quarters, and Mr. Taper sent down the cry by express." " Peel, in or out, will support the Poor Law," said Lord Marney, rather audaciously, as he TWO ^^ATIONS. 107 reseated himself after the ladies had retired. " He must ;" and he looked at his brother, whose retm*n had in a great degree been secured by crying that Poor Law down. "It is impossible," said Charles, fresh from the hustings, and speaking from the card of Taper, for the condition of the people was a subject of which he knew nothing. " He will carry it out,'' said Lord Marney, " you'll see, or the land will not support him." " I wish," said Sir Yayasour, " we could manage some modification about out-door relief" " Modification !" said Lord Marney ; " why there has been nothing but modification. What we want is stringency." " The people will never bear it," said Egre- mont ; " there must be some change." " You cannot go back to the abuses of the old system," said Captain Grouse, making, as he thought, a safe observation. "Better go back to the old system, than modify the new," said Lord Marney. " I wish the people would take to it a little 108 SYBIL, OR THE more," said Sir Vavasour ; " tliej certainlj' do not like it in our parish." " The people are very contented here, eh Slimsej V said Lord Marnej. " Very," said the vicar. Hereupon a conversation took place, princi- pally sustained by the earl and the baronet, which developed all the resources of the great parochial mind. Dietaries, bastardy, gaol regu- lations, game laws, were amj)ly discussed ; and Lord Marney wound up with a declaration of the means by which the country might be saved, and which seemed principally to consist of high prices and low church. " If the sovereign could only know her best friends," said Sir Vavasour, with a sigh. Lord Marney seemed to get uneasy. " And avoid tlie fatal mistakes of her prede- cessor,", continued the baronet. " Charles, another glass of claret," said the carl. "She might yet rally round the throne a body of men" — "Then we will go to tlie ladies," said the carl, abruptly disturbing his guest. TWO NATIONS. Ckaftsr II. Theee was music as tliej re-entcrecl the draw- ing-room. Sir Yavasom' attached himself to Egremont. " It is a great pleasm'e for me to sec jou again, Mr. Egremont ;" said the worth}' baronet. "Your father was my earliest and kindest friend. I remember you at Firebrace, a very little boy. Happy to see you again, Sir, in so eminent a position ; a legislator — one of our legislators. It gave me a sincere satis- faction to observe your return." " You are very kind, Sir Yavasour." " But it is a responsible position," continued the baronet. "TJiink you they'll stand '^ A 110 SYBIL. OR THE majority, I suppose, tlicj have ; but, I conclude, in time ; Sir Robert TviU have it in time ? We must not be in a hurry ; ' the more haste' — you know the rest. The country is decidedly con- seryatiye. All that we want now is a strong government, that wiU put all things to rights. If the poor king had lived — " "He w^oidd have sent these men to the right-abouts ;" said Egremont, a young politi- cian, proud of his secret intelligence. "Ah! the poor king!" said Sir Vavasour, shaking his head. " He was entirely with us," said Egi-emont. " Poor man !" said Sir Vavasom*. " You think it was too late, then V said his companion. "You are a young man entering political life," said the baronet, taking Egi-emont kindly by the arm, and leading him to a sofa ; "everytliing depends on the first step. You have a great opportunity. Nothing can be done by a mere individual. The most powerful body in this country wants a champion." " But you can depend on Peel V said Egi*c- mont. TWO NATIONS. Ill " He is one of iis ; we ought to be able to depend on him. But I have spoken to him for an hour, and could get nothing out of him.'' " He is cautious ; but depend upon it, he will stand or fall by the land." "I am not thinking of the land," said Sir Vavasour ; " of something much more import- ant ; with all the influence of the land, and a great deal more besides ; of an order of men Avho are ready to rally round the throne, and are, indeed, if justice were done to them, its natural and hereditary champions (Egremont looked perplexity) ; I am speaking," added Sir Vavasour, in a solemn voice, "I am speaking of the baronets !" " The baronets ! And what do they want V " Their rights ; their long withheld rights. The poor king was with us. He has frequently expressed to me and other deputies, his deter- mination to do us justice ; but he was not a strong-minded man," said Sir Vavasour, with a sigh ; " and in these revolutionary and levelling times, he had a hard task perhaps. And the peers, who are our brethren, they were, I fear, 111! SYBIL, OR THE against iis. But in spite of the ministers, and in spite of the peers, had tlie poor king lived, we should at least hare had the badge,'' added Sir Vavasoiu* moiimfidly. '- The badge !" •• It woidd have satisfied Sir Grosvenor lo Draughte;" said Sii* Yavasom* ; "and he had a strong party with him : he was for compro- mise, but d — him, his father was only an accoucheur." •' And you wanted more V inquu*ed Egre- mout, with a demure look. " All. or nothing," said Sii' Vavasour : *• principle is ever my motto — no expediency. I made a speech to the order at the Clarendon : there were four himdred of us : the feelinoj was very strong." " A powerful party," said Egremont. '' And a military order, sir, if properly un- derstood. What could stand against us? The Reform Bill could never have passed if the baronets had been organized." *' I have no doubt you could bring us in ROW," said Ecrremont. TWO NATIONS. 113 " That is exactly what I told Sir Robert. I want him to be brought in bj his own order. It would be a gi'and tiling." " There is nothing like esprit de corps,*^ said Egi'emont. " And such a body!" exclaimed SirVayasour, with animation. •' Pictm'e us for a moment, to yourself going down in procession to Westmin- ster for example to hold a chapter. Fiye or six huncbed baronets in dark green costume, — the appropriate di'ess of equites am^ati ; eacli not only with his badge, but with his collar of S.S. ; belted and scarfed; his star ghttering; his pennon flying ; his hat white with a plume of white feathei*s ; of course the sword and the gilt spurs. In our hand, the thumb ring and signet not forgotten, we hold our coronet of two bdls!" Egremont stared with irrepressible astonish- ment at the excited being, who unconsciously pressed his companion's arm, as he di'ew tliis rapid sketch of the glories so unconstitutionally withheld from him. " A magnificent spectacle!" said Egremont. yoL. I. I 114 SYBIL, OR THE " Evidently the body destined to save this country/' eagerly continued Sir Vavasoui*. " Blending aU sympathies : the crown of ^yhich they are the peculiar champions ; . the nobles of whom they are the popular branch; the people who recognize in them their natm-al leaders. But the pictui-e is not complete. We should be accompanied by an equal number of gaUant knights, our elder sons, who, the moment they come of age, have the right to claim knighthood of their sovereign, while their mothers and wives, no longer degraded to the nomenclature of a sheriff's lad}', but resuming their legal or analogical dignities, and styled the ' honourable baronetess,' with her coronet and robe, or the ' honourable knightess,' with her golden collar of S.S., and chaplet or cap of dig- nity, may either accompany the procession, or ranged in galleries in a becoming situation, reif^n influence from above.'"' " I am all for their going in the procession," said Egremont. " The point is not so clear," said Sir Vava- sour solemnly ; " and indeed, although we have TWO NATIONS. 115 been firm in defining our rightful claims in our petitions, as for ' honorary epithets, secondary titles, personal decorations, and augmented heraldic bearings,' I am not clear if the govern- ment evinced a disposition for a liberal settle- ment of the question, I would not urge a too strin- gent adherence to every point. For instance, I am prepared myself, great as would be the sacrifice, even to renounce the claim of secon- dary titles for our eldest sons, if for instance they would secure us om* coronet/' "' Fie, ^^^ATIo:^^s. ,18Y '' Naj, thou slialt liaye tlij way, Stephen," said his companion, smiling, " if ever the good vliour come. As many acres as thou choosest for thy new Jerusalem." "Call it what you will, Walter,'' replied (Stephen; "but if I ever gain the opportunity of fully carrying the principle of association .into practice, I will sing • Nunc me dimittas.' '' " ' Nunc me dimittas,' '' burst forth the Re- ligious in a voice of thrilling melody, and she pui'sued for some minutes the divine canticle. Her companions gazed on her with an air of affectionate reverence as she sang; each instant the stars becoming brighter, the wide moor assuming a darker hue. " Now, tell me, Stephen," said the Religious, turning her head and looking round with a smile, " think you not it would be a fairer lot to bide this night at some kind monastery, than to be hastening now to that least pic- turesque of all creations, a railway station." " The railways will do as much for mankind as the monasteries did," said Stephen. " Had it not been for the railway, we should 188 SYBIL, OR THE never have made our visit to Marney Abbey," said the elder of the travellers. ''- Nor seen its last abbot's tomb," said the Religious. " When I marked your name upon the stone, my father; — woe is me, but I felt sad indeed, that it was reserved for our blood to surrender to ruthless men that holy trust.'* " He never surrendered," said her father. " lie was tortured and hanged." " He is with the communion of saints," said the Religious. " I would I could see a communion of Men, " said Stephen, "and then there would be no more violence, for there would be no more plunder." " You must regain our lands for us, Stephen," said the Religious ; " promise me my father that I shall raise a holy house for pious women, if that ever hap." "'' ^Ve will not forget our ancient faith," said her father, " the only old thing that has not left us." " I cannot understand," said Stephen, " why you sliould ever have lost sight of these papers, Walter." TWO Is^ATIONS. 189 " You see, friend, thej were never in my possession; tliej were never mine when I saw them. They were mj father's; and he was jealous of all interference. He w^as a small yeoman, who had risen in the war time, well to do in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition that the lands wxre ours. This Hatton got hold of him ; he did his work well, I have heard; — certain it is my father spared nothing. It is twenty -five years come Martinmas since he brought his writ of right; and though baffled, he was not beaten. But then he died; his affairs were in great con- fusion ; he had mortgaged his land for his writ, and the war prices were gone. There were debts that could not be paid. I had no ca- pital for a farm. I would not sink to be a labourer on the soil that had once been our own. I had just married; it was needful to make a great exertion. I had heard much of the high wages of this new industry ; I left the land." "And the papers r " I never thought of them, or thought of 190 SYBIL, OR THE them with disgust, as the cause of mj ruin. Then when vou came the other day, and ^owed me in the book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter Gerard, the old feeling stiiTed again ; and I could not help telling you that my fathers fought at Azincourt, though 1 was only the overlooker at ^Ir. Trafford's miU.*^ " A good old name of the good old faith,"' said the Religious ; '• and a blessing be on it." " We have cause to bless it,*' said Gerard. " I thought it then something to sen'e a gen- tleman ; and as for my daughter, she, by their goodness, was brought up in holy walls, wliich have made her what she is.'' " Natm*e made her what she is," said Ste- phen in a low voice, and speaking not without emotion. Then he continued, in a louder and brisker tone, " But this Hatton — you know nothing of his whereabouts?" " Never heard of him since. I had indeed about a year after my father's death, cause to enquire after him; but he had quitted Mow* bray, and none coidd give me tidings of him. TWO NATIONS. 191 He liad lived I believe on our law-suit, and vanished with our hopes/' After this, there was silence; each was occupied ^vith his thoughts, while the influence of the soft night and starry houi' induced to contemplation. '• I hear the mui-niur of the train,*' said the Rehgious. " 'Tis the up-train," said her father. " We have yet a quarter of an hour : we shall be in good time." So saying, he guided the pony to where some Hghts indicated the station of the railway, which here crossed the moor. There was just time to retm-n the pony to the person at the station from whom it had been borrowed, and obtain their tickets, when the bell of the down- train sounded, and in a few minutes the Rehgious and her companions were on theii- way to Mowbray, whither a com-se of two hours carried them. It was two hours to midnight when thev arrived at ]\Iowbray station, which was about a quarter of a mile from the town. Labom- had 192 SYBIL, OR THE long ceased: a beautiful heaven, clear and serene, canopied tlic city of smoke and toil : in all directions rose the columns of the fiictorie- dark and defined in tlie purple sky; a glitter- ing star sometimes hovering by the crest of their tall and tapering forms. Tlie travellers proceeded in the direction of a suburb and approached the very high wall of an extensive garden. The moon rose as they reached it, tipped the trees with light, and I'c- vealed a lofty and centre portal, by the side of it a wicket at which Gerard rang. The wicket was quickly opened. " I fear, holy sister," said the Religious. " that I am even later than I promised." " Those that come in our lady's name are ever welcome," was the reply. " Sister Marion," said Gerard to the por- teress, " we have been to visit a holy place." " All places are holy with holy thoughts. my brother." " Dear father, good night," said the Religious ; " the blessings of all tlie saints be on thee, — and on thee, Stephen, though thou dost not kneel to them." i TWO XATIOXS. 193 " Good niglit, mine own cliild,'' said Gerard. " I could bclicYe in saints when I am witli tliee,'' mm*murcd Steplicn ; " Good niglit, — Sybil/' VOL. J. 1.0-4 SYBIL, OR THE Chapter IX. When Gerard and his friend quitted the con- ^ent thej proceeded at a brisk pace, into the heart of the to^n. The streets ^Yere nearly empty ; and with tlie exception of some occa- sional burst of brawl or merriment from a beer- shop, all was still. The chief street of Mowbray, called Castle Street after the ruins of the old baronial stronghold in its neighbourhood, was as significant of the present civilization of this community as the haughty keep had been of its ancient dependence. The dimensions of Cas- tle Street were not unworthy of the metropolis : it traversed a great portion of the town, and was proportionately wide ; its broad pavements and its blazing gas-lights indicated its modern TWO NATIONS, 195 order and prosperity ; while on each side of th€ street rose huge warehouses, not as beautiful as the palaces of Venice, but in their way not less remarkable ; magnificent shops ; and here and there, though rarely, some ancient factory built among the fields in the infancy of Mow- bray by some mill-owner not sufficiently pro- phetic of the future, or sufficiently confident in the energy and enterprise of his feUow-citizens, to foresee that the scene of his labom-s would be the ftitm^e eye-sore of a flourishing posterity. Pursuing their course along Castle Street for about a quarter of a mile, Gerard and Stephen turned down a street wliich intersected it, and so on, through a variety of ways and winding lanes, till they arrived at an open portion of the town, a district where streets and squares and even rows, disappeared, and where the tall chimneys and bulky barrack-looking buildings that rose in all directions, clustering yet isolated, announced that they w^ere in the principal scene of the industry of Mowbray. Grossing this open ground they gained a suburb, but one of a very different description to that in which 2 196 SYBIL, OR THE was situate the convent where they had parted with Sybil. This one was populous, noisy, and lighted. It was Saturday night ; the streets were thi'onged ; an infinite population kept swarming to and fro the close courts and pes- tilential cul-de-sacs that continually communi- cated with the streets by narrow archways, like the entrance of hives, so low that you were obliged to stoop for admission : while ascending to these same streets, from their dakk and dis- mal dwellings by narrow flights of steps the subterraneous nation of the cellars poured forth to enjoy the coolness of the summer night, and market for the day of rest. The bright and lively shops were crowded ; and groups of purchasers were gathered round the stalls, that by the aid of glaring lamps and flaunting lanthorns, displayed their wares. " Come, come, it's a prime piece," said a jolly looking woman, who was presiding at a stall which, though considerably thinned by previous purchasers, still offered many temptations to many who could not purchase. "And so it is widow," said a little pale man, wistfully. TWO NATIONS. 197 '' Come, come, it's getting late, and jour wife's ill ; you're a good soul, we'll say fi'pence a pound, and I'll throw you the scrag end in for love." "No butcher's meat to-morrow for us, widow,'^ said the man. " And why not, neighbour 1 With your wages, you ought to live like a prize-fighter, or the mayor of Mowbray at least." "Wages!" said the man, "I wish you may get 'em. Those villains. Shuffle and Screw, have sarved me with another bate ticket : and a pretty figure too." "Oh! the carnal monsters!" exclaimed the widow. " If their day don't come, the bloody- minded knaves ! " " And for small cops, too ! Small cops be hanged ! Am I the man to send up a bad- bottomed cop. Widow Carey '?" " You sent up for snicks ! I have known you man and "boy John HiU these twenty summers, and never heard a word against you till you got into Shuffle and Screw's mill. Oh ! they are a bad yarn, John." 1.98 SYBIL, OR THE '' Tliej do US all, widow. They pretcndo to 07 The companions entered the spacious pre- mises ; and making their way to the crowded bar. Stephen, with a glance serious but which indicated intimacT, caught the ere of a comelv lady, who presided over the mysteries, and said in a low voice, "Is he here?' " In the Temple, Mr. Moriey. asking for you and your friend more than once. I think you had better go up. I know he wishes to see you." Stephen whispered to Gerard and after a moment's pause, he asked the fair president for a couple of tickets for each of which he paid threepence; a sum however, according to the printed declaration of the voucher, convertible into potential Hquid refreshments, no great compensation to a very strict member of the Temperance Society of Mowbray. A handsome staircase with blight brass ban- nisters led them to an ample landing-place, on which opened a door, now closed and by which sate a boy who collected the tickets of those who would enter it. The portal was of consi- derable dimensions and of architectural pre- 208 SYBIL, OR THE tension; it was painted of a bright green colour, the pannels gilt. Witliin the pediment, described in letters of flaming gas, joii read, " The Temple of the Muses." Gerard and Morley entered an apartment very long and sufficiently lofty, though rather narrow for such proportions. The ceiling was even richly decorated; the walls were painted, and by a brush of considerable power. Each panel represented some well-known scene from Shakespeare, Byron, or Scott : King Richard, Mazeppa, the Lady of the Lake were easily recognized: in one panel, Hubert menaced Arthur ; here Ilaidee rescued Juan ; and there Jeanie Deans curtsied before the Queen. The room was very full; some three or four hun- dred persons were seated in different groups at different tables, eating, drinking, talking, laugh- ing, and even smoking, for notwithstanding the pictures and the gilding it was found im- possible to forbid, though there were efforts to discourage, this practice, in the Temple of the Muses. Nothing however could be more decorous than the general conduct of the com- i TWO NATIONS. 209 panj, though they consisted principally of fac- tory people. The waiters flew about with as much agility as if they were serying nobles. In general the noise was great, though not dis- agreeable; sometimes a bell rang and there w^as comparative silence, while a curtain drew up at the further end of the room, opposite to the entrance, and where there was a theatre, the stage raised at a due elevation, and adorned with side scenes from vrhich issued a lady in a fancy dress who sang a favourite ballad; or a gentleman elaborately habited in a farmer's costume of the old comedy, a bob-wig, silver buttons and buckles, and blue stockings, and who favoured the company with that melancholy effusion called a comic song. Some nights there was music on the stage ; a young lady in a white robe with a golden harp, and attended by a gentleman in black mustachios. This was when the principal harpiste of the King of Saxony and his first fiddler happened to be passing through ^Mowbray, merely by accident, or on a tour of pleasure and instruction, to wit- ness the famous scenes of British industry. VOL. I. p 210 SYBIL, OR THE Otlierwise the audience of the Cat and Fiddle, ^\e mean the Temple of the Muses, were fain to be content witli four Bohemian brothers, or an equal number of Swiss sisters. The most popular amusements however were the "Thes- pian recitations :" bj amateurs, or novices who wished to become professional. Thej tried their metal on an audience whicli could be critical. A sharp waiter, witli a keen eye on the entering guests, immediately saluted Gerard and his friend, with profuse offers of hospita- lity : insisting that they wanted much refresh- ment; that they were both very hungry and very thirsty ; that, if not hungry, they should order something to drink that would give them an appetite ; if not inclined to quaff, something to eat that would make them athirst. In the midst of these embarrassing attentions, he was pushed aside by his master with, " There, go ; hands wanted at the upper end; two Ameri- can gentlemen from Lowell singing out for Sherry Cobler; don't know what it is; give them our bar mixture; if they complain, say TWO NATIOlS^S. 211 it's the Mowbray slap-bang, and no mistake. Must have a name, Mr. Morle j ; name's every- thing; made the fortune of the Temple; if I had called it the Saloon, it never would have filled, and perhaps the magistrates never have granted a licence." The speaker was a very portly man who had passed the maturity of manhood, but active as Harlequin. He had a well-favoured counte- nance ; fair, good-humoured, but very sly. He was dressed like the head butler of the London Tavern, and was particular as to his white waistcoats and black silk stockings, punctilious as to his knee-buckles, proud of his diamond pin; that is to say when he officiated at the Temple. " Your mistress told us we should find you here," said Stephen, " and that you wished to see us." " Plenty to tell you," said their host putting his finger to his nose. "If information is wanted in this part of the world, I flatter myself Come, Master Gerard, here's a table ; what shall I call fori glass of the Mowbray slap- P 2 212 SYBIL, OR THE bang'? No better; the receipt has been in our family these fifty years. Mr. Morley I know won't join us. Did you say a cup of tea, Mr. Morley? Water, only water; well, that's - strange. Boy alive there, do you hear me call'? Water wanted, glass of water for the Secretary of the Mowbray Temperance and Teatotal. Sing it out. I like titled com- pany. Brush !" " And so you can give us some information about this — " " Be back directly," exclaimed their host ; and darting off with a swift precision, that car- ried him through a labyrinth of tables without the slightest inconvenience to their occupiers. "Beg pardon, Mr. Morley," he said, shding again into his chau' ; " but saw one of the American gentlemen brandishing his bowie- knife against one of my waiters ; called him Colonel ; quieted him dii-ectly ; a man of his rank brawling with a help ; oh ! no ; not to be thought of ; no squabbling here ; licence in danger." " You were saying — " resumed Morley. TWO XATIOXS. 213 " Ah ! jes, about that man Hatton ; remem- ber him perfectly well ; a matter of twenty or it may be nineteen years since he bolted. Queer fellow ; lived upon nothing ; only drank water; no temperance and teetotal then, so no excuse. Beg pardon, Mr. Morley ; no offence I hope ; can't bear whims ; but respectable societies, if they don't drink, they make speeches, hire yom' rooms, leads to business.^' " And this Hatton — " said Gerard. " Ah ! a queer fellow ; lent him a one-poimd note — never saw it again — always remember it — last one-pound note I had. He offered me an old book instead ; not in my way ; took a china jar for my wife. He kept a curiosity shop ; always prowling about the country, picking up old books and hunting after old monuments ; called himself an antiquarian ; queer fellow, that Hatton.^' " And you have heard of him since V said Gerard rather impatiently. "Not a word,'' said then- host; "never knew any one who had.'' 214 SYBIL, OR THE "I thought jou had something to tell us about him," said Stephen. " So I have ; I can put jou in the way of getting hold of him and anything else. I havn't lived in Mowbray man and boy for fifty years ; seen it a Tillage, and now a great town full of first-rate institutions and esta- blishments like this," added their host sur- veying the Temple with a glance of admiring complacency ; "I say I havn't lived here all this time and talked to the people for nothing." "Well, we are all attention," said Gerard with something of a sneer. " Hush 1" said their host as a bell sounded, and he jumped up. " Now ladies, now gentle- men, if you please ; silence if you please for a song from a Polish lady. The Signora sings English like a new-born babe ;" and the cm- tain drew^ up amid the hushed voices of the company and the restrained clatter of their knives and forks and glasses. The PoUsh lady sang " Cherry Ripe" to the infinite satisfixction of her audience. Young TWO Is^ATIOXS. 215 Mowbraj indeed, in the sliape of Dandy Mick and some of his followers and admirers, insisted on an encore. The ladj as she retired curt- seyed like a Prima Donna; but the host con- tinued on his legs for some time, throwing open his coat and bowing to his guests, who expressed by their applause how much they approved his enterprise. At length he resumed his seat ; " It's almost too much," he exclaimed ; " the enthusiasm of these people. I believe they look upon me as a father." " And you think you have some clue to this Hatton V resumed Stephen. " They say he has no relations," said their host. " I have heard as much." " Another glass of the bar mixture, Master Gerard. What did we call it 'I Oh ! the bricks and beans — the Mowbray bricks and beans; known by that name in the time of my grand- father. No more ! No use asking Mr. Morley I know. Water I well, I must say — and yet, in an official capacity, drinking water is not so unnatural." 216 SYBIL, OPt THE " And Hatton," said Gerard ; " tliey say he has no relations, eh V " Tliej do, and they say wrong. He has a relation ; he has a brother ; and I can put you in the way of finding him/' " Well, that looks like business,'^ said Gerard ; " and where may he be V " Not here," said their host ; "he never put his foot in the Temple to my knowledge ; and lives in a place where they have as much idea of popular institutions as any Turks or heathen you ever heard of." " And where might we find liim V said Steplien. " What's that ?" said their host jumping up and looking around him. " Here boys, brush about. The American oentleman is a whittling: his name on that new mahogany table. Take him tlie printed list of rules, stuck up in a public place, under a great coat, and fine him fiA^e shilhngs for damaging the furniture. If he resists (l)e has paid for his liquor), call in the poKce ; X. Z. No. 5 is in the bar, taking tea with your mistress. Now brusli." TWO NATIONS. 217 " And this place is — '' " In the land of mines and minerals,'^ said their host ; " about ten miles from . He works in metals on his own account. You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard ; well, he lives there ; and his name is Simon." "And does he keep up any communi- cation with his brother, think jovlT said Gerard. " Nay, I know no more ; at least at present," said their host. "The secretary asked me about a person absent without leave for twenty years and who was said to have no relations, I found you one and a very near one. You are at the station and you have got your ticket. The American gentleman's wiolent. Here's the police. I must take a high tone." And with these words Chaffing Jack quitted them. In the meantime, we must not forget Dandy Mick and his two young friends whom he had so generously offered to treat to the Temple. "Well, what do you think of if?" asked U18 SYBIL, OR THE Caroline of Harriet in a whisper as tliej entered the splendid apartment. "It's just what I thought the Queen lived in," said Harriet ; " but indeed I'm all of a flutter." " Well, don't look as if you were," said her friend. " Come along gals," said Mick ; •■' who's afraid ? Here, we'll sit down at this table. Now, what shall we have ? Here waiter ; I say waiter!" " Yes, sir, yes, sir." " Well, why don't you come w^hen I call," said Mick with a consequential air. '' I hare been hallooing these ten minutes. Couple of glasses of bar mixture for these ladies and a go of gin for myself. And I say w^aiter, stop, stop, don't be in such a deuced hurry ; do you think folks can drink without eating; — sausanges for three ; and damme, take care they are not burnt." " Yes, sir, directly, directly." "That's the way to talk to these fellows," said Mick with a self-satisfied air, and perfectly TWO NATIONS. 219 repaid by the admiring gaze of his com- panions. " It's pretty Miss Harriet/' said Mick look- ing up at the ceiling with a careless nil admirari glance. " Oh ! it is beautiful," said Harriet. " You never were here before ; it's the only place. That's the Lady of the Lake," he added, pointing to a picture ; " I've seen her at the Circus, with real water." The hissing sausages crowning a pile of mashed potatoes were placed before them ; the delicate rummers of the Mowbray slap-bang, for the girls ; the more masculine pewter mea- sure for their friend. " Are the plates very hot V said Mick ; " Very sir." " Hot plates half the battle," said Mick. " Now, Caroline ; here. Miss Harriet ; don't take away your plate, wait for the mash ; they mash their taters here very elegant." It was a very happy and very merry party. Mick delighted to help his guests, and to chink their healths. 220 SYBIL, OR THE " Well," said he when the waiter had cleared away their plates, and left them to their less substantial luxuries. " Well,'' said Mick, sip- ping a renewed glass of gin twist and leaning back in his chair, "say what they please, there's nothing like life." " At the TraffordsV said Caroline, "the great- est fun we ever had was a singing class." "I pity them poor devils in the country," said Mick ; " we got some of them at Oollinson's^ — come from Suffolk they say; what they call hagricultural labourers, a very queer lot, indeed." " Ah! them's the himmigrants," said Caroline ; " they're sold out of slavery, and sent down by Pickford's van into the labour market to bring dow^n our wao;es." " We'll teach them a trick or two before they do that," urged Mick. " Where are you. Miss Harriet T " I'm at Wiggins and Webster's, sir." " Where they clean machinery during meal- time ; that won't do," said Mick. " I see one of your partners coming in," said Mick, making TWO NATIONS. 221 many signals to a person who very soon joined them. "Well, Deyilsdust, how are jour This was the familiar appellation of a joimg gentleman, who really had no other, baptismal or patrimonial. About a fortnight after his mother had introduced him into the world, she returned to her factory and put her infant out to nm-se, that is to say, paid threepence a week to an old woman who takes charo'c of these new-born babes for the day, and gives them back at night to their mothers as they hurriedly return from the scene of their labour to the dungeon or the den, which is still by courtesy called "home.^^ The expense is not great : laudanum and treacle, administered in the shape of some popular elixir, affords these innocents a brief taste of the sweets of existence, and keeping them quiet, prepares them for the silence of their impending grave. Infanticide is practised as extensively and as legally in England, as it is on the banks of the Ganges ; a circumstance which apparently has not yet engaged the attention of the Society for the 222 SYBIL, OR THE Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts. But the vital principle is an impulse from an im- mortal artist, and sometimes baffles, even in its tenderest phasis, the machinations of society for its extinction. There are infants that will defy even starvation and poison, unnatural mothers and demon nurses. Such was the nameless one of whom we speak. We cannot say he tlirived ; but he would not die. So at two years of age, his mother being lost sight of, and the weekly pavment having ceased, he was sent out in the street to " play," in order to be iim over. Even this expedient failed. The youngest and the feeblest of the band of TOtims, Juggernaut spared him to !Moloch. All his companions were disposed of. Three months' " play " in the streets got rid of this tender company, — shoeless, half-naked, and un- combed, — whose age varied from two to five years. Some were crushed, some were lost, some caught cold and fevers, crept back to their garret or their cellars, were dosed with Godfrey's cordial, and died in peace. The nameless one would not disappear. He always TWO XATIOXS. 223 got out of the way of the carts and horses, and never lost his own. Thej gave him no food : he foraged for himself, and shared with the dogs the garbage of the streets. But still he lived ; stunted and pale, he defied even the fatal fever which was the only habitant of his cellar that never quitted it. And slumbering at night on a bed of mouldering straw, his only protection against the plashy smface of his den, with a dungheap at his head and a cess- pool at his feet, he still clung to the only roof Avhich shielded him from the tempest. At lencrth when the nameless one had com- pleted his fifth year, the pest which never quitted the nest of cellars of which he was a citizen, raged in the quarter with such inten- sity, that the extinction of its swarming popu- lation was menaced. The haunt of this child was peculiarly visited. All the childi^en gradu- ally sickened except himself; and one night when he returned home he found the old woman herself dead, and surrounded only by corpses. The child before this had slept on the same bed of straw with a corpse, but then there 224 SYBIL, OR THE were also breathing beings for liis companions. A night passed only with corpses seemed to him in itself a kind of death. He stole out of the cellar, quitted the quarter of pestilence, and after much wandering laid down near the door of a factory. Fortune had guided him. Soon after break of claj, he was woke bj the sound of the factory bell, and found assembled a crowd of men, women, and children. The door opened, they entered, the child accompanied them. The roll was called ; his unauthorized appear- ance noticed ; he was questioned ; his acute- ness excited attention. A child was wanted in the Wadding Hole, a place for the manufacture of waste and damaged cotton, the refuse of the mills, which is here worked up into counterpanes and coverlids. The nameless one was prefered to the vacant post, received even a salary, more than that, a name ; for as he had none, he was christened on the spot — Devilsdust. Devilsdust had entered life so early that at seventeen he combined the experience of man- hood with the divine energy of youth. He was a first-rate workman and received high TWO NATIONS. 225 wages ; he had availed himself of the advan- tages of the factory school; he soon learnt to read and write with facility, and at tin moment of our history, was the leading spirit of the Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific Institute. His great friend, his only intimate, was Dandy Mick. The apparent contrariety of their qualities and structure perhaps led to this. It is indeed the most assured basis of friendship. Devilsdust was dark and melan- choly ; ambitious and discontented ; full of thought, and with powers of patience and per- severance that alone amounted to genius. Mick was as brilliant as his complexion; gay, irritable, evanescent, and unstable. Mick enjoyed life ; his friend only endured it ; yet Mick was always complaining of the lowness of his wages and the greatness of his toil ; while Devilsdust never mm^mured, but read and pondered on the rights of labour, and sighed to vindicate his order. " I have some thoughts of joining the Total Abstinence/' said Devilsdust; "ever since I read Stephen Morley's address it has been in VOL. I. Q 226 SYBIL, OR THE my mind. We shall never get oiu- rights till we leave off consuming exciseable articles ; and the best thing to begin with is liquors." " Well, I could do without liquoi*s myself," said Carohue. " If I was a lady, I would never drink anything except fi*esh milk from the cow.'' " Tea for my money," said Harriet ; " I must say there's nothing I grudge for good t^a. Now I keep house, I mean always to drink the best." " Well, you have not yet taken the pledge, Dusty," said Mick ; " and so suppose we order a go of gin and talk this matter of temperance over." Devilsdust was manageable in little things, especially by Mick; he acceded, and seated himself at their table. " I suppose you have heard this last dodge of Shuffle and Screw, Dusty," said Mick. "What's thatr " Every man had his key given him this evening — half-a-cro^^^l a week round deductal from waires for rent. Jim Plastow told TWO NATIONS. 22? them he lodged with liis father and didn't want a house; upon which thej said he must let it." " Their day will come," said Deyilsdust, thoughtfully. " I really think that those Shuffle and Screws are worse even than Truck and Trett. You knew where you were with those fellows ; it was five-and-twentj per cent, off wages and very bad stuff for youi' money. But as for Shuffle and Screw, what with their fines and their keys, a man never knows what he has to spend. Come,"' he added filling his glass, " let's have a toast — Confusion to Capital.'' "That's yom- sort," said Mick. "Come, Caroline; drink to youi' partner's toast, Miss Harriet. Money's the root of all evil, which nobody can deny. We'll have the rights of labom' yet ; the ten-hour bill, no fines, and no individuals admitted to any work who have not completed theii* sixteenth year." " No, fifteen," said Carohne eagerly. "The people won't bear their grievances much longer," said Devilsdust. Q2 2^8 SYBIL, OR THE " I think one of the greatest grievances the people have," said CaroHne, " is the beaks serving notice on Chaffing Jack to shut up the Temple on Sunday nights." "It is infamous," said Mick; "ajnt we to have no recreation 1 One might as well live in Suffolk, where the immigrants come from, and where they are obliged to burn ricks to pass the time." " As for the rights of labour," said Harriet, '* the people goes for nothing with this ma- chinery." " And you have opened your mouth to say a very sensible thing Miss Harriet," said Mick ; " but if I were Lord Paramount for eight-and- forty hours, I'd soon settle that question. Wouldn't I fire a broadside into their ' double deckers V The battle of Navarino at Mowbray fair with fourteen squibs from the admiral's ship going off at the same time, should be uothing to it." "Labour may be weak, but Capital is weaker," said Devilsdust. " Their capital is all paper." TWO NATIOl^S. 229 " I tell you what/' said Mick, with a know- ing look, and in a lowered tone, " The onlj thing, my hearties, that can save this here nation, is — a good strike/' 230 SYBIL, OR THE Chapter XL " Your lordsliip's dinner is served/' announ- ced the gi'oom of the chambers to Lord de Mowbray; and the noble lord led out Lady Mamej. The rest followed. Egremont found himself seated next to Ladj Maud Fitz-Warene, the younger daughter of the earl. Nearly opposite to him was Lady Joan. The ladies Fitz-Warene were sandy girls, somewhat tall, with rather good figiires and a grand air; the eldest very ugly, the second rather pretty; and yet both very much alike. They had both great conversational powers, though in different ways. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud inquisitive: the TWO IsATIOXS. 231 first often imparted information which you did not previously possess; the other suggested ideas which were often before in yom- own mind, but lay tranquil and unobserved, till called into life and notice by her fancifid and vivacious tongue. Both of them were en- dowed with a very remarkable self-possession; but Lady Joan wanted softness, and Lady Maud repose. This was the result of the rapid observation of Egremont, who was however experienced in the world and quick in his detection of manner and of character. The dinner was stately, as becomes the high nobility. There were many guests, yet the table seemed only a gorgeous spot in the capacious chamber. The side tables were laden with silver vases and golden shields arranged on shelves of crimson velvet. The walls were covered with Fitz-Warenes, De Mow- brays, and De Veres. The attendants ghded about without noise, and with the precision of military discipKne. They watched your wants, they anticipated yom- wishes, and they sup- 232 SYBIL, OR THE plied all joii desired with a loftj air of pom- pous devotion. " You came by the railroad V enquired Lord do ^Mowbray mournfully, of Lady Mar- ney. " From Marliam ; about ten miles from us," replied her ladyship. " A gi'eat revolution I" "Isn't it r " I fear it has a very dangerous tendency to equality," said his lordship shaking his head ; *' I suppose Lord Marney gives them all the opposition in his power." " There is nobody so violent against railroads as George," said Lady Marney; ''I cannot tell you what he does not do! He organized the whole of our division against the Marham line!" "I rather counted on him," said Lord de Mowbray, " to assist me in resisting this joint branch here ; but I was surprised to learn he had consented." "Not until the compensation was settled," innocently remarked Lady Marney ; " George never opposes them after that. He gave up all TWO NATIONS. 233 opposition to the Marliam line when they agreed to his teiTns/' " And yet," said Lord de Mowbray, "I think if Lord Marney would take a different ^dew of the case and look to the moral consequences, he would hesitate. Equality, Lady Mamej, equality is not our metier. If we nobles do not make a stand against the leyeUing spirit of the age, I am at a loss to know who will fight the battle. You may depend upon it that these railroads are yery dano-erous things." " I haye no doubt of it. I suppose jou have heard of Lady Vanilla's trip from Birmingham 1 Haye you not, indeed! She came up ^vith Lady Lam-a, and two of the most gentlemanHke men sitting opposite her ; never met, she says, two more intelligent men. She begged one of them at AVolyerhampton to change seats with her, and he was most politely willing to comply with her wishes, only it was necessary that his com- panion should move at the same time, for they were chained together ! Two of the swell mob, sent to town for picking a pocket at Shrews- bury races." 234 SYBIL, OR THE " A countess and a felon ! So much for public conyejances/' said Lord Mowbraj. '' But Lad J Vanilla is one of those who will talk with everybody." "She is yery amusing though/' said Lady Marney. " I dare say she is/' said Lord de Mowbray ; ^'but belieye me, my dear Lady Marney, in these times especially, a countess has something else to do than be amusing/' "You think as property has its duties as well as its rights, rank has its bores as well as its pleasures." Lord Mowbray mused. " How do you do, Mr. Jenny n V said a lively little lady with sparkling beady black eyes, and a very yellow complexion, though with good features ; " when did you arrive in the North 1 1 have been hghting your battles finely since I saw you," she added shaking her head, rather with an expression of admonition than of sym- pathy. " You are always fighting one's battles Lady Firebrace ; it is very kind of you. If it were TWO NATIONS. 235 act for you, we should none of us know how mucli we are all abused," replied Mr. Jermyn, a young M.P. " They say you gave the most radical pledges," said Lady Firebrace eagerly, and not without malice. " I heard Lord Muddlebrains say that if he had had the least idea of your principles, you would not have had his influence." "Muddlebrains can't command a single vote," said Mr. Jermyn. " He is a political humbug, the greatest of all humbugs ; a man who swag- gers about London clubs and consults solemnly about his influence, and in the country is a non- entity." " Well, that can't be said of Lord Glarinel," rejoined Lady Firebrace. "And have you been defending me against Lord ClarineFs attacks 1" inquirecl Mr. Jermyn. " No ; but I am going to Wemsbury, and then I have no doubt I shall have the oppor- tunity." " I am going to Wemsbury myself," said Mr. Jermyn. " And what does Lord Glarinel think of your 236 SYBIL, OR THE pledge about the pension list V said Ladj Fire- brace daunted but malignant. " He never told me," said Mr. Jermjn. " I believe jou did not pledge yourself to the ballot V inquired Ladj Firebrace with an af- fected air of inquisitiveness. " It is a subject that requires some reflection," said Mr. Jermjn. " I must consult some pro- found politician like Lady Firebrace. By the bye, you told my mother that the conservatives would have a majority of fifteen. Do you think they will have as much V said Mr. Jermyn with an innocent air, it now being notorious that the whig administration had a majority of double that amount. " I said Mr. Tadpole gave us a majority of fifteen," said Lady Firebrace. "I knew he was in error; because I had happened to see Lord Melbourne's own list, made up to the last hour ; and which gave tlie government a majority of sixty. It was only shown to three members of the cabinet," slic added in a tone of triumphant mystery. Lady Firebrace, a gi-eat statcswoman among TWO NATIONS. 237 the tories, was proud of an admirer who was a member of the whig cabinet. She was rather an agreeable guest in a country-house, with her extensive correspondence, and her bulletins from both sides. Tadpole flattered bj her notice, and charmed with female society that talked his own slang, and entered with affected enthu- siasm into all his dirty plots and barren machi- nations, was vigilant in his communications; while her whig cavalier, an easy individual who always made love by talking or writing politics, abandoned himself without reserve, and in- structed Lady Firebrace regularly after every council. Taper looked grave at this connection between Tadpole and Lady Firebrace ; and when- ever an election was lost, or a division stuck in the mud, he gave the cue with a nod and a mo- nosyllable, and the conservative pack that in- fests clubs, chattering on subjects of which it is impossible they can know anything, instantly began barking and yelping, denouncing traitors, and wonderinof how the leaders could be so led by the nose, and not see that which was fla- grant to the whole world. If, on the other 238 SYBIL, OR THE hand, the advantage seemed to go with the Carlton Club, or the opposition benches, then it was the whig and liberal hounds who howled and moaned, explaining everything bj the in- discretion, infatuation, treason, of Lord Viscount Masque, and appealing to the initiated world of idiots around them, whether any party could ever succeed, hampered by such men, and influ- enced by such means. The best of the joke was, that all this time Lord Masque and Tadpole were two old foxes, neither of whom conveyed to Lady Firebrace a single circumstance but with the wish, intention, and malice aforethought, that it should be com- municated to his rival. " I must get you to interest Lord de Mow- bray in our cause," said Sir Vavasour Firebrace, in an insinuating voice to his neighbour, Lady Joan ; " I have sent him a large packet of do- cuments. You know, he is one of us ; still one of us. Once a baronet, always a baronet. The dignity merges, but does not cease ; and happy as I am to see one covered with high honours, who is in every way so worthy of them, still I TWO NATIONS. 230 confess to you it is not so much as Earl de Mow- bray that your worthy father interests me, as in his undoubted character and capacity of Sir Altamont Fitz-Warene, baronet." " You have the data on which you move I suppose well digested," said Lady Joan, atten- tive but not interested. " The case is clear ; as far as equity is con- cerned, irresistible ; indeed the late king pledged himself to a certain point. But if you would do me the favour ^of reading our memorial." " The proposition is not one adapted to our present civilisation," said Lady Joan. " A ba- ronetcy has become the distinction of the middle class ; a physician, our physician for example, is a baronet ; and I dare say some of our tradesmen ; brewers, or people of that class. An attempt to elevate them into an order of nobility, however inferior, would par- take in some degree of the ridiculous." "And has the duke escaped his gout this year/?" enquired Lord Marney of Lady de Mowbray. 240 SYBIL, OR THE " A very slight touch ; I never knew my father so well. I expect you will meet him here. We look for him daily." " I shall be delighted ; I hope he will come to Marney in October. I keep the blue ribbon cover for him." " What you suggest is very just," said Egre- mont to Lady Maud. " If we only in our own spheres made the exertion, the general effect would be great. Marney Abbey, for instance, I believe .one of the finest of our monastic re- mains, — that indeed is not disputed — dimin- ished yearly to repair barns ; the cattle browsing in the nave ; all this might be prevented. If my brother would not consent to preserve or to restore, still any member of the family, even I, without expense, only with a little zeal as you say, might prevent mischief, might stop at least demolition." " If this movement in the church had only revived a taste for Christian architecture," said Lady Maud, "it would not have been barren, and it has done so much more ! But I am surprised that old families can be so dead to TWO NATIONS. 241 our national art ; so full of our ancestors, their exploits, their mind. Indeed you and I have no excuse for such indifference Mr. Egremont.'* " And I do not think I shall ever again be justly accused of it," replied Egremont, " you plead its cause so effectively. But to tell you the truth, I have been thinking of late about these things ; monasteries and so on ; the in- fluence of the old church system on the happi- ness and comfort of the People." " And on the tone of the Nobles — do not you think so V said Lady Maud. " I know it is the fashion to deride the crusades, but do not you think they had their origin in a great im- pulse, and in a certain sense, led to great results 1 Pardon me, if I speak with emphasis, but I never can forget I am a daughter of the first crusaders." " The tone of society is certainly lower than of yore," said Egremont. " It is easy to say we view the past through a fallacious medium. We have however ample evidence tliat men feel less deeply than of old and act with less devotion. But how far is this occasioned by VOL. I. B 242 SYBIL, OE THE the modem position of our chiircli ? That is the question." " You must speak to Mr. St. Lys about that * said Lady Maud. " Do you know him T she added in a lowered tone. "No: is he hereT " Next to mamma.'' And looking in that direction, on the left hand of Lady Mowbray, Egremont beheld a gen* tleman in the last year of his youth, if youth according to the scale of Hippocrates cease at thirty-five. He was distinguished by that beauty of the noble English blood, of which in these days few types remain ; the Norman tempered by the Saxon ; the fire of conquest softened by integrity ; and a serene, though inflexible habit of mind. The chains of conrention, an external life grown out of all proportion with that of the heart and mii^d, have destroyed this dig- nified beauty. There is no longer in fact an aristocracy in England, for the superiority of the animal man is an essential quality of aris- tocracy. But that it once existed, any collec- | tion of portraits from the sixteenth century will show. TWO NATIONS. aiS Aubrey St. Ljs was a younger son of th^ most ancient Norman family in England. The Conqueror had given them the moderate estate on which they now lived, and which, in spite of so many civil conflicts and religious changes, they had handed down to each other, from generation to generation, for eight centuries. Aubrey St. Lys was the vicar of Mowbray. He had been the college tutor of the late Lord Fitz-Warene, whose mind he had formed, whose bright abilities he had cultivated, who adored him. To that connection he owed the slight prefer- ment which he possessed, but which was all he desired. A bishopric would not have tempted him from his peculiar charge. In the centre of the town of Mowbray teem- ing with its toiling thousands, there rose a build- ing which might vie with many of the cathedrals of our land. Beautiful its solemn towers, its sculptured western front; beautiful its columned aisles and lofty nave ; its sparkling shrine and delicate chantry ; most beautifid the streaming glories of its vast orient light ! This magnificent temple, built by the monk« R 2 244 SYBIL, OR THE of Mowbraj, and once connected with their famous house of which not a trace now re- mained, had in time become the parish church of an obscure village, whose population could not have filled one of its side chapels. These strange vicissitudes of ecclesiastical buildings are not singular in the north of England. Mowbraj Church remained for centuries the wonder of passing peasants, and the glorj of county histories. But there is a magic in beautiful buildings which exercises an irresisti- ble influence over the mind of man. One of the reasons urged for the destruction of the monasteries after the dispersion of their inha- bitants, was the pernicious influence of their solemn and stately forms on the memories and imagination of those that beheld them. It was impossible to connect systematic crime with the creators of such divine fabrics. And so it was with Mowbray Church. When manu- factures were introduced into this district, which abounded with all the qualities which were necessary for their successful pursuit, Mowbnty cffering equal though not superior TWO NATIONS. 245 advantages to other positions, was accorded the preference, " because it possessed sucli a beau- tiful church." The lingering genius of the monks of Mowbray hovered round the spot which thej had adorned, and sanctified, and loved ; and thus thej had indirectly become the authors of its present greatness and pros- perity. Unhappily for a long season the vicars of Mowbray had been little conscious of their mission. An immense population gathered round the sacred citadel and gradually spread on all sides of it for miles. But the parish church for a long time remained the only one at Mowbray when the population of the town exceeded that of some European capitals. And even in the parish church the frigid spell of Erastian self-complacency fatally prevailed. A scanty congregation gathered together for form, and as much influenced by party as higher sentiments. Going to church was held more genteel than going to meeting. The principal tradesmen of the neighbouring great houses deemed it more "aristocratic;" using 246, SYBIL, OR THE 9, favourite and hackneyed epithet which only expressed their own servility. About the time the Church Commission issued, the congregation of Mowbray was approaching zero. There was an idea afloat for a time of making it the seat of a new bishopric ; the cathedral was ready ; another instance of the influence of fine art. But there was no residence for the projected prelate, and a jobbing bishop on the commission was afraid that he might have to contribute to building one. So the idea died away ; and the living having become vacant at this moment, instead of a bishop, Mowbray received a humble vicar in the shape of Aubrey St. Lys, who came among a hundred thousand heathens to preach " the Unknown God." TWO NATIONS. 24.7 Chaptee XII. " And how do jou find the people about you, Marney T said Lord de Mowbray seating him-' self on a sofa by his guest. " All very well, my lord," replied the earl, who ever treated Lord de Mowbray with a certain degree of ceremony, especially when the descendant of the crusaders affected the fami- liar. There was something of a Puck-like malignity in the temperament of Lord Marney, which exhibited itself in a remarkable talent for mortifying persons in a small way; by a gesture, an expression, a look, cloaked too very often with all the character of profound deference. The old nobility of Spain delighted 248 SYBIL, OR THE to address each other only by their names, when in the presence of a spick-and-span gran- dee ; calling each other, " Infantado," ''' Sido- nia," " Ossima," and then turning round with the most distinguished consideration, and ap- pealing to the Most Noble Marquis of Ense- nada. "They begin to get a little uneasy here," Bald Lord de Mowbray. " We have nothing to complain of," said Lord Marney. " Wc continue reducing the rates, and as long as we do that the country must improve. The workhouse test tells. We had the other day a case of incendiarism, which frightened some people: but I inquired into it, and am quite satisfied it originated in purely accidental circumstances; at least no- thing to do with wages. I ought to be a judge, for it was on my own property." " And what is the rate of wages, in your part of tlic world, Lord Marney?' inquired Mr. St. Lys who was standing by. " Oh ! good enough : not like your manufac- turing districts; but people who work in the TWO NATIONS. 249 open air, instead of a furnace, can't expect, and don't require sucli. They get their eight shil- lings a-week; at least generally." "Eight shillings a-week 1" said Mr. St. Lyg. " Can a labouring man with a family, perhaps of eight children, live on eight shillings a week!" "Oh! as for that," said Lord Marney; **they get more than that, because there is beer-money allowed, at least to a great extent among us, though I for one do not approve of the practice, and that makes nearly a shilling per week additional; and then some of them have potatoe grounds, though I am entirely opposed to that system." "And yet," said Mr. St. Lys, "how they contrive to live is to me marvellous." "Oh! as for that," said Lord Marney, "I have generally found the higher the wages the worse the workman. They only spend their money in the beer-shops. They are the curse of this country." " But what is a poor man to do," said Mr. St. Lys; *' after his day's work if he returns to 250 SYBIL, OR THK his own roof and finds no home: his fire extinguished, his food unprepared; the partn^ of his life, wearied with labour in the field or the factory, still absent, or perhaps in bed jfrom exhaustion, or because she has returned wet to the skin, and has no change of raiment for her relief. We have removed woman fi'om her sphere; we may have reduced wages by her introduction into the market of labour; but under these circumstances what we call domestic life is a condition impossible to be realized for the people of this country ; and wo must not therefore be surprised that they seek solace or rather refuge in the beer-shop." Lord Marney looked up at Mr. St. Lys, with a stare of high-bred impertinence, and then care- lessly observed, without directing his words to him, " They may say what they like, but it is all an afiair of population." " I would rather believe that it is an afia-ir of resources," said Mr. St. Lys ; " not what is the amount of our population, but what is the amount of our resoui-ces for their mainte- nance." TWO NATIONS. 2$l "It comes to the same thing," said Lord Marnej. " Nothing can put this country right but emigration on a great scale; and as the government do not choose to undertake it, I have commenced it for mj own defence on a small scale. I will take care that the popula- tion of mj parishes is not increased. I build no cottages and I destroy all I can ; and I am not ashamed or afraid to say so.'^ *' You have declared war to the cottage, then,'^ said Mr. St. Lys, smiling. " It is not at the first sound so startling a cry as war to the castle.'' " But you think it may lead to it V' said Lord Mowbray. " I love not to be a prophet of evil," said Mr. St. Lys. Lord Marney rose from his seat and ad- di'essed Lady Firebrace, whose husband in another part of the room had caught Mr. Jermyn, and was opening his mind on "the question of the day;'' Lady Maud, followed by Egremont, approacheek Mr. St. Lys, and said, " Mr. Egremont has a great feeling for Chris- 252 tian architecture, Mr. St. Ljs, and \vishe3 particularly to visit our church of which we are so proud." And in a few moments thej were seated together and engaged in conver- sation. Lord Mowbray placed himself by the side of Lady Marney, who was seated by his countess. " Oh ! how I envy you at Marney," he ex- claimed. " No manufactures, no smoke ; living in the midst of a beautiful park and sur- rounded by a contented peasantry!" " It is very delightful," said Lady Marney, " but then we are so very dull ; we have really no neighbourhood." " I tliink that such a great advantage," said Lady Mow bray ; " I must say I like my friends from London. I never know what to say to the people here. Excellent people, the very best people in the world; the way they behaved to poor dear Fitz-Warene, when they wanted him to stand for the county, I never can forget; but then they do not •know the people we know, or do the things wo do ; and when you TWO NATIONS. 253 have gone through the routine of county ques- tions, and exhausted the weather and all the winds, I am positively, my dear Lady Marney, aux abois, and then they think you are proud, when really one is only stupid." " I am very fond of work," said Lady Mar- ney, " and I talk to them always about it." "Ah! you are fortunate, I never could work; and Joan and Maud, they neither of them work. Maud did embroider a banner once for her brother; it is in the hall. I think it beautiful ; but somehow or other she never cul- tivated her talent." " For all that has occurred or may occur," said Mr. St. Lys to Egremont, " I blame only tlie Church. The church deserted the people; and from that moment the church has been in danger and the people degraded. Formerly religion undertook to satisfy the noble wants of human nature, and by its festivals relieved the painful weariness of toil. The day of rest was consecrated, if not always to elevated thought, at least to sweet and noble sentiments. The church convened to its solemnities under its ^^i SYBIL, OR THE splendid and almost celestial roofs amid tho finest monuments of art that human hands have raised, the whole Christian population ; for there, in the presence of God, all were bre- thren. It shared equally among all its prayer, its incense, and its music; its sacred instruc- tions, and the highest enjoyments that the arts could afford." " You believe then in the efficacy of forms and ceremonies?" " What you call forms and ceremonies re- present the divinest instincts of our nature. Push your aversion to forms and ceremonies to a legitimate conclusion, and you would prefer kneeling in a barn rather than in a cathedral. Your tenets would strike at the very existence of all art, wdiich is essentially spiritual." " I am not speaking abstractedly," said Egremont, "but rather with reference to the indirect connection of these forms and cere- monies with another church. The people of this country associate them with an enthralling superstition and a foreign dominion." TWO xatio:n's. 25S **Witli Rome," said Mr. St. Ljs ; ^^yet forms and ceremonies existed before Rome." " But practically/' said Egremont, " has not their revival in our service at the present day a tendency to restore the Romish system in this country" 1 " It is difficult to ascertain what may be the practical effect of certain circumstances among the uninformed," said Mr. St. Lys. " The church of Rome is to be respected as the only Hebraso-christian chm'ch extant; all other churches established by the Hebrew apostles have disappeared, but Rome remains ; and we must never permit the exaggerated position which it assumed in the middle centuries to make us forget its early and apostolical cha- racter, when it was fresh from Palestine and as it were fragrant from Paradise. The church of Rome is sustained by apostolical succession ; but apostolical succession is not an institution complete in itself ; it is a part of a whole ; if it be not part of a whole it has no foundation. The apostles succeeded the prophets. Our Master announced himself as the last of the 256 SYBIL, OR THE prophets. They in their turn were the heirs of the patriarchs : men who were in direct communication with the Most High. To men not less favoured than the apostles, the revela- tion of the priestly character was made, and those forms and ceremonies ordained, which the church of Rome has never reUnquished. But Rome did not invent them : upon their prac- tice, the duty of all congregations, we cannot consent to her founding a claim to supremacy. For would you maintain then that the church did not exist in the time of the prophets? Was Moses then not a churchman 1 And Aaron, was he not a high priest? Ay! greater than any pope or prelate, whether he be at Rome or at Lambeth. "In all these church discussions, we are apt to forget that the second Testament is avowedly only a supplement. Jehovah-Jesus came to com- plete the * law and the prophets.' Christianity is completed Judaism, or it is nothing. Chris- tianity is incomprehensible without Judaism, as Judaism is incomplete without Christianity. "What has Rome to do with its completion; TWO NATIONS. 257 what with its commencement'? The law was not thundered forth from the Capitohan mount ; the divine atonement was not fulfilled upon Mons Sacer. No; the order of our priesthood comes directly from Jehovah; and the forms and ceremonies of His church are the regulations of His supreme intelligence. Rome indeed boasts that the authenticity of the second Testament depends upon the recognition of her infallibility. The authenticity of the second Testament depends upon its congTuity with the first. Did Rome preserve thaf? I recognize in the church an institution tho- roughly, sincerely, catholic: adapted to all climes and to all ages. I do not bow to the necessity of a visible head in a defined locality; but were I to seek for such, it would not be at Rome. I cannot discover in its history however memorable any testimony of a mission so sublime. When Omnipotence deigned to be incarnate, the Inefiuble Word did not select a Roman frame. The pro- phets were not Romans; the apostles were not Romans; she, who was blessed above all YOL. I. s 258 SYBIL, OR THE women, I never heard she was a Roman maiden. No, I should look to a land more distant than Italy, to a city more sacred even than Rome." TWO IfATIOKS. 259 Chapter XIII. It was a cloudy, glimmering dawn. A cold withering east ^'ind blew through the silent streets of Mowbray. The sounds of the night had died away, the voices of the day had not commenced. There reigned a stillness complete and absorbing. Suddenly there is a voice, there is move- ment. The first footstep of the new week of toil is heard. A man muffled up in a thick coat, and bearing in his hand what would seem at the first glance to be a shepherd's crook, only its handle is much longer, appears upon the pavement. He touches a munber of win- dows with great quickness as he moves rapidly S 2 2G0 SYBIL, OR THE along. A rattling noise sounds upon each pane. The use of the long handle of his in- strument becomes apparent as he proceeds, en- abhng him as it does to reach the upper win- dows of the dwellings whose inmates he has to rouse. Those inmates are the factory girls, who subscribe in districts to engage these heralds of the dawn ; and by a strict observ- ance of whose citation they can alone escape the dreaded fine that awaits those who have not arrived at the door of the factory before the bell ceases to sound. The sentry in question, quitting the streets, and stooping through one of the small arch- ways that we have before noticed, entered a court. Here lodged a multitude of his em- ployers ; and the long crook as it were by some sleight of hand seemed sounding on both sides and at many windows at the same moment. Arrived at the end of the court, he was about to touch the window of the upper story of the last tenement, when that window opened, and a man, pale and care-worn and in a melan- choly voice spoke to him. TWO NATIONS. 261 "■'Simmons," said the man, "you need not rouse this stoiy any more ; my daughter has left us." " Has she left Webster's T " No ; but she has left us. She has long mm-mured at her hard lot ; working like a slave and not for herself. And she has gone, as they all go, to keep house for herself." " That's a bad business," said the watchman, in a tone not devoid of sjinpathy. "Almost as bad as for parents to live on their childrens' wages," replied the man mourn- fully. " And how is your good woman 1" " As poorly as needs be. Harriet has never been home since Friday night. She owes you nothing V " Not a halfpenny. She was as regular as a little bee and always paid every Monday morning. I am sorry she has left you, neigh- bour." " The Lord's will be done. It's hard times or such as us," said the man ; and leaving tlie window open, he retired into his room. 2G2 SYBIL, Orv THE It was a single chamber of which he was the tenant. In the centre, 2)lace(l so as to gain tlie best light which the gloomy situation could afford, was a loom. In two corners of the room were mattresses placed on the floor, a check curtain hung upon a string if necessary con- cealing them. In one was his sick wife ; in the other, three }■ oung children : two girls, the eldest about eight years of age ; between them their baby brother. An iron kettle was by the hearth, and on the mantel-piece, some candles, a few lucifer matches, two tin mugs," a paper of salt, and an iron spoon. In a farther part, close to the wall, was a heavy table or dresser; this was a fixture, as well as the form which was fastened by it. The man seated himself at his loom ; he commenced his daily task. " Twelve hours of daily labour at the rate of one penny each hour ; and even this labour is mortgaged ! How is this to end ? Is it rather not ended?' And he looked around him at his chamber without resom-ces : no food, TWO NATIONS. 263 no fiiel, no fiimiture, and four human beinirs dependent on liim, and lying in their wretched beds because they had no clothes. " I cannot sell my loom/' he continued, " at the price of old firewood, and it cost me gold. It is not vice that has brought me to this, nor indolence, nor imprudence. I was born to la])our, and I was ready to labour. I loved my loom and my loom loved me. It gave me a cottage in my native village, surrounded by a garden of whose claims on my solicitude it was not jealous. There was time for both. It gave me for a wife the maiden that I had ever loved ; and it gathered my children round my hearth with plenteousness and peace. I was content : I sought no other lot. It is not adversity that makes me look back upon the past with tenderness. " Then why am I here % Why am I, and six hundred thousand subjects of the Queen, honest, loyal, and industrious, why are we, after manfully struggling for years, and each year sinking lower in the scale, why are we driven from om* innocent and happy homes, 264 SYBIL, on THE our conn try cottages tliat we loved, first to bide in close towns without comforts, and gradually to crouch into cellars, or find a squalid lair like this, without even the common necessaries of existence ; first the ordinary conveniences of life, then raiment, and, at length, food, vanish- ing from us. " It is that the Capitalist has found a slave that has supplanted the labour and ingenuity of man. Once he was an artizan : at the best, he now only watches machines ; and even that occupation slips from his grasp, to the woman and the child. The capitahst flourishes, he amasses immense wealth ; we sink, lower and lower ; lower than the beasts of burthen ; for they are fed better than we are, cared for more. And it is just, for according to the present system they are more precious. And yet they tell us that the interests of Capital and of Labour are identical. "If a society that has been created by labour suddenly becomes independent of it, that society is bound to maintain the race whose only property is labour, from the proceeds of TWO NATIONS. 265 that other property, which has not ceased to be productive. "When the class of the Nobility were sup- planted in France, they did not amount in number to one-third of us Hand-Loom weavers ; yet all Europe went to war to avenge then* wi'ongs, every state subscribed to maintain them in their adversity, and when they were restored to their own country, their own land supplied them with an immense indemnity. Wlio cares for us? Yet we have lost our estates. Who raises a voice for us 1 Yet we are at least as innocent as the nobility of France. ^Ye sink among no sighs except om- own. And if they give us sympathy — what then? Sympathy is the solace of the Poor ; but for the Rich, there is Compensation.''' " Is that Harriet V said his wife moving in her bed. The Hand-Loom weaver was recalled from liis reverie to the urgent misery that surrounded him. " No \" he replied in a quick hoarse voice, " it is not Harriet." 266 SYBIL, OR THE '• Why docs not Harriet come V " She will come no more !" replied the weaver; " I told jou so last night : she can bear this place no longer ; and I am not sm^prised/^ " How are we to get food then V rejoined his wife ; " you ought not to have let her leave lis. You do nothing, Warner. You get no wages jom'self; and jou have let the girl escape." " I will escape myself if you say that again," said the weaver : " I have been up these three hours finishing this piece which ought to have been taken home on Satmxlay night." " But you have been paid for it beforehand. You get nothing for your work. A penny an hour ! What sort of work is it, that brings a penny an hour V " Work that you have often admired, Mary ; and has before this gained a prize. But if you don't like the work," said the man quitting his loom, "let it alone. There was enough yet owing on this piece to have allowed us to break our fast. However, no matter ; we must starve sooner or later. Let us begin at once." TWO NATIONS. 267 " No, no, Philip ! work. Let us break our fast come wliat maj." " Twit me no more tlien,^' said the weaver re- suming his seat, " or I throw the shuttle for the last time." " I will not taunt jou," said his wife in a kinder tone. " I was wrong ; I am sorrj ; but I am very ill. It is not for myself I speak; I want not to eat ; I have no appetite ; my lips are so very parched. But the children, the children went supperless to bed, and they will wake soon." " Mother, we ayn't asleep," said the elder gii'l. "No, we ayn't asleep, mother," said her sister ; " we heard all that you said to father." "And baby r " He sleeps still." " I shiver very much !" said the mother. " It's a cold day. Pray shut the window Warner. I see the drops upon the pane ; it is raining. I wonder if the persons below would lend us one block of coal." " We have borrowed too often," said Warner. " I wish there were no such thing as coal in 968 STHL^OB te l»dL' said his inh. " and ihm Ar ivoddnolbeaMeto wwk; andweahaakl hare oarrigiits agaiiL^ ^ Amoi r sud Wamo: ^^'Don^ jcn tlank Wamer,"' said his irife, 'All JOB could sdl Aat piece to sane odier mad oire Barber f(ff the moiiej he ad- f» '^^or said ha-hndHiid Staking his head. *nigostrai^'' '^ And let jour childrsi su^rre,'^ said his wife. *^when yon could gel fire or six shillings at QBoe. But 80 il ahrajs was with jcfa I Why £d BOt joa go to llie sadiines jeais ago like oHkt BicR and so*^ ved to Oem r ~I alioaid hare been siq^planted bj this time/* said Warner, " by a girl or a woman ! Ii would hare been JBl as had r '^ Why time was TOOT friend Waher Gerald; he was llie sane as too, and yet now he gets two povBda-week : at least I haTe often heard jon say 80.^ "Walter Gerard is a man of great parta^" said Warner, 'imd ni^t hare been a master by thi? time had he cared'"' TWO XATIOXS. 26S " x4.nd why did he not r " He had no wife and children,*' said Wamer ; • he was not so blessed*' The baby woke and began to err. '* Ah ! mj child !' exclaimed the mother. •• That wicked Haniet ! Here Amelia. I have a moi*sel of crust here. I saved it yesterday for baby : moisten it in water, and tie it up in this piece of calico : he wiU suck it ; it wiU keep him quiet ; I can bear anything but his cry." '• I shall hare finished my job by noon," said "Warner ; " and then, please God, we shall break our fast."^ " It is yet two hours to noon," said his wife. •• And Barber always keeps you so long ! I cannot bear that Barber : I dare say he will not advance you money again as you did not bring the job home on Satm*day night. If I were you, PhiHp. I would go and sell the piece unfinished at once to one of the cheap shops.*' "I have gone straight aU my life," said Wamer. " And much good it has done you," said his wife. 270 SYBIL, OR THE '^ My poor Amelia ! How slie shivers ! I think the sun neyer touches this house. It is indeed a most wTetched place !" " It will not annoy you long, Mary," said her husband : " I can pay no more rent ; and I only wonder they have not been here already to take the week." " And where are we to go V said the wife. " To a place which certainly the sun never touches," said her husband, with a kind of ma- lice in his misery, — " to a cellar !" " Oh ! why was I ever born 1" exclaimed his wife. " And yet I was so happy once ! And it is not our fault. I cannot make it out Warner, why you should not get two pounds a- week like Walter Gerard r " Bah !" said the husband. " You said lie had no family," continued his wife. " I thought he had a daughter." " But she is no burthen to him. The sister of Mr. Trafford is tlie Superior of the convent here, and she took Sybil when her mother died, and brought her up." " Oh ! then she is a nun V TWO NATIONS. 271 " Not jet ; but I dare saj it will end in it/' " Well, I think I would even sooner starve/' said his wife, "than my children should be nuns/' At this moment there was a knocking at the door. Warner descended from his loom and opened it. " Lives Philip Warner here T enquired a clear voice of peculiar sweetness. " Mj name is Warner/' " I come from Walter Gerard," continued the voice. " Your letter reached him only last night. The girl at whose house jom* daughter left it has quitted this week past Mr. Traflford's factory." " Pray enter." And there entered Sybil. 272 SYBIL, OR THE Chapter XIV. " Your wife is iU T said SjbH. "Very!" replied Warner's wife. "Our daughter has behaved infamously to us. She has quitted us without saying by your leave or with your leayc. And her wages were almost the only thing left to us ; for Philip is not like Walter Gerard you see : he cannot earn two pounds a-week, though why he cannot I never could understand.'^ " Husli, hush, wife !" said Warner. " I speak I apprehend to Gerard's daughter V "Just so." " Ah ! this is good and kind ; tliis is like old times, for Walter Gerard was my friend, when I was not exactly as I am now." TWO NATIONS. 273 ^ He tells me so : lie sent a messenger to me last night to visit you this morning. Yoiu" letter reached him only yesterday." " Harriet was to give it to Caroline/' said the wife. "That's the girl who has done all the mischief and inveigled her away. And she has left TrafFord's works, has she^ Then I will be bound she and Harriet are keeping house together.'' " You suffer T said Sybil, moving to the bed-side of the woman ; "give me your hand/^ she added in a soft sweet tone. " 'Tis hot." "I feel very cold," said the woman. " Warner would have the window open, till the rain came in." " And you, I fear, are wet," said Warner, ad- dressing Sybil, and interrupting his wife. " Very slightly. And you have no fii'e. Ah ! I have brought some things for you, but not fuel." "If he would only ask the person down stairs," said his wife, " for a block of coal ; I tell him, neighbours could hardly refuse ; but he never will do anything; he says he has asked too often." VOL. I. T 274 " I will ask/^ said Sybil. " But first, I hare a companion without," she added, " who bears a basket for jou. Come in, Harold." The baby began to cry the moment a large dog entered the room ; a young bloodhound of the ancient breed, such as are now found but in a few old halls and granges in the north of England. Sybil untied the basket, and gave a piece of sugar to the screaming infant. Her glance was sweeter even than her remedy ; the infant stared at her with his large blue eyes ; for an instant astonished, and then he smiled. " Oh ! beautiful child !" exclaimed Sybil ; and she took the babe up from the mattress and embraced it. " You are an angel from heaven," exclaimed the mother, " and you may well say beautiful. And only to think of that infamous girl, Harriet, to desert us all in this way." Sybil drew forth the contents of the convent basket, and called Warner's attention to them. ^'Now," she said, "arrange all this as I tell you, and I will go down stairs and speak to them below as you wish. Harold rest there ;" TWO NATIONS. 2?'5 and tlie dog laid himself down in the remotest corner. " And is that Gerard's daughter V said the weaver's wife. " Only think what it is to gain two pounds a-week, and bring up your daugh- ters in that way — instead of such shameless husseys as our Harriet ! But with such wages one can do anything. What have you there, Warner? Is that tea? Oh! I should like some tea. I do think tea would do me some good. I have quite a longing for it. Run down, Warner, and ask them to let us have a kettle of hot water. It is better than all the fire in the world. Amelia, my dear, do you see what they have sent us. Plenty to eat. Tell Maria all about it. You are good girls ; you will never be like that infamous Harriet. When you earn wages you will give them to your poor mother and baby, won't you V " Yes, mother," said Amelia. " And father, too," said Maria. " And father, too," said the wife. " He has been a very good father to you all ; and I never can understand why one who works so hard T 2 276 sliould earn so little ; but I believe it is the fault of those machines. The police ought to put them down, and then cverj body would be comfortable." Sybil and Warner re-entered ; the fire was lit, the tea made, the meal partaken. An air of comfort, eren of enjoyment, was diffused over this chamber, but a few minutes back so desolate and unhappy. " Well," said the wife, raising herself a little up in her bed, " I feel as if that dish of tea had saved my life. Amelia, have you had any tea % And Maria ? You see what it is to be good girls ; the Lord will never desert you. The day is fast coming when that Harriet will know what the want of a dish of tea is, with all her fine wages. And I am sure," she added, addressing Sybil, " what w^e all owe to you is not to be told. Yom- father well deserves his good fortune, Avith such a daughter." " My father's fortunes are not much better than his neighbours," said Sybil, "but his wants are few ; and who should sympathise with the poor, but the poor \ Alas ! none else can. TWO NATIONS. 277 Besides, it is tlie Superior of our convent that lias sent you this meal. What mj father can do for you, I have told your husband. ^Tis little ; but with the favour of heaven, it may avail. When the people support the people, the divine blessing will not be want- ing." " I am sure the divine blessing will never bq wanting to you," said Warner in a voice of great emotion. There w^as silence ; the querulous spiiit of the wife was subdued by the tone of Sybil ; she revolved in her mind the present and the past; the children pursued their ungrudged and unusual meal; the daughter of Gerard, that she might not interfere with theii* occupa- tion, walked to the window and smweyed the chink of troubled sky, which was visible in the court. The wind blew in gusts ; the rain beat against the glass. Soon after this, there was another knock at the door. Harold started from his repose, and gi'owled. Warner rose, and saying, "they have come for the rent. Thank God, I am ready," advanced and opened 278 SYBIL, OR THE the door. Two men offered with courtesy to enter. " We are strangers," said he who took the lead, "but would not be such. I speak to Warner T " My name.'' " And I am your spiritual pastor, if to be the vicar of Mowbray entitles me to that description." "Mr. St. Lys." "The same. One of the most valued of my flock, and the most influential person in this district, has been speaking much of you to me this morning. You are working for him. He did not hear of you on Satm^day night ; he feared you were ill. Mr. Barber spoke to me of your distress, as well as of your good cha- racter. I came to express to you my respect and my sympathy, and to offer you my assistance." " You are most good, sir, and Mr. Barber too, and indeed, an hour ago, we were in as great straits ." " And are now, sir," exclaimed his wife inter- TWO NATIONS. 279 nipting him. " I have been in this bed a-week, and may never rise from it again ; the children have no clothes; thej are pawned; everything is pawned ; this morning we had neither fuel, nor food. And we thought you had come for the rent which we cannot pay. If it had not been for a dish of tea which was charitably given me this morning by a person almost as poor as ourselves that is to say, they live by labour, though their wages are much higher, as high as two pounds a-week, though how that can be I never shall understand, when my husband is working twelve hours a day, and gaining only a penny an hour — if it had not been for this I should have been a corpse ; and yet he says we were in straits, merely because Walter Gerard's daughter, who I willingly grant is an angel from heaven for all the good she has done us, has stepped into om^ aid. But the poor sup- porting the poor, as she well says, what good can come from that !" During this ebullition, Mr. St. Lys had surveyed the apartment and recognised Sybil. 280 SYBIL, OR THE " Sister;*^ he said when the wife of Warner had ceased, "this is not the first time we have met under the roof of sorrow/* Sybil bent in silence, and moved as if she were about to retire ; the wind and rain came dashing against the window. The companion of Mr. St. Ljs, who was clad in a rough great coat, and was shaking the wet off an oilskin hat known by the name of a ' south-wester,' advanced and said to her, " It is but a squall, but a very severe one ; I would recommend you to stay for a few minutes." She received this remark with courtesy but did not reply. " I think," continued the companion of Mr. St. Lys, "that this is not the first time also that we have met V *'I cannot recall our meeting before," said Sybil. " And yet it was not many days past ; though the sky was so very different, that it would almost make one believe it was in another land and another clime." Sybil looked at him as if for explanation. TWO NATIONS. 281 " It was at Marnej Abbey," said the com- panion of Mr. St. Ljs. " I was there ; and I remember, when about to rejoin my companions, they were not alone.'' "And you disappeared; very suddenly I thought ; for I left the ruins almost at the same moment as your friends, yet I never saw any of you again." " We took our course ; a yery rugged one ; you perhaps pui-sued a more even way." " Was it yom- first visit to Marney V " My first and my last. There was no place I more desired to see ; no place of which the vision made me so sad." "The glory has departed," said Egremont mournfully. " It is not that," said Sybil ; " I was prepared for decay, but not for such absolute desecration. The Abbey seems a quarry for materials to re- pair farm-houses ; and the nave a cattle gate. What people they must be — that family of sacrilege who hold these lands !" " Hem !" said Egremont. " They certainly 282 SYBIL, OE THE do not appear to have much feeling for ecclesi- astical art." " And for little else, as we were told," said Sybil. " There was a fire at the Abbey farm the day we were there, and from all that reached us, it would appear the people were as little tendered as the Abbey walls." " They have some difficulty perhaps in em- ploying their population in those parts." " You know the country '?" " Not at all ; I was travelling in the neigh- bourhood, and made a diversion for the sake of seeing an abbey of which I had heard so much." " Yes ; it was the greatest of the Northern Houses. But they told me the people were most wretched round the Abbey ; nor do I think there is any other cause for their misery, than the hard hearts of the family that have got the lands." " You feel deeply for the people !" said Egre- mont looking at her earnestly. Sybil returned him a glance expressive of some astonishment, and then said, " And do not you ? Yom' presence here assures me of it." TWO NATIONS. 283 " I kimblj follow one who would comfort tlie unhappy/^ " The charity of Mr. St. Lys is known to aU." "And you — you too are a ministering angel." " There is no merit in my conduct, for there is no sacrifice. When I remember what this English people once was ; the truest, the freest,^ and the bravest, the best-natured and the best-looking, the happiest and most religious race upon the surface of this globe ; and think of them now, with all their crimes and all their slavish sufierings, their soured spirits and their stunted forms ; their lives without enjoy- ment and their deaths without hope; I may well feel for them, even if I were not the daughter of their blood." And that blood mantled to her cheek as she ceased to speak, and her dark eye gleamed with emotion, and an expression of pride and cou- rage hovered on her brow. Egremont caught her glance and withdrew his own; his heart was troubled. 284 SYBIL, OR THE St. Ljs, who had been in conference with the weaver, left him and went to the bedside of his wife. Warner advanced to Sybil, and expressed his feelings for her father, his sense of her goodness. She, observing that the squall seemed to have ceased, bade him farewell, and calling Harold, quitted the chamber. TWO NATIONS. 285 Chapter XV. "Wheee have jou been all tlie morning, Charles T said Lord Marnej coming into his brother's dressing-room a few minutes before dinner ; " Arabella had made the nicest little riding party for jou and Lady Joan, and you "were to be found nowhere. If you go on in this way, there is no use of having affectionate relations, or anything else." "I have been walking about Mowbray. One should see a factory once in one's life." " I don't see the necessity," said Lord Mar- ney; "I never saw one, and never intend. Though to be sure, when I hear the rents that Mowbray gets for his land in this neighbour- 286 SYBIL, OR THE hood, I must say I wish the worsted works had answered at Marnej. And if it had not been for our poor dear father, thej would." " Our fiimilj have always been against ma- nufactories, railroads — everything,'' said Egre- mont. " Railroads are very good things, with high compensation," said Lord Marney ; " and manu- factories not so bad, with high rents ; but, after all, these are enterprises for the canaille, and I hate them in my heart." " But they employ the people, George." " The people do not want employment ; it is the greatest mistake in the world ; all this em- ployment is a stimulus to population. Never mind that ; what I came in for, is to tell you that both Arabella and myself think you talk too much to Lady Maud." ■ " I like her the best." "What has that to do witli it my dear fellow '? Business is business. Old Mowbray will make an elder son out of his elder daughter. The affair is settled ; I know it from the best authority. Talking to Lady Maud is TWO NATIONS. 287 insanity. It is all the same for lier as if Fitz- Warene had never died. And then that great event, which ought to be the foundation of your fortune, would be perfectly thrown away. Lady Maud, at the best, is nothing more than twenty thousand pounds and a fat living. Be- sides, she is engaged to that parson fellow, St. Eys." " St. Lys told me to-day that nothing would ever induce him to marry. He v/ould practise celibacy, though he would not enjoin it." " Enjoin fiddle-stick ! How came you to be talking to such a sanctified impostor ; and, I believe, with all his fine phrases, a complete radical. I tell you what, Charles, you must really make way with Lady Joan. The grand- father has come to-day, the old Duke. Quite a family party. It looks so well. Never was such a golden opportunity. And you must be sharp too. That little Jermyn, with his brown eyes and his white hands, has not come down here, in the month of August, with no sport of any kind, for nothing." " I shall set Lady Firebrace at him." 288 SYBIL, OR THE ^' She is quite your friend, and a very sen- sible woman too, Charles, and an ally not to be despised. Lady Joan has a very high opinion of her. There's the bell. Well, I shall tell Arabella that you mean to put up the steam, and Lady Firebrace shall keep Jermyn off. And perhaps it is as well you did not seem too eager at first. Mowbray Castle, my dear fellow, in spite of its manufactories, is not to be despised. And with a little firmness, you could keep the people out of your park. Mowbray could do it, only he has no pluck. He is afraid people would say he was the son of a footman." The Duke, who was the father of the Countess de Mowbray, was also lord lieuten- ant of the county. Although advanced in years, he was still extremely handsome; with the most winning manners ; fuU of amenity and grace. He had been a roue in his youth, but seemed now the perfect representative of a benignant and virtuous old age. He was uni- versally popular ; admired by young men, adored by young ladies. Lord de Mowbray TWO NATIONS. 289 paid him the most distinguished consideration. It was genuine. However maliciously the origin of his own father might be represented, nobody could deprive him of that great fact, his father-in-law ; a duke, a duke of a great house who had intermarried for generations with great houses, one of the old nobility, and something even loftier. The county of which his grace was Lord Lieutenant was very proud of its nobility ; and certainly with Marney Abbey at one end, and Mowbray Castle at the other, it had just cause ; but both these illustrious houses yielded in importance, though not in possessions, to the great peer who was the governor of the pro- vince. A French actress, clever as French actresses always are, had persuaded, once upon a time, an easy-tempered monarch of this realm, that the paternity of her coming babe was a dis- tinction of which his majesty might be proud. His majesty did not much believe her ; but he was a sensible man, and never disputed a point with a woman ; so when the babe was bom, yoL. I. u 290 SYBIL, OR THE and proved a boy, he christened him with his name ; and elevated him to the peerage in liis cradle by the title of Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine and Marquis of Gascon j. An estate the royal father could not endow him with, for he had spent all his money, mortgaged all his resources, and was obliged to run in debt himself for the jewels of the rest of his mistresses ; but he did his best for the yoimg peer, as became an affectionate father or a fond lover. His majesty made him when he arrived at man's estate the hereditary keeper of a palace which he possessed in the north of England ; and this secured his grace a castle and a park. He could wave his flag and kill his deer ; and if he had only possessed an estate, he would have been as well off as if he had helped conquer the realm with King William, or plundered the church for King Harry. A revenue must however be found for the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, and it was furnished without the interference of Parlia- ment, but with a financial dexterity worthy of that assembly — to whom and not to our sove- TWO NATIONS. 291 reigns we are obliged for the public debt. The king granted the duke and his heirs for ever, a pension on the post-office, a light tax upon coals shipped to London, and a tithe of all the shrimps caught on the southern coast. This last source of revenue became in time, with the development of watering-places, ex- tremely prolific. And so, what with the foreign courts and colonies for the younger sons, it was thus contrived very respectably to maintain the hereditary dignity of this great peer. The present Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine had supported the Refonn Bill, but had been shocked by the Appropriation clause; very much admired Lord Stanley, and was apt to observe, that if that nobleman had been the leader of the conservative party, he hardly knew what he might not have done himself. But the duke was an old whig, had lived with old whigs all his life, feared revolution, but still more the necessity of taking his name out of Brookes', where he had looked in every day or night since he came of age. So, not approving U 2 292 SYBIL, OR THE of what ^vas going on, vet not caring to desert his friends, he withdrew, as the phrase runs, from piibhc life ; tliat is to saj, was rarely in his seat; did not continue to Lord Melbourne the proxy that had been entrusted to Lord Grey ; and made tory magistrates in his county though a whig lord lieutenant. When forces were numbered, and specula- tions on the future indulged in by the Tadpoles and Tapers, the name of the Duke of Fitz- Aquitaine was mentioned with a knowing look and in a mysterious tone. Nothing more was necessary between Tadpole and Taper; but, if some hack in statu pupillari happened to be present at the conference, and the gentle novice greedy for party tattle, and full of admiring reverence for the two great hierophants of petty mysteries before him, ventured to inti- mate his anxiety for initiation, the secret was entrusted to him, "that all was right there; that his grace only watched his opportunity; that he was heartily sick of the present men ; indeed, would have gone over with Lord Stan- ley in 1835, had he not had a fit of the gout, TWO KATIOI^S. 293 which prevented him from coming up from the north; and though to be sm-e his son and brother did vote against the speaker, still that was a mistake ; if a letter had been sent, which was not written, thej would have voted the other way, and perhaps Sir Robert might have been in at the present moment." The Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine was the great staple of Lady Firebrace's correspondence with Mr. Tadpole. " Woman's mission" took the shape to her intelligence of getting over his grace to the conservatives. She was much assisted in these endeavours by the information which she so dexterously acquired from the innocent and incautious Lord Masque. Egremont was seated at dinner to-day by the side of Lady Joan. Unconsciously to himself this had been arranged by Lady Marney. The action of vroman on our destiny is unceasing. Egremont was scarcely in a happy mood for conversation. He was pensive, inclined to be absent; his thoughts indeed were of other things and persons than those around him. Lady Joan however only required a listener. 294 SYBIL. OE THE She did not make enquiries like Ladj Mand, or impart her own impressions bv suggesting them as yom* own. Ladj Joan gave Egremont an account of the Aztec cities, of which she had been reading that morning, and of the sereral historical theories which their discovery had suggested: then she imparted her own, which differed from alL but which seemed clearly the right one. Mexico led to Egypt. Lady Joan was as familiar with the Pharaolis as with the Caciques of the new world. The phonetic system was despatched by the way. Then came Champollion; then Paris; then all its celebrities, literary and especially scientific; then came the letter from Arago received that morning: and the letter from Dr. Buckland expected to-morrow. She was dehghted that one had written ; wondered why the other had not. Finally before the ladies had retired, she had invited Egremont to joia Lady Mar- ney in a visit to her observatory, where they were to behold a comet which she had been the first to detect. Ladv Firebrace next to the duke in TWO XATIOXS. 295 dulged in mysterious fiddle-fadde as to the state of parties. Slie too liad her coiTespon- dents, and her letters received or awaited. Tadpole said this; Lord Masque, on the con- trary, said that: the truth lay perhaps be- tween them; some result developed by the clear intelligence of Lady Fii-ebrace acting on the data with which they supplied her. The duke listened with calm excitement to the transcendental revelations of his Egeria. No- thing appeared to be concealed from her; the inmost mind of the sovereign ; there was not a royal prejudice that was not mapped in her secret inventory; the cabinets of the whigs and the clubs of the tories, she had the '' open sesame" to all of them. Sii* Somebody did not want office, though he pretended to ; and Lord Nobody did want office, though he pretended he did not. One great man thought the pear was not ripe ; another that it was quite rotten ; but then the first was coming on the stage, and the other was going oft. In estimating the accm*acy of a political opinion, one should take into consideration the standing of the opi- nionist. '20G SYBIL, OR THE At the riglit nioinciit, and wlicii slie was sure she was not overheard, Ladj Firebrace played her trump card, tlic pack having been pre- viously cut by Mr. Tadpole. " And wlio do you think Sir Robert would send to Ireland?" and slie looked up in the face of the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine. " I suppose the person he sent before," said his grace. Lady Firebrace shook her head. "Lord Haddington will not go to Ireland again," replied her ladyship, mysteriously; " mark me. And Lord Dc Grey does not like to go ; and if he did, there arc objections. And the Duke of Northumberland, he will not go. And who else is there ? AVe must have a nobleman of the highest rank for Ireland; one wlio has not mixed himself up with Irish questions ; who has always been in old days for emancipation ; a conservative, not an Orangeman. You understand. That is tlie ])erson Sir Robert will send, and whom Sir Robert wants." " He will have some difficulty in finding such TWO NATIONS. 297 a person/' said the duke. "If, indeed, the blundering affair of 1834 had not occurred, and things had taken their legitimate course, and we had seen a man like Lord Stanley for instance at the head of affairs, or leading a great party, why then indeed your friends the conservatives, — for every sensible man must be a conservative, in the right sense of the word, — would have stood in a very different position ; but now " and his grace shook his head. "Sir Robert will never consent to form a government again without Lord Stanley,^' said Lady Firebrace. " Perhaps not," said the duke. "Do you know whose name I have heard mentioned in a certain quarter as the person Sir Robert would wish to sec in Ireland?' con- tinued Lady Firebrace. His grace leant his ear. "The Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine," said Lady Firebrace. " Quite impossible," said the duke. " I am no party man ; if I be anything, I am a sup- porter of the government. True it is I do not 298 SYBIL, OR THE like the way they arc going on, and I disap- prove of all their measures ; but we must stand by our friends, Lady Firebrace. To be sure, if the country were in danger, and the Queen personally appealed to one, and the conserva- tive party were really a conservative party, and not an old crazy faction vamped up and whitewashed into decency — one might pause and consider. But I am free to confess I must see things in a very different condition to what they ai'c at present before 1 could be called upon to take that step. I must see men like Lord Stanley '' " I know what you are going to say, my dear Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine. I tell you agam Lord Stanley is with us, heart and soul ; and before long I feel persuaded I shall see your grace in the Castle of Dublin." " I am t6o old ; at least, I am afraid so,'^ said the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, with a relent- ing smile. TWO NATIONS. 299 Chapter XVI. About tliree miles before it readies the town, the river Mowe undulates through a plain. The scene, though not very picturesque, has a glad and sparkling character. A stone bridge unites the opposite banks by three arches of good proportion ; the land about consists of meads of a vivid colour, or vegetable gardens to supply the neighbom-ing population, and whose various hues give life and lightness to the level ground. The immediate boundaries of the plain on either side are cliicfly woods ; above the crest of which in one direction ex- pands the brown bosom of a moor. The few 300 SYBIL, OE THE cottages which arc sprinkled about this scene being built of stone, and on an ample scale, contriblite to the idea of comfort and plenty which, Avith a serene sky and on a soft summer day, tlie traveller willingly associates witli it. Such was the sky and season in which EgTC- mont emerged on this scene a few days after the incidents recorded in our last chapter. He had been fishing in the park of Mowbray, and had followed the rivulet through many wind- ings until, quitting the enclosed domain it had forced its way through some craggy underwood at the bottom of the hilly moors we have noticed, and finally entering the plain, lost itself in the waters of the greater stream. Good sport had not awaited Egremont. Truth to say, his rod had played in a very careless hand. He had taken it, though an adept in the craft w^ien in the mood, rather as an excuse to be alone, than a means to be amused. There are seasons in life when soli- tude is a necessity ; and such a one had now TWO NATIOIS^S. 301 descended on the spirit of the brother of Lord Marnej. The form of Sybil Gerard was stamped upon his brain. It blended with all thoughts ; it haunted every object. Who was this girl, unlike all women whom he had yet encoun- tered, who spoke with such sweet serious- ness of things of such vast import, but which had never crossed his mind, and with a kind of mournful majesty bewailed the degradation of her race'? The daughter of the lowly, yet proud of her birth. Not a noble lady in the land who could boast a mien more complete, and none of them thus gifted, who possessed withal the fascinating simplicity that pervaded every gesture and accent of the daughter of Gerard. Yes ! the daughter of Gerard ; the daughter of a workman at a manufactory. It had not been difficult, after the departure of Sybil, to extract this information from the garrulous wife of the weaver. And that father, — he was not unknown to Egremont. His proud form and generous countenance were still fresh in 302 STBIL, OR THE the mind's cjc of our friend. Not less so his thouglitful speech ; full of knowledge and me- ditation and earaest feeling ! How much that he had spoken still echoed in the heart, and rung in the brooding ear of Egi'cmont. And Ills friend, too, that pale man with those glit- tering eyes, who without affectation, without pedantry, with artlessness on the contrary and a degree of earnest singleness, had glanced like a master of philosophy at the loftiest principles of political science, — was he too a workman 1 And are these then the Peoi'LE \ If so, thought Egremont, would that I lived more among them ! Compared with their converse, the tattle of our saloons has in it something humiliating. It is not merely that it is defi- cient in warmtli, and deptli, and breadth ; that it is always discussing persons instead of prin- ciples, and cloaking its want of tliought in mimetic dogmas and its want of feeling in superficial raillery ; it is not merely that it has neither imagination, nor fancy, nor sentiment, nor feeling, nor knowledge to reconmiend it ; but it appears to me, even as regards manner TWO NATIONS. 303 and expression, inferior in refinement and phraseology ; in short, trivial, uninteresting, stupid, really mlgar. It seemed to Egremont that, from the day he met these persons in the Abbey ruins, the horizon of his experience had insensibly ex- panded ; more than that, there were streaks of light breaking in the distance, which already gave a new^ aspect to much that was known, and w^hicli perhaps w^as ultimately destined to reveal much that was now utterly obscure. He coidd not resist the conviction that from the time in question, his sympathies had be- come more lively and more extended ; that a mascuhne impulse had been given to his mind ; that he was inclined to view public questions in a tone very different to that in which he had^ surveyed them a few wrecks back, when on the hustings of his borough. Revolving these things, he emerged, as w^c have stated, into the plain of the Mowe, and guiding his path by the course of the river, he arrived at the bridge which a fancy tempted him to cross. In its centre, was a man gazing 304 SYBIL, OR THE on tlie waters below and leaning over tlic parapet. His footstep roused the loiterer, who looked round ; and Egremont saw that it was Walter Gerard. Gerard returned his salute, and said, " Early hours on Saturday afternoon make us all saun- terers ;" and tlien, as their v/a}^ was the same, they walked on together. It seemed that Gerard's cottage was near at hand, and having inquired after Egremont's sport, and receiving for a reply a present of a brace of trout, — the only one, by the bye, that was in Egremont's basket, — he could scarcely do less than invite his companion to rest himself. " There is my home," said Gerard, pointing to a cottage recently built, and in a pleasing style. Its materials were of a fawn-coloured stone, common in the Mowbray quarries. A scarlet creeper clustered round one side of its ample porch ; its windows were large, mul- lioned, and neatly latticed ; it stood in tlic midst of a garden of no mean dimensions, but every bed and nook of which teemed with cultivation ; flowers and vegetables both TWO NATIONS. 305 abounded, while an orchard rich with pro- mise of many fruits; ripe pears and famous pippins of the north and phmis of every shape and hue; screened the dwelling from that wind against which the woods that formed its back- ground were no protection. " And you are well lodged ! Your garden does you honour/' "Til be honest enough to own I have no claim to the credit," said Gerard. " I am but a lazy chiel.^' They entered the cottage, where a hale old woman greeted them. "She is too old to be my wife, and too young to be my mother," said Gerard smiling; "but she is a good creatm*e, and has looked after me many a long day. Come, dame," ho said, "thoult bring us a cup of tea; 'tis a good evening beverage," he added, turning to Egremont, " and what I ever take at tliis time. And if you care to light a pipe, you will find a companion." " I have renounced tobacco," said Egi'c- mont ; " tobacco is the tomb of love," and VOL. I. X 306 SYBIL, OK THE they entered ca neatly - furnished chamber, that had that habitable look which the best room of a farm-honse too often wants. Instead of the cast-oiF furniture of other establishments, at the same time dingy and tawdry, mock rose- wood chairs and tarnished mahogany tables, there was an oaken table, some cottage chairs made of beech wood, and a Dutch clock. But what surprised Egremont was the appearance of several shelves well lined with volumes. Their contents too on closer inspection were very remarkable. They indicated a student of a hiirh order. Eiri'emont read the titles of works which he only knew by fame, but which treated of the loftiest and most subtle ques- tions of social and pohtical philosophy. As he was throwing his eye over them, his compa- nion said, " Ah ! I see you think me as gi'eat a scholar as I am a gardener : but with as little justice ; these books are not mine." " To whomsoever they belong," said Egremont, " if we are to judge from his collection, he has a tolerably strong head." " Ay, ay," said Gerard, '' the world will hear TWO NATIONS. 307 of liim yet, though he was only a workman, and the son of a workman. He has not been at jour schools and your colleges, but he can write his mother tongue, as Shakespeare and Oobbett wrote it ; and you must do that, if you wish to influence the people." "And might I ask his name," said Egre- mont. " Stephen Morley, my friend." "The person I saw with you at Marney Abbey r " The same." " And he lives with you V " Why, we kept house together, if you could call it so. Stephen does not give much trouble in that way. He only diinks water and only eats herbs and fruits. He is the gardener," added Gerard, smiling. "I don't know how we shall fare when he leaves nle." " And is he going to leave you 1" " Why in a manner he has gone. He has taken a cottage about a quarter of a mile up the dale ; and only left his books here, because he is going into shire in a day or two, on X 2 308 SYBIL, OR THE some business, that may be will take him a week or so. The books are safer here you see for the present, for Stephen lives alone, and is a good deal away, for he edits a paper at Mowbray, and that must be looked after. He is to be my gardener still. I promised him that. Well done, dame," said Gerard, as the old woman entered ; " I hope for the honour of the house a good brew. Now comrade sit down : it will do you good after your long stroll. You should eat your own trout if you would wait?'' '• By no means. You will miss yom' friend, I should think r " We shall see a good deal of him, I doubt not, what with the garden and neighbourhood and so on ; besides, in a manner, he is master of his own time. His work is not like ours ; and though the pull on the brain is sometimes great, I have often wished I had a talent that way. It's a drear life to do the same thing every day at the same hour. But I never coidd express my ideas except with my tongue ; and tliere I feel tolerably at liome." TWO XATIOXS. 309 " It will be a pit j to see this room without these books;"' said EgTemont, encom-aging con- yersation on domestic subjects. " So it will,'' said Gerard. " I have got very few of mj own. But mj daughter will be able to fill the shelves in time, I warrant." " Yom^ daughter — she is coming to live with your " Yes ; that is the reason why Stephen quits us. He only remained here until Sybil could keep my house, and that happy day is at hand.'' " That is a great compensation for the loss of yom- friend," said Egremont. " And yet she talks of flitting," said Gerard, in a rather melancholy tone. "She hankers after the cloister. She has passed a still, sweet life in the convent here ; the Superior is the sister of my employer and a very saint on earth ; and Sybil knows nothing of the real world except its sufferings. No matter," he added more cheerfully; "I would not have her take the veil rashly, but if I lose her it may be for the best. For the married life of 310 SYBIL. OE THE a woman of oiir class in the present condition of our country is a lease of woe," he added shaking his head, '* slaves, and the slaves of slaves! Even woman's spirit cannot stand against it ; and it can bear against more than we can, master." '' Yom* daughter is not made for the com- mon cares of life," said Egremont. "Well not talk of them," said Gerard. "Sybil has an English heart, and that's not easily broken. And you, comrade, you are a traveller in these parts, eh T " A kind of traveller ; something in the way of your friend Morley — connected with the press." "Indeed! a reporter, eh'? I thought you had something about you a little more knowing than we provincials." " Yes ; a reporter ; they want information in London as to the real state of the country, and this time of the year, ParUament not sitting — " "Ah; I understand, a flying commission and a summer tour. Well, I often wish I were a penman ; but I never could do it. Til TWO ^'ATIOXS. 311 read any day as long as you like, but that wri- ting, I could never manage, llj friend Morlej is a powerfid hand at it. His journal circu- lates a good deal about here ; and if as I often tell him he would only sink his high-flying philosophy and stick to old English politics, he might make a property of it. You'll like to know him V "Much.^^ " And what first took you to the press, if I may ask !"' " Why — my father ^ras a gentleman — '' said Egi'emont in a hesitating tone, ''and I was a younger son.'^ "Ah!"' said Gerard, "that is as bad as being a woman.'' " I had no patrimony," continued Egremont, " and I was obhged to work ; I had no head I believe for the law ; the chm-ch was not exactly in my way ; and as for the army, how was I to advance without money or connexions! I had had some education, and so I thought I would turn it to account." *• Wisely done ! you are one of the working 312 ;*lasses, and will enlist I hope in tlie great- struggle against the drones. The natural friends of the people are younger sons, though thej are generally enlisted against us. The more fools they ; to devote their energies to the mainten- ance of a system which is founded on selfish- ness and which leads to fraud ; and of which they are the first victims. But every man thinks he will be an exception." " And yet," said Egremont, " a great family rooted in the land, has been deemed to be an element of political strength." " rU tell you what," said Gerard, " there is a great family in this country and rooted in it, of which we have heard much less than they deserved, but of which I suspect we shall hear very soon enough to make us all think a bit." " In this county V " Ay ; in this county and every other one ; I mean the People." "Ah!" said Egremont, "that family has existed for a long time." " But it has taken to increase rapidly of late, 'yL\ friend — how may I call you V TWO KATIONS. 313 " They call me, Franklin.? "A good English name of a good English class that has disappeared. Well, Mr. Frank- lin, be sure of this, that the Population Returns of this country are very instructive reading.'' " I can conceive so/' " I became a man when the bad times were beginning," said Gerard ; "I have passed through many doleful years. I was a Franklin's son myself, and we had lived on this island at least no worse for a longer time than I care to recollect as little as what I am now. But that's nothing ; I am not thinking of myself. I am prosperous in a fashion ; it is the serfs I live among of whom I am thinking. Well, I have heard, in the com'se of years, of some spe- cifics for this constant degradation of the peo- ple ; some thing or some person that was to put all right ; and for my part, I was not unready to support any proposal or follow any leader. There was reform, and there was paper money, and no machinery, and a thousand other remedies; and there were demagogues of all kinds, some as base as myself, and some with 314 SYBIL, OR THE blood in their veins almost as costly as flows in those of our great neighboiu' here, Earl de Mow- bray, and I have always heard that was very choice : but I will frankly own to you, I never had much faith in any of these proposals or proposers ; but they were a change, and that is something. But I have been persuaded of late that there is something going on in this country of more efficacy ; a remedial power, as I beheve, and irresistible; but whether remedial or not, at any rate a power that will mar ail or cm-e all. You apprehend me 1 I speak of the annual arrival of more than thiee hundi'ed thousand stmngers in this island. How will you feed them 1 How will you clothe them ? How will you house them ^ They have given up butcher's meat ; must they give up bread 1 And as for raiment and shelter, the rags of the kingdom are exhausted and your sinks and cellars already swarm like rabbit warrens/^ " 'Tis an a^-ful consideration,'' said Egremont musing. " Awful," said Gerard; "'tis tlie most solemn thin^ij since the delude. What kinc^dom can TWO NATIONS. 315 Stand against it ? Wlij go to jour history — you're a scholar, — and see the fall of the gi-eat Roman empire — what was that ? Every now and then, there came two or three hundi-ed thousand strangers out of the forests and crossed the mountains and rivers. They come to us every year and in greater numbers. What are your invasions of the barbarous nations, yom* Goths and Visigoths, your Lombards and Huns, to our Population Returns !" END OF VOLUME THE FIRST. LONDON HARRISON AND CO.j PRINTSRS, ST. martin's lank. f J