CHAPTER V.
_A Startling Letter_
SOUTHEY, that virtuous man, whom Wisdom calls her own, somewhere thanksGod that he was not born to a great estate. We quite agree with theseer of Keswick; it is a bore. Provided a man can enjoy every personalluxury, what profits it that your flag waves on castles you never visit,and that you count rents which you never receive? And yet there are somethings which your miserable, moderate incomes cannot command, and whichone might like to have; for instance, a band.
A complete, a consummate band, in uniforms of uncut white velvet, witha highly-wrought gold button, just tipped with a single pink topaz,appears to me [Greek phrase]. When we die, 'Band' will be foundimpressed upon our heart, like 'Frigate' on the core of Nelson. Thenegroes should have their noses bored, as well as their ears, and hungwith rings of rubies. The kettle-drums should be of silver. And withregard to a great estate, no doubt it brings great cares; or, to getfree of them, the estate must be neglected, and then it is even worse.
Elections come on, and all your members are thrown out; so much forneglected influence. Agricultural distress prevails, and all yourfarms are thrown up; so much for neglected tenants. Harassed by leases,renewals, railroads, fines, and mines, you are determined that lifeshall not be worn out by these continual and petty cares. Thinking itsomewhat hard, that, because you have two hundred thousand a-year, youhave neither ease nor enjoyment, you find a remarkably clever man, whomanages everything for you. Enchanted with his energy, his acuteness,and his foresight, fascinated by your increasing rent-roll, and thetotal disappearance of arrears, you dub him your right hand, introducehim to all your friends, and put him into Parliament; and then, firedby the ambition of rivalling his patron, he disburses, embezzles, anddecamps.
But where is our hero? Is he forgotten? Never! But in the dumps, bluedevils, and so on. A little bilious, it may be, and dull. He scarcelywould amuse you at this moment. So we come forward with a graceful bow;the Jack Pudding of our doctor, who is behind.
In short, that is to say, in long--for what is true use of this affectedbrevity? When this tale is done, what have you got? So let us make itlast. We quite repent of having intimated so much: in future, it is ourintention to develop more, and to describe, and to delineate, and todefine, and, in short, to bore. You know the model of this kind ofwriting, Richardson, whom we shall revive. In future, we shall, as anovelist, take Clarendon's Rebellion for our guide, and write our hero'snotes, or heroine's letters, like a state paper, or a broken treaty.
The Duke, and the young Duke--oh! to be a Duke, and to be young, it istoo much--was seldom seen by the gay crowd who feasted in his hall. Hismornings now were lonely, and if, at night, his eye still sparkled, andhis step still sprang, why, between us, wine gave him beauty, and winegave him grace.
It was the dreary end of dull November, and the last company werebreaking off. The Bird of Paradise, according to her desire, had goneto Brighton, where his Grace had presented her with a tenement, neat,light, and finished; and though situated amid the wilds of Kemp Town,not more than one hyaena on a night ventured to come down from theadjacent heights. He had half promised to join her, because he thoughthe might as well be there as here, and consequently he had not inviteda fresh supply of visitors from town, or rather from the country. As hewas hesitating about what he should do, he received a letter from hisbankers, which made him stare. He sent for the groom of the chambers,and was informed the house was clear, save that some single men stilllingered, as is their wont. They never take a hint. His Grace orderedhis carriage; and, more alive than he had been for the last two months,dashed off to town.