In the present state of parties, our contemporaries have not unnaturally devoted much space to the claims or demerits of Mr. Trevanion. It is a name that stands unquestionably high in the House of Commons; but, as unquestionably, it commands little sympathy in the country. Mr. Trevanion is essentially and emphatically a member of parliament. He is a close and ready debater; he is an admirable chairman in committees. Though never in office, his long experience of public life, his gratuitous attention to public business, have ranked him high among those practical politicians from whom ministers are selected. A man of spotless character and excellent intentions, no doubt, he must be considered; and in him any cabinet would gain an honest and a useful member. There ends all we can say in his praise. As a speaker, he wants the fire and enthusiasm which engage the popular sympathies. He has the ear of the House, not the heart of the country. An oracle on subjects of mere business, in the great questions of policy he is comparatively a failure. He never embraces any party heartily; he never espouses any question as if wholly in earnest. The moderation on which he is said to pique himself often exhibits itself in fastidious crotchets and an attempt at philosophical originality of candor which has long obtained him, with his enemies, the reputation of a trimmer. Such a man circumstances may throw into temporary power; but can he command lasting influence? No. Let Mr. Trevanion remain in what Nature and position assign as his proper post,that of an upright, independent, able member of parliament; conciliating sensible men on both sides, when party runs into extremes. He is undone as a cabinet minister. His scruples would break up any government; and his want of decisionwhen, as in all human affairs, some errors must be conceded to obtain a great goodwould shipwreck his own fame.
I had just got to the end of this paragraph when the ladies returned.
My hostess observed the newspaper in my hand, and said, with a constrained smile, Some attack on Mr. Trevanion, I suppose?
No, said I, awkwardly; for perhaps the paragraph that appeared to me so impartial, was the most galling attack of all,No, not exactly.
I never read the papers now,at least what are called the leading articles; it is too painful. And once they gave me so much pleasure,that was when the career began, and before the fame was made.
Here Lady Ellinor opened the window which admitted on the lawn, and in a few moments we were in that part of the pleasure-grounds which the family reserved from the public curiosity. We passed by rare shrubs and strange flowers, long ranges of conservatories, in which bloomed and lived all the marvellous vegetation of Africa and the Indies.
Mr. Trevanion is fond of flowers? said I.
The fair Fanny laughed. I dont think he knows one from another.
Nor I either, said I,that is, when I fairly lose sight of a rose or a hollyhock.
The farm will interest you more, said Lady Ellinor.
We came to farm buildings recently erected, and no doubt on the most improved principle. Lady Ellinor pointed out to me machines and contrivances of the newest fashion for abridging labor and perfecting the mechanical operations of agriculture.
Ah! then Mr. Trevanion is fond of farming? The pretty Fanny laughed again.
My father is one of the great oracles in agriculture, one of the great patrons of all its improvements; but as for being fond of farming, I doubt if he knows his own fields when he rides through them.
We returned to the house; and Miss Trevanion, whose frank kindness had already made too deep an impression upon the youthful heart of Pisistratus the Second, offered to show me the picture-gallery. The collection was confined to the works of English artists; and Miss Trevanion pointed out to me the main attractions of the gallery.
Well, at least Mr. Trevanion is fond of pictures?
Wrong again, said Fanny, shaking her arched head. My father is said to be an admirable judge; but he only buys pictures from a sense of duty,to encourage our own painters. A picture once bought, I am not sure that he ever looks at it again.
What does he then I stopped short, for I felt my meditated question was ill-bred.
What does he like then? you were about to say. Why, I have known him, of course, since I could know anything; but I have never yet discovered what my father does like. No,not even politics; though he lives for politics alone. You look puzzled; you will know him better some day, I hope; but you will never solve the mysterywhat Mr. Trevanion likes.
You are wrong, said Lady Ellinor, who had followed us into the room, unheard by us. I can tell you what your father does more than like,what he loves and serves every hour of his noble life,justice, beneficence, honor, and his country. A man who loves these may be excused for indifference to the last geranium or the newest plough, or even (though that offends you more, Fanny) the freshest masterpiece by Lanseer, or the latest fashion honored by Miss Trevanion.
Mamma! said Fanny, and the tears sprang to her eyes. But Lady Ellinor looked to me sublime as she spoke, her eyes kindled, her breast heaved. The wife taking the husbands part against the child, and comprehending so well what the child felt not, despite its experience of every day, and what the world would never know, despite all the vigilance of its praise and its blame, was a picture, to my taste, finer than any in the collection.
Her face softened as she saw the tears in Fannys bright hazel eyes; she held out her hand, which her child kissed tenderly; and whispering, T is not the giddy word you must go by, mamma, or there will be something to forgive every minute, Miss Trevanion glided from the room.
Have you a sister? asked Lady Ellinor.
No.
And Trevanion has no son, she said, mournfully. The blood rushed to my cheeks. Oh, young fool again! We were both silent, when the door opened, and Mr. Trevanion entered. Humph! said he, smiling as he saw me,and his smile was charming, though rare. Humph, young sir, I came to seek for you,I have been rude, I fear; pardon it. That thought has only just occurred to me, so I left my Blue Books, and my amanuensis hard at work on them, to ask you to come out for half an hour,just half an hour, it is all I can give you: a deputation at one! You dine and sleep here, of course?
Ah, sir, my mother will be so uneasy if I am not in town to-night!
Pooh! said the member; Ill send an express.
Oh, no indeed; thank you.
Why not?
I hesitated. You see, sir, that my father and mother are both new to London; and though I am new too, yet they may want me,I may be of use. Lady Ellinor put her hand on my head and sleeked down my hair as I spoke.
Right, young man, right; you will do in the world, wrong as that is. I dont mean that youll succeed, as the rogues say,thats another question; but if you dont rise, youll not fall. Now put on your hat and come with me; well walk to the lodge,you will be in time for a coach.
I took my leave of Lady Ellinor, and longed to say something about compliments to Miss Fanny; but the words stuck in my throat, and my host seemed impatient.
We must see you soon again, said Lady Ellinor, kindly, as she followed us to the door.
We must see you soon again, said Lady Ellinor, kindly, as she followed us to the door.
Mr. Trevanion walked on briskly and in silence, one hand in his bosom, the other swinging carelessly a thick walkingstick.
But I must go round by the bridge, said I, for I forgot my knapsack. I threw it off when I made my leap, and the old lady certainly never took charge of it.
Come, then, this way. How old are you?
Seventeen and a half.
You know Latin and Greek as they know them at schools, I suppose?
I think I know them pretty well, sir.
Does your father say so?
Why, my father is fastidious; however, he owns that he is satisfied on the whole.
So am I, then. Mathematics?
A little.
Good.
Here the conversation dropped for some time. I had found and restrapped the knapsack, and we were near the lodge, when Mr. Trevanion said abruptly, Talk, my young friend, talk; I like to hear you talk,it refreshes me. Nobody has talked naturally to me these last ten years.
The request was a complete damper to my ingenuous eloquence; I could not have talked naturally now for the life of me.
I made a mistake, I see, said my companion, good-humoredly, noticing my embarrassment. Here we are at the lodge. The coach will be by in five minutes: you can spend that time in hearing the old woman praise the Hogtons and abuse me. And hark you, sir, never care three straws for praise or blame,leather and prunella! Praise and blame are here! and he struck his hand upon his breast with almost passionate emphasis. Take a specimen. These Hogtons were the bane of the place,uneducated and miserly; their land a wilderness, their village a pig-sty. I come, with capital and intelligence; I redeem the soil, I banish pauperism, I civilize all around me: no merit in me, I am but a type of capital guided by education,a machine. And yet the old woman is not the only one who will hint to you that the Hogtons were angels, and myself the usual antithesis to angels. And what is more, sir, because that old woman, who has ten shillings a week from me, sets her heart upon earning her sixpences,and I give her that privileged luxury,every visitor she talks to goes away with the idea that I, the rich Mr. Trevanion, let her starve on what she can pick up from the sightseers. Now, does that signify a jot? Good-by! Tell your father his old friend must see him,profit by his calm wisdom; his old friend is a fool sometimes, and sad at heart. When you are settled, send me a line to St. Jamess Square, to say where you are. Humph! thats enough.
Mr. Trevanion wrung my hand, and strode off.
I did not wait for the coach, but proceeded towards the turn-stile, where the old woman (who had either seen, or scented from a distance that tizzy of which I was the impersonation),
Hushed in grim repose, did wait her morning prey.
My opinions as to her sufferings and the virtues of the departed Hogtons somewhat modified, I contented myself with dropping into her open palm the exact sum virtually agreed on. But that palm still remained open, and the fingers of the other clawed hold of me as I stood, impounded in the curve of the turn-stile, like a cork in a patent corkscrew.
And threepence for nephy Bob, said the old lady.
Threepence for nephew Bob, and why?
It is his parquisites when he recommends a gentleman. You would not have me pay out of my own earnings; for he will have it, or hell ruin my bizziness. Poor folk must be paid for their trouble.
Obdurate to this appeal, and mentally consigning Bob to a master whose feet would be all the handsomer for boots, I threaded the stile and escaped.
Towards evening I reached London. Who ever saw London for the first time and was not disappointed? Those long suburbs melting indefinably away into the capital forbid all surprise. The gradual is a great disenchanter. I thought it prudent to take a hackney-coach, and so jolted my way to the Hotel, the door of which was in a small street out of the Strand, though the greater part of the building faced that noisy thoroughfare. I found my father in a state of great discomfort in a little room, which he paced up and down like a lion new caught in his cage. My poor mother was full of complaints: for the first time in her life, I found her indisputably crossish. It was an ill time to relate my adventures.
I had enough to do to listen. They had all day been hunting for lodgings in vain. My fathers pocket had been picked of a new India handkerchief. Primmins, who ought to know London so well, knew nothing about it, and declared it was turned topsy-turvy, and all the streets had changed names. The new silk umbrella, left for five minutes unguarded in the hall, had been exchanged for an old gingham with three holes in it.
It was not till my mother remembered that if she did not see herself that my bed was well aired I should certainly lose the use of my limbs, and therefore disappeared with Primmins and a pert chambermaid, who seemed to think we gave more trouble than we were worth, that I told my father of my new acquaintance with Mr. Trevanion.
He did not seem to listen to me till I got to the name Trevanion. He then became very pale, and sat down quietly. Go on, said he, observing I stopped to look at him.
When I had told all, and given him the kind messages with which I had been charged by husband and wife, he smiled faintly; and then, shading his face with his hand, he seemed to muse, not cheerfully, perhaps, for I heard him sigh once or twice.
And Ellinor, said he at last, without looking up,Lady Ellinor, I mean; she is veryvery
Very what, sir?
Very handsome still?
Handsome! Yes, handsome, certainly; but I thought more of her manner than her face. And then Fanny, Miss Fanny, is so young!
Ah! said my father, murmuring in Greek the celebrated lines of which Popes translation is familiar to all,
Like leaves on trees, the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground.
Well, so they wish to see me. Did EllinorLady Ellinorsay that, or herher husband?
Her husband, certainly; Lady Ellinor rather implied than said it.
We shall see, said my father. Open the window; this room is stifling.
I opened the window, which looked on the Strand. The noise, the voices, the trampling feet, the rolling wheels, became loudly audible. My father leaned out for some moments, and I stood by his side. He turned to me with a serene face. Every ant on the hill, said he, carries its load, and its home is but made by the burden that it bears. How happy am I! how I should bless God! How light my burden! how secure my home!
My mother came in as he ceased. He went up to her, put his arm round her waist and kissed her. Such caresses with him had not lost their tender charm by custom: my mothers brow, before somewhat ruffled, grew smooth on the instant. Yet she lifted her eyes to his in soft surprise.
I was but thinking, said my father, apologetically, how much I owed you, and how much I love you!