Pelham — Complete
Page 5
CHAPTER V.
Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May; If she be notso to me, What care I how fair she be?--George Withers.
It was a great pity, so it was, That villainous saltpetre should bedigged Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tallfellow had destroyed.--First Part of King Henry IV.
Several days passed. I had taken particular pains to ingratiate myselfwith Lady Roseville, and so far as common acquaintance went, I hadno reason to be dissatisfied with my success. Any thing else, I soondiscovered, notwithstanding my vanity, (which made no inconsiderablepart in the composition of Henry Pelham) was quite out of the question.Her mind was wholly of a different mould from my own. She was like abeing, not perhaps of a better, but of another world than myself; wehad not one thought or opinion in common; we looked upon things with atotally different vision; I was soon convinced that she was of a natureexactly contrary to what was generally believed--she was any thing butthe mere mechanical woman of the world. She possessed great sensibility,and even romance of temper, strong passions, and still strongerimagination; but over all these deeper recesses of her character, theextreme softness and languor of her manners, threw a veil which nosuperficial observer could penetrate. There were times when I couldbelieve that she was inwardly restless and unhappy; but she was too wellversed in the arts of concealment, to suffer such an appearance to bemore than momentary.
I must own that I consoled myself very easily for my want, in thisparticular instance, of that usual good fortune which attends me aupresdes dames; the fact was, that I had another object in pursuit. All themen at Sir Lionel Garrett's were keen sportsmen. Now, shooting is anamusement I was never particularly partial to. I was first disgustedwith that species of rational recreation at a battue, where, instead ofbagging anything, I was nearly bagged, having been inserted, like winein an ice pail, in a wet ditch for three hours, during which time my hathad been twice shot at for a pheasant, and my leather gaiters once for ahare; and to crown all, when these several mistakes were discovered, myintended exterminators, instead of apologizing for having shot at me,were quite disappointed at having missed.
Seriously, that same shooting is a most barbarous amusement, only fitfor majors in the army, and royal dukes, and that sort of people; themere walking is bad enough, but embarrassing one's arms moreover, witha gun, and one's legs with turnip tops, exposing oneself to the mercy ofbad shots and the atrocity of good, seems to me only a state of painfulfatigue, enlivened by the probability of being killed.
This digression is meant to signify, that I never joined the singlemen and double Mantons that went in and off among Sir Lionel Garrett'spreserves. I used, instead, to take long walks by myself, and found,like virtue, my own reward, in the additional health and strength thesediurnal exertions produced me.
One morning, chance threw into my way une bonne fortune, which I tookcare to improve. From that time the family of a farmer Sinclair, (oneof Sir Lionel's tenants) was alarmed by strange and supernatural noises:one apartment in especial, occupied by a female member of the household,was allowed, even by the clerk of the parish, a very bold man, and a bitof a sceptic, to be haunted; the windows of that chamber were wont toopen and shut, thin airy voices confabulate therein, and dark shapeshover thereout, long after the fair occupant had, with the rest of thefamily, retired to repose. But the most unaccountable thing was thefatality which attended me, and seemed to mark me out, nolens volens,for an untimely death. I, who had so carefully kept out of the way ofgunpowder as a sportsman, very narrowly escaped being twice shot as aghost. This was but a poor reward for a walk more than a mile long, innights by no means of cloudless climes and starry skies; accordingly Iresolved to "give up the ghost" in earnest rather than in metaphor, andto pay my last visit and adieus to the mansion of Farmer Sinclair. Thenight on which I executed this resolve was rather memorable in my futurehistory.
The rain had fallen so heavily during the day, as to render the road tothe house almost impassable, and when it was time to leave, I inquiredwith very considerable emotion, whether there was not an easier wayto return. The answer was satisfactory, and my last nocturnal visit atFarmer Sinclair's concluded.