“My good John,” said Mr. Percy, “since you desire to follow us into banishment, as you call it, you shall; and as long as we have any thing upon earth, you shall never want. You must stay here to-morrow, after we are gone, to give up possession.” (John could not stand this, but turned away to hide his face.) “When your business is done,” continued Mr. Percy, “you may set out and follow us as soon as you please.”
“I thank you, sir, kindly,” said John, with a most grateful bow, that took in all the family, “that’s new life to me.”
He said not a word more during the rest of the walk, except just as he passed near the beach where the ship was wrecked, he exclaimed, “There was the first beginning of all our misfortune: who would have thought that when we gave them shelter we should be turned out so soon ourselves? ’twas that drunken rascal of a Dutch carpenter was the cause of all!”
The next morning the whole family set out in an open carriage, which had been made for the purpose of carrying as many of the young people as possible upon excursions of pleasure. It was a large sociable, which they used to call their caravan.
At the great gate of the park old John stopped the carriage, and leaning over to his master, whispered, “I beg your pardon, sir, but God bless you, and don’t drive through the village: if you please, take the back road; for I’ve just learned that he is on the great road, and as near hand as the turn at the school-house, and they say he wants to be driving in his coach and four through the village as you are all going out — now I wouldn’t for any thing he had that triumph over us.”
“Thank you, good John,” said Mr. Percy, “but such triumphs cannot mortify us.”
Poor John reluctantly opened the gate and let the carriage pass — they drove on — they cast a lingering look behind as they quitted the park —
—”Must I then leave thee, Paradise?” —
As they passed through the village the poor people came out of their houses to take leave of their excellent landlord; they flocked round the carriage, and hung upon it till it stopped, and then, with one voice, they poured forth praises, and blessings, and prayers for better days. Just at this moment Sir Robert Percy made his appearance. His equipage was splendid; his coachman drove his four fine horses down the street, the middle of which was cleared in an instant. The crowd gazed at the show as it passed — Sir Robert gave a signal to his coachman to drive slower, that he might longer enjoy the triumph — he put his head out of the coach window, but no one cried, “God bless him!” His insolence was obviously mortified as he passed the Percy family, for Mr. Percy bowed with an air of dignity and cheerfulness which seemed to say, “My fortune is yours — but I am still myself.” Some of the spectators clapped their hands, and some wept.
Mr. Percy seemed to have prepared his mind for every circumstance of his departure, and to be perfectly composed, or at least master of his feelings; but a small incident, which had not been foreseen, suddenly moved him almost to tears: as they crossed the bridge, which was at the farthest end of the village, they heard the muffled bells of the church toll as if for a public calamity [Footnote: On Mr. Morris’s departure from Piercefield the same circumstance happened.]. Instantly recollecting the resentment to which these poor people were exposing themselves, by this mark of their affection and regret, Mr. Percy went by a short path to the church as quickly as possible, and had the bells unmuffled.
CHAPTER XII.
Mr. Percy fortunately possessed, independently of the Percy estate, a farm worth about seven or eight hundred a year, which he had purchased with part of his wife’s fortune; on which he had built a lodge, that he had intended for the future residence of one of his sons. The Hills was the name of this lodge, to which all the family now retired. Though it was in the same county with Percy-hall, Clermont-park, Falconer-court, Hungerford-castle, and within reach of several other gentlemen’s seats, yet from its being in a hilly part of the country, through which no regular road had been made, it was little frequented, and gave the idea not only of complete retirement, but of remoteness. Though a lonely situation, it was, however, a beautiful one. The house stood on the brow of a hill, and looked into a deep glen, through the steep descent of which ran a clear and copious rivulet rolling over a stony bed; the rocks were covered with mountain flowers, and wild shrubs — But nothing is more tiresome than a picture in prose: we shall, therefore, beg our readers to recall to their imagination some of the views they may have seen in Wales, and they will probably have a better idea of this place than any that we could give by the most laboured description, amplified with all the epithets in the English language.
The house at the Hills, though finished, was yet but scantily furnished, and was so small that it could hardly hold the family, who were now obliged to take refuge in it. However, they were well disposed to accommodate each other: they had habits of order, and had so little accustomed themselves to be waited upon, that this sudden change in their fortune and way of life did not appear terrible, as it would to many in the same rank. Undoubtedly they felt the loss of real conveniences, but they were not tormented with ideal wants, or with the pangs of mortified vanity. Evils they had to bear, but they were not the most dreadful of all evils — those of the imagination.
Mr. Percy, to whom his whole family looked for counsel and support, now showed all the energy and decision of his character. What he knew must be done sooner or later he did decidedly at first. The superfluities to which his family had been accustomed, were instantly abandoned. The great torment of decayed gentry is the remembrance of their former station, and a weak desire still to appear what their fortune no longer allows them to be. This folly Mr. Percy had not to combat in his family, where all were eager to resign even more of their own comforts than the occasion required. It was the object now for the family who were at home to live as frugally as possible, that they might save as much of their small income as they could, to assist and forward the sons in their professions.
The eldest son, Godfrey, could not yet have heard of the change in his father’s fortune, and in his own expectations; but from a passage in his last letter, it was evident that he had some idea of the possibility of such a reverse, and that he was preparing himself to live with economy. From Alfred and Erasmus Mr. Percy had at this trying time the satisfaction of receiving at once the kindest and the most manly letters, containing strong expressions of gratitude to their father for having given them such an education as would enable them, notwithstanding the loss of hereditary fortune, to become independent and respectable. What would have been the difference of their fate and of their feelings, had they been suffered to grow up into mere idle lounging gentlemen, or four-in-hand coachmen! In different words, but with the same spirit, both brothers declared that this change in the circumstances of their family did not depress their minds, but, on the contrary, gave them new and powerful motives for exertion. It seemed to be the first wish of their souls to fulfil the fond hopes and predictions of their father, and to make some return for the care their parents had taken of their education.
Their father, pleased by the sanguine hopes and ardent spirit expressed in their letters, was, however, sensible that a considerable time must elapse before they could make any thing by law or medicine. They were as yet only in the outset of their professions, the difficult beginning, when men must toil often without reward, be subject to crosses and losses, and rebukes and rebuffs, when their rivals push them back, and when they want the assistance of friends to help them forward, whilst with scarcely the means to live they must appear like gentlemen.
Besides the faithful steward, two servants, who were much attached to the family, accompanied them to their retirement. One was Mrs. Harte, who had lived with Mrs. Percy above thirty years; and who, from being a housekeeper with handsome wages and plenary power over a numerous household at Percy-hall, now served with increased zeal at the Hills, doing a great part of the work of the house herself, with the assistance only of a stout country girl newly hired, whose awkwardness
and ignorance, or, as Mrs. Harte expressed it, whose comical ways, she bore with a patience that cost her more than all the rest. The other servant who followed the altered fortunes of the Percy family was a young man of the name of Johnson, whom Mr. Percy had bred up from a boy, and who was so creditable a servant that he could readily have obtained a place with high wages in any opulent family, either in the country or in London; but he chose to abide by his master, who could now only afford to give him very little. Indeed, Mr. Percy would not have kept any man-servant in his present circumstances, but out of regard for this young man, who seemed miserable at the thoughts of leaving him, and who undertook to make himself useful in the farm as well as in the house.
Very different was Johnson from the present race of fine town servants, who follow with no unequal steps the follies and vices of their betters; and who, by their insolence and extravagance, become the just torments of their masters. Very different was Johnson from some country servants, who with gross selfishness look solely to their own eating and drinking, and whose only thought is how to swallow as much and do as little as possible.
As soon as he had settled his home, Mr. Percy looked abroad to a tract of improveable ground, on which he might employ his agricultural skill. He had reason to rejoice in having really led the life of a country gentleman. He understood country business, and he was ably assisted in all the details of farming and management. Never, in the most prosperous days, did the old steward seem so fully interested in his master’s affairs, so punctual and active in executing his commands, and, above all, so respectful in his manner to his master, as now in his fallen fortunes.
It would be uninteresting to readers who are not farmers to enter into a detail of Mr. Percy’s probable improvements. It is enough to say, that his hopes were founded upon experience, and that he was a man capable of calculating. He had been long in the habit of keeping accurate accounts, not such as gentlemen display when they are pleased to prove that their farm, produces more than ever farm produced before. All the tradesmen with whom he had dealt were, notwithstanding his change of fortune, ready to trust him; and those who were strangers, finding themselves regularly paid, soon acquired confidence in his punctuality. So that, far from being terrified at having so little, he felt surprised at having still so much money at his command. — The enjoyment of high credit must surely give more pleasurable feelings than the mere possession of wealth.
Often, during the first year after he had been deprived of the Percy estate, Mr. Percy declared, that, as to himself, he had actually lost nothing; for he had never been expensive or luxurious, his personal enjoyments were nearly the same, and his active pursuits were not very different from what they had always been. He had, it is true, less time than he wished to give to literature, or to indulge in the company and conversation of his wife and daughters; but even the pain of this privation was compensated by the pleasure he felt in observing the excellences in their characters which adversity developed. — It has by some persons been thought, that women who have been suffered to acquire literary tastes, whose understandings have been cultivated and refined, are apt to disdain or to become unfit for the useful minutiæ of domestic duties. In the education of her daughters Mrs. Percy had guarded against this danger, and she now experienced the happy effects of her prudence. At first they had felt it somewhat irksome, in their change of circumstances, to be forced to spend a considerable portion of their time in preparations for the mere business of living, but they perceived that this constraint gave a new spring to their minds, and a higher relish to their favourite employments. After the domestic business of the day was done, they enjoyed, with fresh delight, the pleasures of which it is not in the power of fortune to deprive us.
Soon after the family were settled at the Hills, they were surprised by a visit from Commissioner Falconer — surprised, because, though they knew that he had a certain degree of commonplace friendship for them as relations, yet they were aware that his regard was not independent of fortune, and they had never supposed that he would come to seek them in their retirement. After some general expressions of condolence on their losses, their change of situation, and the inconveniences to which a large family, bred up, as they had been, in affluence, must suffer in their present abode, he went out to walk with Mr. Percy, and he then began to talk over his own family affairs. With polite acknowledgment to Mr. Percy of the advantage he had derived from his introduction to Lord Oldborough, and with modestly implied compliments to his own address in turning that introduction to the best possible account, Mr. Falconer led to the subject on which he wanted to dilate.
“You see, my dear Mr. Percy,” said he, “without vanity I may now venture to say, my plans for advancing my family have all succeeded; my sons have risen in the world, or rather have been pushed up, beyond my most sanguine hopes.”
“I give you joy with all my heart,” said Mr. Percy.
“But, my good sir, listen to me; your sons might have been in as advantageous situations, if you had not been too proud to benefit by the evidently favourable dispositions which Lord Oldborough shewed towards you and yours.”
“Too proud! No, my friend, I assure you, pride never influenced my conduct — I acted from principle.”
“So you are pleased to call it. — But we will not go back to the past — no man likes to acknowledge he has been wrong. Let us, if you please, look to the future. You know that you are now in a different situation from what you were formerly, when you could afford to follow your principles or your systems. Now, my dear sir, give me leave to tell you that it is your duty, absolutely your duty, to make use of your interest for your sons. There is not a man in England, who, if he chose it, might secure for his sons a better patron than you could.”
“I trust,” replied Mr. Percy, “that I have secured for my sons what is better than a good patron — a good education.”
“Both are best,” said Mr. Falconer. “Proud as you are, cousin Percy, you must allow this, when you look round and see who rises, and how. — And now we are by ourselves, let me ask you, frankly and seriously, why do not you try to establish your sons by patronage?”
“Frankly and seriously, then, because I detest and despise the whole system of patronage.”
“That’s very strong,” said Mr. Falconer. “And I am glad for your sake, and for the sake of your family, that nobody heard it but myself.”
“If the whole world heard me,” pursued Mr. Percy, “I should say just the same. Strong — very strong! — I am glad of it; for (excuse me, you are my relation, and we are on terms of familiarity) the delicate, guarded, qualifying, trimming, mincing, pouncet-box, gentleman-usher mode of speaking truth, makes no sort of impression. Truth should always be strong — speaking or acting.”
“Well, well, I beg your pardon; as strong let it be as you please, only let it be cool, and then we cannot fail to understand one another. I think you were going to explain to me why you detest and despise what you call the system of patronage.”
“Because I believe it to be ruinous to my country. Whenever the honours of professions, civil, military, or ecclesiastical, are bestowed by favour, not earned by merit — whenever the places of trust and dignity in a state are to be gained by intrigue and solicitation — there is an end of generous emulation, and consequently of exertion. Talents and integrity, in losing their reward of glory, lose their vigour, and often their very existence. If the affairs of this nation were guided, and if her battles were fought by the corrupt, imbecile creatures of patronage, how would they be guided? — how fought? — Woe be to the country that trusts to such rulers and such defenders! Woe has been to every country that has so trusted! — May such never be the fate of England! — And that it never may, let every honest independent Englishman set his face, his hand, his heart against this base, this ruinous system! — I will for one.”
“For one! — alas!” said Mr. Falconer, with a sigh meant to be heard, and a smile not intended to be seen, “what can one do in such a desp
erate case? — I am afraid certain things will go on in the world for ever, whether we benefit by them or not. — And if I grant that patronage is sometimes a public evil, you must allow that it is often a private benefit.”
“I doubt even that,” said Mr. Percy; “for those young men who are brought up to expect patronage in any profession — But,” said Mr. Percy, checking himself, “I forgot whom I am speaking to: I don’t wish to say any thing that can hurt your feelings, especially when you are so kind to come to see me in adversity, and when you show so much interest in my affairs.”
“Oh! pray go on, go on,” said the commissioner, smiling, “you will not hurt me, I assure you: consider I am too firm in the success of my system to be easily offended on that point — go on! — Those young men who are brought up to expect patronage in any profession—”
“Are apt to depend upon it too much,” continued Mr. Percy, “and consequently neglect to acquire knowledge. They know that things will be passed over for them, and they think that they need not be assiduous, because they are secure of being provided for, independently of their own exertions; and if they have a turn for extravagance, they may indulge it, because a place will set all to rights.”
“And if they are provided for, and if they do get good places, are they not well enough off?” said Mr. Falconer: “I’ll answer for it, your sons would think so.”
Mr. Percy, with a look of proud humility, replied, “I am inclined to believe that my sons would not think themselves well off, unless they were distinguished by their own merit.”
“To be sure,” said Mr. Falconer, correcting himself; “of course I mean that too: but a young man can never distinguish himself, you know, so well as when his merit is raised to a conspicuous situation.”
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