CHAPTER XI.
THE HERO ACQUITS HIMSELF HONOURABLY AS A COXCOMB.--A FINE LADY OFTHE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, AND A FASHIONABLE DIALOGUE; THE SUBSTANCE OFFASHIONABLE DIALOGUE BEING IN ALL CENTURIES THE SAME.
"I AM thinking, Morton," said my uncle, "that if you are to go to town,you should go in a style suitable to your rank. What say you to flyingalong the road in my green and gold chariot? 'Sdeath! I'll make youa present of it. Nay--no thanks; and you may have four of my blackFlanders mares to draw you."
"Now, my dear Sir William," cried Lady Hasselton, who, it may beremembered, was the daughter of one of King Charles's Beauties, and whoalone shared the breakfast-room with my uncle and myself,--"now, my dearSir William, I think it would be a better plan to suffer the Countto accompany us to town. We go next week. He shall have a seat in ourcoach, help Lovell to pay our post-horses, protect us at inns, scold atthe drawers in the pretty oaths of the fashion, which are so innocentthat I will teach them to his Countship myself; and unless I am muchmore frightful than my honoured mother, whose beauties you so gallantlylaud, I think you will own, Sir William, that this is better for yournephew than doing solitary penance in your chariot of green and gold,with a handkerchief tied over his head to keep away cold, and with nomore fanciful occupation than composing sonnets to the four Flandersmares."
"'Sdeath, Madam, you inherit your mother's wit as well as beauty," criedmy uncle, with an impassioned air.
"And his Countship," said I, "will accept your invitation without askinghis uncle's leave."
"Come, that is bold for a gentleman of--let me see, thirteen--are younot?"
"Really," answered I, "one learns to forget time so terribly in thepresence of Lady Hasselton that I do not remember even how long it hasexisted for me."
"Bravo!" cried the knight, with a moistening eye; "you see, Madam, theboy has not lived with his old uncle for nothing."
"I am lost in astonishment!" said the lady, glancing towards theglass; "why, you will eclipse all our beaux at your first appearance;but--but--Sir William--how green those glasses have become! Bless me,there is something so contagious in the effects of the country that thevery mirrors grow verdant. But--Count--Count--where are you, Count? [Iwas exactly opposite to the fair speaker.] Oh, there you are! Pray, doyou carry a little pocket-glass of the true quality about you? But, ofcourse you do; lend it me."
"I have not the glass you want, but I carry with me a mirror thatreflects your features much more faithfully."
"How! I protest I do not understand you!"
"The mirror is here!" said I, laying my hand to my heart.
"'Gad, I must kiss the boy!" cried my uncle, starting up.
"I have sworn," said I, fixing my eyes upon the lady,--"I have swornnever to be kissed, even by women. You must pardon me, Uncle."
"I declare," cried the Lady Hasselton, flirting her fan, which wassomewhat smaller than the screen that one puts into a great hall, inorder to take off the discomfort of too large a room,--"I declare,Count, there is a vast deal of originality about you. But tell me, SirWilliam, where did your nephew acquire, at so early an age--eleven, yousay, he is--such a fund of agreeable assurance?"
"Nay, Madam, let the boy answer for himself."
"_Imprimis_, then," said I, playing with the ribbon of mycane,--"_imprimis_, early study of the best authors,--Congreve andFarquhar, Etherege and Rochester; secondly, the constant intercourseof company which gives one the spleen so overpoweringly that despairinspires one with boldness--to get rid of them; thirdly, the personalexample of Sir William Devereux; and, fourthly, the inspiration ofhope."
"Hope, sir?" said the Lady Hasselton, covering her face with her fan,so as only to leave me a glimpse of the farthest patch upon her leftcheek,--"hope, sir?"
"Yes, the hope of being pleasing to you. Suffer me to add that the hopehas now become certainty."
"Upon my word, Count--"
"Nay, you cannot deny it; if one can once succeed in impudence, one isirresistible."
"Sir William," cried Lady Hasselton, "you may give the Count yourchariot of green and gold, and your four Flanders mares, and send hismother's maid with him. He shall not go with me."
"Cruel! and why?" said I.
"You are too"--the lady paused, and looked at me over her fan. She wasreally very handsome--"you are too _old_, Count. You must be more thannine."
"Pardon me," said I, "I _am_ nine,--a very mystical number nine is too,and represents the Muses, who, you know, were always attendant uponVenus--or you, which is the same thing; so you can no more dispense withmy company than you can with that of the Graces."
"Good morning, Sir William," cried the Lady Hasselton, rising.
I offered to hand her to the door; with great difficulty, for herhoop was of the very newest enormity of circumference; I effected thisobject. "Well, Count," said she, "I am glad to see you have brought somuch learning from school; make the best use of it while it lasts,for your memory will not furnish you with a single simile out of themythology by the end of next winter."
"That would be a pity," said I, "for I intend having as many goddessesas the heathens had, and I should like to worship them in a classicalfashion."
"Oh, the young reprobate!" said the beauty, tapping me with her fan."And pray, what other deities besides Venus do I resemble?"
"All!" said I,--"at least, all the celestial ones!"
Though half way through the door, the beauty extricated her hoop, anddrew back. "Bless me, the gods as well as the goddesses?"
"Certainly."
"You jest: tell me how."
"Nothing can be easier; you resemble Mercury because of your thefts."
"Thefts!"
"Ay; stolen hearts, and," added I, in a whisper, "glances; Jupiter,partly because of your lightning, which you lock up in the saidglances,--principally because all things are subservient to you;Neptune, because you are as changeable as the seas; Vulcan, because youlive among the flames you excite; and Mars, because--"
"You are so destructive," cried my uncle.
"Exactly so; and because," added I--as I shut the door upon thebeauty--"because, thanks to your hoop, you cover nine acres of ground."
"Ods fish, Morton," said my uncle, "you surprise me at times: one whileyou are so reserved, at another so assured; to-day so brisk, to-morrowso gloomy. Why now, Lady Hasselton (she is very comely, eh! faith, butnot comparable to her mother) told me, a week ago, that she, gave you upin despair, that you were dull, past hoping for; and now, 'Gad, you hada life in you that Sid himself could not have surpassed. How comes it,Sir, eh?"
"Why, Uncle, you have explained the reason; it was exactly because shesaid I was dull that I was resolved to convict her in an untruth."
"Well, now, there is some sense in that, boy; always contradict illreport by personal merit. But what think you of her ladyship? 'Gad, youknow what old Bellair said of Emilia. 'Make much of her: she's one ofthe best of your acquaintance. I like her countenance and behaviour.Well, she has a modesty not i' this age, a-dad she has.' Applicableenough; eh, boy?"
"'I know her value, Sir, and esteem her accordingly,'" answered I, outof the same play, which by dint of long study I had got by heart. "But,to confess the truth," added I, "I think you might have left out thepassage about her modesty."
"There, now; you young chaps are so censorious; why, 'sdeath, sir, youdon't think the worse of her virtue because of her wit?"
"Humph!"
"Ah, boy! when you are my age, you'll know that your demure cats are notthe best; and that reminds me of a little story; shall I tell it you,child?"
"If it so please you, Sir."
"Zauns--where's my snuff-box?--oh, here it is. Well, Sir, you shallhave the whole thing, from beginning to end. Sedley and I were one dayconversing together about women. Sid was a very deep fellow in thatgame: no passion you know; no love on his own side; nothing of the sort;all done by rule and compass; knew women as well as dice, and calculatedthe exact moment when his snares would catch them, according t
o theprinciples of geometry. D----d clever fellow, faith; but a confoundedrascal: but let it go no further; mum's the word! must not slander thedead; and 'tis only my suspicion, you know, after all. Poor fellow: Idon't think he was such a rascal; he gave a beggar an angel once,--well,boy, have a pinch?--Well, so I said to Sir Charles, 'I think you willlose the widow, after all,--'Gad I do.' 'Upon what principle of science,Sir William?' said he. 'Why, faith, man, she is so modest, you see, andhas such a pretty way of blushing.' 'Hark ye, friend Devereux,' said SirCharles, smoothing his collar and mincing his words musically, as hewas wont to do,--'hark ye, friend Devereux, I will give you the wholeexperience of my life in one maxim: I can answer for its being new, andI think it is profound; and that maxim is--,' no, faith, Morton--no,I can't tell it thee: it is villanous, and then it's so desperatelyagainst all the sex."
"My dear uncle, don't tantalize me so: pray tell it me; it shall be asecret."
"No, boy, no: it will corrupt thee; besides, it will do poor Sid'smemory no good. But, 'sdeath, it was a most wonderfully shrewdsaying,--i' faith, it was. But, zounds, Morton, I forgot to tell youthat I have had a letter from the Abbe to-day."
"Ha! and when does he return?"
"To-morrow, God willing!" said the knight, with a sigh.
"So soon, or rather after so long an absence! Well, I am glad of it. Iwish much to see him before I leave you."
"Indeed!" quoth my uncle; "you have an advantage over me, then! But, odsfish, Morton, how is it that you grew so friendly with the priest beforehis departure? He used to speak very suspiciously of thee formerly; and,when I last saw him, he lauded thee to the skies."
"Why, the clergy of his faith have a habit of defending the strong andcrushing the weak, I believe; that's all. He once thought I was dullenough to damn my fortune, and then he had some strange doubts formy soul; now he thinks me wise enough to become prosperous, and it isastonishing what a respect he has conceived for my principles."
"Ha! ha! ha!--you have a spice of your uncle's humour in you; and, 'Gad,you have no small knowledge of the world, considering you have seen solittle of it."
A hit at the popish clergy was, in my good uncle's eyes, the exact acmeof wit and wisdom. We are always clever with those who imagine we thinkas they do. To be shallow you must differ from people: to be profoundyou must agree with them. "Why, Sir," answered the sage nephew, "youforget that I have seen more of the world than many of twice my age.Your house has been full of company ever since I have been in it, andyou set me to making observations on what I saw before I was thirteen.And then, too, if one is reading books about real life, at the very timeone is mixing in it, it is astonishing how naturally one remarks and howwell one remembers."
"Especially if one has a genius for it,--eh, boy? And then too, you haveread my play; turned Horace's Satires into a lampoon upon the boys atschool; been regularly to assizes during the vacation; attended thecounty balls, and been a most premature male coquette with the ladies.Ods fish, boy! it is quite curious to see how the young sparks of thepresent day get on with their lovemaking."
"Especially if one has a genius for it,--eh, sir?" said I.
"Besides, too," said my uncle, ironically, "you have had the Abbe'sinstructions."
"Ay, and if the priests would communicate to their pupils theirexperience in frailty, as well as in virtue, how wise they would makeus!"
"Ods fish! Morton, you are quite oracular. How got you that fancy ofpriests?--by observation in life already?"
"No, Uncle: by observation in plays, which you tell me are the mirrorsof life; you remember what Lee says,--
"''Tis thought That earth is more obliged to priests for bodies Than Heaven for souls.'"
And my uncle laughed, and called me a smart fellow.