CHAPTER III.

_The Visit to Penruth Abbey. Certain Personages, who will fill conspicuous Parts in this eventful History, are introduced to our Readers._

As the cumbrous machine, to which the family of the De Lancasters had now committed their persons, disdained the novelty of springs, it was well for the company within that it was provided with a soft lining of blue velvet and enormous cushions, stuft with swan’s down. It had been the admiration of the county, when its owner served the office of sheriff about twenty years past, and though its original splendour was somewhat faded, it still exhibited on its pannels a vast shield emblazoned with the device of the harp between a copious expanse of wings. When it turned the point of the avenue leading to Penruth Abbey, looming large as an Indiaman in a fog off Beachy Head, it was readily descried by the porter from his lodge, who, huddling on his tufted gown of ceremony, rung out the signal on the turret-bell; whereupon all the waitingmen, drunk or sober, ranged themselves in the hall, and old Robin ap Rees prepared himself to salute the respected visitor with a flourish on the harp, as he entered the house.

Robert De Lancaster, followed by his son and daughter, passed through the domestic files to the tune of Shenkin, and was received at the door of the saloon by Sir Owen, who presented his sister-in-law in due form, making her reverences in the style and fashion of Spain, where the ladies bow, and the men curtsey.

The good old man acquitted himself with all the gallantry of the good old court, and took his seat with due respect and ceremony beside the lady. When he had adjusted the tyes of his perriwig and the flaps of his coat, having drawn off his high-topped gloves to give a due display to his ruffles, Mrs. Rachel Owen began the conversation by telling him how much she admired his equipage, which she complimented by saying it was exactly upon the model of the coaches of the Spanish nobles: the English carriages, she observed, were generally very ill constructed and in a bad taste, particularly those she travelled in, drawn by only two beggarly horses, unmercifully whipped by a brat of a postillion; whereas in her country no man of distinction could pass from place to place without his six mules, guided by the voice, unincumbered by either reins or harness, and ornamented with bells, which in her opinion gave a cheerful sound, and had a very dignified effect.

Why yes, madam, said De Lancaster, every country is attached to its own customs. The Spaniard prefers his mule, the Laplander his rein-deer, the inhabitant of the desart his camel, and some tribes bordering upon Abyssinia ride their cows. The animals no doubt are adapted to their several climates: in England we are contented with horses, and as our vehicles are apt to have a great deal of iron-work about them, we are satisfied with the jingling they make, and readily dispense with the amusement of bells.

He then proceeded to pass some high encomiums on the beauty and majesty of the Castilian language, which he said he could read and understand, when spoken, though he was not able to keep up a conversation in it. He remarked upon the excellence of their proverbs, which he said was a proof both of the fecundity and antiquity of a language. She acknowledged the justness of his remark, and instanced the romance of Cervantes as abounding in proverbs. She believed they were frequent in the Hebrew language, and asked him if they were also common in the Greek.

Very much so, madam, replied De Lancaster, in the writings of the Greeks. As to the Hebrews, the wise sayings of Solomon alone furnish a very copious collection, and are by us specifically called his _Proverbs_, or as the Greeks would term them his _Paræmiæ_, which some express by the word proverb, following Cicero’s interpretation; others by the word adage, preferring the authority of Varro, the most learned of all the Roman philologists.

The lady, who had drawn this conversation upon herself by an affectation of talking about what she did not understand, now perceiving the eyes of the company directed towards her, and a general silence kept whilst De Lancaster was speaking, felt her vanity so much flattered by having this learned harangue addressed to her, that, in order to hold it on, she ventured to ask which of the Greek authors were most famous for their proverbs.

Madam, replied De Lancaster, your question, though extremely pertinent for you to ask, is not easy for me to answer with the precision I could wish. I can only tell you that the Greek oracles were in general adages, and many of the latter are to be traced even in Homer: the bulk of them however is to be collected from Aristotle the Peripatetic, and his disciples Theophrastus and Clearchus of Irlöe, from Chrysippus, Cleanthes, Theætetus, Aristides, Aristophanes, Æschylus, Mylo, Aristarchus, and many others, that do not just now occur to me to name to you.

These are great authorities indeed, cried Mrs. Owen, more and more delighted with the conversation as it grew more and more unintelligible to her; and pray, learned sir, added she, condescend to inform me where the wise sayings of these great men are to be met with.

De Lancaster was not a man to withhold his answer from any question upon a point of philology, could any such have been put to him by his cook-maid; whereas Mrs. Owen had fairly hooked him in to believe that she was interested in his discourse, and solicitous to be informed. Possessed with this opinion, he replied--Madam, every question that you put to me is a convincing proof, that the ladies in your country turn their minds to studies, in which our English women have no ambition to be instructed (a conclusion falser than which he never made in his life) and it is with particular satisfaction I have the honour to inform you, that in Zenobius the sophist, or (as some will have it) Zenodotus, in Diogenianus of Heraclea, and in the Collectanea of Suidas, you will find ample store to gratify your very laudable curiosity: I would recommend to you also to consult Athenæus, Stobæus, Laertius, Michael Apostolius the sophist, Theophrastus called Logotheta, and others, that might be pointed out; but for the present perhaps these may suffice.

I dare say they will, cried Sir Owen, and if you find them in this house, sister Rachel, I’ll give you leave to keep them. Lord bless you, my good neighbour, she never heard the name of one of them, nor is there a monk in all Spain, that ever did put a word of theirs under his cowl, or ever will. I tell you they are as dull as asses, and as obstinate as mules. Rachel knows no more of what you have been saying to her than I do.

This side speech of the baronet’s, so unseasonably true, had scarce passed his lips, when little David bolted into the room, and having fixed his piercing eyes upon the person of De Lancaster, ran up to his mother, and in a screaming voice cried out--Look, look, mamma, there’s a man in a black wig, for all the world like our old governor of Cadiz!--Hush, hush, saucy child, cried the mother, stopping his mouth with her hand.--Don’t stop him, I pray you, said the good man; when children find out likenesses, ’tis a proof that they make observations. Your son compares me to the governor of Cadiz, and I dare say I am honoured by the comparison.

That is true politeness, said Mrs. Owen, addressing herself respectfully to De Lancaster. It is not often that great learning and great urbanity are found in the same person: when they are, how infinitely they adorn each other!--a reflection this, so much to the honour of Mrs. David Owen, that lest I may not have many to record equally to her credit, I am the more inclined to notice it upon this opportunity.

Addressing herself to Mr. Philip De Lancaster, she said--I take for granted, sir, you are extremely fond of the beautiful infant, of which I am to give you joy--Philip bowed and made no answer.--I hear, repeated she, he is an uncommon fine boy--Philip was of opinion that all infants were alike: for his part he could mark no difference between them--Perhaps you have not studied them with quite so much attention as you have given to your books--Philip was not very fond of reading--Of country sports perhaps--Still less--Of planting, farming, building?--Not in the least of either--Mrs. Owen seemed resolved to find his ruling passion--Did he take pleasure in the wholesome exercise of walking?--He doubted if it was wholesome, and he never walked, if he could avoid it: he angled now and then, and had no dislike to a game of chess--I comprehend you now, said the inquisitive lady; fishing is an amusement, that accords with meditation, and chess demands reflection and a fixt attention--I give little or no attention to it, replied Philip; and that may be the reason, why I never win a game--That certainly may be the reason, resumed the lady, and I’m persuaded you have struck upon it.

The conversation now took a general turn. Tea was served, and the black prying eyes of Rachel Owen were at leisure to scrutinize the dress and person of Cecilia, whom the baronet seemed now disposed to release from all further solicitation. Master David Owen in the mean time amused himself with teazing a poor little Spanish lap-dog, which, but for him, would have quietly reposed its diminutive body in his mother’s muff. When reprimanded by Sir Owen for tormenting a dumb creature, he set his nails with a most inveterate resolution into the little creature’s tail, and to his infinite delight convinced the hearers, that he had no dumb creature between his fingers. This produced a slight box on the ear from his uncle, and the yell of the suffering dog was instantly overpowered by the louder yell of the enraged tormentor--Poor fellow, said Mrs. Owen, you shall play with little Don when your uncle is not present: boys must be amused; must they not Mr. De Lancaster?--Not with cruelty I should hope, he replied; they ought not to be indulged in that amusement; and it is a very bad prognostic, when they can be amused by it--The dog is of little value to me, said Mrs. Owen, and I would sooner wring his nasty neck off with my own hands, than he should annoy my brother Owen, and expose my darling boy to be punished by him.

The dog, madam, said the old gentleman with a gravity, that was highly tinctured with displeasure, the dog may be of little value, but humanity is of the highest; and a more sacred lesson cannot be impressed upon the mind of your son, whilst it is yet capable of receiving the impression. Permit me also to observe to you that no lady wrings off the neck of a dog with her own hands: we should view it as an act of violence so totally out of character, that I must doubt if she ever could recover it--I will not suppose that a poor little animal could provoke your anger, because it cried out when it suffered pain, and your son excite your pity, when he cried out louder, and suffered nothing.

I am obliged to you, my good friend, cried Sir Owen, that is just what I would have said, if I could--Rachel Owen said nothing, but answered with a look, that I am neither able nor ambitious to describe. In that moment vanished her respect for De Lancaster, and something was adopted in its stead of a less innocent and gentle quality. She took her sulky sobbing brat by the hand, and left the room without apology. The coach was announced, and De Lancaster rose to take his leave--You see how it is with me, said Sir Owen; I have admired an angel, and henceforth renounce all hope of her: such a whelp and such a shrew, as I am now coupled to, will shortly make an end of me.

De Lancaster shook his friend by the hand, walked silently through the hall to his coach, which conveyed him home in safety, time not having sufficed for the fat coachman to get more than three parts tipsy, and the fat horses being, as was usual with them, perfectly sober and acquainted with the road.