The moment was over. I felt Glanville’s
hand relax its grasp upon my arm--he fell upon the
floor—I raised him—a smile of
ineffable serenity and peace was upon his lips; his
face was as the face of an angel, but the spirit had
passed away!
Now haveth good day,
good men all,
Haveth good day, young and old;
Haveth good day, both great and
small,
And graunt merci a thousand fold!
Gif ever I might full fain I wold,
Don ought that were unto your leve
Christ keep you out of cares cold,
For now ’tis time to take
my leave.
—Old
Song.
Several months have now elapsed since my marriage.
I am living quietly in the country, among my books,
and looking forward with calmness, rather than impatience,
to the time which shall again bring me before the world.
Marriage with me is not that sepulchre of all human
hope and energy which it often is with others.
I am not more partial to my arm chair, nor more averse
to shaving, than of yore. I do not bound my prospects
to the dinner-hour, nor my projects to “migrations
from the blue bed to the brown.” Matrimony
found me ambitious; it has not cured me of the passion:
but it has concentrated what was scattered, and determined
what was vague. If I am less anxious than formerly
for the reputation to be acquired in society, I am
more eager for honour in the world; and instead of
amusing my enemies, and the saloon, I trust yet to
be useful to my friends and to mankind.
Whether this is a hope, altogether vain and idle;
whether I have, in the self-conceit common to all
men, peculiarly prominent in myself, overrated both
the power and the integrity of my mind (for the one
is bootless without the other,) neither I nor the
world can yet tell. “Time,” says
one of the fathers, “is the only touchstone which
distinguishes the prophet from the boaster.”
Meanwhile, gentle reader, during the two years which
I purpose devoting to solitude and study, I shall
not be so occupied with my fields and folios, as to
render me uncourteous to thee. If ever thou hast
known me in the city, I give thee a hearty invitation
to come and visit me in the country. I promise
thee, that my wines and viands shall not disgrace the
companion of Guloseton: nor my conversation be
much duller than my book. I will compliment thee
on thy horses, thou shalt congratulate me upon my
wife. Over old wine we will talk over new events;
and if we flag at the latter, why, we will make ourselves
amends with the former. In short, if thou art
neither very silly nor very wise, it shall be thine
own fault if we are not excellent friends.
I feel that it would be but poor courtesy in me, after
having kept company with Lord Vincent, through the
tedious journey of three volumes, to dismiss him now
without one word of valediction. May he, in the
political course he has adopted, find all the admiration
his talents deserve; and if ever we meet as foes,
let our heaviest weapon be a quotation, and our bitterest
vengeance a jest.
