Meanwhile, rightly to appreciate his conduct therein,
I entreat thee, O candid reader (not that any reader
ever is candid), to remember that he is brimful of
new ideas, which, met by a deep and hostile undercurrent
of old ideas, become more provocatively billowy and
surging.
THERE had been great festivities at Exmundham, in
celebration of the honour bestowed upon the world
by the fact that Kenelm Chillingly had lived twenty-one
years in it.
The young heir had made a speech to the assembled
tenants and other admitted revellers, which had by
no means added to the exhilaration of the proceedings.
He spoke with a fluency and self-possession which
were surprising in a youth addressing a multitude for
the first time. But his speech was not cheerful.
The principal tenant on the estate, in proposing his
health, had naturally referred to the long line of
his ancestors. His father’s merits as man
and landlord had been enthusiastically commemorated;
and many happy auguries for his own future career
had been drawn, partly from the excellences of his
parentage, partly from his own youthful promise in
the honours achieved at the University.
Kenelm Chillingly in reply largely availed himself
of those new ideas which were to influence the rising
generation, and with which he had been rendered familiar
by the journal of Mr. Mivers and the conversation
of Mr. Welby.
He briefly disposed of the ancestral part of the question.
He observed that it was singular to note how long
any given family or, dynasty could continue to flourish
in any given nook of matter in creation, without any
exhibition of intellectual powers beyond those displayed
by a succession of vegetable crops. “It
is certainly true,” he said, “that the
Chillinglys have lived in this place from father to
son for about a fourth part of the history of the world,
since the date which Sir Isaac Newton assigns to the
Deluge. But, so far as can be judged by existent
records, the world has not been in any way wiser or
better for their existence. They were born to
eat as long as they could eat, and when they could
eat no longer they died. Not that in this respect
they were a whit less insignificant than the generality
of their fellow-creatures. Most of us now present,”
continued the youthful orator, “are only born
in order to die; and the chief consolation of our
wounded pride in admitting this fact is in the probability
that our posterity will not be of more consequence
to the scheme of Nature than we ourselves are.”
Passing from that philosophical view of his own ancestors
in particular, and of the human race in general, Kenelm
Chillingly then touched with serene analysis on the
eulogies lavished on his father as man and landlord.
