Chapter II

_Treats of what passed at Kray Castle in the Evening of the Day before John De Lancaster’s Departure._

The dinner was not only elegant but sumptuous. Sir Arthur Floyd and two or three more neighbours of respectability had dropped in most opportunely to complete the party and divert the conversation from domestic topics.

When the ladies had retired, and the glass gone gaily round, Morgan desired to be heard upon a matter of some consequence. Gentlemen, he said, I reside as you well know, in the near neighbourhood of Denbigh, and I have had notice given me by the corporation of that borough, that their worthy representative is at the point of death. I never cultivated any interest there, and have no great property either in or about the place. Nevertheless in their free good will to me, (though for what one merit on my part they bear me that good will neither they nor I can guess) they offer to elect the friend, whom I shall recommend. They wish my grandson De Lancaster was of age to represent them, as they hold him high in honour for the generous part he took in poor Ap Rees’s melancholy case. I thanked them, but had nobody in my view. As they were anxious to mark their abhorrence of a certain young baronet, who had been soliciting their support, this answer of mine did not satisfy them, but they would needs have me refer myself to my brother-in-law Mr. De Lancaster, now in the chair beside me; which of course I promised to do, and now fulfil my word. This I stated to him in a few words before dinner, and had his permission to call upon him, as I now do, for his answer.

I have not a moment’s hesitation, De Lancaster replied, what to answer; for in the person of my friend Sir Arthur Floyd, luckily here present, I recognize every quality, that can constitute a character at all points worthy of their choice--an active magistrate, an honourable gentleman, a loyal subject, an able incorrupt and independent senator.

Before the baronet could reply, a joyous shout from our young hero John, followed by a general plaudit of hands, seemed to leave Sir Arthur without the power of recollection, or the privilege of choice.

At length he rose, and, after bowing to Mr. De Lancaster and the company, he said--I have occasion to know, that the unworthy nephew, (with whose name I will not stain my lips) of a worthy baronet lately deceased, had pointed his ambition and directed all his resources to the attainment of this object, now so unexpectedly and beyond my hopes proposed to me, and seconded by an applause, that must ever follow what that gentleman says, even when he deigns to take so humble an individual as myself for his subject. But as I have hitherto been known as of the party and politics of that person before alluded to, now become so abandoned and so despicable, I will on no account accept the support of any one voter for the borough of Denbigh, until it is clearly and distinctly ascertained in the most public manner, that I offer myself upon principles directly opposite to those of that expatriated villain, (I can call him nothing less,) and that I put my honour and my pledge into the hands of Mr. De Lancaster, as my friend, my sponsor and my patron.

This handsome declaration produced a second and a louder applause, and that called up Sir Arthur Floyd once more from his seat to return his thanks to the company and at the same time to remind them of their duty to the ladies, humbly proposing, with Mr. De Lancaster’s permission, an adjournment to the drawing-room: upon which gallant and well-timed appeal, the company with prompt obedience rose, and left the table.

This was the time when every one was solicitous to approach and pay their homage to Cecilia De Lancaster; here, like Cato’s daughter, she presided--

“Whilst winning mildness and attractive smiles
“Dwelt in her eyes, and with becoming grace
“Softened the rigor of her father’s virtue--”

On one side of her sate the sage preceptress of the young and blooming Amelia, who, on the other side, assisted in the elegant ministration of those lady-like offices, which it was not then the custom to transfer to a domestic. The refreshments of the tea-table came recommended to our lips from the fair hands of the lady president, who delicately distinguished every person’s right, and without confusion of property guarded his exclusive cup, and faithfully returned it to the owner: Now some snuffy hectick house-keeper huddles all together, and indiscriminately serves out the messes, hot or cold, strong or weak, as chance directs, to be handed round the room for those, who chuse to try their luck in a lottery of hot water, very little better than poor Timon’s dinner to his disappointed parasites.

As soon as this ceremony was over the folding doors of the drawing-room were thrown open, and David Williams, led by his son bearing his harp, and in his habit of office, entered and took the post prepared for him: he paused and reached out his hand to the seat beside him, as if waiting for some one else. When immediately old Robin Ap Rees in a mourning vest with black crape sleeves to the elbows only, and bound about his waist with a sash of the same stuff, but without medal, or any professional badge, that could mark him as the bard of the Ap Owens, approached and made a profound obeisance in the door-way. Upon his appearing every heart was touched: his tall spare figure, drooping head and shrivelled arms, with the pale hue of his woe-stricken visage, might have softened the iron heart of Gallia’s savage tyrant; can we then wonder if the generous bosoms of those assembled felt that soft impression, which Nature’s poet terms _the every dint of pity_?

John, who alone was in the secret of his coming, had whispered Amelia and his aunt to prepare themselves for his appearance. He now rose, and took the blind bard by the hand to lead him to his seat, when, upon his grandfather beginning to speak, he stopped, and whilst Ap Rees turned respectfully towards the voice that addressed him, Mr. De Lancaster delivered himself as follows--

My good old friend, and favourite of the Muse, to whom I am beholden for so many tuneful hours, it is now with mixed sensations of satisfaction and sorrow, that I greet you with a welcome, and assure you that the friendship and protection, which my grandson shows you, have my warmest approbation and most cordial concurrence. Your worthiness, your genius, your afflictions claim his compassionate regard and care. I take this visit, that you pay us on the eve of his departure, as a tribute of your esteem, which I am persuaded has cost you some painful efforts to pay, and which I am not less satisfied is considered and appretiated by him as it ought to be. I see you have brought your harp, and my minstrel David Williams, who honours and admires you, will gladly either take a part with you, where the strain allows of it, or listen to you with delight, if you rather wish to treat us with some melody of your own.

Respected sir, Ap Rees replied, my natural wish would be to edify in silence, whilst my superior (such I am conscious Mr. Williams is) exhibited that excellence, which has no rival; in me at least that rival is not found. But, Sir, there stands beside me one--would I could see him!--an exalted being, endowed by nature with such blessed properties, that, but to guess at what he wishes done and not to do it, would be in me, who live upon his bounty, and may be said almost to breathe his air, a sin of such ingratitude as yet no name is found for, and I hope no instance ever will occur to put invention to that lamentable test. Your grandson, Heaven preserve him, willed me to string my tuneless harp afresh, and second Mr. Williams in a strain, melodiously adapted to the words which he will chaunt.

To this of course the assent was universal. The sightless brethren put their harps in time: Ap Rees enriched the strain with his harmonious chords, whilst Williams led and sung, as here ensues--

“Fearless of danger, I prepare to roam
O’er seas, whose angry billows rage and foam;
An amulet there is, that guards my breast,
Whose power can charm the loudest storm to rest.

It is the image of my darling maid,
An image by no mortal hand pourtray’d;
Love, the great master, grav’d it on my heart,
And, ere time mars it, life and I must part.

Is it for loss of me that I descry
That tearful cherub in my fair-one’s eye?
Believe it, Love, we part to meet again,
And purchase years of bliss with hours of pain.

Full well I know what title he must prove,
Whose hope aspires to gain an angel’s love;
Therefore I go, though fond affection pleads,
Where duty warns me, and where honour leads.

Farewell to all that’s good and all that’s dear!
Vice hath no pow’r that Virtue ought to fear:
Link’d to my home, whatever course I take,
The chain may lengthen, but can never break.”

If our hero John was, as I suspect, the author of these lines, it is plain he was more in love with his mistress, than his muse was with her poet: But young men are very apt to scratch, when the itch of scribbling is upon them.