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 ENDYMION 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 J 1 > 
 
 o > o*- • 
 
 
 ' ; > » 1 
 
 E N D Y M I O N 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 " LOTH AIR" 
 
 " Quicquid agunt homines" 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1880 
 
 All ri^kls te!:t:rved 
 
 148475
 
 V.I 
 
 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was a rich, warm nlglit at the begmning of 
 August, when a gentleman enveloped in a 
 cloak, for lie was in evening dress, emerged 
 from a club-house at the top of St. James' 
 Street, and descended that celebrated eminence. 
 He had not proceeded more than half-way 
 down the street when, encountering a friend, 
 he stopped with some abruptness. 
 
 ' I have been looking for you everywhere,' 
 he said. 
 
 'What is it?' 
 
 * "We can hardly talk about it here.' 
 
 'Shall we go to White's?' 
 
 ' I have just left it, and, between ourselves, 
 I would rather we should be more alone. 'Tis 
 
 VOL, I. B
 
 2 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 as warm as noon. Let us cross tlie street and 
 get into St. James' Place. That is always 
 my idea of solitude.' 
 
 So tliey crossed tlie street, and, at the 
 corner of St. James' Place, met several gen- 
 tlemen who had just come out of Brookes' 
 Club-house. These saluted the companions 
 as they passed, and said, ' Capital account 
 from Chiswick — Lord Howard says the chief 
 will he in Downmo- Street on l^londay.' 
 
 ' It is of Chiswick that I am going to 
 speak to you,' said the gentleman in the cloak, 
 putting his arm in that of his companion as 
 they walked on. ' AVhat I am about to tell 
 you is known only to three persons, and is 
 the most sacred of secrets. Nothing but our 
 friendship could authorise me to impart it to 
 you.' 
 
 ' I hope it is something to your advan- 
 tage,' said his com})anion. 
 
 ' Nothing of that sort : it is of yourself that 
 I am thinking. Since our political estrange- 
 ment, I have never had a contented moment. 
 From Christ Church, until that unhappy para- 
 lytic stroke, which broke up a government.
 
 EXDYMIOX. 3 
 
 tliat liad lasted fifteen years, and might have 
 continued fifteen more, we seemed always to 
 liave been workino- too'etlier. That we should 
 again unite is my dearest wish. A crisis is at 
 hand. I want you to use it to your advantaged 
 Know then, that what they were just saying 
 ahout Chiswick is moonshine. His case is 
 hopeless, and it has been communicated to the 
 Kmg.' 
 
 ' Hopeless ! ' 
 
 ' Tvely upon it ; it came direct from the 
 Cottage to my friend.' 
 
 ' I tliou2;ht he had a mission ? ' said his 
 companion, with emotion ; ' and men with 
 missions do not disappear till they have ful- 
 filled them.' 
 
 ' But why did you think so? How often 
 have I asked you for your grounds for such a 
 con\ictiun ! Tlicre are none. The man of 
 the age is clearly the Duke, the saviour of 
 Europe, in the perfection of manhood, and 
 ^vitli an iron constitution.' 
 
 ' T]ie salvation of l']urope is the afiair of 
 a past generation,' said liis companion. ' AVe 
 
 ji 2
 
 4 ENDYMION. 
 
 want something else now. The salvation of 
 England should be the subject rather of our 
 present thoughts.' 
 
 ' England ! why when were things more 
 sound? Except the split among our own 
 men, which will be now cured, there is not a 
 cause of disquietude.' 
 
 ' I have much,' said his friend. 
 
 ' You never used to have any, Sidne}^ 
 What extraordinary revelations can have been 
 made to you during three months of office 
 under a semi- Whig Ministry?' 
 
 ' Your taunt is fair, though it pains me. 
 And I confess to you that when I resolved to 
 follow Canning and join his new allies, I had 
 many a twinge. I was bred in the Tor}^ 
 camp ; the Tories put mc in Parliament and 
 gave me office ; I lived with them and liked 
 them ; we dmed and voted together, and to- 
 gether pasquinaded our opponents. And yet, 
 after Castlereagh's death, to whom like your- 
 self I was much attached, I had great mis- 
 givings as to the position of our party, and 
 the future of the country. I tried to drive 
 them from my mind, and at last took refuge
 
 ENDYMION. 5 
 
 in Canning, who seemed just the man ap- 
 pointed for an age of transition.' 
 ' But a transition to what ? ' 
 ' Well, his foreign policy was Liberal.' 
 ' The same as the Duke's ; the same as 
 poor dear Castlereagh's. Nothing more un- 
 just than the affected belief that there was any 
 difference between them — a ruse of the Whio-.s 
 to foster discord in our ranks. And as for 
 domestic affairs, no one is stouter against 
 Parliamentary Reform, while he is for the 
 Church and no surrender, though he may 
 make a harmless speech now and then, as 
 many of us do, in favour of the Catholic 
 claims.' 
 
 ' Well, we will not now pursue this old 
 controversy, my dear Ferrars, particularly if 
 it be true, as you say, that Mr. Canning now 
 lies upon his deathbed.' 
 
 'If! I tell you at this very moment it 
 may be all over.' 
 
 ' I am shaken to my very centre.' 
 ' It is doubtless a great blow to you,' re- 
 joined Mr. Ferrars, ' and I wish to alleviate it. 
 That is why I was looking for you. The
 
 6 ENDYMION. 
 
 King will, of course, send for the Duke, but I 
 can tell you there will he a disposition to draw 
 hack our friends that left us, at least the 
 younger one> of promise. If you are awake, 
 there is no reason why you sliould not retain 
 your office.' 
 
 ' I am not so sure the King will send for 
 the Duke.' 
 
 ' It is certain.' 
 
 ' Well,' said his companion musingly, ' it 
 may be fancy, but I cannot resist the feeling 
 that this country, and the world generally, 
 arc on the eve of a great change — and I do 
 not think the Duke is the man for the epoch.' 
 
 ' I see ]io reason why there should be any 
 great change ; certainly not in this country,' 
 said Mr. Ferrars. ' Here we have chano-ed 
 everything that was required. Peel has 
 settled the criminal law, and Huskisson the 
 currency, and though I am prepared myself 
 still further to reduce the duties on foreign 
 imports, no one can deny that on this subject 
 the Government is in advance of public 
 opinion.' 
 
 ' The whole affair rests on too contracted
 
 EXDYMION. 7 
 
 a basis,' said his companion. ' AYe are ha- 
 bituated to its exchisiveness, and, no doubt, 
 custom in England is a po^ver ; but let some 
 event suddenly occur which makes a nation 
 feel or think, and the M'liole thing might 
 vanish like a dream,' 
 
 '"What can liappen? Such affairs as the 
 Luddites do not occur twice in a century, and 
 as for Spafields riots, they arc impossible now 
 with PecTs nevr police. The country is em- 
 ployed and prosperous, and were it not so, 
 the landed interest would always keep things 
 straiu-ht.' 
 
 • It is po\verfiil. and has ])ecn powerful for 
 a lono- time ; but there are other interests 
 besides tlie landed interest now.' 
 
 ' Welh tliere is tlie colonial interest, and 
 the shipping interest,' said ^Ir. Ferrars, ' and 
 l)()tli of them thoroni-hlv wiili us.' 
 
 'I was not thinking of them,' said liis 
 companion. • It is the increase of population, 
 and of a popiihitiuu not emp;()\ed in the cul- 
 tivation of the soil, and all the consequences 
 of such circumstances, that were passing over 
 my mind.'
 
 8 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 ' Don't you be too doctrinaire, my dear 
 Sidney ; you and I are practical men. We 
 must deal with the existing, the urgent ; and 
 there is nothing more pressing at this mo- 
 ment than the formation of a new govern- 
 ment. What I want is to see you a member 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said his companion with a sigh, 
 ' do you really think it so near as that ? ' 
 
 ' Why, what have we been talking of all 
 this time, my dear Sidney ? Clear your head 
 of all doubt, and, if possible, of all regrets ; 
 we must deal with facts, and we must deal 
 with them to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I still think he had a mission,' said 
 Sidney with a sigh, ' if it were only to bring 
 hope to a people.' 
 
 ' AVell, I do not see he could have done 
 anything more,' said Mr. Ferrars, 'nor do I 
 believe his government would have lasted 
 during the session. However, I must now 
 say good night, for I must look in at the 
 Square. Thmk well of what I have said, and 
 let me hear from you as soon as you can.'
 
 ENDYMION. 9 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Zexobia was the queen of London, of fashion, 
 and of the Tory party. When she was not 
 holdmo' hio-h festivals, or attendino; them, she 
 was always at home to her intimates, and as 
 she deigned but rarely to honour the assem- 
 blies of others with her presence, she was 
 g'encrally at her evening post to receive the 
 initiated. To be her uninvited guest under 
 such circumstances proved at once that you 
 liad entered the highest circle of the social 
 Paradise. 
 
 Zenobia was leanino- back on a brilliant 
 sofa, supported by many cushions, and a great 
 personage, grey-headed and blue -ribboned, 
 who was permitted to share the honours of 
 the high place, was hanging on her animated 
 and iiispiring accents. An ambassador, in an 
 armed chair which he had placed somewhat
 
 10 EXDYMIOX. 
 
 before her, while he listened with apparent 
 devotion to the oracle, now and then inter- 
 posed a remark, polished and occasionally 
 cynical. ]\Iore remote, some dames of high 
 degree were snrronnded by a chosen l)and of 
 rank and fashion and celebrity ; and now and 
 then was heard a silver laugh, and now and 
 then was breathed a gent^.e sigh. Servants 
 glided about the suite of summer chambers, 
 occasionally with slierbets and ices, and some- 
 times a lady entered and saluted Zenobia, and 
 then retreated to the general group, and 
 somethnes a gentleman entereil, and' pressed 
 the hand of Zenobia to his lips, and then- 
 vanished into air. 
 
 ' What I want you to see,' said Zenobia, 
 ' is that reaction is the law of life, and that 
 we arc on the eve of a great reaction. Since 
 Lord (*astlereao-h's death we have had five 
 years of revolution — nothing but change, and 
 every change has Ijccn disastrous. Abroad 
 we are in league with all the conspirators of 
 the Continent, and if tlicre were a general 
 war we should not have an ally ; at home our 
 trade, I am told, is cphte ruined, and we are
 
 EXDYMIOX. 1 1 
 
 deluged with foreign articles ; while, thanks 
 to ]\lr. Huskisson, the country banks, which 
 enabled ]\Ir. Pitt to carry on the war and 
 saved Eniihmd. arc all broken. There was 
 one tliino" of which I thouirht we should 
 always be proud, and that was our laws 
 and their administration ; but now onr most 
 sacred enactments are questioned, and people 
 are told to call out for the reform' of our 
 courts of judicature, which used to be the 
 glory of the land. This cannot last. I sec, 
 indeed, manv siirns of national disii'ust : 
 people would have borne a great deal from 
 j)oor Lord Liverpool — for they knew he ^vas 
 a good man, though I always thought a weak 
 one ; but when it Avas found that this boasted 
 Liberalism only meant letting the Whigs mto 
 office — who, if they had always been in office, 
 would have made us the slaves of Bonaparte 
 ■ — their eyes were opened. Depend upon it, 
 the reaction has commenced.' 
 
 ' We shall have some trouble with France,' 
 said the ambassador, ' unless there is a change 
 here.' 
 
 ' The Church is weary of the present
 
 12 ENDYMION. 
 
 men,' said the grecat personage. 'No one 
 really knows what they are after.' 
 
 ' And how can the country be governed 
 without the Church ? ' exclaimed Zenobia. 
 ' If the country once thinks the Church is in 
 danger, the affair will soon be finished. The 
 King ought to be told what is going on.' 
 
 ' Nothing is going on,' said the ambassa- 
 dor ; ' but everybody is afraid of something.' 
 
 ' The King's friends should impress upon 
 him never to lose sight of the landed interest,' 
 said the great personage. 
 
 ' How can any government go on without 
 the support of the Church and the land?' 
 exclaimed Zenobia. ' It is quite unnatural.' 
 
 ' That is the mystery,' remarked the am- 
 bassador. ' Here is a government, supported 
 by none of the influences hitherto deemed 
 indispensable, and yet it exists.' 
 
 ' The newspapers support it,' said the 
 great personage, ' and the Dissenters, who are 
 trying to bring themselves into notice, and 
 who are said to have some influence m the 
 northern counties, and the Whigs, who are in 
 a hole, are willing to seize the hand of the
 
 ENDYSIION. 13 
 
 ministry to help tliem out of it ; and then 
 there is always a number of people who will 
 support any government — and so the thing 
 works.' 
 
 ' They have got a new name for this h}^- 
 brid sentiment,' said the ambassador. ' They 
 call it public opinion.' 
 
 ' How very absurd ! ' said Zenobia ; ' a 
 mere nickname. As if there could be any 
 opinion but that of the Sovereign and the two 
 Houses of Parliament.' 
 
 ' They are trying to introduce here the 
 continental Liberalism,' said the great per- 
 sonage. ' Now we know what Liberalism 
 means on the continent. It means the aboli- 
 tion of property and religion. Those ideas 
 would not suit this country ; and I often 
 puzzle myself to foresee how they will attempt 
 to apply Iwiberal opinions here.' 
 
 ' I shall always think,' said Zenobia, ' that 
 Lord Liverpool went mucli too fiir, though I. 
 never said so in his time ; for I always up- 
 hold ]ny friends.' 
 
 ' \(<A\, we shall see what Canning will do 
 about the Test and Corporation Acts,' said the
 
 14 EXDYMION. 
 
 great personage. ' I understand tliey mean to 
 push liim,' 
 
 ' By the bye, how is he really ? ' said the 
 ambassador. ' AYliat are the accounts this 
 afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' Here is a o-entleman who will tell us,' 
 said Zenobia, as Mr. Ferrars entered and sa- 
 luted her. 
 
 ' And what is your news from Chiswick ? ' 
 she inquired. 
 
 ' They say at Brookes', that he will be at 
 Downing Street on Monday.' 
 
 ' I doubt it,' said Zenobia, but witli an 
 expression of disappointment. 
 
 Zenobia invited Mr. Ferrars to join lier 
 immediate circle. The great personage and 
 the ambassador were confidentially affable to 
 one whom Zenobia so distinguished. Their 
 conversation was in hushed tones, as become 
 tlie initiated. Even Zenobia seemed subdued, 
 and listened ; and to listen, among her many 
 talents, was perhaps her rarest. Mr. Ferrars 
 was one of her favourites, and Zenobia liked 
 young men who she thought would become 
 ministers of State.
 
 EXDYMION. 15 
 
 An Hungarian rrincess who liacl quitted 
 the opera early that she might look in at 
 Zenobia's was now announced. The arrival 
 of this great lady made a stir. Zenobia eui- 
 l)raced her, and the great personage with 
 aftectionate homage yielded to her instantly 
 the place of honour, and then soon retreated 
 to the lauii'liino' voices in the distance that 
 liad already more than once attracted and 
 charmed his ear. 
 
 ' Mmd ; I see you to-morrow,' said 
 Zenobia to IMr. Ferrars as he also withdrew. 
 ' I shall have something to tell you.'
 
 16 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 The father of ]Mr. Ferrars had the reputation 
 of beino- the son of a once somewhat celebrated 
 statesman, but the only patrimony he inherited 
 from his presumed parent was a clerkship in 
 the Treasury, where he found himself drudg- 
 ing at an early age. Nature had endowed 
 him with considerable abilities, and peculiarly 
 adapted to the scene of their display. It was 
 difficult to decide which was most remarkable, 
 his shrewdness or his capacity of labour. His 
 quickness of perception and mastery of details 
 made him in a few years an authority in the 
 office, and a Secretary of the Treasur}^, who 
 was quite ignorant of details, but who was 
 a good judge of human character, bad the 
 sense to appoint Ferrars his private secretary. 
 This happy preferment in time opened the 
 wdiole official world to one not only singularly
 
 ENDYMION. 1 7 
 
 qualitied for that kind of life, but who possessed 
 the pecuhar gifts that were then commencing 
 to be much in demand in those circles. We 
 were then entering that era of commercial 
 and financial reform which had been, if not 
 absolutely occasioned, certainly precipitated, 
 by the revolt of our colonies. Knowledge of 
 finance and acquaintance with tariffs were then 
 rare gifts, and before five years of his private 
 secretaryship had expired, Ferrars was men- 
 tioned to ^Ir. Pitt as the man at the Treasury 
 who could do somethino- that the iiTeat minister 
 required. This decided his lot. Mr. Pitt 
 found in Ferrars the instrument he wanted, 
 and appreciating all his qualities placed him 
 in a position which afforded them full play. 
 The minister returned Ferrars to Parliament, 
 for the Treasury then had boroughs of its own, 
 and the new member was preferred to an im- 
 portant and laborious post. So long as Pitt 
 and Grenville were in the ascendant, Mr. Fer- 
 rars toiled and flourished. He was exactly 
 the man they liked ; unwearied, vigilant, clear 
 and cold ; with a dash of natural sarcasm de- 
 veloped by a sharp and varied experience. He 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 ENDYMION. 
 
 disappeared from tlie active world in tlie latter 
 years of the Liverpool reign, Avlien ii newer 
 generation and more bustling ideas successfully 
 asserted tlieir cLiims ; Lut he retired witli tlie 
 solace of a sinecure, a pension, and a privy- 
 councillorsliip. The Cabinet he had never 
 entered, nor dared to hope to enter. It was 
 the privilege of an inner circle even in our 
 then contracted public life. It was the dream 
 of Ferrars to revenge in this respect his fate 
 in the person of his son, and only child. He 
 was resolved that his offspring should enjoy 
 all those advantages of education and breeding 
 and society of which he himself had been de- 
 prived. For him Avas to be reserved a full 
 initiation in those costly ceremonies wliich, 
 under the names of Eton and Christchurch, 
 in his time flxscinated and dazzled mankind. 
 His son, William Pitt Ferrars, realised even 
 more than his father's hopes. Extremely 
 good-looking, he was gifted with a precocity 
 of talent. He was the marvel of Eton and 
 the hope of Oxford. As a bo}^, his Latin 
 verses thre^v enraptured tutors into paroxysms 
 of praise, while debating societies hailed with
 
 EXDYMIOX. 19 
 
 acclamation clearly another lieaven-born mi- 
 nister. He Tvent up to Oxford about the time 
 that the examinations were reformed and ren- 
 dered really efficient. This only increased his 
 renown, for the name of Ferrars fi^'ured amonsr 
 the earliest double-firsts. Those were days 
 when a crack university reputation often 
 opened the doors of the House of Commons to 
 a young aspirant ; at least, after a season. 
 But Ferrars had not to wait. His father, who 
 watched his career with the passionate interest 
 with which a Newmarket man watches the 
 development of some gifted yearling, took care 
 that all the odds should he in his favour in 
 the race of life. An old colleague of the elder 
 ^Ir. Ferrars, a worthy peer with many bo- 
 roughs, placed a seat at the disposal of the 
 youthful hero, the moment he was prepared to 
 accept it, and he might be said to have left 
 the University only to enter the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 There, if liis career had not yet realised 
 the dreams of liis ^-outliiiil juhiiirci-s. it liad at 
 least been one of progress and unljroken pro- 
 sperity. His first speech Avas successful, though
 
 20 ENDYMION. 
 
 florid, but it was on foreign affairs, wliicli per- 
 mit rhetoric, and in those days demanded at 
 least one Yirgihan quotation. In this latter 
 branch of oratorical adornment Ferrars was 
 never deficient. Xo young man of that time, 
 and scarcely any old one, ventured to address 
 Mr. Speaker without being equipped with a 
 Latin passage. Ferrars, in this respect, was 
 triply armed. Indeed, when he entered public 
 life, full of hope and promise, though disci- 
 plined to a certain extent by his mathematical 
 training, he had read very little more than 
 some Latin writers, some Greek plays, and 
 some treatises of Aristotle. These with a due 
 course of Bampton Lectures and some dip- 
 ping into the ' Quarterly Review,' then in its 
 prime, qualified a man in those days, not only 
 for beino- a member of Parliament, but be- 
 coming a candidate for the responsibility of 
 statesmanship. Ferrars made his way ; for 
 two years he was occasionally asked by the 
 minister to speak, and then Lord Castlereagh, 
 Avho liked young men, made him a Lord of 
 the Treasury. He was Under-Secretary of 
 State, and ' very rismg,' when the death of
 
 ENDYMIOX. 21 
 
 Lord Liverpool brought about the severance 
 of the Tory party, and Mr. Ferrars, mainly 
 under tlie advice of Zenobia, resigned his office 
 when j\[r. Canning was appointed Minister, 
 and cast in his lot with the great destiny of 
 the Duke of Wellino-ton. 
 
 The elder Ferrars had the reputation of 
 being wealthy. It was supposed that he had 
 enjoyed opportunities of making money, and 
 had availed himself of them, but this was not 
 true. Though a cynic, and with little respect 
 for his fellow creatures, Ferrars had a pride in 
 official purity, and when the Government was 
 charged with venality and corruption, he would 
 observe, with a dry chuckle, that he had seen 
 a great deal of life, and that for his part he 
 would not much trust any man out of Downing 
 Street. He had been unable to resist the 
 temptation of connecting liis life with that of 
 an individual of birth and rank ; and in a 
 weak moment, perhaps his only one, he 
 had given his son a step-mother in a still 
 good-looking and very expensive Viscountess 
 Dowager. 
 
 !Mr. Ferrars was anxious that his son
 
 22 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 sliould make a great alliance, but lie was so 
 distracted between i)rndential considerations 
 and liis desire that in the veins of his "Tand- 
 children there should flow blood of un- 
 doubted nobility, that he could never luring to 
 liis i)urpose that clear and concentrated will 
 which was one of the causes of his success in 
 life ; and, in the midst of his perplexities, 
 his son unexpectedly settled the question him- 
 self. Though naturally cold and calculating, 
 William Ferrars, like most of us, had a vein 
 of romance in his being, and it asserted itself. 
 There was a Miss Carey, who suddenly be- 
 came the beauty of the season. She was an 
 orphan, and reputed to be no inconsiderable 
 heiress, and was introduced to the world by 
 an aunt who was a duchess, and who meant 
 that her niece should be the same. Every- 
 body talked about them, and they went every- 
 where — among other places to the House of 
 Commons, where Miss Carey, sprang the 
 senators from the old ventilator in the ceiling 
 of St. Stephen's Chapel, dropped in her ex- 
 citement her opera-glass, which fell at the feet 
 of Mr. Under-Secretary Ferrars. He hastened
 
 ENDYMION. ^3 
 
 to restore it to its beautiful OAvner, wliom lie 
 found accompanied by several of his friends, 
 and he was not only thanked, but invited to 
 remain with them ; and the next day he called, 
 and he called very often afterwards, and many 
 other things happened, and at the end of July, 
 the beauty of the season was married not to 
 a Duke, but to a rising man, who Zenobia, 
 who at first disapproved of the match — for 
 Zenobia never liked her male friends to marry 
 — was sure would one day be Prime Minister 
 of England. 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars was of the same opinion as 
 Zenobia, for she was ambitious, and the dream 
 was captivating. And Mrs. Ferrars soon 
 gained Zenobia's good graces, for she had 
 many charms, and, though haughty to the mul- 
 titude, was a first-rate flatterer. Zenobia liked 
 flattery, and always said she did. Mr. Under- 
 Secretary Ferrars took a mansion in Hill Street, 
 and furnished it with befitting splendour. His 
 dinners were celebrated, and Mrs. Ferrars gave 
 suppers after the opera. The equipages of 
 Mrs. Ferrars were distinguished, and they had 
 a large retinue of servants. They had only
 
 24 ENDYMION. 
 
 two children, and tliey were twins, a brother 
 and a sister, who were brought up like the 
 children of princes. Partly for them, and 
 partly because a minister should have a Tus- 
 c Ilium, the Ferrars soon engaged a magnificent 
 villa at Wimbledon, which had the advantage 
 of admirable stables, convenient, as Mrs. Fer- 
 rars was fond of horses, and liked the children 
 too, with their fancy ponies, to be early accus- 
 tomed to riding. All this occasioned expen- 
 diture, but old Mr. Ferrars made his son a 
 liberal allowance, and young Mrs. Ferrars was 
 an heiress, or the world thought so, which is 
 nearly the same, and then, too, young Mr. 
 Ferrars was a rising man, in office, and who 
 would always be in office for the rest of his 
 life ; at least, Zenobia said so, because he was 
 on the right side and the Whigs were nowhere, 
 and never would be anywhere, which was 
 quite right, as they had wished to make us the 
 slaves of Bonaparte. 
 
 When the King, after much hesitation, sent 
 for Mr. Canning, on the resignation of Lord 
 Liverpool, the Zenobian theory seemed a little 
 at fixult, and William Ferrars absolutely out
 
 ENDYMION. ZO 
 
 of office had more than one misgivmg ; but 
 after some months of doubt and anxiety, it 
 seemed after all the great lady was right. The 
 unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from 
 the scene, followed by the transient and em- 
 barrassed phantom of Lord Goderich, seemed 
 to indicate an inexorable destiny that England 
 should be ruled by the most eminent man of 
 the ao'e, and the most illustrious of her citizens. 
 William Ferrars, under the inspiration of Ze- 
 nobia, had thrown in his fortunes with the 
 Duke, and after nine months of disquietude 
 found his due reward. In the January that 
 succeeded the Auo-ust conversation in St. 
 James' Street with Sidney Wilton, William 
 Ferrars was sworn of the Privy Council, and 
 held high office, on the verge of the Cabinet. 
 
 i\rr. Ferrars had a dinner party in Hill 
 Street on tlie day he had returned from Wind- 
 sor with the seals of his new office. The 
 catastrophe of the Goderich Cabinet, almost 
 on the eve of the meeting of Parliament, had 
 been so sudden, that, not anticipating such a 
 state of affiiirs, Ferrars, among his other guests, 
 had invited Si'lney Wilton. He was ratlier
 
 26 ENDYMION. 
 
 regretting this when, as his carriage stopped 
 at his own door, he observed that very gentle- 
 man on his threshold. 
 
 Wilton greeted him warmly, and congratu- 
 lated him on his promotion. 'I do so at once/ 
 he added, ' because I shall not have the oppor- 
 tunity this evening. I was calling here in the 
 hope of seeing Mrs. Ferrars, and asking her to 
 excuse me from being your guest to-day.' 
 
 'Well, it is rather awkward,' said Ferrars, 
 ' but I could have no idea of this when you 
 were so kind as to say you would come.' 
 
 ' Oh, nothing of that sort,' said Sidney. 
 ' I am out and you are in, and I hope you may 
 be in for a long, long time. I dare say it may 
 be so, and the Duke is the man of the age, as 
 3"ou always said he was. I hope your being in 
 office is not to deprive me of your pleasant 
 dinners ; it would be too bad to lose my place 
 both at Whitehall and in Hill Street.' 
 
 ' I trust that will never happen, my dear 
 fellow ; but to-day I thought it might be 
 embarrassino'.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; I could endure witliout 
 wincing even the triumphant glance of Zeno-
 
 EXDYMION. 2 7 
 
 bia. The fact is, I have some busmess of the 
 most pressmg natnre which has suddenly 
 arisen, and which demands my immediate 
 nttention.' 
 
 Ferrars expressed his regret, tlioiigh in 
 fact he was greatly relieved, and they parted. 
 
 Zenobia did dine with the AVilliam Fer- 
 rars to-day, and her handsome husband came 
 with her, a knight of the garter and just ap- 
 pointed to a high office in the household by 
 the ne^\' o'overnment. Fven the excitement 
 of the hour did not disturb his indigenous 
 repose. It was a dignified serenity, quite 
 natural, and quite compatiljle with easy and 
 everi cordial manners, and an address always 
 considerate even when not sympathetic. He 
 was not a loud or a long talker, but his terse 
 remarks were fidl of taste and a just appre- 
 ciation of things. If they were sometimes 
 trenchant, the blade was of iine temper. Old 
 Mr. Ferrars was there and the Viscountess 
 lulgware. His hair had become quite silvered, 
 and his cheek rosy as a December apple. His 
 liazel eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he re- 
 membered the family had now produced two
 
 28 ENDYMION. 
 
 privy councillors. Lord Pomeroy was there, 
 the great lord who had returned William 
 Ferrars to Parliament, a little man, quiet, shy, 
 rather iu significant in appearance, but who 
 observed everybody and everything ; a con- 
 scientious man, who was always doing good, 
 in silence and secrecy, and denounced as a 
 borouixhmono-er, had never sold a seat in his 
 life, and was always looking out for able men 
 of character to introduce them to public 
 affairs. It was not a formal party, but had 
 grown up in great degree out of the circum- 
 stances of the moment. There were more 
 men than women, and all men in office or 
 devoted supporters of the new ministry. 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars, Avithout being a regular 
 beauty, had a voluptuous face and form. 
 Her complexion was brilliant, with large and 
 long-lashed eyes of blue. Her mouth was 
 certainly too large, but the pouting richness 
 of her lips and the splendour of her teeth 
 baffled criticism. She was a woman who was 
 always gorgeously or fantastically attired. 
 
 ' I never can understand,' would some- 
 times observe Zenobia's husband to his bril-
 
 ENDYMION. 29 
 
 liant spouse, 'how affairs are carried on in 
 this world. Xow we have, my dear, fifty 
 thousand per annum ; and I do not see how 
 Ferrars can have much more than five ; and 
 yet he lives much as we do, perhaps better. 
 I know Gibson showed me a horse last week 
 that I very much wanted, but I would not 
 p'ive him two hundred o'uineas for it. I 
 called there to-dav to look after it a^'ain, for 
 it would have suited me exactly, but I was 
 told I was too late, and it was sold to ]\Irs. 
 Ferrars.' 
 
 ' My dear, you know I do not understand 
 money matters,' Zenobia said in reply. ' I 
 never could ; but you should remember that 
 old Ferrars must be very rich, and that AVil- 
 liam Ferrars is the most risin£>; man of the 
 day, and is sure to be in the cabinet before 
 he is forty.' 
 
 Everybody had an a[)})ctitc for dhnier to- 
 day, and the dinner was wortliv of the appe- 
 tites. Zcnobia's husband declared to himself 
 tliat he never dined so well, though he gave 
 his chef 5UU/. a }'ear, and old Lord Pomeroy, 
 who had not yet admitted French wines to
 
 30 ENDYMION. 
 
 liis own table, seemed quite abashed with the 
 number of his wine-giasses and their various 
 colours, and, as he tasted one succulent dish 
 after another, felt a proud satisfaction in hav- 
 ing introduced to public life so distinguished 
 a man as William Ferrars. 
 
 With the dessert, not without some cere- 
 mony, were introduced the two most remark- 
 able guests of the entertainment, and these 
 were the twins ; children of singular beauty, 
 and dressed, if possible, more fancifully and 
 brilliantly than their mamma. They re- 
 sembled each other, and had the same bril- 
 liant complexions, rich chestnut hair, deli- 
 cately arched brows, and dark blue eyes. 
 Though only eight years of age, a most 
 unchildlike self-possession distinguished them. 
 The expression of their countenances was 
 haughty, disdainful, and supercilious. Their 
 beautifal features seemed quite unimpassioned, 
 and they moved as if they expected everything 
 to yield to them. The girl, Avliose long ringlets 
 were braided with pearls, was ushered to a seat 
 next to her father, and, like her brother, who 
 Avas placed by Mrs. Ferrars, was soon engaged
 
 EXDYMIOX. 31 
 
 in negligently tasting delicacies, while slie 
 seemed apparently unconscious of anyone 
 l)eing present, except when she replied to 
 those who addressed her with a stare and a 
 haughty monosyllable. The boy, in a black 
 velvet jacket with large Spanish buttons of 
 silver hlagree, a shirt of lace, and a waist- 
 coat of white satin, replied with reserve, but 
 some condescension, to the good-natured Ijut 
 half-humorous inquiries of the husband of 
 Zenobia. 
 
 ' And when do you go to school?' asked 
 hi.> lordship in a kind voice and with a 
 laughing eye. 
 
 ' I shall go to Eton in tNvo years,' replied 
 tlie chiki without the slightest emotion, and 
 not withdrawing liis attention from the grapes 
 he was tasting, or even looking at his inquirer, 
 ' and then I shall gt) to Christchurch, and 
 then I shall go into Parliament.' 
 
 ' Myra,' said an intimate of the family, a 
 handsome private secretary of Mr. Ferrars, to 
 the daughter of the house, as he supplied her 
 ]>hitc with some choicest delicacies, ' I hope 
 you liave not forgotten your engagement to
 
 32 ENDYMION. 
 
 me which yon made at Wimbledon two years 
 
 ago? 
 
 ' What engagement ? ' she haughtily in- 
 quired. 
 
 ' To marry me.' 
 
 ' I should not think of marrying anyone 
 who was not in the House of Lords,' she 
 replied, and she shot at him a glance of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 The ladies rose. As they were ascending 
 the stairs, one of them said to Mrs. Ferrars, 
 ' Your son's name is very pretty, but it is 
 very uncommon, is it not ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tis a family name. The first Carey who 
 bore it was a courtier of Charles the First, and 
 we have never since been without it. AVilliam 
 wanted our boy to be christened Pomeroy, 
 but I was always resolved, if I ever had a son, 
 that he should be named Endymion.'
 
 EXDYMION. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 About the time that the ladies rose from the 
 dinner-table in Hill Street, Mr. Sidney Wilton 
 entered the hall of the Clarendon Hotel and 
 murmured an inquiry of the porter. Where- 
 upon a bell was rung, and soon a foreign 
 servant appeared, and bowing invited ]Mr. 
 Wilton to ascend the staircase and follow him. 
 Mr. A\'ilton was ushered throuo-h an ante- 
 cliamljer into a room of some importance, 
 lofty and decorated, and obviously adapted 
 for distinguished guests. On a principal table 
 a desk was open and many papers strewn 
 aljuiit. Apparently some person had only 
 recently been writing there. There were in 
 the room several musical instruments ; the 
 l)iano was open, there was a harp and a guitar. 
 The room was rather dimly lighted, l)ut cheer- 
 
 VOL, I. I)
 
 34 ENDYMION. 
 
 fill from tlie steady blaze of the fire, before 
 wliich ^Ir. Wilton stood, not long alone, for 
 an opposite door opened, and a lady advanced 
 leading with her left hand a youth of in- 
 terestino- mien and about twelve years of a^i'e. 
 The lady was fair and singularly thin. It 
 seemed that her delicate hand must really be 
 transparent. Her cheek was sunk, but the 
 expression of her large brown eyes was inex- 
 pressibly pleasing. She wore her own hair, 
 once the most celebrated in Europe, and still 
 uncovered. Though the prodigal richness of 
 • the tresses had disappeared, the arrangement 
 was still striking from its grace. That rare 
 quality pervaded the being of this lady, and 
 it was impossible not to be struck with her 
 carriage as she advanced to greet her guest ; 
 free from all affectation and yet full of move- 
 ment and gestures, which might have been the 
 study of painters. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she exclaimed as she gave him lier 
 hand, which he pressed to his lips, 'you are 
 ever faithful.' 
 
 Seating themselves, she continued, ' You 
 have not seen my boy since he sate upon your
 
 EXDYMION. • 35 
 
 knee. Florestaii, salute Mr. Wilton, your 
 motlier's most clierislied friend.' 
 
 ' This is a sudden arrival,' said Mr. Wilton. 
 
 ' Well, tliey would not let us rest,' said 
 tlie lady. ' Our only refuge was Switzerland, 
 but I cannot breathe auiono* the mountains, 
 and so, after a while, we stole to an obscure 
 corner of the south, and for a time we were 
 tranquil. But soon the old story : represen- 
 tations, remonstrances, warnings, and threats, 
 appeals to Vienna, and lectures from Prince 
 Metternich, not the less impressive because 
 they were courteous, and even gallant.' 
 
 ' And had nothing occurred to give a 
 colour to such complaints ? Or was it sheer 
 persecution ? ' 
 
 ' AVell, you know,' replied tlie lady, ' we 
 wished to remain quiet and obscure ; but 
 Avhere the lad is, they will find him out. It 
 often astonishes me. I believe if we were in 
 the centre of a forest in some Indian isle, with 
 no companions but monkeys and elephants, a 
 secret agent would appear — some devoted 
 victim of our family, prepared to restore our 
 fortunes and renovate his own. I speak the 
 
 n 2
 
 36 ENDYMION. 
 
 truth to you always. I have never counte- 
 nanced these people ; I have never encouraged 
 them ; hut it is impossihle rudely to reject 
 the sympathy of those who, after all, are 
 your fellow-sufferers, and some of whom have 
 given proof of even disinterested devotion. 
 For my own part, I have never faltered in my 
 faith, that Florestan would some day sit on 
 the throne of his father, dark as appears to be 
 our life ; but I have never much believed that 
 the great result could be occasioned or ])re- 
 cipitated by intrigues, but rather by events 
 more powerful than man, and led on by that 
 fatality in which his father believed.' 
 
 ' And now you think of remaining here ? ' 
 said Mr. AVilton. 
 
 ' Xo,' said the lady ; ' that I cannot do. I 
 love everything in this country except its 
 climate and, perhaps, its hotels. I think of 
 trying the south of Spain, and fancy, if quite 
 alone, I might vegetate there unnoticed. I 
 cannot bring myself altogether to quit Europe. 
 I am, my dear Sidney, intensely European. 
 But Spain is not exactly the country I should 
 fix upon to form kings and statesmen. And
 
 EXDYMION. 37 
 
 tliis is tlic point on which I wished to consult 
 yon. I want Florestan to receive an English 
 education, and I want yon to put me in the way 
 of accomplishing this. It might be convenient, 
 under such circumstances, that he should not 
 obtrude his birth — perhaps, that it should be 
 concealed. He has many honourable names 
 besides the one which indicates the state to 
 which he M'as born. But, on all these points, 
 we want your advice.' And she seemed to 
 appeal to her son, who bowed his head with a 
 slight smile, but did not speak. 
 
 ]\rr. Wilton expressed his deep interest 
 in her wishes, and promised to consider liow 
 they might best be accomplished, and then 
 the conversation took a more general tone. 
 
 ' This change of government in your 
 country,' said the lady, ' so unexpected, so 
 utterly unforeseen, disturbs me ; in fact, it 
 decided my hesitating movements. I cannot 
 but believe that the accession of the Duke of 
 AVellington to power must Ijc bad, at least, for 
 us. It is essentially reactionary^ They are 
 triumphing at Vienna.' 
 
 'Have tliey cause?' said Mr. A\'ilton. 'I 
 
 i /I W/I'*'rr
 
 38 ENDYiAIION. 
 
 am an impartial witness, for I have no post in 
 the new administration ; but the leading col- 
 leagues of Mr. Cannuig form part of it, and 
 the conduct of foreio;n affairs remains in the 
 same hands.' 
 
 * That is consoling,' said the lady. ' I 
 wonder if Lord Dudley would see me. Per- 
 haps not. Ministers do not love pretenders. 
 I knew him when I was not a pretender,' 
 added the lady, with the sweetest of smiles, 
 ' and thought him agreeable. He was witty. 
 Ah ! Sidney, those were happy days. I look 
 back to the past with regret, but without 
 remorse. One might have done more good, 
 but one did some ; ' and she sighed. 
 
 ' You seemed to me,' said Sidney with 
 emotion, 'to diffuse benefits and blessings 
 among all around you.' 
 
 * And I read,' said the lady, a little indig- 
 nant, ' in some memoirs the other day, that 
 our court was a corrupt and dissolute court. 
 It was a court of pleasure, if you like ; but of 
 pleasure that animated and refined, and put the 
 world in good humour, which, after all, is good 
 government. The most corrupt and dissolute
 
 KNDY.MIUN. o9 
 
 courts on the coiitinent of EuropL; that 1 
 have known,' said the lady, ' have been out- 
 wardly the dullest and most decorous.' 
 
 ' My memory of those days,' said Mr. 
 AVilton, 'is of ceaseless grace and inex- 
 haustible chann.' 
 
 ' Well,' said the lady, ' if I sinned I have 
 at least suffered. And I hope they were only 
 sins of omission, I wanted to see everybody 
 happy, and tried to make them so. But let 
 us talk no more of ourselves. The unfortu- 
 nate are always egotistical. Tell me some- 
 thing of ^Ir. AVilton ; and, above all, tell me 
 why you are not in the new government.' 
 
 ' I have not been invited,' said Mr. Wilton. 
 ' There are more claimants than can be satis- 
 fied, and my claims are not very strong. It 
 is scarcely a disappointment to me. I shall 
 continue in public life ; but, so far as political 
 responsiljility is concerned, I would rather 
 wait. I have some fancies on that head, but 
 T will not trouble you with them. My time, 
 therefore, is at my command ; and so,' lie 
 added smilingly, ' 1 can attend to the educa- 
 tion of I^rince Florestan.'
 
 40 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' Do you hear that, Florestan ? ' said the 
 lady to her son ; ' I told you we had a friend. 
 Thank Mr. Wilton.' 
 
 And the young Prince bowed as before, 
 but with a more serious expression. He, 
 however, said nothing. 
 
 ' I see you have not forgotten your most 
 delightfid pursuit,' said Mr. Wilton, and he 
 looked towards the musical instruments. 
 
 ' No,' said the lady ; ' throned or dis- 
 crowned, music has ever been the charm or 
 consolation of my life.' 
 
 ' Pleasure should follow business,' said 
 Mr. Wilton, ' and we have transacted ours. 
 Would it be too bold if I asked again to hear 
 those tones which have so often enclianted 
 me ? ' 
 
 ' My voice has not fallen off,' said the 
 lady, ' for you know it was never first-rate. 
 But they were kind enough to say it had 
 some expression, probably because I generally 
 sang my own words to my own music. I 
 will sing you my farewell to Florestan,' slie 
 added gaily, and she took up her guitar, and 
 then in tones of melancholy sweetness, break-
 
 EXDYMION. 41 
 
 ing at last into a gushing burst of long-con- 
 trolled affection, she expressed the agony and 
 devotion of a mother's heart. Mr. Wilton 
 was a little agitated ; her son left the room. 
 The mother turned round with a smiling face, 
 and said, ' The darlino- cannot bear to hear 
 it, but I sing it on purpose, to prepare him 
 for the inevitable.' 
 
 ' He is soft-hearted,' said j\Ir, Wilton. 
 
 ' He is the most affectionate of beings,' 
 replied the mother. ' Affectionate and mys- 
 terious. I can say no more. I ought to tell 
 you his character. I cannot. You may say 
 lie may have none. I do not know. He has 
 abilities, for he acquires knowledge with 
 facility, and knows a great deal for a boy. 
 But he never gives an opinion. He is silent 
 and solitary. Poor darling ! he has rarely 
 liad companions, and that may be the cause. 
 He seems to me always to be thinking.' 
 
 ' Well, a public school will rouse him from 
 his reveries,' said Mr. Wilton. 
 
 'As he is away at this moment, I will say 
 that which I should not care to say before his 
 face,' said the lady. ' You arc about to do
 
 '12 ENDY3II0N. 
 
 me a great service, not the iirst ; and before 
 I leave this, we may — we must — meet again 
 more than once, but there is no time like the 
 present. The separation between Florestan 
 and myself may be final. It is sad to think 
 of such things, but they must be thought of, 
 for they are probable. I still look in a mirror, 
 Sidney ; I am not so frightened by what has 
 occurred since we first met, to be afraid of 
 that — but I never deceive myself. I do not 
 know what may be the magical effect of the 
 raisins of Malaga, but if it save my life the 
 grape cure will indeed achieve a miracle. Do 
 not look gloomy. Those who have known 
 real grief seldom seem sad. I have been 
 struggling with sorrow for ten years, but I 
 have got througli it with music and singing, 
 and my boy. See now — he will be a source 
 of expense, and it will not do for you to be 
 looking to a woman for supplies. Women 
 are generous but not precise in money matters. 
 I have some excuse, for the world has treated 
 me not very well. I never got my pension 
 regularly; now I never get it at all. So 
 much for the treaties, but everybody laughs
 
 KNDYMION. 43 
 
 at tlieiii. Jlere is the fortune of Florestan, 
 and I wish it all to be spent on his education,' 
 and she took a case from her bosom. ' They 
 are not the crown jewels though. The 
 memoirs I was readmg the other day say I 
 ran away with them. That is false like most 
 things said of me. But these are gems of 
 Golconda, which I wish you to realise and 
 expend for his service. They were the gift 
 of love, and they were worn in love.' 
 
 ' It is unnecessary,' said Mr. AVilton, de- 
 })recating the oifer by his attitude. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said the lady. ' I am still a 
 sovereign to yon, and I must be obeyed.' 
 
 ]\rr. AVilton took the case of jewels, pressed 
 it to his lips, and then placed it in the breast 
 pocket of his coat. He was about to retire, 
 when the lady added, ' I must give you this 
 copy of my song.' 
 
 ' And you will ^M'ite my name on it ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' replied the lady, as she went 
 to the table and wrote, ' For Mr. Sidney 
 Wilton, from Agkippixa.'
 
 44 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 In the meantime, power and prosperity clus- 
 tered round tlie roof and family of Ferrars. 
 He himself was in the prime of manhood, with 
 an exalted position in the world of politics, 
 and with a prospect of the highest. The 
 Government of which he was a member was 
 not only deemed strong, but eternal. The 
 favour of the court and the confidence of the 
 country were alike lavished on it. The go- 
 vernment of the Duke could only be measured 
 by his life, and his influence was irresistible. 
 It was a dictatorship of patriotism. The 
 country, long accustomed to a strong and un- 
 disturbed administration, and frightened by 
 the changes and catastrophes which had fol- 
 lowed the retirement of Lord Liverpool, took 
 refuge in the powerful will and splendid repu- 
 tation of a real hero.
 
 EXDYMION. 45 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars was as ambitious of social 
 distinction as her husband was of political 
 power. She was a woman of taste, but of 
 luxurious taste. She had a passion for splen- 
 dour, which, though ever regulated by a fine 
 perception of the fitness of things, was still 
 costly. Though her mien was in general 
 hauohtv, she flattered Zenobia, and consum- 
 mately. Zenobia, wlio liked handsome people, 
 even handsome women, and persons who were 
 dressed beautifullv, and delighted her eye by 
 their grace and fine manners, was quite won 
 by Mrs. Ferrars, against whom at first she 
 was inclined to be a Httle prejudiced. There 
 was an entire alliance between them, and 
 thougli ]Mrs. Ferrars greatly influenced and 
 almost ruled Zenobia, the wife of the minister 
 was careful always to acknowledge the Queen 
 of Fashion as her suzeraine. 
 
 The great world then, compared with the 
 huge society of the })rcsent period, was limited 
 in its proportions, and composed of elements 
 more refined though far less various. It con- 
 sisted mainly of the great landed aristocracy, 
 who had quite absorbed the nabobs of India,
 
 46 ENDYMION. 
 
 and had nearly appropriated the huge West 
 Indian fortunes. Occasionally, an eminent 
 banker or merchant invested a large portion 
 of his accumulations in land, and in the pur- 
 chase of parliamentary influence, and was in 
 time duly admitted into the sanctuary. But 
 those vast and successful invasions of society 
 by new classes wdiich have since occurred, 
 though impending, had not yet commenced. 
 The manufacturers, the railway kings, the 
 colossal contractors, the discoverers of nuo-- 
 gets, had not yet found their place in society 
 and the senate. There were then, perhaps, 
 more great houses open than at the present 
 day, but there were very few little ones. The 
 necessity of providing regular occasions for 
 the assembling of the miscellaneous world of 
 fashion led to the institution of Almack's, 
 which died out in the advent of the new sys- 
 tem of society, and in the fierce competition of 
 its inexhaustible private entertainments. 
 
 The season then was brilliant and sus- 
 tained, but it was not flurried. People did 
 not go to various parties on the same night. 
 They remained where they were assembled,
 
 EXDYiAIION. 47 
 
 and, not being in a hurry, were more agreeable 
 than they are at the present day. Conversa- 
 tion was more cultivated ; manners, though 
 unconstrained, were more stately ; and the 
 world, being limited, knew itself much better. 
 On the other hand, the sympathies of society 
 were more contracted than they are at present. 
 The pressure of population had not opened 
 the heart of man. The world attended to its 
 poor in its country parishes, and subscribed 
 and danced for the Spitalfields weavers when 
 their normal distress had overflowed, but their 
 knowledge of the people did not exceed these 
 bounds, and the people knew very little more 
 about themselves. They were only half-born. 
 The darkest hour precedes the dawn, and 
 a period of unusual stillness often, perhaps 
 u.^ually, heralds the social convulsion. At this 
 moment the general tranquillity and even con- 
 tent were remarkaljle. In politics the Whio-s 
 were quite prepared to extend to the Duke 
 the same provisional confidence that had been 
 accepted by Mr. Canning, and conciliation 
 l)ogrin to l)e an accepted phrase, which meant 
 in practice some share on their part of the
 
 48 ENDYMION. 
 
 good things of the State. The country itself 
 required nothing. There was a general im- 
 pression, indeed, that they had been advancing 
 at a rather rapid rate, and that it was as well 
 that the reins should be entrusted to a wary 
 driver. Zenobia, who represented society, was 
 enraptured that the career of revolution had 
 been stayed. She still mourned over the con- 
 cession of the Manchester and Liverpool rail- 
 way in a moment of Liberal infatuation, but 
 flattered herself that any extension of the 
 railway system might certainly be arrested, 
 and on this head the majority of society, 
 perhaps even of the country, was certainly on 
 her side. 
 
 ' I have some good news for you,' said one 
 of her young favourites as he attended her 
 reception. ' We have prevented this morning 
 the lighting of Grosvenor Square by gas by a 
 large majority.' 
 
 ' I felt confident that disgrace would never 
 occur,' said Zenobia, triumphant. ' And by a 
 large majority! I wonder how Lord Pomeroy 
 voted.' 
 
 ' Against us.'
 
 ENDYMIOX. 49 
 
 ' How can one save this country? ' ex- 
 claimed Zenobia. ' I believe now the story 
 that lie has ordered Lady Pomeroy not to go 
 to the Drawing Room in a sedan chair.' 
 
 One bright IMay morning in the spring 
 that followed the formation of the government 
 that was to last for ever, Mrs. Ferrars received 
 the world at a flmciful entertainment in the 
 beautiful grounds of her Wimbledon villa. 
 The day was genial, the scene was flushed with 
 roses and pink thorns, and brilliant groups, 
 amid bursts of music, clustered and sauntered 
 on the green turf of bowery lawns. ]\Irs. 
 Ferrars, on a rustic throne, with the wondrous 
 twins in still more wonderful attire, distri- 
 buted alternate observations of sympathetic 
 gaiety to a Russian Grand Duke and to the 
 serene heir of a German principality. And yet 
 there was really an ex2)ression on her coun- 
 tenance of restlessness, not to say anxiety 
 which ill accorded witli the dulcet tones and 
 the wreathed smiles wliich charmed her august 
 companions. Zenobia, tlie great Zenobia, had 
 not arrived, and the hours were advancino-. 
 The Grand Duke played with the beautiful 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 ENDYMION. 
 
 and liaiTglity infants, and tlic German Prince 
 inqnired of Endyniion whether he were des- 
 tined to be one of Her Majesty's gnards ; but 
 still Zenobia did not come, and Mrs. Ferrars 
 could scarcely conceal her vexation. But there 
 was no real occasion for it. For even at this 
 moment, with avant-courier and outriders and 
 badged postilions on her four horses of race, 
 the lodge-gates were oj^ening for the reception 
 of the great lady, who herself soon appeared in 
 the distance ; and Mrs. Ferrars, accompanied 
 by her distinguished guests, immediately rose 
 and advanced to receive the Queen of Fashion. 
 No one a^ipreciated a royal presence more 
 highly than Zenobia. It was her habit to im- 
 press upon her noble fellows of both sexes that 
 there were relations of intimacy between her- 
 self and the royal houses of Euroj^e, which 
 were not shared by her class. She liked to 
 play the part of a sQcial mediator between the 
 aristocracy and royal houses. A German Se- 
 renity was her delight, but a Eussian Grand 
 Duke was her embodiment of power and pomp, 
 and sound prmciples in their most authentic 
 and orthodox form. And yet though she ad-
 
 ENDYMIUN. 51 
 
 dresssed their liighneisses with her usual courtly 
 Yivacity, and poured forth inquiries which 
 seemed to indicate the most familiar acquaint- 
 ance with the latest incidents from Schon- 
 brunn or the Rhine, though she embraced her 
 hostess, and even kissed the children, the prac- 
 tised eye of Mrs. Ferrars, whose life was a study 
 of Zenobia, detected that her late appearance 
 liad been occasioned by an important cause, 
 and, what was more, that Zenobia was anxious 
 to communicate it to her. With feminine tact 
 Mrs. Ferrars moved on with lier guests until 
 the occasion offered when she could present 
 some great ladies to the princes ; and then 
 dismissing the children on appropriate mis- 
 sions, slie was not surprised when Zenobia 
 immediately exclaimed : ' Thank heaven, we 
 are at last alone ! You must have been sur- 
 prised I was so late. Well, guess what has 
 happened ? ' and then as Mrs. Ferrars shook 
 her head, she contmued : ' They are all four 
 out!' 
 
 ' All four ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; Lord Dudley, Lord Palmerston, and 
 Charles Grant follow Iluskisson. I do not 
 
 E 2
 
 52 ENDYMION. 
 
 believe the first ever meant to g'o, but the 
 Duke would not listen to his hypocritical ex- 
 planations, and the rest have followed. I am 
 surprised about Lord Dudley, as I know he 
 loved his office.' 
 
 ' I am alarmed,' said Mrs. Ferrars. 
 
 * ]*»[ot the slio-htest cause for fear,' exclaimed 
 the intrepid Zenobia. ' It must have hap- 
 pened sooner or later. I am delighted at it. 
 We shall now have a cabinet of our own. 
 They never would have rested till they had 
 brought in some Whigs, and the country hates 
 the Whigs. Ko wonder, when we remember 
 that if they had had their way we should 
 have been wearing sabots at this time, with a 
 French prefect probably in Holland House.' 
 
 ' And whom will they put in the cabinet ? ' 
 inquired Mrs. Ferrars. 
 
 ' Our good friends, I hope,' said Zenobia, 
 with an inspiring smile ; ' but I have heard 
 nothing about that yet. I am a little sorry 
 about Lord Dudley, as I think they have 
 drawn him into their mesh ; but as for the 
 other three, especially Huskisson and Lord 
 Palmerston, I can tell you the Duke has
 
 ENDYMION. 53 
 
 never had a quiet moment since tliey joined 
 him. AVe shall now beoin to reion. The 
 only mistake was ever to have admitted them. 
 I think now we have got rid of Liberalism 
 i'oY ever.'
 
 54 ENDTMION. 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 MiJ. Ferraes did not become a cabinet 
 minister, but this was a vexation ratlier than 
 a disappointment, and transient. The un- 
 expected vacancies were filled by unexpected 
 personages. So great a change in the frame 
 of the ministr}'^, without any promotion for 
 himself, was on the first impression not 
 ao;reeable, but reflection and the sansruine 
 wisdom of Zenobia soon convinced him that 
 all was for the best, that the thought of such 
 rapid preferment was unreasonable, and that 
 time and the due season must inevitably bring 
 all that he could desire, especially as any term 
 to the duration of the ministry was not novv^ 
 to be foreseen : scarcely indeed possible. In 
 short it was shown to him that the Tory 
 party, renovated and restored, had entered 
 upon a new lease of authority, wliich would
 
 ENDYMION. 55 
 
 stamp its character on the remainder of 
 the nineteenth century, as Mr. Pitt and his 
 school had marked its earlier and memorable 
 years. 
 
 And yet this very reconstruction of the 
 government necessarily led to an incident 
 which, in its consequences, changed the whole 
 character of English politics, and commenced 
 n series of revolutions which has not yet 
 closed. 
 
 One of the new ministers who hud been 
 preferred to a place whicli Mr. Ferrars might 
 have filled was an Irish gentleman, and a 
 member for one of the most considerable coun- 
 ties in his country. He was a good speaker, 
 and the government was deficient in debating 
 power m the House of Commons ; lie was 
 popular and influential. 
 
 The return of a cabinet minister by a large 
 constituency was more appreciated in the days 
 of close boroughs than at present. There 
 was a rumour that the ne^^'■ minister was to 
 be opposed, but Zenobia laughed the rumour 
 to scorn. As she irresistibly remarked at one 
 of her evening gatherings, ' Every landowner
 
 56 ENDYMION. 
 
 in the county is in his favour ; therefore it is 
 impossible.' The statistics of Zenobia were 
 quite correct, yet tlie result was different from 
 what she anticipated. An Irish lawyer, a 
 professional agitator, himself a Roman Catholic 
 and therefore inelioible, announced himself as 
 a candidate in opposition to the new minister, 
 and on the day of election, thirty thousand 
 peasants, setting* at defiance all the landowners 
 of the county, returned O'Connell at the head 
 of the poll, and placed among not the least 
 memorable of historical events — the Clare 
 election. 
 
 This event did not however occur until 
 the end of the year 1828, for the state of the 
 law then prevented the writ from being moved 
 until that time, and durin<): the whole of that 
 year the Ferrars family had pursued a course 
 of unflagging display. Courage, expenditure, 
 and tact combined, had realised almost the 
 height of that social ambition to which ]Mrs. 
 Ferrars soared. Even in the limited and ex- 
 clusive circle which then prevailed, she began 
 to be counted among the great dames. As 
 for the twins, they seemed quite worthy of their
 
 ENDYMION. 57 
 
 beautiful and luxurious mother. Proud, wilful, 
 and selfish, they had one redeeming qualit}^, an 
 intense affection for each other. The sister 
 seemed to have the commandiug spirit, for 
 Endymion was calm, but, if he were ruled by 
 his sister, she was ever willing to be his slave, 
 and to sacrifice every consideration to his 
 caprice and his convenience. 
 
 The year 1829 was eventful, but to Ferrars 
 more ao:itatino: than anxious. When it was 
 first known that the head of the cabinet, 
 whose colleao-ue had been defeated at Clare, 
 was himself about to })ropose the emancipation 
 of the lioman Catholics, there was a thrill 
 throughout the country ; but after a time the 
 success of the operation was not doubted, and 
 was anticipated as a fresh proof of the irresis- 
 tible fortune of the heroic statesman. There 
 Avas some popular discontent in tlie country 
 at the 2)roposal, Ijut it was mainly organised 
 and stimulated by the Dissenters, and that 
 section of Churchmen who uiost resembled 
 them. The High Cluu'ch party, the descen- 
 dants of tlie old connection which had rallied 
 round Saclieverell,had subsided into formalism,
 
 58 ENDYMION. 
 
 and shrank from any very active co-operation 
 witli their evangelical brethren. 
 
 The English Church had no competent 
 leaders among the clergy. The spirit that 
 has animated and disturbed our latter times 
 seemed quite dead, and no one anticipated its 
 resurrection. The bishops had been selected 
 from college dons, men profoundly ignorant 
 of the condition and the wants of the country. 
 To have edited a Greek play with second-rate 
 success, or to have been the tutor of some 
 considerable patrician, was the qualification 
 then deemed desirable and sufficient for an 
 office, which at this day is at least reserved 
 for eloquence and energy. The social influ- 
 ence of the episcopal bench was nothing. A 
 prelate was rarely seen in the saloons of 
 Zenobia. It is since the depths of religious 
 thought have been probed, and the influence 
 of woman in the spread and sustenance of 
 religious feeling has again been recognised, 
 that fascinating and fashionable prelates have 
 become favoured guests in the refined saloons 
 of the mighty, and, while apparently indulg- 
 ing' in the vanities of the liour, liave re-
 
 ENDYMION, 59 
 
 established tlie influence which in old days 
 iruidcd a Matilda or the mother of Constan- 
 tine. 
 
 The end of the year 1829, however, brought 
 a private event of moment to the Ferrars 
 f[imily. The elder Mr. Ferrars died. The 
 world observed at the time how deeply affected 
 his son was at this event. The relations be- 
 •tween father and son had always been com- 
 mendable, but the world was hardly prepared 
 for Mr. Ferrars, junior, being so entirely over- 
 whelmed. It would seem that nothing but 
 the duties of public life could have restored 
 him to his friends, and even these duties he 
 relinquished for an unusual time. The world 
 was curious to know the amount of his inheri- 
 tance, but the proof of the will was unusually 
 delayed, and public events soon occurred 
 Avhicli alike consio-ncd the will and the will- 
 maker to oblivion.
 
 60 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 The Duke of Wellington applied himself to 
 the treatment of the critical circumstances of 
 1830 with that blended patience and cpiick- 
 ness of perception to which he owed the suc- 
 cess of many campaigns. Quite conscious of 
 the difficulties he had to encounter, he was 
 nevertheless fall of confidence in his ability 
 to control them. It is probable that the 
 paramount desire of the Duke in his effort to 
 confirm his power was to rally and restore 
 the ranks of the Tory party, disturbed rather 
 than broken up by the passing of the Ivelief 
 Bill. During the very heat of the struggle it 
 was significantly observed that the head of 
 the powerfid family of Lowther, in the House 
 of Commons, was never asked to resim his 
 office, although both himself and his follow- 
 ing voted invariably against the government
 
 ENDYMIOK. 61 
 
 measure. The order of tlic tliiy was the ut- 
 most courtesy to the rebels, who were treated, 
 as some alleo'ed, with more consideration than 
 the comphant. At the same time the desire 
 of the Wliigs to connect, perhaps even to 
 merge themselves in the ministerial ranks, was 
 not neglected. A Whig had been appointed 
 to succeed the eccentric and too uncompro- 
 mising Wetherell m the office of attorney- 
 general, other posts had been placed at their 
 disposal, and one even, an old companion in 
 arms of the Duke, had entered the cabinet. 
 The confidence in the Duke's star was not 
 diminished, and under ordinary circumstances 
 this balanced strategy would probably have 
 been successful. But it was destined to cope 
 with great and unexpected events. 
 
 The first was the unexpected demise of the 
 crown. The death of King George the Fourth 
 at the end of the month of June, according to 
 tlie then existin<2f constitution, necessitated a 
 dissolution of parliament, and so deprived the 
 minister of that invaluable quality of time, 
 necessary to soften and win back his estranged 
 friends. Xevertheless, it is not improbable,
 
 G2 KXDYMION. 
 
 that tlie Duke might still have succeeded, 
 had it not been for the occurrence of the 
 French insurrection of 1830, in the very heat 
 of the preparations for the general election in 
 Enoiand. The Whisrs, who found the Duke 
 going to the country without that reconstruc- 
 tion of his ministry on which they had counted, 
 saw their opportunity and seized it. The 
 triumphant riots of Paris were dignified into 
 ' the three glorious days,' and the three glo- 
 rious days were universally recognised as the 
 triumph of civil and religious liberty. The 
 names of Polignac and Wellington were 
 adroitly connected together, and the phrase 
 Parliamentary Reform began to circulate. 
 
 It was Zenobia's last reception for the 
 season ; on the morrow she was about to 
 depart for her county, and canvass for her 
 candidates. She was still undaunted, and 
 never more inspiring. The excitement of the 
 times was reflected in her manner. She 
 addressed her arriving guests as they made 
 their obeisance to her, asked for news and 
 imparted it before she could be answered, 
 declared that nothmg had been more critical 
 since '93, that there was only one man who
 
 ENDYMION. 68 
 
 was able to deal with the situation, and 
 thanked heaven he was not only in England, 
 but in her d ra win o-- room. 
 
 Ferrars, who had been dining with his 
 patron, Lord Pomeroy, and had the satisfaction 
 of feelmg, that at any rate his return to the 
 new parliament was certain, while helping 
 himself to coffee could not refrain from saying 
 in a low tone to a gentleman who was per- 
 formino' the same office, ' Our "Whio- friends 
 
 CD ^ O 
 
 seem in high spirits, baron.' 
 
 The gentleman thus addressed was Baron 
 Sergius, a man of middle age. His counte- 
 nance was singularly intelligent, tempered with 
 an expression mild and winnmg. He had 
 attended the Congress of Vienna to represent 
 a fallen party, a difficult and ungracious task, 
 but he had shown such high qualities in the 
 fulfilment of his painful duties — so much 
 knowledge, so much self-control, and so much 
 wise and unaffected conciliation — that he had 
 won universal respect, and especially with the 
 English plenipotentiaries, so that when he 
 visited England, which he did frequently, the 
 houses of botli parties were open to him, and 
 he was as intimate with the Whigs as he was
 
 64 ENDYMION. 
 
 with die great Duke, by whom he was highly 
 esteemed. 
 
 ' As we have got our coffee, let us sit 
 down,' said the baron, and they withdrew to a 
 settee ao-ainst the wall. 
 
 ' You know I am a Liberal, and have 
 always been a Liberal,' said the baron ; ' I 
 know the value of civil and religious liberty, 
 for I was born in a country where we had 
 neither, and where we have since enjoyed 
 either very fitfully. Nothmg can be much 
 drearier than the present lot of my country, 
 and it is probable that these doings at Paris 
 may help my friends a little, and they may 
 again hold up their heads for a time ; but I 
 have seen too much, and am too old, to in- 
 dulge in dreams. You are a young man and 
 will live to see what I can only predict. The 
 world is thinkino; of somethino; else than civil 
 and religious liberty. Those are phrases of 
 the eighteenth century. The men who have 
 won these ' three glorious days ' at Paris, want 
 neither civilisation nor religion. They will 
 not be content till they have destroyed both. 
 It is possible that they may be parried for a 
 time ; that the adroit wisdom of the house of
 
 ENDYMION. 65 
 
 Orleans, guided by Talleyrand, may give this 
 movement the resemblance, and even the clia- 
 racter, of a middle-class revolution. It is no 
 such thing ; the barricades were not erected 
 by the middle class. I know these people ; 
 it is a fraternity, not a nation. Europe 
 is honeycombed with their secret societies. 
 They are spread all over Spain. Italy is 
 entirely mined. I know more of the southern 
 than the northern nations, but I have been 
 assured by one who should know, that the 
 brotherhood are organised throughout Ger- 
 many and even in Russia. I have spoken to 
 the Duke about these thmgs. He is not in- 
 different, or altogether incredulous, but he is 
 so essentially practical that he can only deal 
 with what he sees. I have spoken to the 
 Whig leaders. They tell me that there is only 
 one specific, and that a com^^lete one — con- 
 stitutional government ; that with represen- 
 tative institutions, secret societies cannot co- 
 exist. I may be wrong, but it seems to me 
 that with tliese secret societies representative 
 institutions rather will disappear.' 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 Oij Ji^M.)VMlo^^ 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 What unexpectedly took place in the southern 
 j^art of England, and especially in the mari- 
 time counties, during the autumn of 1830, 
 seemed rather to confirm the intimations of 
 Baron Sergius. The people in the rural 
 districts had become disaffected. Their dis- 
 content was generally attributed to the abuses 
 of the Poor Law, and to the lowness of their 
 wages. But the abuses of the Poor Law, 
 though intolerable, were generally in favour 
 of the labourer, and though wages in some 
 parts were unquestionably low, it was ob- 
 served that the tumultuous assemblies, ending 
 frequently in riot, were held in districts where 
 this cause did not prevail. The most fearful 
 feature of the approaching anarchy was the 
 frequent acts of mcendiaries. The blazing 
 homesteads baffled the feeble police and the
 
 lielpless iiiagistrateij ; und the government 
 had reason to believe that foreio-n ao'ents were» 
 actively promoting* these mysterious crimes. 
 
 Amid partial discontent andgenera\ dejec- 
 tion came the crash of the Wellino;ton minis- 
 try, and it recpiired all the inspiration of 
 Zenobia to sustain William Ferrars under the 
 trial. But she was midaunted and sano;uine 
 as a mornmg in spring. Nothing could per- 
 suade her that the Whio:s could ever form a 
 government, and she was cpiite sure that the 
 clerks in the public offices alone could turn 
 them out. When the Whig government was 
 formed, and its terrible programme announced, 
 she laughed it to scorn, and derided with in- 
 exhaustible merriment the idea of tlie House 
 of Commons passing a Reform Bill. She held 
 a great assendjly the niglit that General 
 Gascoyne defeated the first measure hy a 
 majority of one, and ])assed an evening of 
 ecstasy in giving and receiving congratula- 
 tions. Tlie morrow brouglit a graver brow, 
 but still an indomitable sj)irit, and through 
 all these tempestuous times Zenobia never
 
 68 ENDYMION. 
 
 quailed, tliougli mobs burnt the castles of 
 dukes and the palaces of bishops. 
 
 Serious as was the state of affairs to 
 William Ferrars, his condition was not so 
 desperate as that of some of his friends. His 
 seat at least was safe in the new parliament 
 that was to pass a Reform Bill. As for the 
 Tories generally, they were swept off the 
 board. Scarcely a constituency, in which 
 was a popular element, was faithful to them. 
 The counties in those days were the great 
 expounders of popular principles, and when- 
 ever England was excited, which was rare, 
 she spoke through her freeholders. In this 
 instance almost every Tory knight of the shire 
 lost his seat except Lord Chandos, the 
 member for Buckinghamshire, who owed his 
 success entirely to his personal popularity. 
 ' Never mind,' said Zenobia, ' what does it 
 signify ? The Lords will throw it out.' 
 
 And bravely and unceasingly she worked 
 for this end. To assist this purpose it was 
 necessary that a lengthened and powerful 
 resistance to the measure should be made in 
 the Commons ; that the jDublic mind should
 
 ENDYMION. . 69 
 
 he impressed with its dangerous principles, 
 and its promoters cheapened by the exposure 
 of their corrupt arrangements and their in- 
 accurate details. It must be confessed that 
 these objects were resolutely kept in view, 
 and that the Tory opposition evinced energy 
 and abilities not unworthy of a great parlia- 
 mentary occasion. Ferrars particularly dis- 
 tinguished himself. He rose immensely in 
 the estimation of the House, and soon the 
 public began to talk of hun. His statistics 
 about the condemned Iwrouij-hs were astound- 
 ing and unansweraljle : he was the only man 
 who seemed to know anything of the elements 
 of the new ones. He was as elocpient too as 
 exact, — sometimes as fervent as Burke, and 
 always as accurate as Cocker. 
 
 ' I never thought it was in William 
 Ferrars,' said a member, musingly, to a com- 
 panion as they walked home one night ; ' I 
 always thought him a good man of business, 
 and all that sort of thing — but, somehow or 
 otlier, I did not think this was in him.' 
 
 'AVcll, lie has a good deal at stake, and 
 that l)rings it out of a fellow,' said his friend.
 
 70 ENDYMION. 
 
 It was, however, poiiriiig water upon 
 sand. Any substantial resistance to the 
 measure was from the first out of the question. 
 Lord Chandos accomplished the only impor- 
 tant feat, and that was the enfranchisement 
 of the farmers. This perpetual struggle, 
 however, occasioned a vast deal of excitement, 
 and the actors in it often indulged in the wHd 
 credulity of impossible expectations. The 
 saloon of Zenobia Avas ever thronged, and she 
 was never more confident than when the bill 
 passed the Commons. She knew that the 
 Kino- would never oive his assent to the bill. 
 His Majesty had had quite enough of going 
 down in hackney coaches to carry revolutions. 
 After all, he was the son of good King- 
 George, and the court would save the country, 
 as it had often done before. ' But it will not 
 come to that,' she added. ' The Lords will do 
 their duty.' 
 
 ' But Lord Wavcrley tells me,' said 
 Ferrars, ' that there are forty of them who 
 were against the bill last year who will vote 
 for the second reading.' 
 
 ' Never mind Lord A\\averle3r and such
 
 ENDYMION. 71 
 
 addlebrains,' said Zenobia, with a smile of 
 triumpliant mystery. ' So long as we liave 
 tlie court, tlie Duke, and Lord Lyndliurst 
 on our side, we can afford to laugh at such 
 conceited poltroons. His mother was my 
 dearest friend, and I know he used to have 
 fits. Look bright,' she continued ; ' thhigs 
 never were better. Before a week has passed 
 these people will be nowhere.' 
 
 ' But how is it possible ? ' 
 
 ' Trust me.' 
 
 ' I always do — and yet ' 
 
 ' You never were nearer beins: a cabinet 
 minister,' she said, with a radiant glance. 
 
 And Zenobia was riglit. Though the 
 government, with the aid of the waverers, 
 carried the second reading of the bill, a week 
 afterwards, on May 7, Lord Lyndhurst rallied 
 the waverers again to his standard and carried 
 his famous resolution, that the enfranchising 
 clauses should precede the disfranchisement 
 in the gi'eat measure. Lord Grey and his 
 colleagues resigned, and the King sent for 
 Lord L3mdhurst. The bold chief baron 
 advised His Majesty to consult the Duke of
 
 72 ENDYMION. 
 
 Welllno'ton, and was himself tlie liearer of 
 the King's message to Apsley House. The 
 Duke found the King ' in great distress,' 
 and he therefore did not hesitate in promising 
 to endeavour to form a ministry. 
 
 ' Who was right ? ' said Zenobia to Mr. 
 Ferrars. ' He is so busy he could not write 
 to you, but he told me to tell you to call at 
 Apsley House at twelve to-morrow. You 
 will be in the cabinet.' 
 
 ' I have orot it at last I ' said Ferrars to 
 himself. ' It is worth living for and at any 
 peril. All the cares of life sink into insignifi- 
 cance under such circumstances. The diffi- 
 culties are great, but their very greatness will 
 furnish the means of their solution. The 
 Crown cannot be dragged in the mud, and the 
 Duke was born for conquest.' 
 
 A day passed, and another day, and 
 Ferrars was not again summoned. The affair 
 seemed to hang fire. Zenobia was still brave, 
 but Ferrars, who knew her thoroughly, could 
 detect her lurking anxiety. Then she told 
 him in confidence that Sir Robert made 
 difficulties, ' but there is nothing in it,' she
 
 ENDYMION. 73 
 
 added. ' The Duke lias provided for every- 
 thina*, and he means Sir Eobert to be Premier. 
 He could not refuse that ; it Trould be almost 
 an act of treason.' T^yo days after she sent 
 for Mr. Ferrars, early in the morning, and 
 received him in her boudoir. Her coun- 
 tenance was excited, but serious. ' Don't be 
 alarmed,' she said ; ' nothing will prevent a 
 government beino- formed, but Sir Robert 
 has thrown us over ; I never had confidence 
 in him. It is most provoking, as Mr. Baring 
 had joined us, and it was such a good name 
 for the City. But the failure of one man is 
 the opportunity of another. We want a leader 
 in the House of Commons. He must be a man 
 who can speak ; of experience, who knows 
 the House, its forms, and all that. There 
 is only one man indicated. You cannot 
 doubt about him. I told you honours would be 
 tumbling on your head. You are the man ; 
 you are to have one of the highest offices in 
 thi cabinet, and lead the House of Commons.' 
 ' Peel declines,' said Ferrars, speaking 
 slowly and shakiug his head, ' That is very 
 serious.'
 
 74 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' For himself,' said Zenobia, ' not for you. 
 It makes your fortune.' 
 
 ' The difficulties seem too great to contend 
 with.' 
 
 ' What difficulties are there ? You have 
 got the court, and you have got the House of 
 Lords. j\Ir. Pitt was not nearly so well off, 
 for he had never been in office, and had at the 
 same time to fii>'ht Lord North and that wicked 
 ]\L\ Fox, the orator of the day, while you 
 have only got Lord Althorp, who can't order 
 his own dinner.' 
 
 ' I am in amazement,' said Ferrars, and 
 he seemed plunged in thought. 
 
 ' But you do not hesitate ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he said, looking up dreamily, for he 
 had been lost in abstraction ; and speaking 
 in a measured and hollow voice, ' I do not 
 hesitate.' Then resumino- a brisk tone he said, 
 ' This is not an age for hesitation ; if asked, 
 I will do the deed.' 
 
 At this moment there was a taj) at the 
 door, and the groom of the chambers brought 
 in a note for Mr. Ferrars, which had been 
 forwarded from his own residence and which
 
 EXDYMIOX. ^^ 
 
 requested Lis presence at Apsley House. 
 Having read it, he gave it to Zenobia, who 
 exchiimed with ddight, ' Do not lose a 
 moment. I am so ghid to have got rid of 
 Sir Jvobert M'ith his doubts and his difficulties. 
 We want new l^lood.' 
 
 That was a wonderfid walk for AVilliam 
 Ferrars, from St. James' Square to Apsley 
 House. As he moved along, he was testing his 
 courage and capacity for the sharp trials that 
 awaited him. He felt himself not unequal to 
 conjunctures in whicli he had never previ- 
 ously indulged even in imagination. His had 
 been an ambitious, rather than a soaring spirit. 
 He had never contemplated the possession of 
 power except under the irgis of some com- 
 manding chief. Xow it was for him to control 
 senates and guide councils. He screwed him- 
 self up to the sticking-point. Desperation is 
 sometunes as powerful an inspir^r as genius. 
 
 The great man was alone, — calm, easy, 
 and courteous. He had sent for Mr. Ferrars, 
 because havinij: had one interview with him, 
 in wliich his co-operation liad been re- 
 quested in tbc conduct of afiairs, tlie Duke
 
 76 ENDYMION. 
 
 tlionf»:lit it was due to him to 2:ive him the 
 earliest intimation of the chanixc of circum- 
 stances. The vote of the House of Commons 
 on the motion of Lord Ebrington liad placed 
 an insurmountable harrier to the formation of 
 a government, and his grace had accordingly 
 relinquished the commission with which he 
 had been entrusted by the King.
 
 ENDYMION. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Availing himself of liis latch-key, Ferrars 
 re-entered his home unnoticed. He went at 
 once to his library, and locked the door of the 
 apartment. There sitting before his desk, he 
 buried his face in his hands and remained in 
 that posture for a considerable time. 
 
 They were tumultuous and awful thoughts 
 that passed over his brain. The dreams of a 
 life were dissipated, and he had to encounter 
 the stern reality of his position — and that was 
 Ivuin. He was without hope and without 
 resource. His debts were vast ; his patri- 
 mony was a fable ; and the mysterious inheri- 
 tance of his wife had been tampered with. 
 The elder Ferrars had left an insolvent estate ; 
 he had supported his son liberally, but latterly 
 from his son's own resources. The father had 
 made himself the principal trustee of the son's
 
 78 EXDYMIO.V. 
 
 marrlao'6 settlement. His collefigue, a relativti 
 of the heiress, had died, and care was taken 
 that no one should be substituted in his stead. 
 All this had been discovered by Ferrars on 
 his father's death, but ambition and the 
 excitement of a life of blended elation and 
 23eril, had sustamed him under the concussion. 
 One by one every chance had vanished : first 
 his private means and then his public pro- 
 spects ; he had lost office, and now he was 
 about to lose parliament. His whole position 
 so long, and carefully, and skilfully built up 
 seemed to dissolve, and dissipate into insigni- 
 ficant frao'ments. And now he had to break 
 tlie situation to his wife. She was to become 
 the unprepared partner of the secret which 
 had gnawed at his heart for years, during 
 which to her his mien had often been smilino^ 
 and always serene. Mrs. Ferrars was at 
 home, and alone, in her luxurious boudoir, 
 and he went to her at once. After years of 
 dissimulation, now that all was over, Ferrars 
 could not bear the suspense of four-and-twenty 
 hours.
 
 It wn>; (lifhciilt t(j briiiG," licr into n iiiood 
 of mind capable of conipreliGndino' a tithe of 
 Arliat slie had to learn ; and yet the darkest 
 part of the tale she was never to know. Mrs. 
 Ferrars, tliongh singnlarly intnitive, shrank 
 from controversy, and settled everything- by 
 contradiction and assertion. She maintained 
 for a lonii" time that what her hnsband com- 
 municated to her could not be ; that it was 
 absurd and even impossible. After a wl ile, 
 she talked of sellinix her diamonds and re- 
 dncing her equipages, sacrificing which she 
 assumed would put everything right. And 
 when she found her husband still grave and 
 still intimatinix that the sacrifices must be 
 bej^ond all tliis, and that they must prepare 
 for the life and habits of another social sphere, 
 she became violent, and wept and declared her 
 wrongs ; tliat she had been deceived and out- 
 raged and infamously treated. 
 
 Jvcmemberinof how loni*' and with what 
 apparent serenity in her presence he had 
 endured his secret woes, and how one of the 
 principal objects of his life had ever been to
 
 80 ENDYMION. 
 
 guard her even from a shade of solicitude, 
 even the restramed Ferrars was affected ; liis 
 coLintenance changed and his eye became 
 suffused. When she observed this, she sud- 
 denly threw her arms round his neck and with 
 many embraces, amid sighs and tears, ex- 
 claimed, ' Oh ! William, if we love each other, 
 what does anything signify ? ' 
 
 And what could anything signify under 
 such circumstances and on such conditions ? 
 As Ferrars pressed his beautifid wife to his 
 heart, he remembered only his early love, 
 which seemed entirely to revive. Uncon- 
 sciously to himself, too, he was greatly 
 relieved by this burst of tenderness on her 
 part, for the prospect of this interview had 
 been most distressful to him. ' My darling,' 
 he said, ' ours is not a case of common in:pru- 
 dence or misfortune. We are the victims of a 
 revolution, and we must bear our lot as be- 
 comes us under such circumstances. Indi- 
 vidual misfortunes are mero-ed in the "Tcater 
 catastroj)he of the country.' 
 
 ' That is the true view,' said his wife ; ' and, 
 after all, the poor King of France is much worse
 
 EXDYMION. 81 
 
 off than we are. However, I cannot now buy 
 the Duchesse of Sevres' lace, which I had pro- 
 mised her to do. It is rather awkward. How- 
 ever, the best way always is to speak the truth. 
 I must tell the duchess I am poAverless, and that 
 we are the victims of a revolution, like herself.' 
 Then they began to talk quite cosily to- 
 gether over their prospects, he sitting on the 
 sofa by her side and holding her hand. Mrs. 
 Ferrars would not hear of retiring to the con- 
 tinent. ' Xo.' she said, with all her sana'uine 
 vein returning, ' you always used to say I 
 brought you luck, and I will bring you luck 
 yet. There must l^e a reaction. The wheel 
 will turn and bring round our friends again. 
 Do not let us then be out of the way. Your 
 claims are immense. They must do some- 
 thing for you. They ought to give you India, 
 and if we only set our mind u])on it, we shall 
 get it. Depend up<ni it, things are not so 
 bad as they seem. What appear to be calami- 
 ties are often the sources of fortune. I would 
 much sooner that you should be GovcnKjr- 
 General than a cabinet minister. That 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 ENDYMION. 
 
 odious House of Commons is very Trearisome. 
 I am not sure any constitution can bear it 
 very long. I am not sure whether I would 
 not prefer being- Governor- General of India 
 even to being Prime Minister.'
 
 ENDYMION. 83 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ix consequence of the registration under the 
 Reform Act it was not possible for parliament 
 to be dissolved, and an appeal made to the 
 new constituency, until the end of the year. 
 This was advantageous to Mr. Ferrars, and 
 afforded him six months of personal security 
 to arrange his affairs. Both husband and 
 wife were proud, and were anxious to quit the 
 world with dignity. All were so busy about 
 themselves at that period, and the vicissitudes 
 of life l^etween continental revolutions and 
 J-^nglish reform so various and extensive, that 
 it was not diftieult to avoid tlic scrutiny of 
 society. Mrs. Ferrars broke to Zenobia that, 
 as her husband was no longer to be in par- 
 liament, they liad resolved to retire for some 
 time to a country life, tliongh, as ]\Ir. Ferrars 
 had at length succeeded in impressing on liis 
 
 2
 
 84 ENDYMION. 
 
 ''^^fe that their future mcome was to be counted 
 by hundreds, instead of thousands, it was dif- 
 ficult for her to realise a rural establishment 
 that should combine dignity and economy. 
 Without, however, absolutely alleging the 
 cause, she contrived to baffle the various pro- 
 positions of this kind which the energetic 
 Zenobia made to her, and while she listened 
 with apparent interest to accounts of deer 
 parks, and expensive shooting, and delightful 
 neighbourhoods, would just exclaim, ' Charm- 
 ing ! but rather more, I fancy, than we require, 
 for we mean to be very quiet till my girl is 
 presented.' 
 
 That young lady was now thirteen, and 
 though her parents were careful to say nothing 
 in her presence which would materially reveal 
 their real situation, for which they intended 
 very gradually to prepare her, the scrutinising 
 powers with which nature had prodigally in- 
 vested their daughter were not easily baffled. 
 She asked no questions, but nothing seemed 
 to escape the penetrative glance of that dark 
 blue eye, calm amid all the mystery, and 
 tolerating rather than sharing the frequent
 
 ENDYMION. 85 
 
 embrace of her parents. After a while her 
 brother came home from Eton, to which he 
 was never to return. A few days before this 
 ev^ent she became nnnsnally restless, and even 
 agitated. AVhen he arrived, neither Mr. nor 
 Mrs. Ferrars was at home. He knocked 
 gaily at the door, a schoolboy's knock, and 
 was hardly in the hall, when his name was 
 called, and he canght the face of his sister, 
 leanino' over the balustrade of the landino-. 
 place. He ran upstairs with wondrous speed, 
 and was in an instant locked in her arms. 
 She kissed hhn and kissed him again, and 
 when he tried to speak, she stopped his mouth 
 with kisses. And then she said, ' Somethino; 
 has happened. AVhat it is I cannot make 
 out, but we are to have no more ponies.'
 
 86 ENDYIMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 At the foot of the Berkshire downs, and 
 itself on a gentle elevation, there is an old 
 hall with gable ends and lattice windows, 
 standing in grounds which once were stately, 
 and where there are yet glade-like terraces of 
 yew trees, which give an air of dignity to a 
 neglected scene. In the front of the hall huge 
 gates of iron, highly wrouglit, and bearing an 
 ancient date as well as the shield of a noble 
 house, opened on a village green, round which 
 were clustered the cottages of the parish with 
 only one exception, and that was the vicarage 
 house, a modern building, not without taste, 
 and surrounded by a small but brilliant gar- 
 den. The church w^as contiguous to the 
 hall, and had been raised by the lord on a 
 portion of his domain. Behind the hall and 
 its enclosure, the country was common land
 
 ENDYMION. 87 
 
 but picturesque. It Lad once been a beech 
 forest, and though the timber had been greatly 
 cleared, the green land was still occasionally 
 dotted, sometimes with groups and sometimes 
 with single trees, while the juniper which here 
 abounded, and rose to a great height, gave a 
 rich wildness to the scene, and sustained its 
 forest character. 
 
 Hurstley had for many years been deserted 
 by the family to which it belonged. Indeed, 
 it was rather difficult to say to whom it did 
 belong. A dreary fate had awaited an ancient, 
 and, in its time, even not immemorable home. 
 It had fallen into chancery, and for the last 
 half-century had either been uninhabited or 
 let to strangers. Mr. Ferrars' lawyer was in 
 the chancery suit, and knew all about it. 
 The difficulty of findmg a tenant for such a 
 place, never easy, was increased by its remote- 
 ness from any railway communication, whicli 
 was now beginning to figure as an important 
 element in such arrano:ements. The Master 
 in Cliancery would be satisfied with a nominal 
 rent, provided only he could obtain a family 
 of consideration to hold under Inni. Mr.
 
 88 ENDYMION. 
 
 Ferrars was persuaded to go down alone to 
 reconnoitre the place. It pleased him. It 
 was aristocratic, yet singularly inexpensive. 
 The house contained an immense hall, which 
 reached the roof, and which would have be- 
 come a baronial mansion, and a vast staircase 
 in keeping ; but the living rooms were mode- 
 rate, even small, in dimensions, and not nu- 
 merous. The land he was expected to take 
 consisted only of a few meadows, which he 
 could let if necessary, and a single labourer 
 could manage the garden. 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars was so delio-hted with the 
 description of the galleried hall, that she re- 
 solved on their taking Hurstley without even 
 her previously visiting it. The only things 
 she cared for in the country were a hall and 
 a pony- chair. 
 
 All the carriages were sold, and all the 
 servants discharged. Two or three maid- 
 servants and a man who must be found in the 
 comitry, who could attend them at table, and 
 valet alike his master and the j^ony, was the 
 establishment which was to succeed the crowd 
 of retainers who had so long lounged away
 
 ENDYMION. 89 
 
 their lives iii the saloons of Hill Street, and 
 the groves and gardens of Wimbledon. 
 
 ]\Ir. and Mrs. Ferrars and their daughter 
 travelled down to Hnrstley m a post-chaise ; 
 Endymion, with the servants, was sent by the 
 stage-coach, which accomj^lished the journey 
 of sixty miles in ten hours. Myra said little 
 durmg the journey, but an expression of in- 
 effable contempt and disgust seemed per- 
 manent on her countenance. Sometimes she 
 shruo:o;ed her shoulders, sometimes she raised 
 her eyebrows, and sometimes she turned up 
 her nose. And then she gave a sigh ; but it 
 was a sigh not of sorrow, but of impatience. 
 Her parents lavished attentions on her wdiich 
 she accepted without recognition, only occa- 
 sionally observmg that she wished she had 
 gone with Endymion. 
 
 It was dusk when they arrived at Hurst- 
 ley, and the melancholy hour did not tend to 
 raise their spirits. However, the gardener's 
 wife had lit a good fire of beech-wood in the 
 drawing-room, and thre^v as they entered a 
 pannier of cones upon the logs, which crackled 
 and cheerfully blazed away. Even ]\Iyra
 
 90 ENDYMION. 
 
 seemed interested by the novelty of the wood 
 fire and the iron dogs. She remained by 
 their side looking abstractedly on the expiring 
 logs, while her parents wandered about the 
 house and examined or prepared the requisite 
 arrangements. While they were yet absent, 
 there was some noise and a considerable bustle 
 in the hall. Endymion and his retinue had 
 arrived. Then Myra immediately roused her- 
 self, and listened like a startled deer. But 
 the moment she caught his voice, an expres- 
 sion of rapture suffused her countenance. It 
 beamed "with vivacity and delight. She 
 rushed away, pushed through the servants and 
 the luo-o-ao-e, eml^raced him and said, ' We will 
 go over the house and see our rooms together.' 
 Wandering without a guide and making 
 many mistakes, fortunately they soon met 
 their parents. Mrs. Ferrars good-naturedly 
 recommenced her labours of inspection, and ex- 
 plained all her plans. There was a very pretty 
 room for Endymion, and to-morrow it was to 
 be very comfortable. He was quite pleased. 
 Then they were shown Myra's room, but she 
 said nothing, standing by with a sweet scoff,
 
 ENDYMION. 91 
 
 as it were, lingering' on lier lips, while her 
 motlier disserted on all the excellences of the 
 chamber. Then they were summoned to tea. 
 The gardener's wife was qnite a leading spirit, 
 and had prepared everything; the curtains 
 were drawn, and the room lighted ; an nrn 
 hissed ; there were piles of bread and bntter 
 and a pyramid of Ijuttered toast. It was 
 wonderful what an air of comfort had been 
 conjured up in this dreary mansion, and it was 
 impossible for the travellers, however wearied 
 or chagrined, to be insensible to the conveni- 
 ence and cheerfulness of all around them. 
 
 When the meal was over, tlie children sate 
 together in whispering tattle. Mrs. Ferrars 
 had left the room to see if all was ready for 
 their liour of retirement, and i\[r. Ferrars was 
 walking up and down the room, absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 ' AYhat do you think of it all, Endymion? ' 
 whispered Myra to her twin. 
 
 ' I rather like it,' he replied. 
 
 She looked at him with a glance of l)lended 
 love and mockery, and then she said in his 
 car, ' I feel as if we had fallen from some star.'
 
 92 ENBYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The morrow brought a bright autumnal 
 morn, and everyone woke, if not happy, in- 
 terested. There was much to see and much 
 to do. The dew was so heavy that the 
 chihiren were not allowed to quit the broad 
 gravel walk that bounded one side of the 
 old house, but they caught enticing vistas of 
 the gleamy glades, and the abounding light 
 and shade softened and adorned everything. 
 Every sight and sound too was novel, and 
 from the rabbit that started out of the 
 grove, stared at them and then disap- 
 peared, to the jays chattering in the more 
 distant woods, all was wonderment at least 
 for a week. They saw squirrels for the 
 first time, and for the first time beheld a 
 hedgehog. Their parents were busy in the 
 house ; Mr. Eerrars unpacking and settling
 
 ENDYMION. 93 
 
 his books, and his wife aiTanging some few 
 articles of ornamental furniture that had 
 been saved from the London wreck and ren- 
 derino' their usual room of residence as relined 
 as was in her power. It is astonishing how 
 much effect a woman of taste can produce with 
 a pretty chair or two full of fancy and colour, 
 a table clothed with a few books, some family 
 miniatures, a workbag of rich material, and 
 some to^'s that we never desert. ' I have not 
 much to work with,' said Mrs. Ferrars, with a 
 sigh, ' but I think the colouring is pretty.' 
 
 On the second day after tlieir arrival, the 
 rector and his wife made them a visit. Mr, 
 Penruddock was a naturalist, and had written 
 the history of his parisli. He had escaped 
 being an Oxford don by being preferred early 
 to this colle<2:e livino- Init he had married the 
 daiiglitur of a don, who a})preciated the grand 
 manners of tlieir new acquaintances, and who, 
 when she had overcome their first rather 
 awe-inspiring impression, became communica- 
 tive and amused them much with her details 
 respecting the little world in which they were 
 now to live. She could not conceal her
 
 94 ENDYMION. 
 
 wonderment at the beauty of tlie twins, 
 though they were no longer habited in those 
 dresses which had once astonished even May- 
 fair. 
 
 Part of the scheme of the new life was 
 the education of the children by their parents. 
 Mr. Ferrars had been a distinguished scholar, 
 and was still a good one. He was patient 
 and methodical, and deeply mterested in 
 his contemplated task. So far as disposi- 
 tion was concerned the pupil was not dis- 
 appointing. Endymion was of an affection- 
 ate disposition and inclined to treat his 
 father with deference. He was gentle and 
 docile ; but he did not acquire knowledge 
 with facility, and was remarkably deficient in 
 that previous information on which his father 
 counted. The other pupil was of a different 
 temperament. She learned with a glance, and 
 remembered with extraordinary tenacity every- 
 thing she had acquired. But she was neither 
 tender nor deferential, and to induce her to 
 study you could not depend on the affections, 
 but only on her intelligence. So she was 
 often fitful, capricious, or provoking, and her
 
 ENDYMION. 95 
 
 mother, avIio, though accomplished and eager, 
 had neither the method nor the self-restraint 
 of j\Ir. Ferrars, was often annoyed and irri- 
 table. Then there were scenes, or rather 
 ebullitions on one side, for Myra was always 
 unmoved and enrairino- from her total want of 
 sensibility. Sometimes it became necessary to 
 appeal to ^Ir. Ferrars, and her manner to her 
 father, though devoid of feeling, was at least 
 not contemptuous. Xevertheless, on the 
 whole the scheme, as time went on, promised 
 to be not unsuccessful. Endymion, though 
 not rapidly, advanced surely, and made some 
 amends for the 3'ears that had been wasted in 
 fashionable private schools and the then frivo- 
 lity of Eton. ^>lyra, who, notwithstandmg 
 her early days of indulgence, had enjoyed the 
 advantage of admirable governesses, was Avell 
 grounded in more than one modern language, 
 and she soon mastered them. ' And in due 
 time, though much after the period on which 
 Ave are now touching, she announced her de- 
 sire to become acquainted with German, in 
 those days a much rarer acquirement than at 
 present. Her mother could not lielp her in
 
 96 ENDYMION. 
 
 tills respect, and that was perhaps an addi- 
 tional reason for the study of this tongue, for 
 Myra was impatient of tuition, and not un- 
 justly full of self-confidence. She took also 
 the keenest interest in the progress of her 
 brother, made herself acquainted with all his 
 lessons, and sometimes helped him in their 
 achievement. 
 
 Though they had absolutely no acquaint- 
 ance of any kind except the rector and his 
 family, life was not dull. Mr. Ferrars was 
 always employed, for besides the education of 
 his children, he had systematically resumed 
 a habit in which he had before occasionally 
 indulged, and that was political composition. 
 He had in his lofty days l^een the author of 
 more than one essay, in the most celebrated 
 periodical publication of the Tories, which 
 had commanded attention and obtained cele- 
 brity. ]\lany a public man of high rank and 
 reputation, and even more than one Prime 
 Minister, had contributed in their time to its 
 famous pages, but never without being paid. 
 It was the organic law of this publication, 
 that gratuitous contributions should never be
 
 EXDYMION. 97 
 
 admitted. And in this principle there was as 
 much wisdom as pride. Celebrated statesmen 
 would point with complacency to the snuff- 
 box or the picture which had been purchased 
 by their literary labour, and there was more 
 than one bracelet on the arm of Mrs. Ferrars, 
 and more than one genet in her stable, which 
 had been the reward of a j)rofound or a slash- 
 ing article by William. 
 
 What had been the occasional diversion of 
 political life was now to be the source of 
 regidar income. Though living in profound 
 solitude, Ferrars had a vast sum of political 
 experience to draw upon, and though his train- 
 ing and general intelligence were in reality 
 too exclusive and academical for the stirring: 
 age which had now opened, and on which he 
 liad unhappily fallen, they nevertheless suited 
 the audience to which they were particularly 
 addressed. Ilis Corinthian style, in which 
 the Micnad of Mr. Burke was habited in the 
 last mode of Alraack's, his sarcasms against 
 tli(i illiterate and his invectives against the 
 low, his descriptions of the country life of the 
 aristocracy contrasted witli the horrors of the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ENDYMION. 
 
 guillotine, his Horatian allusions and his 
 Virgilian passages, combined to produce a 
 "whole which equally fascinated and alarmed 
 his readers. 
 
 These contributions occasioned some com- 
 munications with the editor or publisher of 
 the Eeview, which were not without interest. 
 Parcels came down by the coach, inclosing 
 not merely proof sheets, but frequently new 
 books — the pamphlet of the hour before it was 
 published, or a volume of discoveries in un- 
 known lands. It was a link to the world 
 they had cjuitted without any painful associa- 
 tions. Otherwise their communications with 
 the outer world were slight and rare. It is 
 difficult for us who live in an age of railroads, 
 telegraphs, penny posts and penny newspapers, 
 to realise how uneventful, how limited in 
 thought and feeling, as well as in incident, 
 was the life of an English family of retu^ed 
 habits and limited means, only forty years ago. 
 The whole world seemed to be morally, as 
 well as materially, ' adscripti glebae.' 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars did not wish to move, 
 but had they so wished, it would have been
 
 EXDYMION. 99 
 
 under any circumstances for them a laborious 
 and costly affair. The onty newspaper they 
 saw was the ' Evening Mail,' which arrived 
 three times a week, and was the ' Times ' news- 
 paper with all its contents except its adver- 
 tisements. As the ' Times ' newspaper had 
 the credit of mainly contributing to the pass- 
 ing of Lord Grey's Iicform Bill, and was then 
 whispered to enjoy the incredible sale of twelve 
 thousand copies daily, Mr. Ferrars assumed 
 that in its columns he would trace the most 
 authentic intimations of coming events. The 
 cost of postage was then so heavy, that do- 
 mestic correspondence was necessarily very 
 restricted. But this vexatious limitation 
 hardly ap})lied to the Ferrars. They had 
 never paid postage. They were born and 
 had always lived in the franking world, and 
 although Mr. Ferrars had now himself lost 
 the privilege, both official and parliamentar}^, 
 still all their correspondents were frankers, 
 and they addressed their replies without com- 
 punction to those who were free. Neverthe- 
 less, it was astonishuig how little in their new 
 life they cared to avail themselves of this cor-
 
 100 ENDYMION. 
 
 respondence. At first, Zenobia wrote every 
 "week, almost every day, to Mrs. Ferrars, but 
 after a tirae Mrs. Ferrars, tlioiigh at first 
 pleased by the attention, felt its recognition a 
 burthen. Then Zenobia, who at length, for 
 the first time in her life, had taken a gloomy 
 view of affairs, relapsed into a long silence, 
 and in fact had nearly forgotten the Ferrars, 
 for, as she herself used to say, ' How can one 
 recollect people whom one never meets ? ' 
 
 In the meantime, for we have been a little 
 
 anticipatmg in our last remarks, the family at 
 
 Hurstley were much pleased with the country 
 
 they now inhabited. They made excursions 
 
 of discovery into the interior of their world, 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars and Myra in the pony chair, her 
 
 husband and Endymion walkmg by their side, 
 
 and Endymion sometimes taking his sister's 
 
 seat against his wish, but in deference to her 
 
 irresistible will. Even Myra could hardly be 
 
 insensible to the sylvan wildness of the old 
 
 chase, and the romantic villages m the wooded 
 
 clefts of the downs. As for Endvmion he 
 
 was delighted, and it seemed to him, perhaps 
 
 he unconsciously felt it, that this larger and
 
 EXDYMION. 101 
 
 more frequent experience of nature was a com- 
 pensation for much which they had lost. 
 
 After a time, when they had become a little 
 acquainted with their simple neighbourhood, 
 and the first impression of wildness and novelty 
 had worn out, the twins were permitted to 
 walk together alone, though witlmi certain 
 limits. The village and its vicmity was quite 
 free, but they were not permitted to enter the 
 woods, and not to wander on the chase out of 
 sight of the mansion. These Avalks alone 
 with Endymion were the greatest pleasure of 
 his sister. She delio'hted to make him tell 
 her of his life at Eton, and if she ever sighed 
 it was when she lamented that his residence 
 there had been so short. Then they found an 
 inexhaustible fund of interest and sympathy 
 in tlie past. They wondered if they ever 
 should have ponies again. ' I think not,' 
 said ^lyra, ' and yet how merry to scamper 
 together over this chase ! ' 
 
 ' J3ut they would not let us go,' said Endy- 
 mion, ' without a groom.' 
 
 ' A groom ! ' exclaimed Myra, with an 
 elfish laugh ; ' I Ijelieve, if the truth were really
 
 102 ENDYMION. 
 
 known, we ouglit to be making our own beds 
 and washing our own dinner plates.' 
 
 ' And are you sorry, Myra, for all that lias 
 happened ? ' asked Endymion. 
 
 ' I hardly know what has happened. They 
 keep it very close. But I am too astonished 
 to be sorry. Besides, what is the use of 
 whimpering ? ' 
 
 ' I cried very much one day,' said Endy- 
 mion. 
 
 ' Ah ! you are soft, dear darling. I never 
 cried in my life, except once with rage.' 
 
 At Christmas a new character appeared on 
 the stage, the rector's son, Nigel. He had com- 
 pleted a year with a j^rivate tutor, and was on 
 the eve of commencing his first term at Oxford, 
 being eighteen, nearly five years older tlian 
 the twins. He was tall, witli a countenance 
 of remarkable intelligence and power, though 
 still softened by the innocence and bloom of 
 boyhood. He was destined to be a clergy- 
 man. The twins were often thrown into his 
 society, for thougli too old to be their mere 
 comjDanion, his presence was an excuse for 
 Mrs. Penruddock more fi'equently joining
 
 ENDYMION. 103 
 
 tliem in their strolls, and under lier auspices 
 theii* wanderings had no limit, except the 
 shortness of the days ; but they found some 
 compensation for this in their frequent visits 
 to the rectory, which was a cheerful and 
 agreeable home, full of stuffed birds, and dried 
 plants, and marvellous fishes, and other inno- 
 cent trophies and triumphs over nature.
 
 104 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The tenant of the Manor Farm was a good 
 specimen of his class ; a thorough Saxon, 
 ruddy and bright visaged, with an athletic 
 though rather bulky frame, hardened by ex- 
 posure to the seasons and constant exercise. 
 Althouo-h he was the tenant of several hundred 
 acres, he had an eye to the main chance in little 
 things, which is a characteristic of farmers, 
 but he was good-natured and obliging, and 
 while he foraged their pony, furnished their 
 woody ard with logs and faggots, and supplied 
 them from his dair}^, he gratuitously per- 
 formed for the family at the hall many other 
 offices which tended to their comfort and con- 
 venience, but which cost him nothing. 
 
 Mr. Ferrars liked to have a chat every 
 now and then with Farmer Thornberry, who 
 had a shrewd and idiomatic style of expressing
 
 ENDYMION. 105 
 
 his limited, but in its way complete, experi- 
 ence of men and things, which was amusing 
 and interesting to a man of the world 
 whose knowledge of rural life was mainly 
 derived from grand shooting parties at great 
 houses. 
 
 The pride and torment of Farmer Thorn - 
 berry's life was his only child, Job. 
 
 ' I gave him the best of educations,' said 
 the farmer ; ' he had a much better chance than 
 I had myself, for I do not pretend to be a 
 scholar, and never was ; and yet I cannot make 
 head or tail of liim, I wish you would speak 
 to him some day, sir. He goes against the 
 land, and yet we have been on it for three 
 generations, and have nothing to complain of ; 
 and he is a good farmer too, is Job, none 
 better ; a little too fond of experimenting, but 
 then he is young. Ikit I am very much 
 afraid he will leave me. I think it is this new 
 thing the big-wigs have set up in London 
 that has put him wrong, for he is always read- 
 ing their papers.' 
 
 ' And what is that ? ' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' Well, tliey call themselves the Society
 
 106 ENDYMION. 
 
 for the Diffusion of Knowledge, and Lord 
 Brougham is at the head of it.' 
 
 ' Ah ! he is a dangerous man,' said Mr. 
 Ferrars. 
 
 ' Do you know, I think he is,' said Farmer 
 Thornberry, very seriously, ' and by this token, 
 — he says a knowledge of chemistry is neces- 
 sary for the cultivation of the soil.' 
 
 ' Brougham is a man who would say any- 
 thing,' said Mr. Ferrars, ' and of one thing 
 you may be quite certain, that there is no sub- 
 ject which Lord Brougham knows thoroughly. 
 I have proved that, and if you ever have time 
 some winter evening to read something on the 
 matter, I will lend you a number of the 
 ' Quarterly Review,' which might interest 
 you.' 
 
 ' I wish you would lend it to Job,' said 
 the farmer. 
 
 Mr. Ferrars found Job not so manao-eable 
 in controversy as his father. His views were 
 peculiar, and his conclusions certain. He had 
 more than a smattering too of political eco- 
 nomy, a kind of knowledge which Mr. Ferrars 
 viewed with suspicion ; for though he had him-
 
 ENDYMION. 107 
 
 self been looked upon as enlightened in this 
 respect in the last years of Lord Liverpool, 
 when Lord Wallace and Mr. Huskisson were 
 astonishing the world, he had relapsed, after 
 the schism of the Tory party, into orthodoxy, 
 and was satisfied that the tenets of the eco- 
 nomists were mere theories, or could only be 
 reduced into practice by revolution. 
 
 ' But it is a pleasant life, that of a farmer,' 
 said Mr. Ferrars to Job. 
 
 ' Yes, but life should be something more 
 than pleasant,' said Job, who always looked 
 discontented ; ' an ox in a pasture has a plea- 
 sant life.' 
 
 ' AVell, and why should it not be a pro- 
 fitable one, too ? ' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' I do not see my way to that,' said Job, 
 moodily ; ' there is not much to be got out of 
 the land at any time, and still less on the 
 terms Ave hold it.' 
 
 ' But you are not higli-rented ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, rent is nothing, if everything else 
 were riglit, but nothing is right,' said Job. 
 ' In the first place, a farmer is the only trader 
 who has no security for liis capital.'
 
 108 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' All ! yon want a lease ? ' 
 
 ' I slioiild be very sorry to have a lease 
 like any that I have seen,' replied Job. ' ^Ye 
 had one once in our family, and we keep it as 
 a curiosity. It is ten skins long, and more 
 tyrannical nonsense was never engrossed by 
 man.' 
 
 ' But your family, I believe, has been on 
 this estate for generations now,' said ]\Ir. 
 Ferrars, ' and they have done well.' 
 
 ' They have done about as well as their 
 stock. They have existed,' said Job ; ' no- 
 thing more.' 
 
 ' Your father always gives me quite the 
 idea of a prosperous man,' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' Whether he be or not I am sure I cannot 
 say,' said Job ; ' for as neither he nor any of 
 his predecessors ever kept any accounts, it is 
 rather difficult to ascertain their exact con- 
 dition. So long as he has money enough in 
 his pocket to pay his labourers and buy a little 
 stock, my father, like every British farmer, is 
 content. The fact is, he is a serf as much as 
 his men, and until we get rid of feudalism he 
 will remain so.'
 
 ENDYMION. 109 
 
 ' These are strong opinions,' said Mr. 
 Ferrars, clraTring himself up, and looking a 
 little cold. 
 
 ' Yes, but they will make their way,' said 
 Job. ' So for as I myself am concerned, I do 
 not much care what happens to the land, for 
 I do not mean to remain on it ; but I care for 
 the country. For the sake of the country I 
 should like to see the whole thing upset.' 
 
 ' What thino- ? ' asked Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' Feudalism,' said Job. ' 1 should like to 
 see this estate managed on the same prin- 
 ciples as they do their great establishments in 
 the north of England. Instead of feudalism, 
 I would substitute the commercial principle. 
 I would have long leases without covenants ; 
 no useless timber, and no game.' 
 
 ' Why, you would destroy the country,' 
 said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' AVe owe everything to the large towns,' 
 said Job. 
 
 ' The people in the large towns are mise- 
 rable,' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 They cannot be more miserable than the 
 people in the country,' said Job.
 
 110 EXDYMION. 
 
 ' Tlielr wretchedness is notorious,' said Mr. 
 Ferrars. ' Look at their riots.' 
 
 ' Well, we had Swing in the country only 
 two or three years ago.' 
 
 Mr. Ferrars looked sad. The reminiscence 
 was too near and too fatal. After a pause he 
 said with an air of decision, and as if impart- 
 ing a state secret, ' If it were not for the 
 agi-icultural districts, the King's army could 
 not be recruited.' 
 
 ' Well, that would not break my heart,' 
 said Job. 
 
 ' Why, my good fellow, you are a Eadi- 
 cal ! ' 
 
 ' They may call me what they like,' said 
 Job ; ' but it will not alter matters. How- 
 ever, I am going among the Radicals soon, 
 and then I shall know what they are.' 
 
 ' And can you leave your truly respectable 
 parent ? ' said Mr. Ferrars rather solemnly, 
 for he remembered his promise to Farmer 
 Thornberry to speak seriously to his son. 
 
 ' Oh ! my respectable parent will do very 
 well without me, sir. Only let him be able
 
 ENDYMION. Ill 
 
 to drive into Bamford on market day, and get 
 two or three linendrapers to take then* hats off 
 to him, and he will l^e happy enough, and 
 always ready to die for our glorious Consti- 
 tution.'
 
 112 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Eighteen hundred and thirty-two, the 
 darkest and most distressing year in the hfe of 
 Mr. Ferrars, closed in comparative cahii and 
 apparent content. He was himself greatly 
 altered, both in manner and ai^pearance. He 
 was kind and gentle, but he was silent, and 
 rarely smiled. His hair was grizzled, and he 
 began to stoop. But he was always em- 
 ployed, and was mterested in his labours. 
 
 His sanguine wife bore up against their 
 misfortunes with far more animation. She 
 was at first amused with her new life, and 
 when she was accustomed to it, she found a 
 never-failmg resource in her conviction of a 
 coming reaction. Mrs. Ferrars possessed most 
 feminine qualities, and many of them in excess. 
 She could not reason, but her intuition was 
 remarkable. She was of opinion that ' these
 
 EXDYMIOX. 113 
 
 people never could go on,' and that they must 
 necessarily be succeeded by AVilliani and his 
 friends. In vam her husband, when she 
 pressed her views and convictions on him, 
 would shake his head over the unprecedented 
 majority of the government, and sigh while 
 he acknowledged that the Tories absolutely 
 did not now command one-fifth of the House 
 of Commons ; his shakes and sighs were 
 equally disregarded by her, and she persisted 
 in her dreams of riding upon elephants. 
 
 After all ]\Irs. Ferrars was right. There 
 is nothing more reuiarkable m political his- 
 tory than the sudden break-up of the Whig 
 party after their successful revolution of 1832. 
 It is one of the most striking instances on 
 record of all the elements of political power 
 bein": useless without a commandino; mdi- 
 vidual will. During the second year of their 
 exile in tlic Berkshire hills, affairs looked so 
 black that it seemed no change could occur 
 except further and more calamitous revolu- 
 tion. Zenobia went to Vienna that she might 
 breathe the atmosphere of law and order, and 
 hinted to ]\[rs. Ferrars tliat proljably she 
 
 vol.. I. I
 
 114 EXDYMION. 
 
 should never return — at least not until Par- 
 liament met, when she trusted the House 
 of Lords, if they were not abolished in the 
 interval, would save the country. And yet 
 at the commencement of the following year an 
 old colleague of Mr. Ferrars apprised him, in 
 the darkest and the deepest confidence, that 
 ' there was a screw loose,' and he must ' look 
 out for squalls.' 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Ferrars increased 
 and established his claims on his party, if they 
 ever did rally, by his masterly articles in their 
 great Review, which circumstances favoured, 
 and which kept up that increasing feeling of 
 terror and despair which then was deemed 
 necessary to the advancement of Conservative 
 opmions. 
 
 At home a year and more had elapsed 
 without change. The occasional appearance of 
 Nigel Penruddock was the only event. It was 
 to all a pleasing, and to some of the family 
 a deeply interesting, one. Nigel, though a 
 student and devoted to the holy profession for 
 which he was destined, was also a sportsman. 
 His Christianity was muscular, and Endjanion,
 
 EXDYMION. 115 
 
 to whom lie had taken a fancy, became the 
 companion of his pastimes. All the shooting 
 of the estate was at Nigel's command, bnt as 
 there were no keepers, it was of course very- 
 rough work. Still it was a novel and ani- 
 mating life for Endymion ; and though the 
 sport was slight, the pursuit was keen. Then 
 Nigel was a great fisherman, and here their 
 efforts had a surer return, for they dwelt in a 
 land of trout streams, and in their vicinity was 
 a not inconsiderable river. It was an adven- 
 ture of delight to pursue some of these streams 
 to their source, throwing, as they rambled 
 on, the fly in the rippling waters. Myra, too, 
 took some pleasure in these fishing expedi- 
 tions, carrying their luncheon and a German 
 book in her wallet, and sitting quietly on the 
 bank for hours, Avlicn they had fixed upon 
 some favoured pool for a prolonged cam- 
 paign. 
 
 Every time that Nigel returned home, a 
 difi'erence, and a strikmg difference, was ob- 
 serv^ed in him. His person, of course, became 
 more manly, his manner more assured, his 
 dress more modish. It was impossible to 
 
 I 2
 
 116 ENDYMION. 
 
 deny that he was extremely good-looking, 
 interesting in his discourse, and distinguished 
 in his appearance. Endymion idolised him. 
 Kigel was his model. He imitated his 
 manner, caught the tone of his voice, and 
 began to give opinions on subjects, sacred 
 and profane. 
 
 After a hard morning's march, one day, as 
 they were lolling on the turf amid the old 
 beeches and the juniper, Nigel said — 
 
 ' What does Mr. Ferrars mean you to be, 
 Endymion ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know,' said Endymion, lookmg 
 perplexed. 
 
 ' But I suppose you are to be some- 
 thing?' 
 
 ' Yes ; I suppose I must be something ; 
 because papa has lost his fortune.' 
 
 ' And what woidd you like to be ? ' 
 
 ' I never thought about it,' said Endy- 
 mion. 
 
 ' In my opmion there is only one thing for 
 a man to be in this age,' said Nigel peremp- 
 torily ; ' he should go into the Church.' 
 The Church ! ' said Endymion. 
 
 i '^i
 
 ENDYMION. 117 
 
 ' There will soon be nothing' else left/ said 
 Xio'el. ' The Chiu'ch must last for ever. It 
 is huilt upon a rock. It was founded by 
 God ; all other governments have been 
 founded by men. AVhen they are destroyed, 
 and tlie process of destruction seems rapid, 
 there will be nothino- left to o'overn mankind 
 except the Church.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' said Endymion ; ' papa is very 
 much in favour of the Church, and, I know, is 
 writino; somethino; about it.' 
 
 ' Yes, but Mr. Ferrars is an Erastian,' 
 said Nigel ; ' you need not tell him I said so, 
 but he is one. He wants the Church to be 
 the servant of the State, and all that sort of 
 thing, but that will not do any longer. This 
 destruction of the Irish bishoprics has brought 
 affairs to a crisis. Xo human power has the 
 right to destroy a bishopric. It is a divinely 
 ordained office, and wdien a diocese is once 
 established, it is eternal.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Endymion, much interested. 
 
 ' I wish,' continued Xigel, 'you were two 
 or three years older, and Mr. Ferrars could 
 send you to Oxford. Tliat is tlie place to
 
 118 ENDYMION. 
 
 understand these things, and they will soon be 
 the only things to understand. The rector 
 knows nothing about them. My father is 
 thoroughly high and dry, and has not the 
 slightest idea of Church principles.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' said Endymion. 
 
 ' It is quite a new set even at Oxford,' 
 continued Nigel ; ' but theu* prmciples are as 
 old as the Apostles, and come down from 
 them, straight.' 
 
 ' That is a long time ago,' said Endymion. 
 
 ' I have a great fancy,' continued Nigel, 
 without apparently attending to him, ' to give 
 you a thorough Church education. It would 
 be the making of you. You would then have 
 a jDurpose in life, and never be in doubt or 
 jDerplexity on any subject. We ought to 
 move heaven and earth to induce Mr. Ferrars 
 to send you to Oxford.' 
 
 'I will sj^eak to Myra about it,' said 
 Endymion. 
 
 ' I said something of this to your sister the 
 other day,' said Nigel, ' but I fear she is terri- 
 bly Erastian. However, I will give you some- 
 thing to read. It is not very long, but you
 
 EXDYMION. 119 
 
 can read it at your leisure, and then we Avill 
 talk over it afterwards, and perhaps I may give 
 you something else.' 
 
 Endymion did not fail to give a report of 
 this conversation and similar ones to his sister, 
 for he was in the habit of telling her every- 
 thing. She listened with attention, but not 
 with interest, to his story. Her expression 
 was kind, but hardly serious. Her wondrous 
 eyes gave him a glance of blended mockery 
 and affection. ' Dear darling,' she said, ' if 
 you are to be a clergyman, I should like you 
 to be a cardinal.'
 
 120 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The dark deep hints that had reached Mr. 
 Ferrars at the beo;innino; of 1834 were the 
 harbmgers of startlmg events. In the spring 
 it beojan to be rumoured amono- the initiated, 
 that the mighty Reform Cabinet with its 
 colossal majority, and its testimonial goblets 
 of gold, raised by the penny subscriptions of 
 a grateful people, was m convulsions, and 
 before the month of July had elapsed Lord 
 Grey had resigned, under circumstances which 
 exhibited the entire demoralisation of his 
 party. Except Zenobia, everyone was of 
 opinion that the Kmg acted wisely in entrust- 
 ing the reconstruction of the Whig ministry 
 to his late Secretary of State, Lord Melbourne. 
 Nevertheless it could no longer be concealed, 
 nay, it was invariably admitted, that the 
 l)olitical situation had ])een largely and most
 
 ENBYMION. 121 
 
 unexpectedly clianged, and that there was a 
 prospect, dhn, perhaps, yet not undefinable, of 
 the conduct of public affairs again falling to 
 the alternate management of two rival consti- 
 tutional parties. 
 
 Zenobia was so full of hope, and almost of 
 triumph, that she induced her lord in the 
 autunui to assemble their political friends at 
 one of his great seats, and Mr, and Mrs. 
 Ferrars were urgently invited to join the 
 party. But, after some hesitation, they de- 
 clined this proposal. Had Mr. Ferrars been 
 as sanguine as his wife, he would ^^erhaps 
 have overcome his strong disinclination to 
 re-enter the world, but though no longer de- 
 spairing of a Tory revival, he was of opinion 
 tliat a considerable period, even several years, 
 nuist elapse before its occurrence. Strange to 
 say, he found no difficulty in following his 
 own humour through any contrary disposi- 
 tion on the part of Mrs. Ferrars. AVith all 
 lier ambition and passionate love of society, 
 she was unwilling to return to that stage, 
 where she once had 1)lazed, in a subdued and 
 almost subordinate position. In fact, it was
 
 122 ENDYMION. 
 
 an affair of the wardrobe. The queen of cos- 
 tumes, whose fanciful and gorgeous attire even 
 Zenobia was wont to praise, could not endure 
 a reappearance in old dresses. ' I do not so 
 much care about my jewels, William,' she said 
 to her husband, ' but one must have new 
 dresses.' 
 
 It was a still mild day in November, a 
 month which in the country, and especially 
 on the light soils, has many charms, and the 
 whole Ferrars family were returniug home 
 after an afternoon ramble on the chase. The 
 leaf had changed Imt had not fallen, and the 
 vast spiral masses of the dark green juniper 
 effectivel)^ contrasted with the rich brown 
 foliage of the beech, varied occasionally by the 
 scarlet leaves of the wild cherry tree, that 
 always mingles with these woods. Around the 
 house were some lime trees of large size, and 
 at this period of the year, their foliage, still 
 perfect, was literally quite golden. They 
 seemed like trees in some fairy tale of impri- 
 soned princesses or wandering cavaliers, and 
 such they would remain, until the fatal night 
 that brings the first frost.
 
 ENDYMION. 123 
 
 * There is a parcel from London,' said tlie 
 servant to Mr. Ferrars, as they entered the 
 house. ' It is on your desk.' 
 
 A parcel from London was one of the 
 great events of their life. What could it be ? 
 Perhaps some proofs, probably some books. 
 Mr. Ferrars entered his room alone. It was a 
 very small brown paper parcel, evidently not 
 books. He opened it hastily, and disencum- 
 bered its contents of several coverings. The 
 contents took the form of a letter — a single 
 letter. 
 
 The handwriting was recognised and he 
 read the letter with an agitated countenance, 
 and then he opened the door of his room, and 
 called loudly for his wife, wlio was by his side 
 in a few moments. 
 
 ' A letter, my love, from Barron,' he cried. 
 ' The King has dismissed Lord Melbourne 
 and sent for the Duke of Wellington, who 
 has accepted the conduct of affairs.' 
 
 ' You must go to town directly,' said his 
 wife. ' He offered you the Cabinet in 1832. 
 No person has such a strong claim on him as 
 you have.'
 
 124 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' It does not appear that he is exactly 
 prime minister,' said Mr. Ferrars, looking 
 again at the letter. ' They have sent for Peel, 
 who is at Kome, but the Duke is to conduct 
 the o-overnment till he arrives.' 
 
 ' You must go to town immediately,' re- 
 peated Mrs. Ferrars. ' There is not a moment 
 to be lost. Send down to the Horse Shoe and 
 secure an inside place in the Salisbury coach. 
 It readies this place at nine to-morrow morn- 
 ing. I will have everything ready. You 
 must take a portmanteau and a carpet-bag. I 
 wonder if you could get a bedroom at the 
 Ivodneys'. It would be so nice to be among 
 old friends ; they must feel for you. And 
 then it will be near the Carlton, which is a 
 great thing. I wonder how he will form his 
 cabinet. What a pity he is not here ! ' 
 
 'It is a wonderful event, but the difficul- 
 ties must be immense,' observed Ferrars. 
 
 ' Oh ! you always see difficulties. I see 
 none. The King is with us, the country is 
 disgusted. It is what I always said would 
 be ; the reaction is complete.' 
 
 ' Well, we had better now go and tell the
 
 ENDYMIOX. 125 
 
 children,' said Ferrars. ' I leave you all here 
 for the first time,' and he seemed to sigh. 
 
 ' Well, I hope we shall soon join you,' 
 said Mrs. Ferrars. ' It is the very best time 
 for hirmg a house. AVhat I have set my 
 heart upon is the Green Park. It will be 
 near your office and not too near. I am sure 
 I could not live again in a street.' 
 
 The children were informed that public 
 events of importance had occurred, that the 
 King had changed his ministry, and that papa 
 must go up to town immediately and see the 
 Duke of Wellmgton. The eyes of j\Irs. 
 Ferrars danced with excitement as she com- 
 municated to them all this intelligence, and 
 much more, with a volubility in which of late 
 years she had rarely indulged. Mr. Ferrars 
 looked grave and said little. Then he patted 
 Endymion on the head and kissed Myra, who 
 returned his embrace with a warmth unusual 
 with her. 
 
 The whole household soon became in a 
 state of bustle with the preparations for the 
 early departure of Mr. Ferrars. It seemed 
 difficult to comprehend how filling a port-
 
 126 ENDYMION. 
 
 manteau and a carpet-bag could induce such 
 excited and continuous exertions. But then 
 there was so much to remember, and then 
 there was always something forgotten. Mrs. 
 Ferrars was in her bedroom surrounded by all 
 her maids ; Mr. Ferrars was in his study 
 looking out some papers which it was neces- 
 sary to take with him. The children were 
 alone. 
 
 ' I wonder if we shall be restored to our 
 greatness,' said Myra to Endymion. 
 
 ' Well, I shall be sorry to leave the old 
 place ; I have been happy here.' 
 
 ' I have not,' said Myra ; ' and I do not 
 think I could have borne this life had it not 
 been for you.' 
 
 ' It will be a wonderful change,' said 
 Endymion. 
 
 ' If it come ; I fear papa is not daring 
 enough. However, if we get out of this hole, 
 it will be something.' 
 
 Tea-time brought them all together again, 
 but when the meal was over, none of the usual 
 occupations of the evening were pursued ; no 
 work, no books, no reading aloud. Mr. Ferrars
 
 EXDYMION. 127 
 
 was to get up very early, and that was a 
 reason for all retii-ing soon. And yet neither 
 the husband nor the wife reall}'- cared to sleep. 
 Mrs. Ferrars sate by the tire in his dressing- 
 room, speculating on all possible combinations, 
 and infusing into him all her suggestions and 
 all her schemes. She was still prudent and 
 still would have preferred a great government 
 — India if possible ; but had made up her mind 
 that he must accept the cabinet. Considering 
 what had occurred in 1832, she thought he 
 was bound m honour to do so. Her husband 
 listened rather than conversed, and seemed lost 
 in thought. At last he rose and, embracing her 
 with much affection, said, ' You forget I am 
 to rise with the lark. I shall write to you 
 every day. Best and dearest of women, you 
 have always been right, and all my good for- 
 time has come from you.'
 
 128 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was a very tedious journey, and it took 
 the whole day to accomplish a distance which 
 a rapid express train now can achieve in an 
 hour. The coach carried six inside passengers, 
 and they had to dine on the road. All the 
 passengers were strangers to Mr. Ferrars, and 
 he was by them unknown ; one of them pur- 
 chased, though with difficulty, a second edition 
 of the ' Times ' as they approached London, 
 and favoured his fellow travellers with the 
 news of the change of ministry. There was 
 much excitement, and the purchaser of the 
 paper gave it as his opinion, ' that it was 
 an intrigue of the Court and the Tories, and 
 would never do.' Another modestly intimated 
 that he thought there was a decided reaction. 
 A third announced that England would never 
 submit to be governed by O'Connell.
 
 • EXDYMION. 129 
 
 As the olooin of evenino; descended, Mr. 
 Ferrars felt depressed. Tliongli his life at 
 liiirstley had been pensive and niehmcholy, he 
 felt now the charm and the want of that sweet 
 domestic distraction which had often prevented 
 his mind from overbrooding, and had softened 
 life b}'- sympathy in little things. Nor was it 
 without emotion that he found himself aoain 
 in London, that proud city where once he had 
 himself been so proud. The streets were 
 lighted, and seemed swarming with an infinite 
 population, and the coach finally stopped at a 
 great imi in the Strand, where IMr. Ferrars 
 thought it prudent to secure accommodation 
 for the nioiit. It was too late to look after the 
 Pvodneys, but in deference to the strict in- 
 junction of Mrs. Ferrars, he paid them a visit 
 next morning on his way to his political 
 chief. 
 
 In the days of tlie great modistes, when 
 an English lady might absolutely be dressed 
 in London, the most celebrated mantua-maker 
 in that city was Madame Euphrosync. She 
 was as fascinatino; as she was fasliionable. 
 She was so graceful, her manners \vere so 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ENDYMION. 
 
 prstty, so natural, and so insinuating ! She 
 took so lively an interest in lier clients — her 
 very heart was in their good looks. She was 
 a PTeat favourite of Mrs. Ferrars, and that 
 lady of Madame Euphrosyne. She assured 
 Mrs. Ferrars that she was prouder of dressing 
 Mrs. Ferrars than all the other fine ladies m 
 London too-ether, and Mrs. Ferrars believed 
 lier. Unfortunately, while in the way of 
 making a large fortune, Madame Euphrosyne, 
 who was romantic, fell in love with, and 
 married, a very handsome and worthless 
 husband, whose good looks had obtained for 
 him a position in the company of Drury Lane 
 Theatre, then a place of refined resort, which 
 his abilities did not justify. After pillaging 
 and plundermg his wife for many years, he 
 finally involved her in such engagements, that 
 she had to take refuge in the Bankruptcy 
 Court. Her business was ruined, and her 
 spu'it was broken, and she died shortly after 
 of adversity and chagrin. Her daughter 
 Sylvia was then eighteen, and had inherited 
 with the grace of her mother the beauty of her 
 less reputable parent. Her figure was slight
 
 EXDYMION. • 131 
 
 and undulating, and she ^vas always ex- 
 quisitely dressed. A brilliant complexion set 
 off to advantage her delicate features, which, 
 thouo-h serene, were not devoid of a certain 
 expression of archness. Her white hands 
 were delicate, her light eyes inclmed to 
 merriment, and her nose quite a gem, though 
 a little turned up. 
 
 After their ruin, her profligate father told 
 her that her face was her fortune, and that 
 she must provide for herself, in which she 
 would find no difficulty. But Sylvia, though 
 she had never enjoyed the advantage of any 
 trainina', moral or religious, had no bad im- 
 pulses even if she had no good ones, was of 
 a rather cold character, and extremely pru- 
 dent. She recoiled from the life of riot, and 
 disorder, and irregularity, in Avhicli she had 
 unwittingly passed her days, and wdiich had 
 terminated so tragically, and she resolved to 
 make an effort to secure for herself a different 
 career. She had heard that Mrs. Ferrars was 
 in want of an attendant, and she determined 
 to a})ply for tlio post. As one of the chief 
 customers of her mother, Sylvia had Ijecn in
 
 132 ENDYMION. 
 
 the frequent habit of waiting on that lady, 
 with whom she had become a favourite. She 
 was so pretty, and the only person who could 
 fit Mrs. Ferrars. Her appeal, therefore, was 
 not in vain ; it was more than successful. 
 Mrs. Ferrars was attracted by Sylvia. Mrs. 
 Ferrars was magnificent, generous, and she 
 liked to be a patroness and to be surrounded 
 by favourites. She determined that Sylvia 
 should not sink into a menial position ; she 
 adopted her as a humljle friend, and one who 
 every day became more regarded by her. 
 Sylvia arranged her invitations to her recep- 
 tions, a task which required finish and pre- 
 cision ; sometimes wrote her notes. She spoke 
 and wrote French, too, and that was useful, 
 was a musician, and had a pretty voice. 
 Above all, she was a first-rate counsellor in 
 costume ; and so, looking also after Mrs. 
 Ferrars' dogs and birds, she became almost 
 one of the family ; dined with them often 
 when they were alone, and was frequently 
 Mrs. Ferrars' companion in her carriage. 
 
 Sylvia, though not by nature impulsive, 
 really adored her patroness. She governed
 
 ENDYMION. 133 
 
 her manners and. she modelled her dress on 
 that great original, and, next to Mrs. Ferrars, 
 Sylvia in time became nearly the finest lady 
 in London, There was, mdeed, much in 
 Mrs Ferrars to captiv^ate a person like Sylvia. 
 Mrs. Ferrars was beautiful, fashionable, gor- 
 geous, wonderfully expensive, and, where her 
 taste was pleased, profusely generous. Her 
 winning manner was not less irresistible be- 
 cause it was sometimes uncertain, and she 
 had the art of beino; intimate without beino; 
 iimiiliar. 
 
 When the crash came, Sylvia was really 
 broken-hearted, or believed she was, and im- 
 plored that she might attend the deposed 
 sovereigns into exile ; but that was impossible, 
 however anxious they might be as to the future 
 of their favourite. Her destiny was sooner de- 
 cided than they could have anticipated. There 
 was a member of the household, or rather 
 family, in Hill Street wlio bore almost the 
 same relation to Mr. Ferrars as Sylvia to his 
 wife. Iliis was Mr. Ivodiiey, a remarkably 
 good-looking per,-on, by nature really a little 
 resembhng his principal, and completing the
 
 134 ENDYMION. 
 
 resemLlance by consummate art. The cour- 
 tiers of Alexander of Macedon could not study 
 their chief with more devotion, or more sedu- 
 lously imitate his mien and carriage, than did 
 Mr. Rodney that distinguished individual 
 of whom he was the humble friend, and who 
 he was convinced was destined to be Prime 
 Minister of England. Mr. Ivodney was the 
 son of the office-keeper of old Mr. Ferrars, 
 and it was the ambition of the father that his 
 son, for whom he had secured a sound educa- 
 tion, should become a member of the civil 
 service. It had become an apothegm in the 
 Ferrars family that something must be done 
 for Rodney, and whenever the apparent occa- 
 sion failed, Avhich was not unfrequent, old 
 Mr. Ferrars used always to add, ' Never 
 mind ; so long as I live, Rodney shall never 
 want a home.' The object of all this kind- 
 ness, however, was little distressed by their 
 failures in his preferment. He had implicit 
 faith in the career of his friend and master, 
 and looked forward to the time when it might 
 not be impossible that he himself might find 
 a haven in a commissionership. Recently
 
 EXDYMIOX. 135 
 
 Mr. Ferrars had been able to confer on liim ji 
 small post with duties not too engrossing, and 
 which did not prevent his regular presence in 
 Hill Street, where he made himself generally 
 useful. 
 
 If there were anything confidential to be 
 accomplished in their domestic life, everything 
 mio'ht be trusted to his discretion and entire 
 devotion. He supervised the establishment 
 without injudiciously interfering witli the 
 house-steward, copied secret papers for Mr. 
 Ferrars, and when that o'entleman was out of 
 office acted ars his private secretary. Mr. 
 Rodney vras the most official personage in 
 the ministerial circle. He considered human 
 nature only with reference to office. ISo one 
 was so Ultimately acquamted with all the 
 details of the lesser patronage as himself, and 
 his hours of study were passed in the pages of 
 the ' Peerage ' and in penetrating the mysteries 
 of the ' Royal Calendar.' 
 
 The events of 1832, therefore, to this cen- 
 tleman were scarcely a less severe blow than 
 to the Ferrars family itself. Indeed, like his 
 chief, he looked upon himself as the victim of
 
 136 ENDYMION. 
 
 a revolution. Mr. Rodney had always been 
 an admirer of Sylvia, but no more. He had 
 accompanied her to the theatre, and had at- 
 tended her to the park, but this was quite 
 understood on both sides only to be gallantry ; 
 both, perhaps, in their prosperity, with respect 
 to the serious step of life, had mdalged in 
 Ihglier dreams. But the sympathy of sorrow 
 is stronger than the sympathy of prosperity. 
 In the darkness of their lives, each required 
 comfort : he murmured some accents of ten- 
 der solace, and Sylvia agreed to become Mrs. 
 Rodney. 
 
 When they considered their position the 
 jDrospect was not free from anxiety. To 
 marry and then separate is, where there is 
 affection, trying. His income would secure 
 them little more than a roof, but how to live 
 under that roof was a mystery. For her to 
 become a governess, and for him to become a 
 secretary, and to meet only on an occasional 
 Sunday, was a sorry lot. And yet both pos- 
 sessed accomplishments or acquirements which 
 "ought in some degree to be productive. Rod-
 
 EXDYMION. 137 
 
 ney had a friend, and he determined to consult 
 him. 
 
 That friend "was no common person ; he 
 was j\Ir. Algo. by birth a Yorksliireman, and 
 gifted with all the attributes, physical and in- 
 tellectual, of that celebrated race. At present 
 he was the most fashionable tailor in London, 
 and one whom many persons consulted. Be- 
 sides bemo; consummate in his art, Mr. Yig-o 
 had the reputation of being a man of singularly 
 good judgment. He was one who obtained 
 influence over all with Avhom he came in con- 
 tact, and as his business placed him m contact 
 with various classes, but especially with the 
 class socially most distinguished, his influence 
 was great. The golden youth who repaired 
 to his counters came there not merely to 
 obtam raiment of the best material and the 
 most perfect cut, but to see and talk with Mr. 
 Vigo, and to ask his opinion on various points. 
 There was a spacious room where, if they 
 liked, they might smoke a cigar, and ' Vigo's 
 cigars ' were something which no one could 
 rival . If they liked to take a glass of hock 
 with their tobacco, there was a bottle ready
 
 138 ENDYMION. 
 
 from the cellars of Joliannisberg. Mr. Vigo's 
 stable was almost as famous as its master ; lie 
 drove the finest horses in London, and rode 
 the best hunters in the Yale of Aylesbury. 
 With all this, his manners were exactly what 
 they should be. He was neither pretentious 
 nor servile, but simple, and with becoming 
 respect for others and for himself. He never 
 took a liljcrty with anyone, and such treat- 
 ment, as is generally the case, was reciprocal. 
 Mr. Vio'o was much attached to Mr. 
 Rodney, and was proud of his intimate ac- 
 quaintance with him. He wanted a friend 
 not of his own order, for that would not 
 increase or improve his ideas, but one con- 
 versant with the habits and feelings of a 
 superior class, and yet he did not want a fine 
 gentleman for an intimate, who would have 
 been either an insolent patron or a designmg 
 parasite. Eodney had relations with the 
 aristocracy, with the joolitical world, and 
 could feel the pulse of public life. His ap- 
 pearance was engaging, his manners gentle if 
 not gentlemanlike, and he had a temper never 
 disturbed. This is a quality highly appre-
 
 EXDYMION. 139 
 
 ciatecl by men of energy and lire, ^vlio may 
 happen not to have a complete self-control. 
 
 When Kodney detailed to his friend the 
 catastrophe that had occurred and all its sad 
 consequences, Mr. A igo heard him in silence, 
 occasionally nodding his head in sympathy or 
 approbation, or scrutinising a statement with 
 his keen hazel eye. When his visitor had 
 finished, he said — 
 
 ' When there has been a crash, there is 
 nothing like a change of scene. I propose 
 that you and Mrs. Kodney should come and 
 stay with me a week at my house at Barnes, 
 and there a good many things may occur to 
 us.' 
 
 And so, towards the end of the week, when 
 the Rodneys had exhausted their whole pro- 
 gramme of projects, against every one of which 
 there seemed some invincible objection, their 
 host said, ' You know 1 rather speculate in 
 houses. I bought one last year in Warwick 
 Street. It is a large roomy house in a quiet 
 situation, though in a bustling quarter, just 
 wliere members of parliament would like to 
 lodge. I have put it in thorough repair. What
 
 140 ENDYMION. 
 
 I propose is that you should live there, let the 
 first and second floors — they are equally good 
 — and live on the ground floor yourselves, 
 which is amply convenient. AYe will not talk 
 about rent till the year is over and we see how 
 it answers. The house is unfurnished, but that 
 is nothing. I will introduce you to a friend 
 of mine who will furnish it for you solidly and 
 handsomely, you paying a percentage on the 
 amount expended. He will want a guarantee, 
 but of course I will be that. It is an experi- 
 ment, but try it. Try it for a year ; at any 
 rate you will be a householder, and you will 
 have the opportunity of thinkmg of something 
 else.' 
 
 Hitherto the Rodneys had been successful 
 m their enterprise, and the soundness of Mr. 
 Yigo's advice had been proved. Their house 
 was full, and of the best tenants. Their first 
 floor was taken by a distinguished M.P., a 
 county member of repute whom j\Ir. Rodney 
 had known before the ' revolution,' and who 
 was so pleased with his quarters, and the com- 
 fort and refinement of all about him, that to 
 ensure their constant enjoyment he became a
 
 KXDYMION. 141 
 
 yearly tenant. Their second floor, which was 
 nearly as good as their first, was inhabited by 
 a young gentleman of fashion, Avho took them 
 originally only by the week, and who was 
 always going to give them np, but never did 
 The weekly lodger went to Paris, and he went 
 to German baths, and he went to country 
 houses, and he was frequently a long time 
 away, but he never gave up his lodgings. 
 AVhen therefore Mr. Ferrars called in War- 
 wick Street, the truth is the house was full 
 and there was no vacant room for him. But 
 this the Rodne3^s would not admit. Though 
 they were worldly people, and it seemed im- 
 possible that anything more could be gained 
 from the ruined house of Hurstley, they had, 
 like many other people, a superstition, and 
 their superstition was an adoration of the 
 family of Ferrars. The sight of their former 
 master, who, had it not been for the revolution, 
 mio'ht have been Prime Minister of England, 
 and the recollection of their former mistress 
 and all her splendour, and all the rich dresses 
 which she used to give so profusely to her 
 dependent, quite overwhelmed them. With-
 
 142 ENDYMION. 
 
 out consultation tliis sympathising couple leapt 
 to tlie same conclusion. They assured Mr. 
 Ferrars they could accommodate him, and that 
 he should find everything prepared for him 
 when he called again, and they resigned to 
 him, without acknowledo'uio; it, their own com- 
 modious and well-furnished chamber, which 
 Mrs. Rodney prepared for him with the utmost 
 solicitude, arranu'mo; his writino;-table and 
 materials as he used to have them m Hill 
 Street, and showing by a variety of modes she 
 remembered all his ways.
 
 ENDYMION. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 After securing his room in Warwick Street, 
 Mr. Ferrars called on his political chiefs. 
 Though engrossed with afltairs, the moment 
 his card was exhibited he was seen, cordially 
 welcomed, and addressed in confidence. Not 
 only were his claims acknowledged without 
 bemg preferred, but an evidently earnest hope 
 was expressed that they might be fully satisfied. 
 No one had sufi'ered more for the party and 
 no one had worked harder or more eftectively 
 for it. But at present nothing could be done 
 and nothini>: more could be said. All de- 
 pended on Peel. Until he arrived nothing 
 could be arranged. Their duties were limited 
 to provisionally administering the affairs of 
 the country until liis appearance. 
 
 It was many days, even weeks, before that 
 event could liappcn. The messenger would
 
 144 ENDYMION. 
 
 travel to Rome night and day, but it was 
 calculated that nearly three weeks must elapse 
 before his return. Mr. Ferrars then went to the 
 Carlton Club, which he had assisted in forming 
 three or four years before, and had established 
 in a house of moderate dimensions m Charles 
 Street, St. James. It was called then the 
 Charles Street gang, and none but the 
 thorouoh-o:oino: cared to belono- to it. Now he 
 found it flourishing in a magnificent mansion 
 on Carlton Terrace, while in very sight of its 
 wmdows, on a plot of ground in Pall Mall, a 
 palace was rising to receive it. It counted 
 already fifteen hundred members, who had 
 been selected by an omniscient and scrutinis- 
 ing committee, solely with reference to their 
 local influence throughout the country, and 
 the books were overflowing with impatient 
 candidates of rank, and wealth, and power. 
 
 Three years ago Ferrars had been one of 
 the leading spirits of this great confederacy, 
 and now he entered the superb chamber, and 
 it seemed to him that he did not recognise a 
 human being. Yet it was full to overflowing, 
 and excitement, and anxiety, and bustle were
 
 ENDYMION. 145 
 
 impressed on every countenance. If lie had 
 heard some of the whispers and remarks, as 
 he entered and moved about, his self-com- 
 placency would scarcely have been gratified. 
 
 ' AVho is that ? ' inqidred a young M.P. 
 of a brother senator not much more expe- 
 rienced. 
 
 ' Have not the remotest idea ; never saw 
 him before. Barron is speaking to him ; he 
 will tell us. I sa}^, Barron, who is your 
 friend ? ' 
 
 ' That is Ferrars ! ' 
 
 ' Ferrars ! who is he ? ' 
 
 ' One of our best men. If all our fellows 
 had fouo-ht like him ao-ainst the Beform Bill, 
 that infernal measure would never have been 
 carried.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ah ! I remember something now,' 
 said the youiig M.P., ' but anything that 
 happened before the election of '32 I look 
 upon as an old almanack.' 
 
 However, notwithstandino- tlie first and 
 painful impression of strangers and .'.trange- 
 ness, when a little time had elapsed, Ferrars 
 found many friends, and among tlie most dis- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ENDYMION. 
 
 tingnished present. Nothing could be more 
 hearty than their greeting, and he had not 
 been in the room half an hour before he had 
 accepted an invitation to dine that very day 
 with Lord Pomeroy. 
 
 It was a large and rather miscellaneons 
 party, but all of the right kidney. Some 
 men who had been cabinet ministers, and some 
 who expected to be ; several occupiers in old 
 days of the secondary offices ; both the whips, 
 one noisy and the other mysterious ; several 
 lawyers of repute who must be brought into 
 parliament, and some young men who had 
 distino;uished themselves in the reformed house 
 and whom Ferrars had never seen before. ' It 
 is like old days,' said the husband of Zenobia 
 to Ferrars, who sate next to him ; ' I hope it 
 will float, but we shall know nothing till Peel 
 comes.' 
 
 ' He will have difficulty with his cabmet, 
 so far as the House of Commons is concerned,' 
 said an old privy councillor. ' They must have 
 seats, and his choice is very limited.' 
 
 ' He will dissolve,' said the husband of 
 Zenobia. ' He must.'
 
 ENDYMIOX. 147 
 
 ' "Wlieugli ! ' said the privy councillor, and 
 he shrno'o'ed his shoulders. 
 
 ' The old story will not do,' said the 
 husband of Zenobia. ' We ninst have new 
 blood. Peel must reconstruct on a broad 
 basis.' 
 
 ' Well, they say there is no lack of con- 
 verts,' said the old priv)^ councillor. 
 
 All this, and much more that he heard, 
 made Ferrars X30nder, and anxiously. Xo 
 cabinet without parliament. It was but rea- 
 sonable. A dissolution was therefore in his 
 interest. And yet, what a prospect ! A con- 
 siderable exj)enditure, and yet with a con- 
 siderable expenditure a doul)tful result. Then 
 reconstruction on a broad basis — what did 
 that mean? Neither more nor less than rival 
 candidates for office. There was no lack of 
 converts. He dare say not. A great deal 
 had developed since his exile at Ilurstley — 
 things which are not learned by newspapers, 
 or even private correspondence. He spoke to 
 Barron after dinner. He had reason to believe 
 Barron was liis friend. Barron could give 
 no opinion about dissolution ; all depended on 
 
 L 2
 
 148 ENDYMION. 
 
 Peel. But they were acting, and had been 
 acting for some time, as if a dissolution were 
 on the cards. Ferrars had better call upon 
 him to-morrow, and go over the list, and see 
 what could be done for him. He had every 
 claim. 
 
 The man with every claim called on Bar- 
 ron on the morrow, and saw his secret list, 
 and listened to all his secret prospects and 
 secret plans. There was more than one 
 manufacturmg town where there was an 
 opening ; decided reaction, and a genuine 
 Conservative feeling. Barron had no doubt, 
 that although a man might not get in the first 
 time he stood, he would ultimately. Ulti- 
 mately was not a word which suited Mr. 
 Ferrars. There were several old borouo-hs 
 where the freemen still outnumbered the ten- 
 pounders, and where the prospects were more 
 than encouraging ; but the expense was equal 
 to the goodness of the chance, and although 
 F'errars had every claim, and would no doubt 
 be assisted, still one could not shut one's eyes 
 to the fact that the personal expenditure must 
 be considerable. The agricultural boroughs
 
 ENDYMION. 149 
 
 must be fought, at least this time, by local 
 men. Somethino- mio-ht be done with an Irish 
 borough ; expense, comparatively speaking, 
 inconsiderable, but the politics deeply Orange. 
 
 Gloom settled on the countenance of this 
 spoiled child of politics, who had always sate 
 for a close borough, and wlio recoiled from a 
 contest like a woman, when he pictured to 
 himself the struggle and exertion and personal 
 suffermo; he would have to encounter and 
 endure, and then with no certainty of success. 
 The trained statesman, who had anticipated 
 the mass of his party on Catholic emancipa- 
 tion, to become an Orange candidate I It was 
 worse than making speeches to ten-pounders 
 and canvassing freemen ! 
 
 ' I knew things were difficult,' said Ferrars ; 
 ' but I was in hopes that there were yet some 
 seats that we might command.' 
 
 ' No doubt there are,' said ]\Ir. Barron ; 
 ' but they are few, and they are occupied — at 
 least at present. But, after all, a thousand 
 things may turn up, and you may consider 
 nothing definitively arranged till Sir Robert 
 arrives. The great thing is to be on the spot.'
 
 150 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 Ferrars wrote to liis wife daily, and kept 
 her minutely acquainted with the course of 
 affairs. She a2:reed with Barron that the 
 great thing was to be on the spot. She felt 
 sure that something would turn up. She was 
 convinced that Sir Robert would send for him, 
 offer him Cabmet, and at the same time pro- 
 vide him "svitli a seat. Her own inclmation 
 was still in favour of a o-reat colonial or forei2:n 
 appointment She still hankered after India ; 
 but if the cabinet were offered, as was certain, 
 she did not consider that William, as a man 
 of honour, could refuse to accept the trust and 
 share the peril. 
 
 So Ferrars remained in London under the 
 roof of the Rodneys. The feverish days 
 passed in the excitement of political life in all 
 its manifold forms, "Tave council and li^-ht 
 gossip, dinners with only one subject of con- 
 versation, and that never palling, and at last, 
 even evenings spent again undei- the roof of 
 Zenobia, who, the mstant her winter apart- 
 ments were ready to receive the world, had 
 hurried up to London and raised her standard 
 m St. James' Square. ' It was like old days,'
 
 ENDYMION. 151 
 
 as her husband had said to Fcrrar.s when tliey 
 met after a long separation. 
 
 AVas it like old days ? he thought to himself 
 when he was alone. Old days, when the pre- 
 sent had no care, and the future was all hope ; 
 when he was proud, and justly proud, of the 
 public position he had achieved, and of all the 
 splendid and felicitous circumstances of life 
 that had clustered round hun. lie thouo-ht 
 of those away, and with Avliom during the last 
 three years he had so continuously and inti- 
 mately lived. And his hired home that once 
 had been associated only in his mind with 
 exile, imprisonment, misfortune, almost dis- 
 grace, became hallowed by affections, and in 
 the agony of the suspense, which now involved 
 him, and to encounter which he began to 
 think his diminished nerve miequal, he would 
 have bargained for the rest of his life to pass 
 undisturbed in tliat sweet solitude, in the 
 delights of study and the tranquillity of do- 
 mestic love. 
 
 A little not imamial)le weakness tliis, but 
 it passed oft" in the morning like a dream, when 
 Mr. Ferrars heard that Sir liobert had arrived.
 
 152 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XYllI. 
 
 It was a dark December night when Mr. 
 Ferrars returned to Hurstle3^ His Avife, 
 accompanied by the gardener with a lantern, 
 met him on the gTeen. She embraced him, 
 and whispered, ' Is it very bad, love ? I fear 
 you have softened it to me ? ' 
 
 ' By no means bad, and I told you the 
 truth ; not all, for had I, my letter would have 
 been too late. He said nothing about the 
 cabinet, but offered me a high post m his 
 government, provided I could secure my seat. 
 That was impossible. During the month I 
 was in town I had realised that. I thought 
 it best, therefore, at once to try the other 
 tack, and nothing could be more satis- 
 factory.' 
 
 ' Did you say anytliing about India ? ' she 
 said in a very low voice.
 
 EXDYMION. 153 
 
 • I did not. He is an honourable man, 
 but he is cold, and my manner is not distin- 
 s^uished for abandon. I thouoht it best to 
 speak generally, and leave it to him. He 
 acknowledged my claim, and my fitness for 
 such posts, and said if his government lasted 
 it would gratify him to meet my wishes. 
 Barron says the government will last. They 
 will have a majority, and if Stanley and 
 Graham had joined them, they would have 
 had not an inconsiderable one. But in that 
 case I should probably not have had the 
 cabmet, if indeed he meant to offer it to me 
 now.' 
 
 ' Of course he did,' said his wife. ' Who 
 has such claims as you have ? Wei], now we 
 must hope, and watch. Look cheerful to the 
 children, for they have been very anxious.' 
 
 AVitli this hint the meeting was not unhappy, 
 and the evening passed with anuisement and 
 interest. Endymion embraced his father with 
 warmth, and Myra kissed him on both cheeks. 
 i\Ir. Ferrars had a great deal of gossip wliicli 
 interested his wife, and to a certain degree his 
 children. The latter of course remembered
 
 154 ENDYMION. 
 
 Zenobia, and her sayings and doings were 
 always amusing. There were anecdotes too 
 of iUustrions persons which always interest, 
 especially when in the personal experience of 
 those with whom we are intimately connected. 
 What the Duke, or Sir Eobert, or Lord Lynd- 
 Imrst, said to papa seemed doubly wiser or 
 brighter than if it had been said to a third 
 person. Their relations with the world of 
 power, and fashion, and fame, seemed not to be 
 extinct, at least reviving from their torpid 
 condition. Mr. Ferrars had also brou<>:ht a 
 German book for Myra ; and ' as for you, 
 Endymion,' he said, ' I have been much more 
 successful for you than for your lather, 
 thougli I hope I shall not have myself in the 
 long run to complain. Our friends are faith- 
 ful to us, and I have got you put down on the 
 private list for a clerkship both in the Foreign 
 Office and the Treasury. They are the two 
 best things, and you will have one of the first 
 vacancies that will occur in either department. 
 I know your mother wishes you to he in the 
 Foreign Office. Let it be so if it come. I 
 confess, myself, remembering your grand-
 
 EXDYMION. 155 
 
 fjitlier's career, I liave ahvnys a weakness for 
 tlie Treasury, but so long as I see you well 
 planted in AVhiteliall, I shall be content. Let 
 me see, you will be sixteen in March. I 
 could have wished you to wait another year, 
 but we must be ready when the opening 
 occurs.' 
 
 The general election in 1834-5, though it 
 restored the balance of parties, did not secure 
 Sir Robert Peel a majority, and the anxiety 
 of the family at Hurstley was proportionate to 
 the occasion. Barron was always sanguine, 
 but the vote on the speakership could not but 
 alarm them. Barron said it did not signify, 
 and that Sir Robert had resolved to o-o on and 
 had confidence in his measures. His measures 
 were excellent, and Sir Robert never dis- 
 played more resource, more energy, and more 
 skill, tlian he did in the spring of 1835. But 
 knowledge of human nature was not Sir 
 Robert Reel's strong point, and it argued 
 some deficiency in that respect, to suppose 
 tliat tlie fitness of liis measures could disarm a 
 \indictive o])position. On the contrary they 
 ratlier wlietted tlieir desire of revemre, and
 
 156 ENDYMION. 
 
 they were doubly loth that he should increase 
 his reputation by availing himself of an oppor- 
 tunity which they deemed the Tory party had 
 unfairly acquired. 
 
 After the vote on the speakership, Mr. 
 Ferrars was offered a second-class West 
 Indian government. His wife would not 
 listen to it. If it were Jamaica, the offer 
 might be considered, though it could scarcely 
 be accepted without great sacrifice. The 
 children, for instance, must be left at home. 
 Strange to say, Mr. Ferrars was not disin- 
 clined to accept the inferior post. Endymion 
 he looked upon as virtually provided for, and 
 Myra, he thought, might accompany them ; if 
 only for a year. But he ultimately yielded, 
 though not without a struggle, to the strong 
 feeling of his wife. 
 
 ' I do not see why I also should not be 
 left behind,' said Myra to her brother in one 
 of their confidential walks. ' I should like to 
 live in London in lodgings with you.' 
 
 The approaching ai^pointment of her bro- 
 ther filled her from thd first with the greatest 
 interest. She was always talking of it when
 
 \ 
 
 EXDYMIOX. 157 
 
 they were alone — foncying his future life, and 
 planning how it might l)e happier and more 
 easy. ' My only joy in life is seeing you,' 
 she sometimes said, ' and yet this separation 
 does not make me unhappy. It seems a eliance 
 from heaven for you. I pray every night it 
 may be the Foreign Ofhce.' 
 
 The ministry were still sanguine as to 
 their prosj^ects in the month of March, and 
 they deemed that public opinion was rallying 
 round Sir Robert. Perhaps Lord John Jvus- 
 sell, who was the leader of the opposition, felt 
 this, in some degree, himself, and he deter- 
 mined to brmg affairs to a crisis by notice of 
 a motion respecting the ap})ropriation of the 
 revenues of the Irish Church. Then Barron 
 wrote to Mr. Ferrars that affairs did not look 
 so well, and advised him to come up to town, 
 and take anything that offered. ' It is some- 
 thing,' he remarked, ' to have something to 
 give up. We shall not, I suppose, always be 
 out of office, and they get preferred more 
 easily whose promotion contributes to patron- 
 age, even while they claim its exercise.' 
 
 The ministry were in a minority on the
 
 158 ENDYMION. 
 
 Irish Clinrcli on April 2, tlie clay on which 
 Mr. Ferrars arrived in town. Tliey did not 
 resign, but the attack was to be repeated in 
 another form on the Gth. During the terrible 
 interval Mr. Ferrars made distracted visits to 
 Downing Street, saw secretaries of state, who 
 sympathised with him notwithstanding their 
 own chagrin, "and was closeted daily and 
 hourly with under-secretaries, parliamentary 
 and permanent, who really alike wished to 
 serve him. But there was nothing to be 
 had. He was almost meditatmo- takino; Sierra 
 Leone, or the Gold Coast, when the resignation 
 of Sir Robert Peel was announced. At the 
 last moment, there bemg, of course, no va- 
 cancy in the Foreign Office or the Treasury, he 
 obtained from Barron an appointment for En- 
 dymion, and so, after having left Hurstley five 
 months before to become Governor-General 
 of India, this man, ' who had claims,' returned 
 to his mortified home with a clerkship for his 
 son in a second-rate government office.
 
 ENDYMION. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DiSArPOiNTMENT and distress, it might be said 
 despair, seemed fast settling again over the 
 devoted roof of Hnrstley, after a three years' 
 truce of tranqnillity. Even the crushing ter- 
 mination of her worldly hopes was forgotten 
 for the moment by ]\Irs. Ferrars in her anguish 
 at the prospect of separation from Endymion. 
 Such a catastrophe she had never for a moment 
 contemplated. True it was she had been de- 
 lighted with the scheme of his entering the 
 Foreign Office, Ijut that was on the assumption 
 that she was to enter office herself, and that, 
 whatever might be the scene of the daily 
 labours of her darling child, her roof should 
 be his home, and her indulgent care always at 
 his command. Ihit that she was absolutely 
 to part with ]^^ndymion, and that, at his tender 
 age, he was to be launched alone into the wide
 
 160 ENDYMION. 
 
 world, was an idea that she could not enter- 
 tam, or even comprehend. Who was to clothe 
 him, and feed him, and tend him, and save him 
 from being run over, and guide and guard him 
 in all the difficulties and dangers of this mun- 
 dane existence ? It was madness, it was im- 
 possible. But Mr. Ferrars, though gentle, was 
 firm. No doubt it was to be wished that the 
 event could have been postponed for a year ; 
 but its occurrence, unless all prospect of esta- 
 blishment in life were surrendered, was mevi- 
 table, and a slight delay would hardly render 
 the conditions under which it happened less 
 trying. Though Endymion was only sixteen, 
 he was tall and manly beyond his age, and 
 during the latter years of his life, his naturally 
 sweet temper and genial disposition had been 
 schooled in self- discipline and self-sacrifice. 
 He was not to be wholly left to strangers ; 
 Mr. Ferrars had spoken to Rodney about re- 
 ceiving him, at least for the j^resent, and steps 
 would be taken that those who presided over 
 his office would be influenced in his favour. 
 The appointment was certainly not equal to 
 what had been originally anticipated ; but still
 
 ENDYMION. 161 
 
 the department, tlioiigli not distinguislied, was 
 highly respectable, and there was no reason on 
 earth, if the opportunity offered, that Endy- 
 mion should not be removed from his j^resent 
 post to one in the higher departments of the 
 state. But if this opening were rejected, what 
 was to be the future of their son ? They could 
 not afford to send him to the University, nor 
 did ]\Ir. Ferrars wish him to take refuo-e in the 
 bosom of the (Jhurch. As for the army, they 
 had now no interest to acquire commissions, 
 and if they could succeed so far, they could 
 not make him an allowance, which would per- 
 mit him to maintain himself as became his 
 rank. The civil service remained, in which 
 his grandfather had been eminent, and in 
 which his own parent, at any rate, though the 
 victim of a revolution, had not disgraced him- 
 self. It seemed, under the circumstances, the 
 natural avenue for their child. At least, he 
 thought it ought to be tried. He wished 
 nothing to be settled without the full concur- 
 rence of Endymion liimself. The matter 
 should be put fairly and clearly before him, 
 ' and for this pur[)Ose,' concluded Mr. Ferrars, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 102 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' 1 have just sent for him to my room ; ' and 
 he retu'ed. 
 
 The mterview between the father and sou 
 was long. When Endymion left the room his 
 countenance was pale, but its expression was 
 firm and determined. He went forth into the 
 garden, and there he saw Myra. ' How long 
 you have been ! ' she said ; ' I have been 
 watching for you. What is settled? ' 
 
 He took her arm, and in silence led her 
 away into one of the glades. Then he said : 
 ' I have settled to go, and I am resolved, so 
 long as I live, that I will never cost dear papa 
 another shilling. Things here are very bad, 
 quite as bad as you have sometimes fancied. 
 But do not say anything to poor mainma about 
 them.' 
 
 Mr. Ferrars resolved that Endymion should 
 go to London immediately, and the prepara- 
 tions for his departure were urgent, Myra 
 did everything. If she had been the head of 
 a fiimily she could not have been more thought- 
 ful or apparently more experienced. If she 
 had a doubt, she stepped over to Mrs. Penrud- 
 dock and consulted her. As for Mrs. Ferrars,
 
 KNDYMIOX. 163 
 
 she had become very unwell and unable to at- 
 tend to anything. Her occasional interference, 
 fitful and feverish, and without adequate 
 regard to circumstances, only embarrassed 
 them. But, generally speaking, she kept to 
 her own room, and was always weeping. 
 
 The last day came. No one pretended not 
 to be serious and grave. Mrs. Ferrars did not 
 appear, but saw Endymion alone. She did 
 not speak, but locked him in her arms for 
 many minutes, and then kissing him on the 
 forehead, and, by a gentle motion, intimating 
 that he should retire, she fell back on her sofa 
 with closed eyes. He was alone for a short 
 time with his father after dinner. Mr. Ferrars 
 said to him : ' I have treated you in this mat- 
 ter as a man, and I have entire confidence in 
 you. Your business in life is to build up 
 again a family which was once honoured.' 
 
 j\Iyra ^vas still copying inventories when 
 he returned to the drawino'-room. ' These are 
 for myself,' she said, ' so I shall always know 
 what you ought to have. Thougli you go so 
 early, I shall make your breakfast to-morrow,' 
 and, leanino; back on the sofa, she took his 
 
 M 2
 
 164 ENDYMION. 
 
 hand. ' Things are dark, and I fancy they 
 will be darker ; but brightness will come, 
 somehow or other, to you, darling, for you 
 are born for brightness. You will find friends 
 in life, and they will be women.' 
 
 It was nearly three years since Endymion 
 had travelled down to Hurstley by the same 
 coach that was now carrying him to London. 
 Though apparently so uneventful, the period 
 had not been unimportant in the formation, 
 doubtless yet partial, of his character. And 
 all its influences had been beneficial to him. 
 The crust of pride and selfishness with which 
 large prosperity and illimitable indulgence had 
 encased a kind, and far from presumptuous, 
 disposition had been removed ; the domestic 
 sentiments in their sweetness and purity had 
 been developed ; he had acquired some skill 
 in scholarship and no inconsiderable fund of 
 sound information ; and the routine of reli- 
 gious thought had been superseded in his 
 instance by an amount of knowledge and feel- 
 ing on matters theological, unusual at his time 
 of life. Though apparently not gifted with 
 any dangerous vivacity, or fatal facility of ac-
 
 ENDYMION. 165 
 
 quisition, liis miiid seemed clear and pains- 
 taking, and distinguished by common sense. 
 He was brave and accurate. 
 
 Mr. Ivodncy was in waiting for liim at the 
 mn. He seemed a most distino-nished o-entle- 
 man. A hackney-coach carried them to 
 Warwick Street, where he was welcomed by 
 Mrs. Rodney, who was exquisitely dressed. 
 There was also her sister, a girl not older than 
 Endymion, the very image of Mrs. Ixodney, 
 except that she was a brunette — a briihant 
 brunette. This sister bore tlie romantic name 
 of Imo2:ene, for whicli she was indebted to 
 her father performing the part of the husband 
 of the heroine in IMaturin's tragedy of the 
 ' Castle of St. Aldobrand,' and which, under 
 the inspiration of Kean, had set the town in a 
 blaze about the time of her birth. Tea was 
 awaitinii" him, and there was a mixture in their 
 several manners of not ungraceful hos})itality 
 and the remembrance of past dependence, 
 wliich was genuine and not uninteresting, 
 though Endymion was yet too inexperienced 
 to observe all this. 
 
 Mrs. Rodney talked very much of Endy-
 
 166 ENDYMION. 
 
 mion's motlier ; her wondrous beauty, lier 
 more wondrous dresses ; the splendour of her 
 fetes and equipages. As she dilated on the 
 past, she seemed to share its lustre and its 
 triumphs. ' The first of the land were always 
 in attendance on her,' and for Mrs. Rodnev-s 
 part, she never saw a real horsewoman since 
 her dear lady. Her sister did not speak, but 
 listened with rapt attention to the gorgeous 
 details, occasionally stealing a glance at En- 
 dymion^a glance of deep interest, of admira- 
 tion minoied as it were both with reverence 
 and pity. 
 
 Mr. Rodney took up the conversation if 
 his wife paused. He spoke of all the leadmg 
 statesmen who had been the habitual com- 
 panions of Mr. Ferrars, and threw out several 
 anecdotes respecting them from personal ex- 
 perience. ' I knew them all,' continued Mr. 
 Rodney, ' I might say intimately ; ' and then 
 he told his great anecdote, how he had been so 
 fortunate as perhaps even to save the Duke's 
 life durino; the Reform Bill riots. ' His Grace 
 has never forgotten it, and only the day before 
 yesterday I met him in St. James' Street
 
 ENDYMION. 167 
 
 walking with Mr. Arbuthnot, and he touched 
 his hat to me.' 
 
 All this gossip and good nature, and the 
 kind and lively scene, saved Endymion from 
 the inevitable pang, or at least greatly softened 
 it, which accompanies our first separation from 
 home. In due season, Mrs. liodney observed 
 that she doubted not Mr. Endymion, for so 
 they ever called him, must be wearied with 
 his journey, and would like to retire to his 
 room ; and her husband, immediately lighting 
 a candle, prepared to introduce their new 
 lodger to his quarters. 
 
 It was a tall house, which had recently 
 been renovated, with a story added to it, and 
 on this story was Endymion's chamber ; not 
 absolutely a garret, but a modern substitute 
 for that sort of apartment. ' It is rather high,' 
 said Mr. Rodney, half apologising for the 
 ascent, ' but Mr. Ferrars himself chose the 
 room. AYe took the liberty of lio-htino; a fire 
 to-night.' 
 
 And the cheerful blaze Avas welcome. It 
 lit U]) a I'oom clean and not uncomfortable. 
 Feminine solicitude liad fashioned a toilette-
 
 168 ENDYMION. 
 
 table for liini, and there was a bunch of gera- 
 niums in a bhie vase on its sparkling dimity 
 garniture. ' I suppose you have in your bag 
 all that you want at present ? ' said Mr. Rod- 
 ney. ' To-morrow we will unpack your trunks 
 and arrange your things in their drawers ; 
 and after breakfast, if you please, I will show 
 you your way to Somerset House.' 
 
 Somerset House 1 thought Endymion, as 
 he stood before the fire alone. Is it so near as 
 that? To-morrow, and I am to be at Somer- 
 set House ! And then he thouo-ht of what 
 they were doing at Hurstley — of that terrible 
 j^arting with his mother, which made him 
 choke — and of his father's last words. And 
 then he thought of Myra, and the tears stole 
 down his cheek. And then he knelt down by 
 his bed-side and prayed.
 
 ENDYMION. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Mr. Rodney would have accompaaied Endy- 
 mion to Somerset House under any circum- 
 stances, but it so happened that he had reasons 
 of his own for a visit to that celebrated buildinof. 
 He had occasion to see a gentleman who was 
 stationed there. ' Xot,' as he added to Endy- 
 mion, ' tliat I know many here, but at the 
 Treasury and in Downing Street I have several 
 acquaintances.' 
 
 They separated at the door in the great 
 quadrangle which led to the department to 
 which Endymion was attached, and he con- 
 trived in due time to deliver to a messenefer a 
 letter addressed to his future chief. He was 
 kept some time in a gloomy and almost un- 
 furnislied waitin£!:-room, and his tliouii'lits in a 
 desponding mood were gathering round the 
 dear ones who were distant, when he was
 
 1 70 ENDYMION. 
 
 summoned, and, following the messenger down 
 a passage, was ushered into a lively apartment 
 on which the sun was shining, and which, 
 with its well-lined book-shelves, and tables 
 covered with papers, and l^right noisy clock, 
 and general air of liabitation and business, 
 contrasted favourably with the room he had 
 just quitted. A goodnatured-looking man 
 held out his hand and welcomed him cordially, 
 and said at once, ' I served, Mr. Ferrars, under 
 your grandfather at the Treasury, and I am 
 glad to see you here.' Then he spoke of the 
 duties which Endymion would have at present 
 to discharge. Plis labours at first would be 
 somewhat mechanical ; they would require 
 only correctness and diligence ; but the office 
 was a large one, and promotion not only sure, 
 but sometimes rapid, and as he was so young, 
 he mi2:ht with attention count on attainins;, 
 while yet in the prime of life, a future of very 
 responsible duties and of no inconsiderable 
 emolument. And while he was speaking he 
 rang the bell and commanded the attendance 
 of a clerk, under whose care Endymion was 
 specially placed. This was a young man of
 
 EXDYMION. 171 
 
 pleasant address, who invited Endymion with 
 kindness to accompany him, and leading him 
 through several chambers, some capacious, and 
 all full of clerks seated on hio-h stools and 
 writing at desks, finally ushered him into a 
 smaller chamber where there were not above 
 six or eight at work, and where there was a 
 vacant seat. ' This is your place,' he said, 
 ' and now I will introduce you to your future 
 comrades. This is Mr. Jawett, the greatest 
 Radical of the ao'e, and who, when he is Presi- 
 dent of the Republic, will, I hope, do a job for 
 his friends here. This is Mr. St. Barbe, who, 
 when the public taste has improved, will be 
 the most popular author of the day. In the 
 meantime he wUl give you a copy of his novel, 
 which has not sold as it ought to have done, 
 and in which we say he has quizzed all his 
 friends. This is Mr. Seymour Hicks, who, as 
 you must perceive, is a man of fashion.' And 
 so he went on, with what was evidently ac- 
 customed raillery. All laughed, and all said 
 sometliing courteous to Endymion, and then 
 after a few uiiimtes they resumed their tasks, 
 Endymion's work being to copy long lists of
 
 1 72 ENDYMION. 
 
 figures, and routine documents of public 
 accounts. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. St. Barbe was busy 
 in drawing up a pul)lic document of a different 
 but important character, and which was con- 
 ceived somethino- in this fashion : — 
 
 ' We, the undersigned, highly approving 
 of the personal appearance and manners of 
 our new colleague, are unanimously of opinion 
 that he should be invited to join our sym- 
 posium to-day at the immortal Joe's.' 
 
 This was quietly passed round and signed 
 by all present, and then given to Mr. Tren- 
 chard, who, all unconsciously to the copying 
 Endymion, wrote upon it, like a mmister of 
 state, ' Approved,' with his initial. 
 
 Joe's, more technically known as ' The 
 Blue Posts,' was a celebrated chop-house in 
 Naseby Street, a large, low-ceilinged, wains- 
 coted room, with the floor strewn with sawdust, 
 and a hissing kitchen in the centre, and fitted 
 up with what were called boxes, these being 
 of various sizes, and suitable to the number 
 of the guests requiring them. About this time 
 the fashionable coffee-houses, George's and the
 
 EXBYMIOX. 1 73 
 
 Piazza, antl even the coffee-rooms of Stevens' 
 or Long's, had begun to feel the injurious com- 
 petitions of the new chibs that of Late years 
 had been established ; but these, after all, were 
 limited, and, comparatively speaking, exclusive 
 societies. Their influence had not touched the 
 chop-houses, and it recjuired another quarter 
 of a century before their cheerful and hos- 
 pitable roofs and the old taverns of London, 
 so fidl, it ever seemed, of merriment and 
 wisdom, yielded to the gradually increasing 
 but irresistible mfluence of those innumerable 
 associations, which, under classic names, or 
 affecting to be the junior branches of cele- 
 brated confederacies, have since secured to the 
 million, at cost price, all the delicacies of the 
 season, and substituted for the zealous energy 
 of immortal Joes the inexorable but friu'id 
 disciplme of managing committees. 
 
 ' You are our guest to-day,' said Mr. 
 Trenchard to Endymion. ' Do not be em- 
 barrassed. It is a custom with us, but not a 
 ruinous one. We dine off tlie joint, but the 
 meat is first-rate, and you may have as much 
 as you like, and our tipi)le is half-and-half.
 
 1 74 ENDYMION. 
 
 Perhaps you do not know it. Let- me drink 
 to yonr health.' 
 
 They ate most heartily ; but when their 
 well-earned meal was despatched, their con- 
 versation, assisted by a moderate portion of 
 some celebrated toddy, became animated, vari- 
 ous, and interesting'. Endymion was highly 
 amused ; but being a stranger, and the youngest 
 present, his silence was not unbecoming, and 
 his manner indicated that it was not occa- 
 sioned by w\ant of sympathy. The talk was 
 very political. They were all what are called 
 Liberals, having all of them received their 
 appointments since the catastrophe of 1830 ; 
 but the shades in the colour of their opinions 
 were various and strong. Jawett was un- 
 compromising ; ruthlessly logical, his prin- 
 ciples being clear, he was for what he called 
 'carrying them out' to their just conclusions. 
 Trenchard, on the contrary, thought every- 
 thing ought to be compromise, and that a 
 public man ceased to be practical the moment 
 he was logical. St. Barbe believed that lite- 
 rature and the arts, and intellect generally, 
 had as little to hope for from one party as
 
 EXDYMIOX. 1 75 
 
 from the other ; while Seymour Hicks was of 
 opinion that the Tories never would rally, 
 owing to their deficiency in social influences. 
 Seymour Hicks sometimes got an mvitation 
 to a ministerial soiree. 
 
 The vote of the House of Commons in 
 favour of an appropriation of the surplus 
 revenues of the Irish Church to the purposes 
 of secular education — a vote which had just 
 changed the government and expelled the 
 Tories — was much discussed. Jawett de- 
 nounced it as a miserahle subterfuge, but 
 with a mildness of manner and a mmcing ex- 
 pression, which amusingly contrasted with 
 the violence of his principles and the strength 
 of his lan":uaoe. 
 
 ' The whole of the revenues of the Pro- 
 testant Church should be at once appropriated 
 to secular education, or to some other pur- 
 pose of general utility,' he said. ' And it 
 must come to this.' 
 
 Trenchard thought the mmistry had gone 
 as far in this matter as they well could, 
 and Seymour Hicks remarked that any go- 
 vernment which systematically attacked the
 
 1 76 ENDYMION. 
 
 Clnircli would have ' society ' against it. En- 
 dymion, avIio felt very nervous, but who on 
 Church questions had strong convictions, ven- 
 tured to ask why the Church should be de- 
 prived of its property. 
 
 ' In the case of Ireland,' replied Jawett, 
 quite in a tone of conciliatory condescension, 
 ' because it does not fulfil the purpose for 
 which it was endowed. It has got the pro- 
 perty of the nation, and it is not the Church 
 of the people. But I go further than that. 
 I would disendow every Church. They are 
 not productive institutions. TJiere is no 
 reason why they should exist. There is no 
 use in them.' 
 
 ' No use in the Church ! ' said Endymion, 
 reddening ; but Mr. Trenchard, who had tact, 
 here interfered, and said, ' I told you our 
 friend Jawett was a great Radical ; but he is 
 in a minority among us on these matters. 
 Everybody, however, says what he likes at 
 Joe's.' 
 
 Then they talked of theatres, and critically 
 discussed the articles in the daily papers and 
 the last new book, and there was much dis-
 
 ENDYMION. 177 
 
 cussion respecting a contemplated subscription 
 boat ; but still, in general, it was remarkable 
 liow they relapsed into their favourite subject 
 — speculation upon men in office, both per- 
 manent and parliamentary, upon their cha- 
 racters and capacity, their habits and tempers. 
 One was a good administrator, another did 
 nothmg ; one had no detail, another too 
 much ; one was a screw, another a spend- 
 thrift ; this man could make a set speech, but 
 could not reply ; his rival, capital at a reply 
 but clumsy in a formal oration. 
 
 At this time London was a very dull city, 
 instead of being, as it is now, a very amusing 
 one. Probably there never was a city in the 
 world, with so vast a population, which was 
 so melancholy. The aristocracy probably 
 have always found amusements adapted to the 
 manners of the time and the age in Avhicli 
 they lived. The middle classes, half a cen- 
 tury ago, had little distraction from their 
 monotonous toil and melancholy anxieties, 
 except, perhaps, what they found in religious 
 and philanthro2>ic societies. Their general 
 life must have been very dull. Some tradi- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 ENDYMION. 
 
 tionary merriment always lingered among the 
 workino- classes of Eno-land. Both in town 
 and country they had always their games 
 and fairs and jnnketing parties, which have 
 developed into excursion trains and colossal 
 pic-nics. But of all classes of the commu- 
 nity, in the days of our fathers, there was 
 none so unfortunate in respect of public 
 amusements as the bachelors about town. 
 There were, one might almost say, only two 
 theatres, and they so huge, that it was diffi- 
 cult to see or hear in. either. Their monopo- 
 lies, no longer redeemed by the stately genius 
 of the Kembles, the pathos of Miss O'Neill, 
 or the fiery passion of Keau, were already 
 menaced, and were soon about to fall ; but 
 the crowd of diminutive but sparklmg substi- 
 tutes, which have since taken their place, had 
 not yet appeared, and half-price at Drury 
 Lane or Covent Garden was a dreary distrac- 
 tion after a morning of desk work. There 
 Avere no Alhambras then, and no Cremornes, 
 no palaces of crystal in terraced gardens, no 
 casinos, no music-halls, no aquaria, no pro- 
 menade concerts. Evans' existed, but not in
 
 EXDYMION. 179 
 
 the fulness of its modern develo2:)ment ; and 
 the most popular place of resort was the bar- 
 barous conviviality of the Cider Cellar. 
 
 Mr. Trenchard had paid the bill, collected 
 his quotas and rewarded the waiter, and then, 
 as they all rose, said to Endymion, ' We are 
 going to the divan. Do you smoke? ' 
 
 Endymion shook his head ; but Trenchard 
 added, ' AVell, you will some day ; but you 
 had better come with us. You need not 
 smoke : you can order a cup of coffee, and 
 then you may read all the newspapers and 
 magazines. It is a nice lounge.' 
 
 So, emerging from Naseby Street into the 
 Strand, they soon entered a tobacconist's shop, 
 and passing through it were admitted into a 
 capacious saloon, well lit and fitted up with 
 low, broad sofas, fixed against the walls, and 
 on which were seated, or reclining, many per- 
 sons, chiefly smoking cigars, Ijut some few 
 practising with the hookah and other oriental 
 modes. In the centre of the room was a table 
 covered witli iiewspapers and publications of 
 that class. Tlie companions from Joe's ))c- 
 came separated after their entrance, and St. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 ENDYMION. 
 
 Barbe, addressing Endymion, said, ' I am not 
 inclined to smoke to-day. We will order some 
 coffee, and you will find some amusement in 
 this ; ' and he placed in his hands a number of 
 
 ' SCAEAMOUCH.' 
 
 ' I hope you will like your new life,' said 
 St. Barbe, throwing down a review on the 
 divan, and leaning back sipping his coffee, 
 ' One thmg may be said in favour of it : you 
 will work with a body of as true-hearted com- 
 rades as ever existed. They are always ready 
 to assist one. Thorough good-natured fellows, 
 that I will say for them. I suppose it is ad- 
 versity,' he continued, ' that develops the 
 kindly qualities of our nature. I believe tlie 
 sense of common degradation has a tendency 
 to make the deo-raded amiable — at least amono^ 
 themselves. I am told it is found so in the 
 plantations in slave-gangs.' 
 
 ' But I hope we are not a slave-gang,' said 
 Endymion. 
 
 ' It is horrible to think of gentlemen, and 
 men of education, and perhaps first-rate 
 talents — who knows? — reduced to our straits,' 
 said St. Barbe. ' I do not follow Jawett in all
 
 ENDYMION. 181 
 
 his views, for I hate political economy and 
 never could understand it ; and he gives it 
 you pure and simple, eh? eh? — but I say it is 
 something awful to think of the incomes that 
 some men are making, who could no more 
 write an article in " Scaramouch " than fly.' 
 
 ' But our incomes may improve,' said En- 
 dymion. ' I was told to-day that promotion 
 was even rapid in our office.' 
 
 ' Our incomes may improve when we are 
 bent and grey,' said St. Barbe, ' and we may 
 even retire on a pension about as good as a 
 nobleman leaves to his valet. Oh, it is a 
 horrid world ! Your father is a privy coun- 
 cillor, is not he ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and so was my grandfather, but I 
 do not tliink I shall ever be one.' 
 
 ' It is a great thing to have a hither a 
 privy councillor,' said St. Barbe, with a glance 
 of envy. ' If I were the son of a privy coun- 
 cillor, those demons, Shuffle and Screw, woiiid 
 give me 500/. for my novel, which now they 
 put in tlieir beastly magazine and print in 
 small type, and do not pay me so much as a 
 powdered finnkey has in St. James' Square.
 
 182 ENDYMION. 
 
 I agree with Jawett : the whole thing is 
 rotten.' 
 
 ' Mr. Jawett seems to have very strange 
 opinions,' said Endymion. ' I did not like to 
 hear what he said at dinner about the Church, 
 but Mr. Trenchard turned the conversation, 
 and I thought it best to let it pass.' 
 
 ' Trenchard is a sensible man, and a good 
 fellow,' said St. Barbe ; ' you like him? ' 
 
 ' I find him kind.' 
 
 ' Do you know,' said St. Barbe, in a whis- 
 per, and with a distressed and almost vindic- 
 tive expression of countenance, ' that man may 
 come any day into four thousand a year. 
 There is only one life between him and the 
 present owner. I believe it is a good life,' he 
 added, in a more cheerful voice, ' but still it 
 might happen. Is it not horrible? Four 
 thousand a year ! Trenchard with four thou- 
 sand a year, and we receiving little more than 
 the pay of a butler ! ' 
 
 ' AYell, I wish, for his sake, he might have 
 it,' said Endymion, ' though I might lose a 
 kind friend.' 
 
 ' Look at Seymour Hicks,' said St. Barbe ;
 
 EXDYMION. 183 
 
 ' he has smoked his cigar, and he is going. 
 He never remains. He is going to a party, 
 I'll be bound. That fellow gets about in a 
 most extraordinary manner. Is it not dis- 
 gnsting? I doubt whether he is asked much 
 to dinner though, or I think we should have 
 heard of it. Nevertheless, Trenchard said the 
 other day, that Hicks had dined with Lord 
 Cinque- Ports. I can hardly believe it ; it 
 would be too disgusting. No lord ever asked 
 me to dinner. But the aristocracy of this 
 country are doomed ! ' 
 
 'Mr. Hicks,' said Endymion, ' probably lays 
 himself out for society.' 
 
 ' I suppose you will,' said St. Barbe, with 
 a scrutinising air. ' I should if I were the 
 son of a privy councillor. Hicks is nothing ; 
 his father kept a stable -yard and his mother 
 was an actress. We have had several digni- 
 taries of the Church in my family and one 
 admiral. And yet Hicks dines with Lord 
 Cinque-Ports ! It is positively revolting ! But 
 the things he does to get asked! — sings, 
 rants, conjures, ventriloquises, mimics, stands 
 on his head. His great performance is a par-
 
 184 ENDYMION. 
 
 liamentary debate. We will make him do it 
 for you. And yet with all this a dull dog — a 
 very dull dog, sir. He wrote for " Scara- 
 mouch " some little time, but they can stand 
 it no more. Between you and me, he has had 
 notice to quit. That I know ; and he will 
 probably get the letter when he goes home 
 from his party to-night. So much for siiccess 
 in society! I shall now say good-night to 
 you.'
 
 EXDYiSrioN. 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 It was only ten o'clock wlien Endymion 
 returned to AVarwick Street, and for the first 
 time in his life used a pass-key, with which 
 Mr. Rodnev had furnished him in the morn- 
 ing, and re-entered his nQ\T home. He 
 thought he had used it very quietly, and was 
 lighting his candle and about to steal up to 
 his lofty heights, when from the door of the 
 parlour, which opened into the passage, 
 emerged Miss Imogene, wdio took the candle- 
 stick from his hand and insisted on waitini>' 
 upon him. 
 
 ' I thought I heard something,' she said ; 
 ' you must let me light you up, for you can 
 hardly yet know your way. I must see too if 
 all is right ; you may want something.' 
 
 So she tripped \\\) lightly before liim, 
 showing, doubtless without premeditation, as
 
 186 ENDYMION. 
 
 well-turned an ankle and as pretty a foot as 
 could fall to a damsel's fortunate lot. ' My 
 sister and Mr. Rodney have gone to the play,' 
 she said, ' but they left strict injunctions with 
 me to see that you were comfortable, and 
 that you wanted for nothing that we could 
 supply.' 
 
 ' You are too kind,' said Endymion, as 
 she lighted the candles on his dressing-table, 
 ' and, to tell you the truth, these are luxuries 
 I am not accustomed to, and to which I am 
 not entitled.' 
 
 ' And yet,' she said, with a glance of 
 blended admiration and pity, ' they tell me 
 time was when gold was not good enough 
 for you, and I do not think it could be.' 
 
 ' Such kindness as this,' said Endymion, 
 ' is more precious than gold.' 
 
 ' I hope you will find your things well 
 arranged. All your clothes are in these two 
 drawers ; the coats in the bottom one, and 
 your linen in those above. You will not 
 23erhaps be able to find your pocket-handker- 
 chiefs at first. They are in this sachet ; my 
 sister made it herself. Mr. Rodney says you
 
 ENDYMION. 187 
 
 are to be called at eio-ht o'clock and breakfast 
 at nine. I think everything is right. Good- 
 niglit, Mr. Endymion.' 
 
 The Rodney household was rather a 
 strange one. The first two floors, as we have 
 mentioned, were let, and at expensive rates, 
 for the af)artments were capacious and caj)itally 
 furnished, and the situation, if not distin- 
 guished, was extremely convenient — quiet from 
 not beino" a thorouo-hfare, and in the heart of 
 civilisation. They only kept a couple of 
 servants, but their principal lodgers had their 
 personal attendants. And yet after sunset 
 the sisters appeared and presided at their tea- 
 table, always exquisitely dressed ; seldom 
 alone, for Mr. Rodney had many friends, and 
 lived in a capacious apartment, rather finely 
 furnished with a round table covered with 
 gaudy print-books, a mantel-piece crowded 
 Avith vases of mock Dresden, and a cottage 
 piano on which Imogene could accom})any 
 ]ier more than pleasing voice. 
 
 Somehow or other, the process is diflicult 
 to trace, Endymion not unfrequently found 
 himself at Mrs. Rodney's tea-table. On the
 
 188 ENDYMION. 
 
 first occasion or so, he felt himself a little shy 
 and embarrassed, but it soon became natural 
 to him, and he would often escape from the 
 symposia at Joe's, and, instead of the Divan, 
 find in Warwick Street a more congenial 
 scene. There were generally some young 
 men there, who seemed delighted with the 
 ladies, listened with enthusiasm to Imogene's 
 singmg, and were allowed to smoke. They 
 were evidently gentlemen, and indeed Mr. 
 Rodney casually mentioned to Endymion that 
 one of the most frequent guests might some 
 day even be a peer of the realm. Sometimes 
 there was a rubber of whist, and, if wanted, 
 Mrs. Rodney took a hand in it ; Endymion 
 sitting apart and conversing with her sister, 
 who amused him by her lively observations, 
 indicating even flashes of culture ; but always 
 addressed him without the slightest pretence 
 and with the utmost naturalness. This was 
 not the case with Mr. Rodney ; pretence with 
 him wac ingrained, and he was at first some- 
 what embarrassed by the presence of Endy- 
 mion, as he could hardly maintain before his 
 late j^atron's son his favourite character of
 
 EXDYMION. 189 
 
 the aristocratic victim of revolution. And 
 yet this drawback was more than counter- 
 bahmced by the gratification of his vanity in 
 finding a Ferrars his habitual guest. Such 
 a luxury seemed a dangerous indulgence, but 
 he could not resist it, and the moth was 
 always flying round the candle. There was 
 no danger, however, and that Mr. Rodney 
 soon found out. Endymion was born with 
 tact, and it came to him as much from good- 
 ness of heart as fineness of taste. Mr. Rodney, 
 therefore, soon resumed his anecdotes of great 
 men and his personal experience of their say- 
 ings, manners, and customs, with which he was 
 in the habit of enlivening or ornamenting the 
 whist table ; occasionally introducing Endy- 
 mion to the notice of the table by mentionmg 
 in a low tone, ' That is Mr. Ferrars, in a 
 certam sense under my care ; his father is a 
 privy councillor, and had it not been for the 
 revolution — for I maintain, and always will, 
 the Reform Rill was neither more nor less 
 than a revolution — would probably have been 
 Pnme Minister, lie was my earliest and my 
 best friend.'
 
 190 ENDYMION. 
 
 When there were cards, there was always 
 a httle supper : a lobster and a roasted potato 
 and that sort of easy thing, and curious 
 drinks, which the sisters mixed and made, 
 and which no one else, at least all said so, 
 could mix and make. On fitting occasions a 
 bottle of champagne appeared, and then the 
 person for whom the wine was produced was 
 sure with wonderment to say, ' Where did 
 you get this champagne, Rodney ? Could you 
 get me some?' Mr. Rodney shook his head 
 and scarcely gave a hope, but subsequently, 
 when the praise in consequence had continued 
 and increased, would observe, ' Do you really 
 want some? I cannot promise, but I will 
 try. Of course they will ask a high figure.' 
 
 ' Anything they like, my dear Rodney.' 
 
 And in about a week's time the 2:entleman 
 was so fortunate as to get his champagne. 
 
 There was one suliject in which Mr. 
 Rodney appeared to be particularly interested, 
 and that was racins*. The turf at that time 
 had not developed into that vast institution of 
 national demoralisation which it now exhibits. 
 That disastrous character may be mainly attri-
 
 EXDYMIOX. 191 
 
 buted to the determination of our legislators 
 to put down gaming-houses, which, prac- 
 tically speaking, substituted for the pernicious 
 folly of a comparatively limited class the 
 ruinous madness of the community. There 
 were many influences by which in the highest 
 classes persons might be discouraged or de- 
 terred from play under a roof ; and in the great 
 majority of cases such a habit was difficult, not 
 to say impossible, to indulge. But in shutting 
 up gaming-houses, we brought the gaming-table 
 into the street, and its practices became the 
 pursuit of those who would otherwise have 
 never witnessed or even thought of them. 
 No doubt Crockford's had its tragedies, but 
 all its disasters and calamities together would 
 hardly equal a lustre of the ruthless havoc 
 which has ensued from its suppression. 
 
 Nevertheless, in 1(S35 men made books, and 
 Mr. liodney was not inexpert in a composition 
 which requires no ordmary qualities of charac- 
 ter and intelligence ; method, judgment, self- 
 restraint, not too much imngination, })ercei»tion 
 of character, and powers of calculation. All 
 these qualities were now in active demand and
 
 192 ENDYMION. 
 
 exercise ; for the Derby was at hand, and the 
 Rodney family, deeply interested in the result, 
 were to attend the celebrated festival. 
 
 One of the young gentlemen, w^ho some- 
 times smoked a cio'ar and sometimes tasted a 
 lobster in their parlour, and who seemed alike 
 and equally devoted to Mrs. Rodney and 
 her sister, insisted upon taking them to 
 Epsom in his drag, and they themselves were 
 to select the party to accompany them. That 
 was not difficult, for they were naturally all 
 friends of their munificent host with one ex- 
 ception. Imogene stipulated that Endymion 
 should be asked, and Mr. Rodney supported 
 the suggestion. ' He is the son of the privy 
 councillor the Right Plon. \Yilliam Pitt Fer- 
 rars, my earliest and my best friend, and in 
 a certain sense is under my care.' 
 
 The drive to the Derby was not then 
 shorn of its lumiours and glories. It was the 
 Carnival of England, with equipages as nu- 
 merous and various, and with banter not less 
 quick and witty. It was a bright day — a day, 
 no doubt, of wild hopes and terrible fears, but 
 yet, on the whole, of joy and exultation.
 
 EXDYMIOX. 193 
 
 And no one was happier and prouder than 
 pretty ]Mrs. Eodney, exquisitely dressed and 
 sitting on the box of a patrician drag, beside 
 its noble owner. On the seat behmd them 
 was Imogene, with Endyniion on one side, and 
 on the other the individual ' who mio-lit one 
 day be a peer.' Mr. Ivodney and some others, 
 including Mr. Vigo, faced a coui)le of grooms, 
 who sat witli folded arms and unmoved coun- 
 tenances, fastidiously stolid amid all the 
 fun, and grave even when they opened tlie 
 champagne. 
 
 The right horse won. ^Ir. Eodney and 
 his friends pocketed a good stake, and they 
 demolished their luncheon of luxuries with 
 frantic gaiety. 
 
 ' It is almost as happy as our little suppers 
 in AYarwick Street,' whispered their noble 
 driver to his companion. 
 
 ' Oh ! much more than anything you can 
 lind there,' simpered Mrs. llodney. 
 
 ' I declare to you, some of the happiest 
 hours of my life have been passed in AVar- 
 wick Street,' gravely nuirmured her friend. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 1!'! ENDYMION. 
 
 ■ 1 wish I could believe that,' said Mrs. 
 Kodney. 
 
 As for Endymion, lie enjoyed himself 
 amazingly. The "u'liole scene was new to him 
 — he had never been at a race before, and this 
 was the most famous of races. He did not 
 know he had betted, but he found he too had 
 won a little money, Mr. Rodney having put 
 him on somethino- thouo-h what that meant 
 he had not the remotest idea. Imoo-ene, how- 
 ever, assured him it was all right — Mr. Rodney 
 constantly put her on something. He enjoyed 
 the luncheon too ; the cold chicken, and the 
 French pies, the wondrous salads, and the iced 
 champagne. It seemed that Imogene was 
 always taking care that his plate or his glass 
 should be filled. Everything was delightful, 
 and his noble host, who, always courteous, had 
 hitherto been reserved, called him ' Ferrars.' 
 
 What with the fineness of the weather, the 
 inspiration of the excited and countless multi- 
 tude, the divine stimulus of the luncheon, the 
 kindness of his charming companions, and the 
 general feeling of enjoyment and success that 
 seemed to pervade his being, Endymion felt
 
 EXDYMIOX. 195 
 
 an; if lie were almost actin<i* a distino'uished 
 part in some splendid triumph of anticpiity, as 
 returning* home, the four splendid dark chest- 
 nuts swept along, two of their gay company 
 playing bugles, and the grooms sitting with 
 folded arms of haughty indifference. 
 
 Just at this moment his eye fell upon an 
 omnibus full, inside and out, of clerks in his 
 offtce. There was a momentary stoppage, and 
 while he returned the salute of several of them, 
 his quick eye could not avoid recognising the 
 slightly surprised glance of Trenchard, the 
 curious amazement of Seymour Hicks, and the 
 indio'nant astonishment of St. Barbe. 
 
 ' Our friend Ferrars seems in tiptop com- 
 pany,' said Trenchard. 
 
 ' That may have been a countess on the 
 box,' said Seymour Hicks, ' for I observed an 
 earl's coronet on the draix. I cannot make 
 out who it is.' 
 
 ' There is no more advantao:e in ffoino; 
 with four horses than with two,' said St. 
 Barbe ; ' indeed, I believe you go slower. It 
 is mere pride ; puffccl-vip vanity. I should 
 like to send those two grooms with their folded
 
 196 ENDYMION. 
 
 arms to the galleys — I hate those fellows. 
 For my part, I never was behind four horses 
 except in a stage-coach. Xo peer of the realm 
 ever took me on his drag. However, a day of 
 reckoning will come ; the people won't stand 
 this much lono'er.' 
 
 Jawett was not there, for he disapproved 
 of races.
 
 ENDYMION. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Endy.mion had to encounter a rather sharp 
 volley when he went to the office next morn- 
 ini!-. After some o-eneral remarks as to the 
 distinguished party which he had accompanied 
 to the races, Seymour Hicks couhl not resist 
 inquiring, though with some circumlocution, 
 whether the lady was a countess. The lady 
 was not a countess. Who was the lady ? The 
 lady was Mrs. Rodney. Who was Mrs. Rod- 
 ney ? She was the wife of ]\Ir. Rodney, who 
 accompanied lier. AVas Mr. Rodney a relation 
 of Lord Rodney ? Endymion believed he was 
 not a relation of Lord Rodney. Who was 
 Mr. Rodney then ? 
 
 ' Mr. Rodney is an old friend of my father.' 
 This natural sohition of douhts and diffi- 
 culties arrested all further inquiry. Generally 
 speaking, the position of lilndymion in liis new
 
 198 ENDYMION. 
 
 life was satisfactory. He was regular and 
 assiduous in his attendance at liis office, was 
 popular with his comrades, and was cherished 
 by his chief, who had even invited him to 
 dinner. His duties were certainly at present 
 mechanical, but they were associated with an 
 interesting profession ; and humble as was his 
 lot, he began to feel the pride of public life. 
 He continued to be a regular o-uest at Joe's, 
 and was careful not to seem to avoid the society 
 of his fellow-clerks in the evenings, for he had 
 an instinctive feeling that it was as well they 
 should not become acquainted with his circle 
 in Warwick Street. And yet to him the at- 
 tractions of that circle became daily more diffi- 
 cult to resist. And often when he was endiu^ins; 
 tlie purgatory of the Divan, listening to the 
 snarls of St. Barbe over the shameful pro- 
 sperity of everybody in this world except the 
 snarler, or perhaps went half-price to the pit 
 of Drury Lane with the critical Trenchard, 
 he was, in truth, restless and absent, and his 
 mind was in another place, indulging in visions 
 -which he did not care to analyse, but which 
 were very agreeable.
 
 EXDYMION. 199 
 
 One evening', shortly after the expedition 
 to Epsom, while the rest were playing a rub- 
 ber, Imogene said to him, ' I wish you to be 
 friends with Mr. Vigo ; I think he might be 
 of use to yon.' 
 
 Mr. Yigo was playmg whist at this mo- 
 ment ; his partner was Sylvia, and they were 
 playing against Mr. Kodney and Waldershare. 
 
 AYaldershare was the tenant of the second 
 floor. He was the young* gentleman ' who 
 might some day be a peer.' He was a young 
 man of about three or four and twenty years ; 
 fair, with short curly brown hair and blue 
 eyes ; not exactly handsome, but with a coun- 
 tenance full of expression, and the index of 
 quick emotions, whether of joy or of anger. 
 AYaldershare was the only cliild of a younger 
 son of a i)atrician house, and had inherited 
 from his father a moderate l)ut easy fortune. 
 He had been the earliest lodger of the Rodneys, 
 and, taking advantage of the Tory reaction, had 
 just been returned to the House of Commons. 
 
 What he would do there was a subject of 
 interesting speculation to his numerous friends, 
 and it may l)e said admirers. AYaldershare
 
 200 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 was one of those vivid and brilliant organisa- 
 tions which exercise a peculiarly attractive 
 influence on youtli. He had been the hero of 
 the debating club at Cambridge, and many 
 believed in consequence that he must become 
 prime minister. He was witty and fanciful, 
 and, though capricious and bad-tempered, could 
 flatter and caress. At Cambridge he had m- 
 troduced the new Oxford heresy, of which 
 Xigel Penruddock was a votary. Walder- 
 share prayed and fasted, and swore by Laud 
 and Strafford. He took, however, a more 
 eminent deo-ree at Paris than at his oriijinal 
 Alma Mater, and becoming passionately ad- 
 dicted to French literature, his views respectmg 
 both Church and State became modified — at 
 least in private. His entrance into English 
 society had been highly successful, and as he 
 had a due share of vanity and was by no 
 means free fi'om worldliness, he had enjoyed 
 and pursued his triumphs. But his versatile 
 nature, which required not only constant, but 
 novel excitement, became palled, even with 
 the society of duchesses. There was a mono- 
 tony in the splendour of aristocratic life which
 
 EXDYMION. 201 
 
 "wearied him, and for some time lie bad per- 
 suaded himself that the only people who 
 understood the secret of existence were the 
 family under whose roof he lodged. 
 
 AValdershare was profligate, but sentimen- 
 tal ; unprincipled, but romantic ; the child of 
 whim, and the slave of an imaoination so 
 freakish and deceptive that it was always im- 
 possible to foretell his course. He was alike 
 capable of sacrificing all his feelings to worldly 
 considerations or of forfeiting the world for a 
 visionary caprice. At present his favourite 
 scheme, and one to Avhich he seemed really 
 attached, was to educate Imogene. Under his 
 tuition he had persuaded himself that she 
 would turn out what he styled ' a great 
 woman.' An age of vast change, according to 
 Waldershare, was impending over us. There 
 was no male career in which one could confide. 
 Most men of mark would probably be victims, 
 but ' a great woman ' must always make her 
 way. Whatever the circumstances, she would 
 adapt herself to them ; if necessary, would 
 mould and fashion them. I lis dream was that 
 Imogene should go forth and couriucr the world,
 
 202 ENDYMION. 
 
 and that in the sunset of life he should iind a 
 refuge in some corner of her palaces. 
 
 Imogene was only a child when Walder- 
 share first became a lodger. She used to bring 
 his breakfast to his drawing-rcom and arrange 
 his table. He encountered her one day, and 
 he requested her to remain, and always pre- 
 side over his meal. He fell in love with her 
 name, and wrote her a series of sonnets, 
 idealising her past, panegyrising her present, 
 and prophetic of her future life. Imogene, 
 who was neither shy nor obtrusive, was calm 
 amid all his vagaries, humoured his fancies, 
 even when she did not understand them, and 
 read his verses as she would a foreign lan- 
 o'uau'e which she was determined to master. 
 
 Her culture, according to AValdershare, was 
 to be carried on chiefly l)y conversation. She 
 was not to read, or at least not to read much, 
 until her taste was formed and she had ac- 
 quired the due share of previous knowledge 
 necessary to profitable study. As Walder- 
 share was eloquent, brilliant, and witty, Imo- 
 gene listened to him with wondering interest 
 and amusement, even when she found some
 
 EXDYMION. 203 
 
 difficulty in following him ; but lier ap])re- 
 liension was so quick and lier tact so fine, that 
 her progress, though she was almost uncon- 
 scious of it. was remarkable. Sometimes in 
 the evenino- while the others were smoking; 
 together or playing whist, Waldershare and 
 Imogene, sitting apart, were engaged in ap- 
 parently the most interesting converse. It 
 was impossible not to observe the animation 
 and earnestness of Waldershare, and the j^reat 
 attention Avitli which his companion responded 
 to his representations. Yet all this time he 
 was only giving her a lecture on ]\Iadame de 
 Sevio-ne. 
 
 o 
 
 Waldershare used to take Imogene to the 
 National Gallery and Hampton Court, and 
 other delightful scenes of popular education, 
 but of late Mrs. Rodney had informed her 
 sister that she was no lono-er younii' enouo'li 
 to permit these expeditions. Imogene ac- 
 cepted the announcement A\itliout a nuu-mur, 
 but it occasioned Waldershare several sonnets 
 of heartrendiuii" remonstrance. Imoiz'ene con- 
 tinued, however, to make his breakfast, and 
 kept liis parliamentary papers in order, whicli
 
 204 ENDYMION. 
 
 he never could manage, but the mysteries of 
 which Imogene mastered with feminine quick- 
 ness and precision. Whenever Waldershare 
 was away he always maintained a constant 
 correspondence with Imogene. In this he 
 communicated everything to her without the 
 slightest reserve ; describmg everything he 
 saw, almost everything he heard, pages teem- 
 ing with anecdotes of a world of which she 
 could know nothino; — the secrets of courts 
 and coteries, memoirs of prmces and ministers, 
 of dandies and dames of fishion. ' If any- 
 thing happens to me,' Waldershare would say 
 to Imogene, ' this correspondence may be 
 worth thousands to you, and when it is pub- 
 lished it will connect your name with mine, 
 and assist my grand idea of your becoming 
 " a great woman." ' 
 
 ' But I do not know Mr. Vigo,' whispered 
 Endymion to Imogene. 
 
 ' But you have met him here, and you 
 went together to Epsom. It is enough. He 
 is going to ask you to dine with him on 
 Saturday. We shall l^e there, and Mr. Wal- 
 dershare is going. He lias a beautiful place,
 
 EXDYMION, 205 
 
 and it will be very pleasant.' And exactly 
 as Imogene had anticipated, Mr. Vigo, in the 
 course of the evening, did ask Endyniion to 
 do him the honour of becoming his guest. 
 
 The villa of Mr. Vigo was on the banks 
 of the Thames, and had once belonged to a 
 noble customer. The Palladian mansion con- 
 tained a suite of chambers of majestic dunen- 
 sions — lofty ceilings, rich cornices, and vast 
 windows of plate glass ; the gardens were 
 rich with the products of conservatories which 
 Mr. Vigo had raised with every modern im- 
 provement, and a group of stately cedars sup- 
 ported the dignity of the scene and gave to it 
 a name. Beyond, a winding walk encircled a 
 large held which Mr. Vigo called the park, 
 and which sparkled with gold and silver 
 pheasants, and the keeper lived in a newly- 
 raised habitation at the extreme end, which 
 took the foiTQ of a Swiss cottage. 
 
 The Rodney family, accompanied by Mr. 
 Waldershare and Endymion, went to the 
 Cedars l^y water. It was a delightfid after- 
 noon of June, the river warm and still, and 
 the soft, fitful western breeze occasionally
 
 20G EXDYMION. 
 
 rich A\'itli the perfume of the gardens of 
 Putney and Chiswick. Waldershare talked 
 the whole way. It was a rhapsody of fancy, 
 fun, knowledge, anecdote, brilliant badinage — 
 even passionate seriousness. Sometimes he 
 recited poetry, and his voice was musical ; 
 and then, when he had attuned his com- 
 panions to a sentimental pitch, he woidd 
 break into mockery, and touch with delicate 
 satire every mood of human feeling. Endy- 
 mion listened to him in silence and admira- 
 tion. He had never heard Waldershare talk 
 before, and he had never heard anybody like 
 him. All this time, what was now, and ever, 
 remarkable in Waldershare were his manners. 
 They were finished, even to courtliness. Af- 
 fable and winning, he was never familiar. 
 He always addressed Sylvia as if she were 
 one of those duchesses round whom he used 
 to linger. He would bow deferentially to her 
 remarks, and elicit from some of her casual 
 observations an acute or o-raceful meanino- of 
 which she herself was by no means conscious. 
 The bow of Waldershare was a study. Its 
 grace and ceremony must have been organic ;
 
 KXDY.MloX. 207 
 
 for tliere Avas no traditionary type in existence 
 from which he couhl have derived or inherited 
 it. He certamly addressed Iniogene and 
 spoke of her b}" her Christian name ; but this 
 ■was partly because he was in love with the 
 name, and partly because he would persist in 
 still treatino- her as a child. Cut his manner 
 to her always was that of tender respect. She 
 was almost as silent as Endymion daring- 
 their voyage, but not less attentive to her 
 friend. Mr. Rodney was generally silent, and 
 never opened his mouth on this occasion ex- 
 cept in answer to an inquiry from his wife as 
 to whom a villa might belong, and it seemed 
 always that he knew every villa, and everyone 
 to whom they belonged. 
 
 The sisters were in demi-toilette, which 
 seemed artless, though in fact it was pro- 
 foundly devised. Sylvia was the only person 
 who really understood the meaning of ' simplex 
 munditiis,' and this was one of the secrets of 
 her success. There were some ladies, on the 
 lawn of the Cedars wlien they arrived, not 
 exactly of their school, and who were finely 
 and fully dressed. Mrs. Gamme was the wife
 
 208 ENDYMION. 
 
 of a sporting attorney, a friend of Mr. Vigo, 
 and who also, having a viUa at hand, was 
 looked upon as a country neighbour. Mrs. 
 Gamme was universally recognised to be a 
 fine woman, and she dressed up to her repu- 
 tation. She was a famous whist-player at 
 high points, and dealt the cards with hands 
 covered with diamond rings. Another country 
 neighbour was the chief partner in the cele- 
 brated firm of Hooghley, Dacca and Co., 
 dealers in Indian and other shawls. Mr. 
 Hooghley had married a celebrated actress, 
 and was proud and a little jealous of his wife. 
 Mrs. Hooghley had always an opportunity at 
 the Cedars of meetino; some friends in her 
 former profession, for Mr, Vigo liked to be 
 surrounded by genius and art. ' I must have 
 talent,' he would exclaim, as he looked round 
 at the amusing and motley multitude assem- 
 bled at his splendid entertainments. And to- 
 day upon his lawn might be observed the first 
 tenor of the opera and a prima-donna who 
 had just arrived, several celebrated members 
 of the Eno:lish stao-e of both sexes, artists 
 of great reputation, whose principal works
 
 ENDYMION. 209 
 
 already adorned the well- selected walls of the 
 Cedars, a daiiseuse or two of celebrity, some 
 litcrnrv men, r>s ]\Ir. \igo styled them, who 
 were chiefly brethren of the periodical press, 
 and more than one member of either house 
 of parliament. 
 
 Just as the party were preparing to leave 
 the lawn and enter the diniug-room arrived, 
 breathless and glowing, the young earl who 
 had driven the Rodneys to the Derby. 
 
 ' A shaver, my dear Vigo ! Only returned 
 to town this afternoon, and found your in- 
 vitation. How fortunate ! ' And then he 
 looked around, and recognising Mrs. Rodney 
 was immediately at her side. ' I must have 
 the honour of taking you in to dinner. I got 
 your note, but only by this morning's post.' 
 
 The dinner was a banquet, — a choice bou- 
 quet before every guest, turtle and venison 
 and piles of whitebait, and pine-apples of pro- 
 digious size, and bunches of grapes that had 
 gained prizes. The champagne seemed to 
 flow in fountains, and was only mterrupted 
 that the guest might quaff Burgundy or taste 
 Tokay. But what was more delightful than 
 VOL. I. r
 
 210 EXDYMION. 
 
 all was the enjoyment of all present, and 
 especially of their host. That is a rare sight. 
 Banquets are not rare, nor choice guests, nor 
 gracious hosts ; but when do we ever see a 
 person enjoy anything? But these gay chil- 
 dren of art and whim, and successful labour 
 and happy speculation, some of them very rich 
 and some of them without a sou, seemed only 
 to tlimk of the festive hour and all its joys. 
 Neither wealth nor poverty brought them 
 cares. Every face sparkled, every word seemed 
 witty, and every sound seemed sweet. A band 
 played u23on the lawn during the dinner, and 
 were succeeded, when the dessert commenced, 
 by strange choruses from singers of some 
 foreign land, who for the first time aired 
 their picturescjue costumes on the banks of 
 the Thames. 
 
 When the ladies had withdrawn to the 
 saloon, the first comic sino-er of the aire ex- 
 celled himself; and when they rejoined their 
 fair friends, the primo-tenore and the prima- 
 donna gave them a grand scena, succeeded by 
 the English performers in a favourite scene 
 from a famous farce. Then Mrs. Gamme had
 
 ENDYMION. 211 
 
 an opportunity of dealing with lier diamond 
 rins:s, and the rest danced — a waltz of 
 whirling grace, or merry cotillon of jocund 
 bouquets. 
 
 ' Well, Clarence,' said Waldershare to the 
 young earl, as they stood for a moment apart, 
 ' was I right ? ' 
 
 ' By Jove ! yes. It is the only life. You 
 were quite right. We should indeed be fools 
 to sacrifice ourselves to the conventional.' 
 
 The Rodney party returned home in the 
 drag of the last speaker. They were the last 
 to retire, as Mr. Vigo washed for one cigar 
 with his noble friend. As he bade farewell, 
 and cordially, to End^aiiion, he said, ' Call on 
 me to-morrow mornins; in Burlington Street 
 in your way to your office. Do not mind the 
 hour. I am an early l)ird.'
 
 212 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ' It is no favour,' said Mr. Vigo ; ' it is not 
 even an act of friendliness ; it is a freak, and 
 it is my freak ; the favour, if there be one, is 
 conferred by you.' 
 
 ' But I really do not know what to say,' 
 said Endymion, hesitatmg and confused. 
 
 ' I am not a classical scholar,' said Mr. 
 A^igo, ' but there are two things which I think 
 I understand — men and horses. I like to 
 back them both when I think they ought to 
 win.' 
 
 ' But I am scarcely a man,' said Endymion, 
 rather piteously, ' and I sometimes think I 
 shall never wm anything.' 
 
 'That is my affair,' replied Mr, Vigo; 
 * you are a yearling, and I have formed my 
 judgment as to your capacity. What I wish 
 to do in your case is what I have done in
 
 EXDYMION. 213 
 
 others, and some memorable ones. Dress 
 does not make a man, but it often makes a 
 successful one. The most precious stone, you 
 know, must be cut and polished. I shall 
 enter your name in my books for an unlimited 
 credit, and no account to be settled till you 
 are a privy councillor. I do not limit the 
 credit, because you are a man of sense and a 
 g'entleman, and will not abuse it. But be 
 quite as careful not to stint yourself as not 
 to be needlessly extravagant. In the first 
 instance, you Avould be interfering with my 
 experiment, and that would not be fair.' 
 
 This conversation took place in ]\[r. A^igo's 
 countmo;-house the mornino; after the enter- 
 tainment at his villa. Endymion called upon 
 Afr. A igo in his way to liis office, as he had 
 been requested to do, and Mr. A igo had ex- 
 pressed his wishes and intentions with regard 
 to Endymion as intimated in the preceding- 
 remarks. 
 
 ' I have known many an heiress lost by 
 her suitor bein^: ill-dressed,' said Mr. Yio-o. 
 ' Yciu iinist dress according to your age, your 
 pursuits, your object in life ; you must dress
 
 214 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 too, in some cases, according to your set. In 
 youth a little fancy is rather expected, but if 
 political life be your object, it should be 
 avoided, at least after one-and-twenty. I am 
 dressing two brothers now, men of consider- 
 able position ; one is a mere man of pleasure, 
 the other will pro])ably be a minister of state. 
 They are as like as two peas, but were I to 
 dress the dandy and the minister the same, 
 it would be bad taste — it would be ridiculous. 
 No man gives me the trouble which Lord 
 Eglantine does ; he has not made up his mind 
 whether he will be a great poet or prime 
 minister. " You must choose, my lord," I 
 tell him. " I cannot send you out looking like 
 Lord Byron if you mean to be a Canning or 
 a Pitt." I have dressed a great many of our 
 statesmen and orators, and I always dressed 
 them according to their style and the nature 
 of their duties. What all men should avoid 
 is the " shabby genteel." Xo man ever gets 
 over it. I will save you from that. You 
 had better be in rags.'
 
 ENDYIMIOX. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 T^'^HEX the twins had separated, they had 
 resolved on a s^^stem of communication wliicli 
 had been, at least on the part of Myra, 
 scrupulously maintained. They were to in- 
 terchange letters every week, and each letter 
 was to assume, if possible, the shape of a 
 journal, so that when they again met no 
 portion of the interval should be a, blank in 
 their past lives. There were few incidents in 
 the existence of Myra ; a book, a walk, a visit 
 to the rectory, were among the chief. Tlie 
 occupations of their father were unchanged, 
 and his health seemed sustained, but that of 
 her mother was not satisfactory. I\[rs. Ferrars 
 liad never rallied since the last discomfiture 
 of her political hopes, and had ne\'er resumed 
 her previous tenour of life. She was secluded, 
 her spirits uncertain, moods of depression
 
 216 ENDYMION. 
 
 succeeded by fits of unaccountable excite- 
 ment, and, on the whole, Myra feared a 
 general and chronic disturbance of her nervous 
 system. His sister prepared Endymion for 
 encountering a great change in their parent 
 when he returned home. Myra, however, 
 never expatiated on the affairs of Hurstley. 
 Her annals in this respect were somewhat 
 dry. She fulfilled her promise of recording 
 them, but no more. Her pen was fuller and 
 more eloquent in her comments on the life of 
 her brother and of the new characters with 
 whom he had become acquainted. She de- 
 lighted to hear about Mr. Jawett, and especi- 
 ally about Mr. St. Barbe, and was much 
 pleased that he had been to the Derby, though 
 she did not exactly collect who were his 
 companions. Did he go with that kind Mr. 
 Trenchard? It would seem, tliat Endymion's 
 account of the Rodney family had been limited 
 to vao:ue thouo;h earnest acknowledo-ments of 
 their great civility and attention, which added 
 much to the comfort of his life. Impelled by 
 some of these o-rateful thouo-h general remarks, 
 Mrs. Ferrars, in a paroxysm of stately grati-
 
 ENDYMION. 217 
 
 tiicle, had sent a missive to Sylvia, such as a 
 sovereign might address to a deserving subject, 
 at the same time acknowledjiino- and com- 
 mending her duteous services. Such was the 
 old domestic superstition of the liodneys, 
 that, with all their worldliness, they treasured 
 this elfusion as if it had really emanated from 
 the centre of power and courtly favour. 
 
 Myra, in her anticipations of speedily 
 meetmg her brother, was doomed to disap- 
 pomtment. She had counted on Endymion 
 obtaining some holidays in the usual recess, 
 but in consequence of having so recently 
 joined the office, Endymion was retained for 
 summer and autumnal work, and not until 
 Christmas was there any prospect of his re- 
 turning home. 
 
 The interval between midsummer and that 
 period, though not devoid of seasons of mo- 
 notony and loneliness, passed in a way not 
 altogether unprolitable to Endymion. Wal- 
 dershare, who had begun to notice him, seemed 
 to become interested in his career. Waldcr- 
 share knew all about bis historic ancestor, 
 Endymion Carey. I'lie bubbling imagination
 
 218 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 of A\iilder8liai'e clustered ^vitli a sort of wild 
 fascination round a livino- link with tlie a^'C of 
 the cavaliers. He had some Stnart blood in 
 his veins, and his ancestors had fallen at Edge- 
 hill and Marston Moor. Waldershare, whose 
 fancies alternated between Strafford and St. 
 Just, Archbishop Laud and the Goddess of 
 Reason, reverted for the moment to his visions 
 on the Ijanks of the C\am, and the brilliant 
 rhapsodies of his boyhood. His converse with 
 Nigel Penruddock had prepared Endymion in 
 some degree for these mysteries, and perhaps 
 it was because Waldershare found that Endy- 
 mion was by no means ill-informed on these 
 matters, and therefore there was less opportu- 
 nity of dazzling and mouldmg him, which 
 was a passion with Waldershare, that he soon 
 quitted the Great Eebellion for pastures new, 
 and impressed upon his pupil that all that had 
 occurred before the French Revolution was 
 ancient history. The French Revolution had 
 introduced the cosmopolitan principle into 
 human affairs instead of the national, and no 
 public man could succeed who did not com- 
 prehend and acknowledge that truth. Wal-
 
 ENDY-MION. 219 
 
 dersliare lent Endyniion books, and books with 
 which otherwise he would not have become 
 acquamted. Unconsciously to himself, the talk 
 of Waldei'share, teeming with knowledge, and 
 fancy, and playfulness, and airy sarcasm of 
 life, taught him something of the art of con- 
 versation — to be prompt without being stub- 
 born, to refute without argument, and to 
 clotlie grave matters in a motley garb. 
 
 But in August Waldershare disappeared, 
 and at the beginning of SejDtember, even the 
 Rodneys had gone to Margate. St. Barbe 
 was the only clerk left in Endymion's room. 
 They dined together almost every day, and 
 went on the top of an omnibus to many a 
 suburban paradise. ' I tell you what,' said 
 St. Barbe, as they were watching one day 
 together the luimours of the world in the 
 crowded tea-garden and bustling bowling- 
 green of Canonbury Tavern ; ' a fellow might 
 get a good chapter out of tliis scene. 1 could 
 do it, but I will not. AMiat is tlie use of 
 lavishing one's brains on an unii'ratefnl world? 
 Why, if that fellow Gushy were to write a 
 descri})tion of this place, whicli he would do
 
 220 ENDYMION. 
 
 like a penny-a-liner drunk with ginger beer, 
 every countess in Mayfair would be reading 
 him, not knowing, the idiot, whether she ought 
 to smile or shed tears, and sendmg liim cards 
 with " at home " upon them as large as life. 
 Oh! it is disgusting! absolutely disgusting. 
 It is a nefarious world, sir. You will find it 
 out some day. I am as much robbed by that 
 fellow Gushy as men are on the highway. He 
 is appropriating my income, and the income of 
 thousands of honest fellows. And then he 
 pretends he is writing for the people ! The 
 people 1 What does he know about the people ? 
 Annals of tlie New Cut and Saffron Hill. He 
 thinks lie will frio-hten some lord, who will 
 ask him to dinner. And that lie calls Pro- 
 gress. I hardly know which is the worst 
 class in this country — the aristocracy, the 
 middle class, or what they call the people. I 
 hate them all.' 
 
 About the fall of the leaf the offices were 
 all filled ao'ain, and amons; the rest Trenchard 
 returned. ' Plis brother has been ill,' said St. 
 Barbe. ' They say that Trenchard is very 
 fond of him. Fond of a brother who keeps
 
 ENDYMION. 221 
 
 him out of four thousand pounds per annum ! 
 What "will man not say? And yet I could not 
 go and congratulate Trenchard on his brother's 
 deatli. It would be " bad taste." Trenchard 
 would perhaps never speak to me again, 
 thouo-h he had been lyino- awake all nio-ht 
 chuckling over the event. And Gushy takes 
 an amiable view of tliis world of hypocrisy 
 and plunder. And that is why Gush}' is so 
 popular ! ' 
 
 There was one incident at the befrinnino; 
 of November, which eventually exercised no 
 mean influence on the life of Endymion. 
 Trenchard offered one evenino- to introduce him 
 as a guest to a celebrated debating society, of 
 wliich Trenchard was a distino-uished member. 
 This society liad grown out of the Union at 
 Cambrido-e, and Avas ori<i"inallv intended to 
 liavc been a metropolitan brancli of that 
 famous association. But in process of tune it 
 was found that SLich a constitution was too 
 limited to ensure those niuubers and that 
 variety of mind desirable in such an institu- 
 tion. It was therefore opened to tlie whole 
 world duly qualiiied. The predominant cle-
 
 222 ENDYMION. 
 
 iiient, however, for a long time consisted of 
 Cambridge men. 
 
 This society used to meet in a large room, 
 fitted up as much like the House of Commons 
 as possible, and which was in Freemasons' 
 Tavern, in Great (^ueen Street. Some hun- 
 dred and fifty members were present when 
 Endymion paid his first visit there, and the 
 scene to Endymion was novel and deeply in- 
 teresting. Though only a guest, he was per- 
 mitted to sit in the body of the chamber, by 
 the side of Trenchard, who kindly gave him 
 some information, as the proceedmgs advanced, 
 as to the principal personages who took part 
 in them. 
 
 The question to-night was, whether the 
 decapitation of Charles the First were a justi- 
 liable act, and the debate was opened in the 
 afiirmative by a young man with a singularly 
 sunny face and a voice of music. His state- 
 ment was clear and calm. Though nothing 
 could be more uncompromismg than his 
 opinions, it seemed that nothing could be 
 fairer than his facts. 
 
 ' That is Hortensius,' said Trenchard ; ' he
 
 EXDY.AIION. 223 
 
 will be called this term. Tliey say lie did 
 nothing at the university, and is too idle to 
 do anything' at the })ar ; hut 1 think highly 
 of him. You should hear him in reply.' 
 
 The opening speech was seconded by a 
 very young man, in a most artificial style, 
 remarkable for its superfluity of intended sar- 
 casm, which was delivered in a highly elabo- 
 rate tone, so that the speaker seemed severe 
 without being keen. 
 
 ' 'Tis the new Cambridge style,' wdiisj^ered 
 Trenchard, ' but it will not go down here.' 
 
 The question having been launched, Spruce 
 arose, a very neat speaker ; a little too me- 
 chanical, but plausible. Endymion was aston- 
 ished at the dextrous turns in his own favour 
 which he gave to many of the statements of 
 Hortensius, and h()\v he mangled and mas- 
 sacred the seconder, who had made a mistake 
 in a date. 
 
 ' He is the Tory leader,' said Trenchard. 
 ' There are not twenty Tories in the Union, 
 but we always listen to him. lie is sharj). 
 Jawctt will answer him.' 
 
 And, accordingly, that great man rose.
 
 224 ENDYMION. 
 
 Jawett, in dulcet tones of philanthropy, inti- 
 mated that he was not opposed to the decapi- 
 tation of kings ; on the contrary, if there were 
 no other way of getting rid of them, he would 
 have recourse to such a method. But iie did 
 not think the case before them was justifiable. 
 
 ' Always crotchety,' whispered Trenchard. 
 
 Jawett thought the whole conception of 
 the oj)ening speech erroneous. It proceeded 
 on the assumption that the execution of 
 Charles was the act of the people ; on the 
 contrary, it was an intrigue of Cromwell, who 
 was the only person who profited by it. 
 
 Cromwell was vindicated and panegyrised 
 in a flaming speech, by Montreal, who took 
 this opportunity of denouncing alike kings 
 and bishops, Church and State, with powerful 
 invective, terminating his address by the ex- 
 pression of an earnest hope that he might be 
 spared to witness the inevitable Commonwealth 
 of England. 
 
 ' He only lost his election for Rattleton by 
 ten votes,' said Trenchard. ' We call him the 
 Lord Protector, and his friends here think he 
 will be so.'
 
 ENDYMION. 225 
 
 The debate was concluded, after another 
 hour, by Hortensius, and Endymion was 
 struck by the contrast between his first and 
 second manner. Safe from reply, and reckless 
 in his security, it is not easy to describe the 
 audacity of his retorts, or the tumult of his 
 eloquence. Rapid, sarcastic, humorous, pictu- 
 resque, impassioned, he seemed to carry every- 
 thmg before him, and to resemble his former 
 self in nothing but the music of his voice, 
 which lent melody to scorn, and sometimes 
 reached the depth of pathos. 
 
 Endymion walked home with Mr. Tren- 
 chard, and in a musing mood. ' I should not 
 care how lazy I was,' said Endymion, ' if I 
 could speak like Hortensius.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 226 BNDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 The snow was Mling about the time when 
 the Swindon coach, in which Endymion was 
 a passenger, was expected at Hurstley, and 
 the snow had been falling all day. Nothing 
 had been more dreary than the outward world, 
 or less entitled to the merry epithet which is 
 the privilege of the season. The gardener had 
 been despatched to the village inn, where the 
 coach stopped, with a lantern and cloaks and 
 umbrellas. Withm the house the huge blocks 
 of smouldermg beech sent forth a hospitable 
 heat, and, whenever there was a sound, Myra 
 threw cones on the inflamed mass, that 
 Endymion might be welcomed with a blaze. 
 Mrs. Ferrars, who had appeared to-day, though 
 late, and had been very nervous and excited, 
 broke down half an hour before her son could 
 arrive, and, murmiu'ing that she would re-
 
 ENDYMION. 227 
 
 appear, had rctirctl. llcr liihsband was appa- 
 rently reading", but his eye wandered and his 
 mind was absent from the volume. 
 
 The dogs barked, Mr. Ferrars threw down 
 his book, Myra forgot her cones ; the door 
 burst open, and she was in her brother's arms, 
 
 ' And where is mamma ? ' said Endymion, 
 after he had greeted his father. 
 
 ' She will be here directly,' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 ' You are late, and the suspense of your arrival 
 a little agitated her.' 
 
 Three quarters of a year had elapsed since 
 the twins had parted, and they Avere at that 
 period of life when such an interval often pro- 
 duces no slight changes in 2:)ersonal appearance. 
 Endymion, always tall for his years, had 
 considerabl}^ grown ; his air, and manner, and 
 dress were distinguished. But three quarters 
 of a year liad produced a still greater effect 
 upon his sister. He had left her a beautiful 
 girl : her beauty was not less striking, but it 
 was now tlie beauty of a womau. Her uiien 
 was radiant but commanding, and her ])row, 
 always remarkable, was singularly impressive. 
 
 'J'liey stood in animated converse l)efore 
 
 <i 2
 
 228 ENDYMION. 
 
 the fire, Endymion between his father and his 
 sister and retaining of each a hand, when Mr. 
 Ferrars nodded to Myra and said, ' I think 
 now ;' and Myra, not rehictantly, but not with 
 happy eagerness, left the room. 
 
 ' She is gone for your poor mother,' said 
 Mr. Ferrars ; ' we are uneasy about her, my 
 dear boy.' 
 
 Myra was some time away, and when she 
 returned she was alone. ' She says she must 
 see him first in her room,' said Myra, in a low 
 voice, to her father ; ' but that will never do ; 
 you or I must go with him.' 
 
 ' You had better go,' said Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 She took her brother's hand and led him 
 away. ' I go with j^ou, to prevent dreadful 
 scenes,' said his sister on the staircase. ' Try 
 to behave just as in old times, and as if 
 you saw no change.' 
 
 Myra went into the chamber first, to give 
 to her mother, if j)ossible, the keynote of the 
 interview, and of which she had already fur- 
 nished the prelude. ' We are all so happy to 
 see Endymion again, dear mamma. Papa is 
 quite gay.'
 
 EXDYMION. 229 
 
 And then when Endymion, answering Lis 
 sister's beckon, entered, ]\Irs. Ferrars rushed 
 forward with a sort of hmgh, and cried out, 
 ' Oh ! I am so happy to see you again, my 
 chikl. I feel quite gay.' 
 
 He embraced her, but he could not believe 
 it was his mother. A visao'e at once hao-o-ard 
 and bloated had su[)plauted that soft and rich 
 countenance which liad captivated so many. 
 A robe concealed her attenuated frame; but the 
 lustrous eyes were bleared and bloodshot, and 
 the accents of the voice, which nsed to be at 
 once melodious and a little drawlini>\ hoarse, 
 harsh, and hurried. 
 
 She never stopped talking ; but it was all 
 in one key, and that the prescribed one — lier 
 liappiness at his arrival, the universal gaiety 
 it liad })roduced, and the merry Cliristmas 
 they were to keep. After a time she began 
 to recur to the past, and to sigh; but instantly 
 j\lyra interfered with ' You know, mamma, 
 you are t(j dine downstairs to-day, and you 
 will liardly liave time to dress;' and she 
 motioned to l-]iidymion to retire. 
 
 Mrs. FeiTars kept the dinner waiting a
 
 230 ENDYMION. 
 
 long time, and, when she entered the room, it 
 was evident that slie was painfully excited. 
 She had a cap on, and had used some rouge. 
 
 ' Endymion must take me in to dinner,' 
 she hurriedly exclaimed as she entered, and 
 then grasped her son's arm. 
 
 It seemed a happy and even a merry 
 dinner, and yet there was something ahont it 
 forced and constrained. Mrs. Ferrars talked a 
 great deal, and Endymion told them a great 
 many anecdotes of those men and things 
 which most interested them, and Myra seemed 
 to be absorbed in his remarks and narratives, 
 and his mother wonld drink his health more 
 than once, when suddenly she Avent into 
 hysterics, and all was anarchy. JMr. Ferrars 
 looked distressed and infinitely sad ; and 
 Myra, putting her arm round her motlier, and 
 whispering words of calm or comfort, managed 
 to lead her out of the room, and neither of 
 them returned. 
 
 ' Poor creature ! ' said Mr. Ferrars with 
 a sigh. ' Seeing you has been too mucli for 
 her.' 
 
 The next morning Endymion and his
 
 ENDYMION. 231 
 
 sister paid a visit to the rectory, and there 
 they met Nigel, who was passing his Christ- 
 mas at home. This was a happy meeting. 
 The rector had written an essay on squirrels, 
 and showed them a glass containing that 
 sportive little animal in all its frolic forms. 
 Farmer Thornberry had ordered a path to be 
 cleared on the green from the hall to the 
 rectory ; and ' that is all,' said ]\Irs. Penrud- 
 dock, ' we have to walk upon, except the high 
 road. The snow has drifted to such a deo'ree 
 that it is impossible to get to the Chase. I 
 went out the day before yesterday with Carlo, 
 as a guide. When I did not clearly make out 
 my way, I sent him forward, and sometimes I 
 coLd<l only see his black head emerging from 
 the snow. So I had to retreat.' 
 
 Mrs. Ferrars did not appear this day. 
 Endymion visited her in her room. He found 
 her flighty and incoherent. She seemed to 
 think that lie had returned ])eriuancntly to 
 Hurstley, and said she never lia'l any good 
 opinion of tiie scjicnie of liis leaving them. 
 ]{' it had been the Foreign Office, as was 
 promised, and his father had been in the
 
 232 ENDYMION. 
 
 Cabinet, wliicli was his right, it might have 
 been all very well. But, if he were to leave 
 home, he onglit to have gone into the Guards, 
 and it Avas not too late. And then they 
 might live in a small house in town, and look 
 after him. There were small houses in Wil- 
 ton Crescent, which would do very well. 
 Besides, she herself wanted change of air. 
 Hurstley did not agree with her. She had 
 no appetite. She never was well except in 
 London, or Wimbledon. She wished that, as 
 Endymion was here, he would speak to his 
 father on the subject. She saw no reason 
 why they should not live at their place at 
 Wimbledon as well as here. It was not so 
 large a house, and, therefore, would not be so 
 expensive. 
 
 Endymion's holiday was only to last a 
 week, and Myra seemed jealous of his sparing 
 any portion of it to Nigel ; yet the rector's 
 son was sedulous in his endeavours to enjoy 
 the society of his former companion. There 
 seemed some reason for his callino- ut the hall 
 every day. Mr. Ferrars broke through his 
 habits, and invited Nig-el to dme with them ;
 
 EXDYMION. 233 
 
 and after dinner, saying that he would visit 
 Mrs. Ferrars, who was unwell, left them alone. 
 It was the only time tliey had yet been alone. 
 End_)7inion found that there was no change m 
 the feelings and views of Nigel respecting 
 Church matters, except that his sentiments 
 and opinions were more assured, and, if pos- 
 sible, more advanced. He would not tolerate 
 any reference to the state of the nation ; it 
 was the state of the Church which ensfrossed 
 his beino-. Xo o'overnment was endurable 
 that was not divine. The Church was divine, 
 and on that he took his stand. 
 
 Xigel was to take his degree next term, 
 and orders as soon as possible. He looked 
 forward with confidence, after doubtless a 
 period of disturbance, confusion, probably vio- 
 lence, and even anarchy, to the establishment 
 of an ecclesiastical polity that would be catholic 
 throughout the realm. Endymion just inti- 
 mated the very contrary opinions tliat Jawett 
 held upon these matters, and mentioned, 
 though not as an adherent, some of the cos- 
 mopolitan sentiments of A\^aldersharc. 
 
 The Church is cosmopolitan,' said Xigel ; 
 
 i '\
 
 234 . ENDYMION. 
 
 ' the only practicable meaHS by which yon can 
 attain to identity of motive and action.' 
 
 Then they rejoined Myra, but Nigel soon 
 recurred to the absorbing theme. His powers 
 had much developed since he and Endymion 
 used to wander together over Hurstley Chase. 
 He had great eloquence, his views were start- 
 ling and commanding, and his expressions 
 forcible and picturesque. All was heightened, 
 too, by his striking personal appearance and 
 tlie beauty of his voice. He seemed somethmg 
 ])etween a young prophet and an inquisitor ; 
 a remarkable blendino- of enthusiasm and self- 
 control. 
 
 A person more experienced in human 
 nature than Endymion, might have observed 
 that all this time, while Nigel was to all ap- 
 pearance chiefly addressing himself to Endy- 
 mion, he was, in fact, endeavouring to impress 
 his sister. Endymion knew, from the corre- 
 spondence of Myra, that Nigel had been, espe- 
 cially in the summer, much at Hurstley ; and 
 when he was alone with his sister, he could 
 not help remarking, ' Nigel is as strong as ever 
 in his views.'
 
 ENDYMION. 235 
 
 ' Yes,' slie replied ; ' he is very clever and 
 very good-lookino'. It is a pity he is going 
 into the Clmrch. I do not like clergymen.' 
 
 On the third day of the visit, Mrs. Ferrars 
 was announced to be unwell, and in the 
 evening very nnwell ; and Mr. Ferrars sent 
 to the nearest medical man, and he was dis- 
 tant, to attend her. The medical man did 
 not arrive until past midnight, and, after visit- 
 ing his patient, looked grave. She had fever, 
 but of what character it was difficult to decide. 
 The medical man liad brouglit some remedies 
 with liim, and lie stayed the night at tlie liall. 
 It was a night of anxiety and alarm, and the 
 household did not retire until nearly the break 
 of dawn. 
 
 The next day it seemed that the whole of 
 the Penruddock family were in the house. 
 j\Irs. Penruddock insisted on nursino' Mrs. 
 Fen-ars, and her husband looked as if he 
 thouo;ht lie mio-ht be wanted. It was un- 
 reasonaljle that Nig^el should be left alone. 
 His presence, always pleasing, was a relief to 
 art anxious family, and who Avcre l)eginning 
 to get alarmed. The fever did not subside.
 
 236 ENDYMION. 
 
 Oil the contrary, it increased, and there were 
 other dangerous symptoms. There was a phy- 
 sician of fame at Oxford, whom Nigel wished 
 they would call in. Matters were too pressing 
 to wait for posts, and too complicated to trust 
 to an ordinary messenger. Nigel, who was 
 always well mounted, was in his saddle in an 
 instant. He seemed to be all resource, conso- 
 lation, and energy : ' If I am fortunate, he will 
 be here in four hours ; at all events, I will not 
 return alone.' 
 
 Four terrible hours were these : ]\Ir. Fer- 
 rars, restless and sad, and listening with a 
 vacant or an absent look to the kind and 
 unceasing talk of the rector ; j\Iyra, silent in 
 her mother's chamber ; and Endymion, wan- 
 dering about alone with his eyes full of tears. 
 This was the Merrie Christmas he had talked 
 of, and this his long-looked-for holiday. lie 
 could think of nothino' but his mother's kind- 
 ness ; and the days gone by, when she was so 
 bright and happy, came back to him with 
 painful vividness. It seemed to him that he 
 belonged to a doomed and unhappy family. 
 Youth and its unconscious mood had hitherto
 
 ENDYMION. 237 
 
 driven this thought from his mind ; but it 
 occurred to him now, and Avould not be driven 
 away. 
 
 Nio-el was fortunate. ])efore sunset he re- 
 turned to Hurstley in a postchaise with the 
 Oxford physician, whom he had furnished 
 with an able and accurate diagnosis of the case. 
 All that art could devise, and all that devo- 
 tion could suo-o-est, were lavished on the suf- 
 ferer, but in vain ; and four days afterwards, 
 the last day of Endymion's long-awaited holi- 
 day, Mr. Ferrars closed for ever the eyes of 
 that brilliant being, wdio, with some weak- 
 nesses, but many noble qualities, had shared 
 with no unequal spirit the splendour and the 
 adversity of his existence.
 
 238 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Nigel took a liigh degree and obtained first- 
 class honours. He was ordained by the bishop 
 of the diocese as soon after as possible. His 
 companions, who looked up to him with every 
 expectation of his eminence and influence, 
 were disappointed, however, in the course of 
 life on which he decided. It was different 
 from that which he had led them to suppose 
 it would be. They had counted on his be- 
 coming a resident light of the University, filling 
 its highest offices, and ultimately reaching the 
 loftiest stations in the Church. Instead of 
 that, he announced that he had resolved to be- 
 come a curate to his father, and that he was 
 about to bury himself in the solitude of 
 Hurstley. 
 
 It was in the early summer following the 
 death of Mrs. Ferrars that he settled there.
 
 ENDYMION. 239 
 
 He was frequently at the hall, and became in- 
 timate with Mr. Ferrars. Notwithstanding 
 the difference of age, there was between them 
 a sympathy of knowledge and thouglit. In 
 spite of his decided mind, Nigel listened to 
 Mr. Ferrars with deference, soliciting his 
 judgment, and hanging, as it were, on his 
 accents of wise experience and refined taste. 
 So Nigel became a favourite with Mr. Ferrars ; 
 for there are few things more flattering than 
 the graceful submission of an accomplished in- 
 tellect, and, when accompanied by youth, the 
 spell is sometimes fascinatmg. 
 
 The death of his wife seemed to have been 
 a great blow to Mr. Ferrars. The expression 
 of his careworn, yet still handsome, counte- 
 nance became, if possible, more saddened. It 
 was with difficulty that his daughter could in- 
 duce him to take exercise, and he had lost 
 altogether that seeming interest in their outer 
 world which once at least he affected to feel. 
 Myra, though ever content to be alone, liad 
 given up herself much to her father since his 
 great sorrow ; but slie felt that her efforts to 
 distract him from liis broodings were not emi-
 
 240 ENDYMION. 
 
 nently successful, and she hailed with a feeling 
 of relief the establishment of Nio-el in the 
 parish, and the consequent intimacy that arose 
 between him and her father. 
 
 Nigel and Myra were necessarily under 
 these circumstances thrown much too-ether. 
 As time advanced he passed his evenmgs gene- 
 rally at the hall, for he was a proficient in the 
 only game which interested Mr. Ferrars, and 
 that was chess. Reading and writing all day, 
 ]\Ir. Ferrars required some remission of atten- 
 tion, and his relaxation was chess. Before the 
 games, and between the games, and during 
 delightful tea-time, and for the happy quarter 
 of an hour which ensued when the chief em- 
 ployment of the evening ceased, Nigel appealed 
 much to ]\Iyra, and endeavoured to draw out 
 her mind and feelings. He lent her books, 
 and books that favoured, indirectly at least, 
 his own peculiar views — volumes of divine 
 poesy that had none of the twang of psalm- 
 ody, tales of tender and sometimes wild 
 and brilliant fancy, but ever full of symbolic 
 truth. 
 
 Chess-playing requires complete abstrac-
 
 EnDymion. 241 
 
 tion, and ^igel, though he was a double first, 
 occasionally" lost a game from a lapse in that 
 condensed attention that secures triumph. 
 The fact is, he was too frequently thinking of 
 scmethino; else besides the moves on the board, 
 and his cur was engaged while his eye wan- 
 dered, if ]\lyra chanced to rise from her seat or 
 make the sli""htest observation. 
 
 The woods were beolnnin"' to assume the 
 first fair livery of autunni, when it is beautiful 
 without decay. The lime and the larch had 
 not yet dropped a golden leaf, and the burnished 
 beeches flamed in the sun. Every now and 
 then an occasional oak or elm rose, still as full 
 of deep green foliage as if it were midsummer ; 
 while the dark verdure of the pines sprang up 
 with effective contrast amid the odeamino; and 
 resplendent chestnuts. 
 
 There was a glade at Iliu^stley, bounded on 
 each side with masses of yew, their dark green 
 forms now studded with crimson berries. 
 Myra was walking one moi-niiig in this glade 
 when she met Nigel, who was on one of his 
 daily pilgrimages, and he turned round and 
 walked by her side. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' I am sure I cannot give you news of 
 your brother,' he said, ' but I have had a 
 letter this mornmg from Endymion. He 
 seems to take ffreat interest in his debatino- 
 club.' 
 
 ' I am so glad he has become a member of 
 it,' said Myra. ' That kind Mr. Trenchard, 
 whom I shall never see to thank him for all 
 his goodness to Endymion, proposed him. It 
 occupies his evenings twice a week, and then 
 it gives him subjects to think of and read up 
 in the interval.' 
 
 ' Yes ; it is a good thing,' said Nigel, 
 moodily ; ' and if he is destined for public 
 life, which perliaps he may be, no contemptible 
 discipline.' 
 
 'Dear boy! ' said Myra, with a sigh. 'I 
 do not see what public life he is destined to, 
 except slaving at a desk. But sometimes one 
 has dreams.' 
 
 ' Yes ; we all have dreams,' said Nigel, 
 witli an air of abstraction. 
 
 ' It is impossible to resist the fascination 
 of a fine autumnal morn,' said Myra ; ' but 
 give me the long days of summer and its rich
 
 tXDYxAIlON. 243 
 
 leafy joys. 1 like to Tvandcr about, and dine 
 at nine o'clock.' 
 
 • Delightful, doubtless, with a sympathis- 
 ing companion.' 
 
 ' Endymion was such a charming com- 
 panion,' said Myra. 
 
 ' But he has left us,' said Nigel ; ' and you 
 are alone.' 
 
 ' I am alone,' said Myra ; ' but I am used 
 to solitude, and I can think of him.' 
 
 ' AYould I were Endymion,' said Nigel, ' to 
 be thought of by you ! ' 
 
 Myra looked at liim witli something of a 
 stare ; but he continued — 
 
 ' All seasons would be to me fiiscination, 
 were I only by your side. Yes ; I can no 
 longer repress the irresistible confession of 
 my love. I am here, and I am here only, 
 because I love you. I quitted Oxford and all 
 its pride that I might have the occasional 
 delight of being your companion. I was not 
 presumptuous in my thoughts, and believed 
 that would content me ; but I can no longer 
 resist the consummate spell, and I offer you 
 my heart and my life.' 
 
 K 2
 
 214 EXDYMION. 
 
 ' I am amazed ; I am a little overwlielmed,' 
 said Myra. ' Pardon me, dear Mr. Pem'ud- 
 dock — dear Nigel — you speak of things of 
 which I have not thought.' 
 
 ' Think of them ! I implore you to think 
 of them, and now ! ' 
 
 ' We are a fallen family,' said Myra, ' per- 
 haps a doomed one. AVe are not people to 
 connect yourself with. You have witnessed 
 some of our sorrows, and soothed them. I 
 shall be ever grateful to you for the past. 
 But I sometimes feel our cup is not yet full, 
 and I have long resolved to bear my cross 
 alone. But, irrespective of all other consi- 
 derations, I can never leave my father.' 
 
 ' I have spoken to your father,' said Nigel, 
 ' and he approved my suit.' 
 
 ' While my father lives I shall not quit him,' 
 said Myra ; ' but, let me not mislead you, I 
 do not live for my father — I live for another.' 
 
 Tor another?' inquired Nigel, with 
 anxiety. 
 
 ' For one you know. ]\Iy life is devoted 
 to Endymion. There is a mystic bond be- 
 tween us, originating, perhaps, in the circum-
 
 EXDYMION. 2J;5 
 
 stance of our birth ; for we are twins. T 
 never mean to embarrass him with a sister's 
 love, aiid perhaps hereafter ma}?- see less of 
 liiiii even than I see now ; but I shall be in 
 the world, whatever be my lot, high or low — 
 the active, stirriu£>' world — workins; for him, 
 thinking alone of him. Yes ; moulding events 
 and circumstances in his fjivour ; ' and she 
 spoke with fiery animation. ' I have brought 
 myself, by long meditation, to the conviction 
 that a human being with a settled purpose 
 must accomplish it, and that nothing can 
 resist a will that will stake even existence for 
 its fulfilment.'
 
 246 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIL 
 
 ExDYMTON had returned to liis labours, after 
 the death of his mother, mucli dispirited. 
 Tlioiigh young and hopefid, his tender heart 
 coidd not he insensible to the tragic end. 
 There is au"'uish in the recollection that we 
 have not adequately appreciated the affection 
 of those v\diom we have loved and lost. It 
 tortured him to feel that he had often accepted 
 with carelessness or indiifereuce the homage 
 of a heart that had been to him ever faithfid 
 in its multiplied devotion. Then, though he 
 was not of a melancholy and brooding nature, 
 in this moment of bereavement he could not 
 drive from his mind the consciousness that 
 there had lonsx been hang-ino; over his home a 
 dark lot, as it were, of progressive adversity. 
 His flimily seemed always sinking, and he felt 
 conscious how the sanguine spirit of his mother
 
 EXDYMION. 247 
 
 liad sustained them in their trials. His fother 
 Iiud ah-eady made him the depositary of his 
 hopeless cares ; and if anything happened to 
 that father, old and Avorn out before his time, 
 what would become of j\Iyra ? 
 
 Nigel, who in their great calamity seemed 
 to have thought of eyer3^tliing, and to have 
 done everything, had written to the chief of 
 the office, and also to Mr.Trenchard, explaining 
 the cause of the absence of Endymion from his 
 duties. There were no cxphmations, therefore, 
 necessary when he reappeared ; no complaints, 
 but only sympathy and general kindness. In 
 Warwick Street there was unaffected sorrow; 
 Sylvia wept and went into tlie prettiest 
 mourning for her patroness, and Mr. Rodney 
 wore a crape on liis hat. 'I never saw her,' 
 said Imogenc, ' but I am told she was heavenly.' 
 
 AV^aldershare was very kind to Endymion, 
 and used to take him to the House of Commons 
 on interestino; evenino-s and. if he succeeded in 
 getting Endymion a place under the gallery, 
 would come and talk to him in the course of 
 the night, and sometimes introduce him to the 
 mysteries of Bellamy's, where I'^ndymion had
 
 248 ENDYMION. 
 
 the satisfaction of partaking of a steak in tlie 
 presence of statesmen and senators. 
 
 ' You are in the precincts of public life,' 
 said Waldershare ; ' and if you ever enter it, 
 which I th'nk you will,' he would add thought- 
 fully, 'it will be interesting for you to re- 
 member that you have seen these characters, 
 many of whom will then have passed away. 
 Like the shades of a magic lantern,' he added, 
 with somethino- between a &hj:h. and a smile. 
 ' One of my constituents sent me a homily 
 this morninr, the burthen of which was, I 
 never thoudit of death. The idiot ! I never 
 think of anything else. It is my weakness. 
 One should never think of death. One should 
 think of life. That is real piety.' 
 
 This spring and summer were passed 
 tranquilly by Endymion, but not unprofitably. 
 He never went to any place of public amuse- 
 ment, and, cherishing his sorrow, declined those 
 slight openings to social life which occasionally 
 offered themselves even to him ; but he 
 attended his debating club with regularit}^, 
 and, though silent, studied every subject 
 which was l:)rouolit before it. It interested
 
 ENDYMION. 249 
 
 him to compare their sayings and doings with 
 those of the House of Commons, and he found 
 advantao'e in the critical comparison. Thouo'h 
 not in what is styled society, his mind did not 
 rust from the want of intelligent companions. 
 The clear perception, accurate knowledge, and 
 nnerrmg judgment of Trenchard, the fontastic 
 cynicism of St. Barbe, and all the stores of 
 the exuberant and imao'inative AValdcrshare 
 were brouii'lit to bear on a vouno; and plastic 
 intelligence, gifted with a quick though not a 
 too profound sensibility which soon ripened 
 into tact, and which, after due discrimination, 
 was tenacious of beneficial impressions. 
 
 In tlie autumn, Endymion returned home 
 for a long visit and a happy one. He found 
 Nigel settled at Hurstley, and almost do- 
 mesticated at the hall ; his father more cheer- 
 ful tlian his sister's earher letters had led him 
 to suppose ; and she herself so deliglitcd by 
 the constant companionship of her l)rotlier 
 that she seemed to have resumed all her 
 original pride of life. 
 
 Nearly two years' acquaintance, however 
 limited, with the world had already exercised
 
 250 ENDYMION. 
 
 a ripening influence over Endymion. Nigel 
 soon perceived this, though, with a native tact 
 which circumstances had developed, Endymion 
 avoided obtruding his new conclusions upon 
 liis former instructor. But that deep and 
 eager spirit, unwilling ever to let a votary 
 escape, and absorbed intellectually by one 
 vast idea, would not be baflied. Nigel had 
 not renounced the early view of Endymion 
 taking orders, and spoke of his London life 
 as an incident which, with his youth, he might 
 in time only look upon as an episode in his 
 existence. 
 
 ' I trust I shall ever be a devoted son of 
 the Church,' said Endymion ; ' but I confess 
 I feel no predisposition to take orders, even 
 if I had the opportunity, which probably I 
 never shall have. If I were to choose my 
 career, it Avould be public life. I am on the 
 last step of the ladder, and I do not sujipose 
 that I can ever be anything but a drudge. 
 But even that would interest me. It brino-g 
 one in contact witli those who are playing the 
 great game. One at least fancies one com- 
 jjrehends somethmg of the government of
 
 EXDY-AIION. 251 
 
 mankind. Mr, AVal<lei*sliare takes me often 
 to tlie House of Commons, and, I mnst say, 
 1 am passionately fond of it.' 
 
 After Endymion's return to London tliat 
 scene occurred between Nigel and JMyra, in 
 the giade at Hnrstley, which we have noticed 
 in the preceding chapter. In the evening of 
 that day Xigel did not pay his accustomed 
 visit to the hall, and the father and the 
 dano'hter were alone. Then it was, notwith- 
 standin"' evident agitation, and even with 
 some degree of solemnity, that Mr. Ferrars 
 broke to his daughter that there was a subject 
 on which he wislied seriously to confer with 
 her. 
 
 'Is it about Nigel?' she inquired, with 
 calmness. 
 
 ' It is about Nio-el.' 
 
 ' I have seen him, and he has spoken to me.' 
 
 ' And what have you replied ? ' 
 
 ' Wliat I fear will not be satisfactory to 
 you, sir, Ijut what is irrevocable.' 
 
 ' Your imion would give me life and hope,' 
 said Mr. Ferrars ; and then, as she remained 
 silent, he continued after a pau.se : ' For its
 
 252 ENDYMION. 
 
 happiness there seems every security. He is 
 of good family, and with adequate means, and, 
 I firmly believe, no inconsiderable future. 
 His abilities are already recognised ; his dis- 
 position is noble. As for his personal quali- 
 ties, you are a fitter judge than I am ; but, 
 for my part, I never saw a countenance that 
 more became the beauty and nobility of his 
 character.' 
 
 ' I think him very good-looking,' said 
 Myra, ' and there is no doubt he is clever, 
 and he has shown himself, on more than one 
 occasion, amiable.' 
 
 ' Then what more can 3'ou require ? ' said 
 Mr. Ferrars. 
 
 ' I require nothing ; I do not wish to 
 marry.' 
 
 ' But, my daughter, my dearest daughter,' 
 said ]\lr. Ferrars, ' bear with the anxiety of 
 a parent who is at least devoted to you. Our 
 separation would be my last and severest 
 sorrow, and I have had many ; but there is 
 no necessity to consider that case, for Nigel 
 is content, is more than content, to live as 
 your husband under this roof.'
 
 ENDYMION, 2od 
 
 ' So he told mo.' 
 
 ' And that removed one objection that you 
 might naturally feel ? ' 
 
 ' I certainly should never leave you, sir,' 
 said Myra, ' and I told Nigel so ; but that 
 contingency had nothing to do witli my 
 decision. I declined his offer, because I have 
 no wish to marry.' 
 
 ' Women are born to be married/ said Mr. 
 Ferrars. 
 
 ' And yet I believe most marriages are 
 unhappy,' said M3^ra. 
 
 ' Oh I if your objection to marry Nigel 
 arises from an abstract objection to marriage 
 itself,' said jMr. Ferrars, ' it is a subject which 
 we might talk over calmly, and perhaps re- 
 move your prejudices.' 
 
 ' I have no prejudices against marriage,' 
 rejoined Myra. ' It is likely enough that I 
 may marry some day, and probably make an 
 unhappy marriage ; but that is not the ques- 
 tion before us. It is whether I should marry 
 Nigel. That cannot be, my dear father, and 
 he knows it. I have assured liim so in a 
 manner which cannot be mistaken.'
 
 254 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' We are a doomed family ! ' exclaimed the 
 unhappy ]Mr. Ferrars, clasping his hands. 
 
 ' So I have long felt,' said Myra. ' I can 
 bear our lot ; but I want no strangers to be 
 introduced to share its bitterness, and soothe 
 us with their sympathy.' 
 
 ' You speak like a girl,' said Mr. Ferrars, 
 ' and a headstrong girl, which you always 
 have ])een. You know not what you are 
 talking about. It is a matter of life or death. 
 Your decorous marriage would have saved us 
 from absolute ruin.' 
 
 ' Alone, I can meet absolute ruin,' said 
 J\lyra. ' I have long contemplated such a 
 contingency, and am prepared for it. My 
 marriage with Nigel could hardly save you, 
 sir, from such a visitation, if it be impending. 
 But I trust in that respect, if in no other, you 
 have used a little of the language of exaggera- 
 tion. I have never received, and I have never 
 presumed to seek, any knowledge of your 
 affairs ; but I have assumed, that for your life, 
 somehow or other, you would be permitted 
 to exist without disgrace. If I survive you, I 
 have neither care nor fear.'
 
 ENDYMION. 200 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 In the following spring a vexatious incident 
 occurred in Warwick Street. The liiglily- 
 considered county member, who was the 
 yearly tenant of ^Ir. Ivodney's first floor, and 
 had been always a valuable patron, suddenly 
 died. An adjourned debate, a tough beef- 
 steak, a select committee still harder, and an 
 influenza cauo'ht at three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing in an imprudent but irresistible walk 
 home with a confidential Lord of the Treasury, 
 had combined very sensibly to aftect the in- 
 come of j\Ir. Eodney. At first he was san- 
 guine that such a desirable dwelling would 
 soon find a suitable inhabitant, especially as 
 ]\Ir. Waldershare assured him that he would 
 mention the matter to all his friends. Jhit 
 time rolled on, and the rooms were still va- 
 cant ; and the fastidious Rodneys, who at first
 
 256 ENDYMION* 
 
 would only listen to a yearly tenant, began to 
 reduce their expectations. Matters had ar- 
 rived at such a pass in May, that, for the 
 first time in their experience, they actually 
 condescended to hoist an announcement of 
 furnished apartments. 
 
 In this state of affairs a cab rattled up 
 to the house one morning, out of which a 
 young gentleman j umped briskly, and, knock- 
 ins: at the door, asked, of the servant who 
 opened it, whether he might see the apart- 
 ments. He was a young man, apparently 
 not more than one or two and twenty, of a 
 STacefal fif>:ure, somewhat above the middle 
 height, fair, with a countenance not absolutely 
 reofular, but calm and hio-h-bred. His dress 
 was m the best taste, but to a practised eye 
 had somethino; of a foreisrn cut, and he wore 
 a slight moustache. 
 
 ' The rooms will suit me,' he said, 'and I 
 have no doubt the price you ask for them is a 
 just one ;' and he bowed with high-bred cour- 
 tesy to Sylvia, who was now in attendance on 
 him, and who stood with her pretty hands in 
 the pretty pockets of her pretty apron.
 
 ENBYMION. 257 
 
 ' I am glad to hear that,' said Sylvia. 
 ' We have never let them before, except to a 
 yearly tenant.' 
 
 ' And if we suit each other,' said the gen- 
 tleman, ' I should have no great objection to 
 become such.' 
 
 ' In these matters,' said Sylvia, after a little 
 hesitation, ' we give and receive references. 
 Mr. Rodney is well known in this neighbour- 
 hood and in AVestmmster generally ; but I 
 dare say,' she adroitly added, 'he has many 
 acquaintances known to you, sir.' 
 
 ' Xot very likely,' replied the young gen- 
 tleman ; ' for I am a foreigner, and only 
 arrived in Eno-land this mornino; : ' thouo-h 
 he spoke English without the slightest ac- 
 cent. 
 
 Sylvia looked a little perplexed ; but he 
 continued : ' It is quite just that you should 
 be assured to whom you are letting your 
 lodgings. The only reference I can give you 
 is to my banker, but he is almost too great a 
 man for such matters. Perhaps,' he added, 
 pulling out a case from his breast pocket, and 
 taking out of it a note, which he handed to 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 ENDYMION. 
 
 Sylvia, ' this may assure you that your rent 
 will be paid.' 
 
 Sylvia took a rapid glance at the hundred- 
 pound note, and twisting it into her little 
 pocket with apparent sangfroid, though she 
 held it with a tight grasp, murmured that it 
 was quite unnecessary, and then offered to 
 o'ive her new lodo-er an acknowledoment of it. 
 
 O O O 
 
 ' That is really unnecessary,' he replied. 
 ' Your appearance commands from me that 
 entire confidence which on your part you very 
 properly refuse to a stranger and a foreigner, 
 like myself 
 
 ' What a charming young man! ' thought 
 Sylvia, pressing with emotion her lumdred- 
 pound note. 
 
 ' Now,' continued the young gentleman, 
 ' I will return to the station to release my 
 servant, who is a prisoner there with my 
 luggage. Be pleased to make him at home. 
 I shall myself not return probably till the 
 evenuig ; and in the meantime,' he added, 
 giving Sylvia his card, ' you will admit any- 
 thino* that arrives here addressed to Colonel 
 Albert.'
 
 KNDYMION. 259 
 
 The settlement of Colonel Albert in War- 
 wick Street was an event of no slio'lit ini- 
 portance. It superseded for a time all other 
 topics of conversation, and was discussed at 
 length in the evenings, especially with Mr. 
 Vigo. AVho was he? And in what service 
 was he colonel? Ish. Eodney, like a man of 
 the world, assumed that all necessary infor- 
 mation would in time be obtamed from the 
 colonel's servant ; but even men of the world 
 sometimes miscalculate. The servant, who 
 was a Belgian, had only been engaged by the 
 colonel at Brussels a few days before his 
 departure for England, and absolutely knew 
 nothing of his master, except that he was a 
 gentleman with ^^lenty of money and sufficient 
 luggage. Sylvia, who was the only person 
 who had seen the colonel, was strongly in his 
 favour. -Mr. Rodney looked doubtful, and 
 avoided any definite opinion until he had had 
 the advantage of an interview witli his new 
 lodger. But this was not easy to obtain. 
 Colonel Albert had no wisli to see the master 
 of the house, and, if Jie ever had that desire, 
 his servant would accordingly communicate it 
 
 S 2
 
 260 ENDYMION. 
 
 in the proper quarter. At present he was 
 satisfied with all the arrangements, and wished 
 neither to make nor to receive remarks. The 
 habits of the new lodger were somewhat of a 
 recluse. He was generally engaged in his 
 rooms the whole day, and seldom left them 
 till the evening, and nobody, as yet, had 
 called upon him. Under these circumstances 
 Imogene was instructed to open the matter to 
 Mr. Waldershare when she presided over his 
 breakfast table ; and that gentleman said he 
 w^ould make inquiries about the colonel at the 
 Travellers' Club, where Waldershare passed a 
 great deal of his time. ' If he be anybody,' 
 said Mr. Waldershare, ' he is sure in time to 
 be known there, for he will be introduced as a 
 visitor.' At present, however, it turned out 
 that the ' Travellers' ' knew nothing of Colonel 
 Albert ; and time went on. and Colonel Albert 
 was not introduced as a visitor there. 
 
 After a little while there was a chano;e in 
 the habits of the colonel. One morning, 
 about noon, a groom, extremely well ap- 
 pointed, and having under his charge a couple 
 of steeds of breed and beauty, called at War-
 
 ENDYIMION. 261 
 
 wick Street, and the colonel rode out, and 
 was long absent, and after that, every day, 
 and generally at the same hoin*, mounted his 
 horse. i\Ir. Eodney was never wearied of 
 catching a glimpse of his distinguished lodger 
 over the blinds of the gromid-floor room, 
 and of admirino- the colonel's commandinir 
 presence in his saddle, distinguished as his 
 seat was alike by its grace and vigour. 
 
 In the course of a little time, another 
 incident connected with the colonel occurred 
 which attracted notice and excited interest. 
 Towards tlie evening a brougham, marked, 
 but quietly, with a foreign coronet, stopped 
 frequently at J\Ir. Rodney's house, and a 
 visitor to the colonel appeared in the form of 
 a middle-aged gentleman who never gave his 
 name, and evaded, it seemed with })ractised 
 dexterity, every effort, however adroit, to 
 obtain it. The valet was tried on this head 
 also, and replied with simplicity that lie did 
 not know the gentleman's name, but he was 
 always called the Baron. 
 
 In the middle of June a packet arrived 
 one day by the coach, froui the rector of
 
 262 ENDYMION. 
 
 Hul-stley, addressed to Endymion, announcmg 
 his father's dangerous iUness, and requestmg 
 him instantly to repair home. Myra was too 
 much occupied to write even a line.
 
 EXDYiArioN. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 It was strange that j\Iyra did not write, were 
 it only a line. It was so unlike lier. How 
 often this occurred to Endymion during his 
 wearisome and anxious travel! When the 
 coach reached Hurstley, he found Mr. Penrud- 
 dock waiting for him. Before he could inquire 
 after his father, that gentleman said, ' IMyra 
 is at the rectory ; you are to come on there.' 
 
 ' And my father ? ' 
 
 ' Matters are critical,' said Mr. Penruddock, 
 as it were avoiding a direct answer, and has- 
 tening his pace. 
 
 It was literally not a five minutes' walk 
 from the village inn to the rectory, and they 
 walked in silence. The rector took Endymion 
 at once into his study ; for we can hardly call 
 it a ] library, though some si lelves of books were 
 tliere, and many stufled l)irds.
 
 264 ENDVMIOX. 
 
 The rector closed the door with care, and 
 looked distressed ; and, beckoning to Endy- 
 mion to be seated, he said, while still standing 
 and half turning away his head, ' My dear 
 boy, prepare yourself for the worst.' 
 
 ' Ah ! he is gone then ! my dear, dear 
 father ! ' and Endymion burst into passionate 
 tears, and leant on the table, his face hid in 
 his hands. 
 
 The rector walked up and down the room 
 with an agitated countenance. He could not 
 deny, it would seem, the inference of Endy- 
 mion ; and yet he did not proffer those conso- 
 lations which miffht be uro;ed, and which it 
 became one in his capacity peculiarly to urge. 
 
 ' I must see Myra,' said Endymion, eagerly, 
 looking up with a wild air and streaming eyes. 
 
 ' Not yet,' said the rector ; ' she is much 
 disturbed. Your poor father is no more ; it 
 is too true ; but,' and here the rector hesi- 
 tated, ' he did not die happily.' 
 
 ' What do you mean? ' said Endymion. 
 
 ' Your poor father had much to try him,' 
 said the rector. ' His life, since he was 
 amongst us here, was a life, for him, of adver-
 
 ENDYMION. 265 
 
 sity — perhaps of great adversity — yet he bore 
 up against it with a Christian spirit ; he never 
 repined. There was much that was noble and 
 exalted in his character. But he never over- 
 came the loss of your dear mother. He was 
 never himself afterwards. He was not always 
 master of liimsclf. I could bear witness to 
 that,' said the rector, talking, as it were, to 
 himself. ' Yes ; I could conscientiously give 
 evidence to that effect ' 
 
 'What eifect?' asked Endymion, with a 
 painful scrutiny. 
 
 ' I could show,' said the rector, speaking 
 slowly, and in a low voice, ' and others could 
 show, that he was not master of himself when 
 he committed the rash act.' 
 
 ' ! ]\Ir. Penruddock ! ' exclaimed Endy- 
 mion, starting from his chair, and seizing the 
 rector by his arm. ' What is all this? ' 
 
 ' That a great sorrow has come upon you, 
 and your sister, and all of us,' said ^Iv. Pen- 
 ruddock ; ' and you, and she, and all of us 
 must boAv ])ofore the Divine will in trcmblmg, 
 though in hope. Your father's deatli was not 
 natural.'
 
 266 ENDYMION, 
 
 Such was tlie end of William Pitt Ferrars, 
 on whom nature, opportunity, and culture 
 appeared to have showered every advantage. 
 His abilities were considerable, his ambition 
 greater. Though intensely worldly, he was 
 not devoid of affections. He found refuo'e in 
 suicide, as many do, from want of imagination. 
 The present was too hard for him, and his 
 future was only a chaotic nebula. 
 
 Endymion did not see his sister that even- 
 ing. She was not made aware of his arrival, 
 and was alone with Mrs. Penruddock, who 
 never left her night or day. The rector took 
 charge of her brother, and had a sofa-bed made 
 for him in the kind man's room. He was 
 never to be alone. Never the whole night did 
 poor Endymion close his eyes ; and he was 
 almost as much agitated about the impending 
 interview with Myra, as about the dark event 
 of terror that had been disclosed to him. 
 
 Yet that dreaded interview must take 
 place ; and, about noon, the rector told him 
 that Myra was in the drawmg-room alone, and 
 would receive him. He tottered as he crossed 
 the hall ; grief and physical exhaustion had
 
 EXDYMIOX. 267 
 
 Tinmamied liim ; his eyes were streaming with 
 tears ; he paused for a monaent with his hand 
 upon the door ; he dreaded the anguish of her 
 countenance. 
 
 She advanced and embraced him with ten- 
 derness ; her face was grave, but not a tear 
 even glistened. 
 
 ' I have been living in a tragedy for years,' 
 said Myi'a, in a low, hollow voice ; ' and the 
 catastrophe has now arrived.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear fother ! ' exclaimed Endy- 
 mion ; and he burst into a renewed paroxysm 
 of grief. 
 
 ' Yes ; he was dear to us, and we were dear 
 to liim,' said Myra ; ' but tlie curtam has 
 fallen. ^Ve have to exert ourselves. Energy 
 and self-control were never more necessary to 
 two human l^eings than to us. Here are his 
 keys ; his papers must be examined by no one 
 but ourselves. There is a terrible ceremony 
 taking place, or impending. AVhen it is all 
 over, we must visit the hall at least once more.' 
 
 The whole neighbourhood was full of 
 sorrow for the event, and of sympathy for 
 those bereft. It was universally agreed that
 
 268 ENDYMION. 
 
 Mr. Ferrars had never recovered the death of 
 his wife ; had never been the same man after 
 it ; had become distrait, absent, wandering in 
 his mind, and the victim of an invincible 
 mehancholy. Several instances were given of 
 his inability to manage his affairs. The jury, 
 with Farmer Thornberry for foreman, hesi- 
 tated not in giving a becoming verdict. In 
 those days information travelled slowly. 
 There were no railroads then, and no tele- 
 graphs, and not many clubs. A week elapsed 
 before the sad occurrence was chronicled in a 
 provincial paper, and another week before the 
 report was reproduced in London, and then in 
 an obscure corner of the journal, and in small 
 print. Everything gets about at last, and the 
 world began to stare and talk ; but it passed 
 unnoticed to the sufferers, except by a letter 
 from Zenobia, received at Hurstley after Myra 
 had departed from her kind friends. Zenobia 
 was shocked, nay, overwhelmed, by what she 
 had heard ; wanted to know if she could be of 
 use ; offered to do anything ; begged Myra to 
 come and stay with her in St. James' Square ; 
 and assured her that, if that were not conve-
 
 ENDYMIo^^ 269 
 
 nieiit, "when licr mouriiinu' was over Zenobia 
 would present lier at court, just the same as 
 if she were lier own dano-hter. 
 
 When the fatal keys were used, and the 
 papers of Mr. Ferrars examined, it turned 
 out worse than even ]Myra, in her darkest 
 prescience, had anticipated. Her fother had 
 died absolutely penniless. As executor of 
 his father, the funds settled on his wife had 
 remained under liis sole control, and they had 
 entirely disappeared. There was a letter ad- 
 dressed to Myra on this subject. She read it 
 with a pale face, said nothino-^ and, without 
 showing it to Endymion, destroyed it. There 
 was to be an immediate sale of their effects at 
 the hall. It was calculated that the expenses 
 of the funeral and all the country bills miglit 
 be defrayed by its proceeds. 
 
 ' And there will be enougli left for me,' 
 said Myra. ' I only want ten pounds ; for I 
 have ascertained that there is no part of 
 England where ten pounds will not take me.' 
 
 J'^ndymion sighed and nearly wept wlicn 
 she said these things. ' No,' he would add ; 
 ' we must never part.'
 
 270 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' That would ensure our common ruin,' 
 said Myra. ' No ; I will never embarrass you 
 with a sister. You can only just subsist ; 
 for you could not well live in a garret, except 
 at the Rodneys'. I see my way,' said Myra ; 
 ' I have long meditated over this — I can draw, 
 I can sing, I can speak many tongues : I 
 ought to be able to get food and clothing ; I 
 may get something more. And I shall always 
 be content ; for I shall always be thinking of 
 you. However humble even my lot, if my 
 will is concentrated on one purpose, it must 
 ultimately effect it. That is my creed,' she 
 said, ' and I hold it fervently. I will stay 
 with these dear people for a little while. 
 They are not exactly the family on which I 
 ought to trespass. But never mind. You 
 will be a great man some day, Endymion, and 
 you will remember the good Penruddocks.'
 
 EXDYMION. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 02JE of the most remarkable fomilies that have 
 ever flourished in England were the Neucha- 
 TELS. Their founder was a Swiss, Avho had 
 estabhshed a banking house of high repute in 
 England in the latter part of the eighteenth 
 century, and, irrespective of a powerful do- 
 mestic connection, had in time pretty well 
 engrossed the largest and best portion ot 
 foreign banking business. When the great 
 French Revolution occurred, all the emigrants 
 deposited their jewels and their treasure with 
 the Xeuchatels. As the disturbances spread, 
 their example was followed by the alarmed 
 proprietors and capitalists of the rest of 
 Europe ; and, independently of tlieir own 
 considerable means, the Xeucliatels thus liad 
 the command for a (juartcr of a century, 
 more or less, of adventitious millions. They
 
 272 ENDYMtON. 
 
 were scrupulons and faithful stewards ; but 
 they were doubtless repaid for their vigilance, 
 their anxiety, and often their risk, by the op- 
 portunities which these rare resources per- 
 mitted them to enjoy. One of the Neuchatels 
 was a favourite of Mr. Pitt, and assisted the 
 o;reat statesman in his vast financial arrano-e- 
 ments. This Neuchatel was a man of large 
 capacity, and thoroughly understood his 
 period. The minister wished to introduce 
 him to public life, would have opened Parlia- 
 ment to him, and no doubt have showered on 
 him honours and titles. But Neuchatel de- 
 clined these overtures. He was one of those 
 strono; minds who will concentrate their ener- 
 gies on one object ; without personal vanity, 
 but with a deep-seated pride in the future. 
 He was always preparing for his posterity. 
 Governed by this passion, although he himself 
 would have been content to live for ever in 
 Bishopsgate Street, where he was born, he 
 had become possessed of a vast principality, 
 and which, strange to say, with every advan- 
 tage of splendour and natural beauty, was not 
 an hour's drive from Whitechapel.
 
 ENDYMION. 273 
 
 Haixault House had been raised by a 
 British peer in the days when nobles were 
 fond of building Palladian palaces. It was a 
 chief work of Sir William Chambers, and in its 
 style, its beauty, and almost in its dimensions, 
 was a rival of Stowe or Wanstead. It stood 
 in a deer park, and was surrounded by a royal 
 forest. The family that had raised it wore 
 out in the earlier part of this century. It was 
 supposed that the place must be destroyed 
 and dismantled. It was too vast for a citizen, 
 and the locality was no longer sufficiently re- 
 fined for a conscript father. In this dilemma, 
 Xeuchatel stepped in and purchased the whole 
 affair — palace, and park, and deer, and pictures, 
 and halls, and galleries of statue and bust, and 
 furniture, and even Avines, and all tlie farms 
 that remained, and all the seigneurial rights in 
 the royal forest. But he never lived there. 
 Though he spared nothing in the maintenance 
 and the improvement of the domain, except on 
 a Sunday he never visited it, and Avas never 
 known to sleep under its roof. ' It \\ill be 
 ready for those who come after me,' he Wdiild 
 remark, with a modest smile. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 ENDYMION. 
 
 Those who came after him were two sons, 
 between whom his miUions were divided ; and 
 Adrian, the eldest, in addition to his share, 
 was made the lord of Hainanlt. Adrian had 
 inherited something more, and soinething more 
 precious, than his father's treasure — a not in- 
 ferior capacity, united, in his case, with much 
 culture, and with a worldly ambition to which 
 his father was a stranger. So long as that 
 father lived, Adrian had been extremely cir- 
 cumspect.- He seemed only devoted to busi- 
 ness, and to model his conduct on that of his 
 eminent sire. That father who had recog- 
 nised with pride and satisfaction his capacity, 
 and who was without jealousy, had initiated 
 his son during his lifetime in all the secrets of 
 his wondrous craft, and had entrusted him 
 with a leading part in their affairs. Adrian 
 had waited in Downmg Street on Lord Liver- 
 pool, as his father years before had waited on 
 Mr. Pitt. 
 
 The elder Neuchatel departed this life a 
 little before the second French Revolution of 
 1830, which had been so fatal to Mr. Ferrars. 
 Adrian, who had never committed himself in
 
 EXDYMIOX. 275 
 
 politics, furtlier than sitting a short time for 
 a reputed Tory borough for which he paid a 
 rent of a thousand a year to the proprietor, 
 but who was known to have been nurtured in 
 the school of Pitt and AVellington, astonished 
 the world by voting for Lord Grey's Reform 
 Bill, and announcing himself as a Liberal. 
 This was a large fish for tlie new Liberal 
 Treasury to capture; their triumph was great, 
 and they determined to show that they appre- 
 ciated the power and the influence of their 
 new ally. At the dissolution of 1831, Adrian 
 Neuchatel was a candidate for a popular con- 
 stituency, and was elected at tlie head of the 
 poll. His brother, Melchior, was also re- 
 turned, and a nephew. The Liberals Avere 
 alarmed by a subscription of fabulous dimen- 
 sions said to have been collected by the Tories 
 to influence the General Election ; and the 
 undoubted contribution of a noble cluke was 
 partirnlarly mentioned, v\-hic]i alone appalled 
 the heart of Brooks'. Tlio matter was put 
 before Xenchatel, as lie entered the club, to 
 vrhicli lie liad Ijcen recently elected with ac- 
 clamation. ' So you are a little frightened,' 
 
 t2
 
 276 ENDYMION. 
 
 he said, with a peculiarly witching smile which 
 he had, half mockery and half good nature ; 
 as much as to say, ' I will do what you wish, 
 but I see through you and everybody else.' 
 ' So you are a little frightened. Well ; we 
 City men must see what we can do against the 
 dukes. You may put me down for double 
 his amount.' 
 
 Adrian purchased a very fine mansion in 
 Portland Place, and took up his residence 
 formally at Hainault. He delighted in the 
 place, and to dwell there in a manner becom- 
 ing the scene had always been one of his 
 dreams. Now he lived there with unbounded 
 expenditure. He was passionately fond of 
 horses, and even m his father's lifetime had 
 run some at Newmarket in another name. 
 The stables at Hainault had been modelled on 
 those at Chantilly, and were almost as splen- 
 did a pile as the mansion itself. They were 
 soon full, and of first-rate animals in their 
 difi'erent ways. AYith his choice teams Adrian 
 could reach Bishopsgate from Hainault, par- 
 ticularly if there were no stoppages in White- 
 chapel, m much under an hour.
 
 ENDYMION. i277 
 
 If lie had fifty persons in his stables, 
 there were certainly as many in his park and 
 gardens. These latter were most elaborate. 
 It seemed there was notlimo; that Hainanlt 
 could not produce : all the fruits and flowers 
 of the tropics. The conservatories and forcing- 
 houses looked, in the distance, like a city of 
 glass. But, after all, the portion of this im- 
 mense establishment which was most re- 
 nowned, and perhaps, on the whole, best 
 appreciated, was the establishment of the 
 kitchen. The chief was the greatest celebrity 
 of Europe ; and he had no limit to his stafi', 
 which he had selected with the utmost scru- 
 tiny, maintained with becoming spirit, and 
 winnowed with unceasing vigilance. Every 
 day at Hainault was a banquet. AVhat de- 
 lighted Adrian was to brino; down without 
 notice a troop of friends, conscious they would 
 be received as well as if there had been a 
 preparation of weeks. Sometimes it was a 
 body from the Stock Exchange, sometimes 
 a host from the House of Commons, some- 
 times a board of directors with whom he had 
 been transactiuo; business in the mornino;. It
 
 2 78 ENDYMION. 
 
 cleliglited Adrian to see tlicm quaffing his 
 burgundy, and stuffing down his truffles, and 
 his choice pies from Strasbourg, and all the 
 delicate dishes which many of them looked at 
 with wonder, and tasted with timidity. And 
 then he would, with his particular smile, say 
 to a brother l^ank director whose mouth was 
 full, and who could only answer him with his 
 eyes, ' Business gives one an appetite; eh, Mr. 
 Trodi2:its ? ' 
 
 Sunday was always a great day at 
 Hainault. The Koyal and the Stock Ex- 
 changes were both of them always fully 
 represented ; and then they often had an op- 
 portunity, which they highly appreciated, of 
 seeing and conferring with some public cha- 
 racters, M.P.s of note or promise, and occa- 
 sionally a secretary of the Treasury, or a 
 23rivy councillor. ' Turtle makes all men 
 equal,' Adrian would observe. ' Our friend 
 Trodgits seemed a little embarrassed at first, 
 when I introduced him to the Right Honour- 
 able ; but wdien they sate next each other at 
 dinner, they soon got on very well.' 
 
 On Sunday the guests walked about and
 
 EXDYMION. 279 
 
 amused themselves. No one was allowed to 
 ride or drive ; ]\Irs. Neuchatel did not like 
 riding and driving on Sundays. ' I see no 
 harm in it,' said Adrian, ' but I like women 
 to have their way about religion. And you 
 may go to the stables and see the horses, 
 and that miglit take up the mornmg. And 
 then there are the houses ; they will amuse 
 you. For my part, I am for a stroll in the 
 forest ; ' and then he would lead his companions, 
 after a delightful ramble, to some spot of 
 agrestic charm, and, looking at it with dehght, 
 would say, ' Pretty ; is not it ? But then 
 they say this place is not fashionable. It will 
 do, I think, for us City men.' 
 
 Adrian had married, when very young, a 
 lady selected by his father. The selection 
 seemed a good one. She was the daughter 
 of a most eminent banker, and had herself, 
 tliough that was of slight importance, a large 
 portion. She was a woman of abilities, highly 
 cultivated. Nothing had ever been spared 
 that she should possess every possible accom- 
 pUsliment, and acquire every information and 
 grace that it was desirable to attain. Slie
 
 280 ENDYMION. 
 
 was a linguist, a fine musician, no mean artist ; 
 and she threw out, if she willed it, the trea- 
 eures of her well- stored and not unimaginative 
 mind with ease and sometimes eloquence. 
 Her person, without being absolutely beautiful, 
 was interestino-. There was even a deo'ree of 
 fascination in her brown velvet eyes. And 
 yet Mrs. Neuchatel was not a contented spirit ; 
 and though she appreciated the great qualities 
 of her husband, and viewed him even with 
 reverence as well as aifection, she scarcely 
 contributed to his happiness as much as be- 
 came her. And for this reason. Whether 
 it were the result of physical organisation, 
 or whether it were the satiety which was the 
 consequence of having been born, and bred, 
 and lived for ever, in a society in which 
 wealth was the prime object of existence, and 
 practically the test of excellence, Mrs. Neu- 
 chatel had imbibed not merely a contempt 
 for money, but absolutely a hatred of it. 
 The prosperity of her house depressed her. 
 The stables with their fifty grooms, and 
 the grounds with their fifty gardeners, and 
 the daily visit of the head cook to pass the
 
 EXDYMION. 281 
 
 bill of fare, were incidents and circumstances 
 that made her melancholy. She looked upon 
 the Stock Exchano'e comino- down to dinner 
 as she would on an invasion of the Visigoths, 
 and endured the stiff observations or the cum- 
 brous liveliness of the merchants and bank 
 directors with gloomy grace. Something less 
 material might be anticipated from the mem- 
 bers of Parhament. But whether they thought 
 it would please the genius of the place, or 
 whether Adrian selected his Mends from those 
 who sympathised with his pursuits, the mem- 
 bers of Parliament seemed wonderfully to 
 accord with the general tone of the conversa- 
 tion, or varied it only by indulging in tech- 
 nical talk of their own. Sometimes she would 
 make a desperate effort to change the elements 
 of their society ; something in this way : ' I 
 see M. Arao:o and M. Mio:net have arrived 
 here, Adrian. Do not you think we ought to 
 invite them here ? And then you might ask 
 Mr. Macaulay to meet them. You said you 
 wished to ask Mr. Macaulay.' 
 
 In one respect the alliance between Adrian 
 and his Avife was not an unfortunate one. A
 
 282 ENDYMION. 
 
 woman, and a woman of abilities, fastidious, 
 and inclined to be querulous, might safely be 
 counted on as, in general, ensuring for both 
 parties in their union an unsatisfactory and 
 unhappy life. But Adrian, though kind, ge- 
 nerous, and indulgent, was so absorbed by his 
 own great affairs, was a man at the same time of 
 so serene a temper and so supreme a will, that 
 the over-refined fantasies of his wife produced 
 not the slightest effect on the course of his life. 
 Adrian Neuchatel was what very few people 
 are — master in his own house. With a ricli 
 varnish of graciousness and favour, he never 
 swerved from his juirpose ; and, though willing 
 to effect all things by smiles and sweet temper, 
 he had none of that morbid sensibility which 
 allows some men to fret over a phrase, to be 
 tortured by a sigh, or to be subdued by a tear. 
 There had been born of this marriage only 
 one child, the greatest heiress in England. 
 She had been christened, after her father, 
 Adriana. She was now about seventeen ; 
 and, had she not been endowed with the finest 
 disposition and the sweetest temper in the 
 world, she must have been spoiled, for both 
 her parents idolised her. To see her every
 
 ENDYMION. 283 
 
 day was for Adrian a reward for all Ins labours, 
 and in tlie midst of his greatest affairs lie 
 would always snatch a moment to think how 
 he could contribute to her pleasure or her 
 happiness. All that was rare and delightful 
 and beautiful in the world was at her com- 
 mand. There Avas no limit to the gratification 
 of her wishes. But, alas ! this favoured 
 maiden wished for nothing. Her books in- 
 terested her, and a beautiful nature ; but she 
 liked to be alone, or with her mother. She 
 was impressed with the horrible and humili- 
 atino' conviction, that she was courted and 
 admired only for her wealth. 
 
 ' What my daughter requires,' said Adrian, 
 as he mused over these domestic contrarieties, 
 ' is a companion of her own age. Her mother 
 is the very worst constant companion she 
 could have. She requires somebody with 
 charm, and yet of a commanding mind ; with 
 youthful sympathy, and yet influencing her 
 in the right way. It must be a person of 
 Ijirth and breeding and complete self-respect. 
 I do not want to have any parasites in my 
 house, or affected fine ladies. That would do 
 no good. Wliat I do want is a thing very
 
 284 ENDYMION. 
 
 difficult to procure. And yet they say every- 
 thing is to be obtained. At least, I have 
 always thought so, and found it so. I have 
 the greatest o])mion of an advertisement in 
 the ' Times.' I got some of my best clerks by 
 advertisements in the ' Times.' If I had con- 
 sulted friends, there would have been no end 
 of jobbing for such patronage. One could 
 not trust, m such matters, one's own brother. 
 I will draw up an advertisement and insert it 
 in the ' Times,' and have the references to my 
 countino;-house. I will think over the word- 
 ing as I drive to town.' This was the word- 
 
 ing 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 A BANKER and liis Wife require a Companion for 
 their only child, a young lady whose accomplish- 
 ments and acquirements are already considerable. The 
 friend that they Avoiild wish for her must be of about the 
 same age as herself, and in every other respect their lots 
 will be the same. The person thus desired will be re- 
 ceived and treated as a daughter of the house, will be 
 allowed her own suite of apartments, her own servants 
 and equipage. She must be a person of bii-th, breeding, 
 and entire self-respect ; with a mind and experience 
 capable of directing conduct, and with manners which 
 will engage sympathy. — Apply to H. H., 45 Bishoi^sgate 
 Street Within.
 
 ENDYMIOX. 285 
 
 This advertisement met the eye of Myra 
 at Hurstley Rectory about a month after her 
 father's death, and she resolved to answer it. 
 Her reply pleased Mr. Xeuchatel. He se- 
 lected it out of hundreds, and placed himself 
 in communication with Mr. Penruddock. 
 The result was, that Miss Ferrars was to pay 
 a visit to the Xeuchatels ; and if, on experi- 
 ence, they liked each other, the engagement 
 was to take place. 
 
 In the meantime the good rector of 
 Hurstley arrived on the previous evening 
 with his precious charge at Hainault House ; 
 and was rewarded for his kind exertions, not 
 only Ijy the prospect of assisting Mj^ra, but 
 by some present ex2:)erience of a splendid and 
 unusual scene.
 
 286 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ' What do you think of her, mamma ? ' said 
 Adriana, with glistening eyes, as she ran into 
 Mrs. Neuchatel's dressing-room for a moment 
 before dinner. 
 
 ' I think her manners are perfect,' replied 
 Mrs. Xeuchatel ; ' and as there can be no 
 doubt, after all we liave heard, of her prm- 
 ciples, I think we are most fortunate. But 
 what do you think of her, Adriana ? For, 
 after all, that is the main question.' 
 
 ' I think she is divine,' said Adriana ; ' but 
 I fear she has no heart.' 
 
 ' And why ? Surely it is early to decide 
 on such a matter as that ! ' 
 
 ' When I took her to her room,' said 
 Adriana, ' I suppose I was nervous ; but I 
 burst into tears, and threw my arms round 
 her neck and embraced her, but she did not
 
 EXDYMION. 287 
 
 respond. She touched my forehead with her 
 lips, and withdrew from my embrace.' 
 
 ' She wished, perhaps, to teach you to con- 
 trol your emotions,' said Mrs. Xeuchatel. 
 ' You have known her only an hour, and yon 
 could not have done more to your own 
 mother.' 
 
 It had been arranged that there should be 
 no visitors to-day ; only a nephew and a 
 foreign consul-general, just to break the for- 
 mality of the meetmg. Mr. Xeuchatel placed 
 ^I^^ra next to himself at the round table, 
 and treated her with marked consideration — 
 cordial but courteous, and easy, with a certain 
 degree of deference. His wife, who piqued 
 herself on her perception of character, threw 
 her brown velvet eyes on her neighbour, ]\Ir. 
 Penruddock, and cross-examined him in mys- 
 tical whispers. She soon recognised his love 
 of nature ; and this allowed her to dissert on 
 the subject, at once sublime and inexhaustible, 
 with copiousness worthy of the theme. When 
 she found he was an entomologist, and that it 
 was not so much mountains as insects which 
 interested him, she shifted her ground, but
 
 288 ENDYMION. 
 
 treated it with equal felicity. Strange, but 
 nature is never so powerful as in insect life. 
 The white ant can destroy fleets and cities, 
 and the locusts erase a province. And then, 
 how beneficent they are ! Man would find it 
 difiiicult to rival their exploits : the bee, that 
 gives us honey ; the worm, that gives us silk ; 
 the cochineal, that supplies our manufactures 
 with their most brilliant dye. 
 
 Mr. Penruddock did not seem to know 
 mucli about manufactures, but always recom- 
 mended his cottagers to keep bees. 
 
 ' The lime-tree abounds in our village, and 
 there is nothmg the bees love more than its 
 blossoms.' 
 
 This direct reference to his village led 
 Mrs. Neuchatel to an inquiry as to the state of 
 the poor about Hurstley, and she made the 
 inquiry in a tone of commiseration. 
 
 ' Oh ! we do pretty well,' said Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock. 
 
 'But how can a family live on ten or 
 twelve shilling's a week? ' murmured Mrs. 
 Neuchatel. 
 
 ' There it is,' said Mr. Penruddock. ' A
 
 EXDYMION. 289 
 
 family has more tlian that. AVith a family 
 the income proportionately increases.' 
 
 Mrs. Xeuchatel sighed. ' I must say,' she 
 said, ' I cannot help feeling there is some- 
 thing wrong in onr present arrangements. 
 When I sit down to dinner every day, with 
 all these dishes, and remember that there are 
 millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist 
 the conviction that it wonld be better if there 
 were some equal division, and all should have, 
 if not much, at least something.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Emily ! ' said Mr. Neuchatel, 
 who had an organ like Fme-ear, and could 
 catch, when necessary, liis wife's most mys- 
 tical revelations. ' My wife, Mr. Penruddock, 
 is a regular Communist. I hoj^e you are 
 not,' he added, with a smile, turning to 
 ]\Iyra. 
 
 ' I think life would be very insi]^)i(l,' re- 
 plied ^[yra, ' if all our lots were the same.' 
 
 A\'li(jn the ladies withdrew, Adriana and 
 Myra walked out together hand-in-hand. Mr. 
 Keuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penrud- 
 dock, and began to talk politics. His reverend 
 oaiest could not conceal liis akarm about tlie 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 ENDYMION. 
 
 position of the Church, and spoke of Lord 
 John Eussell's appropriation clause with well- 
 bred horror. 
 
 ' Well, I do not think tliere is much to be 
 afraid of,' said Mr. Neuchatel. ' This is a 
 liberal age, and you cannot go against it. 
 The people must be educated, and where are 
 the funds to come from? We must all do 
 something, and the Church must contribute 
 its share. You know I am a Liberal, but I 
 am not for any rash courses. I am not at all 
 sorry that Sir Robert Peel gamed so much at 
 the last general election. I like parties to be 
 balanced. I am quite content with affairs. 
 My friends, the Liberals, are in office, and, 
 being there, they can do very little. That is 
 the state of things, is it not, Melchior ? ' he 
 added with a smile to his nephew, who was 
 an M.P. ' A balanced state of parties, and 
 the house of Neuchatel with three votes — 
 that will do. We poor City men get a little 
 attention paid to us now, but before the dis- 
 solution three votes went for nothing. Now, 
 shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a 
 
 song r 
 
 ?'
 
 EXDYMION. 291 
 
 Mrs. Xeucliatel accompanied her daughter 
 on the piano, and after a tinie not merely on 
 the mstrument. The organ of both vras line 
 and richly cultivated. It was choice chamber 
 mnsic. Mr. Xeuchatcl seated himself by 
 Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his 
 manner gentle. 'It is a little awkward 
 the first day,' he said, ' among strangers, but 
 that will wear off. You must 1)rini2; your 
 mind to feel that this is your home, and we 
 shall all of us do everything in our power to 
 convince you of it. Mr. Penruddock men- 
 tioned to me your wish, under present circum- 
 stances, to enter as little as possible into 
 society, and this is a very social house. Your 
 feeling is natural, and you will be in this 
 matter entirely your own mistress. We shall 
 always be glad to see you, but if you arc not 
 present we shall know and respect the cause. 
 For my own part, I am one of those wlio 
 would rather cherish affection tlian indulo-e 
 grief, but everyone must follow their mood. 
 I hear you have a brother, to whom you are 
 much attached ; a twin, too, and they tell 
 me, strongly resembling you. He is in a 
 
 tj2
 
 292 ENDYMION. 
 
 PuIdHc office, I believe ? 'Now, understand 
 this ; your brother can come here whenever 
 he likes, without any further invitation. Ask 
 him whenever you please. We shall always 
 be glad to see him. No sort of notice is ne- 
 cessary. This is not a very small house, and 
 we can always manage to find a bed and a 
 cutlet for a friend.'
 
 ENDYMION. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Nothing could be more successful than the 
 connection formed between the Neuchatel 
 family and Myra Ferrars. Both parties to 
 the compact were alike satisfied. Myra had 
 ' got out of that hole ' which she always hated, 
 and though the new life she had entered was 
 not exactly the one she had mused over, and 
 which was founded on the tradition of her 
 early experience, it was a life of energy and 
 excitement, of splendour and power, with 
 a total absence of petty vexations and miseries, 
 aftV)rdin<x neither time nor cause for the wear- 
 m<j- cliaii-rin of a monotonous and mediocre 
 existence. But the crowning joy of her 
 emancipation was the prospect it offered of 
 frequent enjoyment of the society of lier 
 brother. 
 
 With regard to the Neuchatels, they found
 
 294 ENDYMION. 
 
 ill ]\Iyra everything they could desii'e. Mrs. 
 Neuchatel was delighted with a companion 
 who was not the daughter of a banker, and 
 whose schooled intellect not only compre- 
 hended all her doctrines, however abstruse 
 or fiuiciful, but who did not hesitate, if 
 necessary, to controvert or even confute them. 
 As for Adriana, she literally idolised a 
 friend whose proud spirit and clear intelli- 
 gence were calculated to exercise a strong but 
 salutary influence over her timid and sensi- 
 tive nature. As for the great banker himself, 
 who really had that faculty of reading charac- 
 ter which his wife flattered herself she pos- 
 sessed, he had made up his mind about Myra 
 from the first, both from her correspondence 
 and her conversation. ' She has more com- 
 mon sense than any woman I ever knew, and 
 more,' he would add, ' than most men. If she 
 were not so handsome, people would find it 
 out ; but they cannot understand that so beau- 
 tiful a woman can have a headpiece, that, I 
 really believe, could manage the affau's in 
 Bishopsgate Street.' 
 
 In the meantime life at Hainault resumed
 
 ENDYMION. 295 
 
 its usual course ; streams of guests, of all 
 parties, colours, and classes, and even nations. 
 Sometimes Mr. Neucliatel would say, ' I really 
 must have a quiet day that Miss Ferrars may 
 dine with us, and she shall ask her brother. 
 How glad I shall be when she goes into half- 
 mourning ! I scarcely catch a glimpse of her.' 
 And all this time his wife and daughter did 
 nothing but quote her, which was still more 
 irritating, for, as he would say, half-grumbling 
 and half-smiling, ' If it had not been for me, 
 she would not have been here.' 
 
 At first Adriana would not dine at table 
 without Myra, and insisted on sharing her 
 imprisonment. ' It does not look like a cell,' 
 said Myra, surveymg, not without com- 
 placency, her beautiful little chamber beauti- 
 fully lit, with its silken hangings and carved 
 ceiling and bright with books and pictures ; 
 ' besides, there is no reason why you should be 
 a prisoner. You have not lost a father, and I 
 hope never will.' 
 
 ' Amen ! ' said Adriana ; ' that would 
 indeed be the unhappiest day of my life.' 
 
 ' You cannot be m society too much in
 
 29(3 ENDYMIOK. 
 
 the latter part of the day,' said Myra. ' The 
 mornings should be sacred to ourselves, but for 
 the rest of the hours people are to see and to be 
 seen, and,' she added, ' to like and to be liked.' 
 
 Adrian a shook her head ; ' I do not wish 
 anyone to like me but you.' 
 
 ' I am sure I shall always like you, and 
 love you,' said Myra, ' but I am equally sure 
 that a great many other people will do the 
 same.' 
 
 ' It will not be myself that they like or 
 love,' said Adriana with a sigh. 
 
 ' Now, spare me that vein, dear Adriana ; 
 you know I do not like it. It is not agreeable, 
 and I do not think it is true. I believe that 
 women are loved much more for themselves 
 than is supposed. Besides, a woman should 
 be content if she is loved ; that is the pomt ; 
 and she is not to inquire how far the accidents 
 of life have contributed to the result. Why 
 should you not be loved for yourself ? You 
 have an mterestmg appearance. I think you 
 very pretty. You have choice accomplish- 
 ments and agreeable conversation and the 
 sweetest temper in the world. You want a
 
 ENDYMION. 297 
 
 little self-conceit, my dear. If I were you and 
 admired, I should never think of my fortune.' 
 
 ' If you were the greatest heiress in the 
 world, M}Ta, and were married, nobody would 
 suppose for a moment that it was for your 
 fortune.' 
 
 ' Go down to dinner and smile upon every- 
 body, and tell me about your conquests to- 
 morrow. And say to your dear papa, that 
 as he is so kind as to wish to see me, I will 
 join them after dinner.' 
 
 And so, for the first two months, she 
 occasionally appeared in the evening, espe- 
 cially when there was no formal party. 
 Endymion came and visited her every Sunday, 
 but he was also a social recluse, and though he 
 had been 23resented to Mrs. Neuchatel and her 
 daughter, and been most cordially received by 
 them, it was some considerable time before he 
 made the acquaintance of the great banker. 
 
 About September Myra may be said to 
 have formally joined the circle at Hainault. 
 Three months had elapsed since the terrible 
 event, and she felt, irrespective of other conside- 
 rations, her position hardly justified her, not-
 
 298 ENDYMION. 
 
 witlistandiiig all the indulgent kindness of 
 the family, in continuing a course of life 
 which she was conscious to them was some- 
 times an inconvenience and always a disap- 
 pointment. It was impossible to deny that 
 she was interested and amused by the world 
 which she now witnessed — so energetic, so 
 restless, so various ; so full of urgent and 
 pressing life ; never thinking of the past and 
 quite heedless of the future, but worship- 
 ping an almighty present that sometimes 
 seemed to roll on like the car of Juggernaut. 
 She was much diverted by the gentlemen of 
 the Stock Exchange, so acute, so audacious, 
 and differing so much from the merchants in 
 the style even of their dress, and in the ease, 
 perhaps the too great facility, of their bearing. 
 They called each other by their Christian 
 names, and there were allusions to practical 
 jokes which intimated a life something between 
 a public school and a garrison. On more 
 solemn days there were diplomatists and men in 
 j)ohtical office; sometimes great musical artists, 
 and occasionally a French actor. But the 
 dinners were always the same ; dishes worthy
 
 ENDYMION. 299 
 
 of the great days of the Bourbons, and wines 
 of rarity and price, whicli could not ruin 
 Neuchatel, for in many instances the vineyards 
 belonged to himself. 
 
 One morning at breakfast, when he rarely 
 encountered them, but it was a holiday in the 
 City, Mr. Neuchatel said, ' There are a few 
 gentlemen coming to dine here to-day whom 
 you know, with one exception. He is a young 
 man, a very nice young fellow. I have seen 
 a o'ood deal of him of late on business in the 
 City, and have taken a fancy to him. He is a 
 foreigner, but he was partly educated in this 
 country and speaks English as well as any of 
 us.' 
 
 ' Then I suppose he is not a Frenchman,' 
 said Mrs. Neuchatel, ' for they never speak 
 English.' 
 
 ' I shall not say what he is. You must 
 all find out ; I dare say Miss Ferrars will 
 discover him ; but, remember, you must all 
 of you pay him great attention, for he is not 
 a common person, I can assure you.' 
 
 ' You are mysterious, Adrian,' said his 
 wife, ' and quite pique our curiosity.'
 
 300 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' Well, I wish somebody would pique 
 mine,' said the banker. ' These holidays in 
 the City are terrible things. I think I will 
 go after breakfast and look at the new house, 
 and I dare say Miss Ferrars will be kind 
 enough to be my companion.' 
 
 Several of the visitors, fortunately for the 
 banker whose time hung rather heavily on his 
 hands, arrived an hour or so before dinner, that 
 they might air themselves in the famous gar- 
 dens and see some of the new plants. But 
 the guest whom he most wished to greet, and 
 whom the ladies were most curious to welcome, 
 did not arrive. They had all entered the 
 house and the critical moment was at hand, 
 when, just as dinner was about to be an- 
 nounced, the servants ushered in a young man 
 of distinguished appearance, and the banker 
 exclaimed, ' You have arrived just in tiuie 
 to take Mrs. Neuchatel in to dinner,' and he 
 presented to her— -Colonel Albert.
 
 EXDYMION. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 The ladies were much interested by Colonel 
 Albert. Mrs. Xeuchatel exercised on him all 
 the unrivalled arts by which she so nnmis- 
 takably discovered character. She threw on 
 him her brown velvet eyes with a subdued yet 
 piercing beam, which would penetrate his most 
 secret and even undeveloped intelligence. 
 She asked questions in a hushed mystical 
 voice, and as the colonel was rather silent 
 and somewhat short in his replies, though 
 ever expressed in a voice of sensibility and 
 with refined deference of manner, Mrs. Neu- 
 chatcl opened her own peculiar views on a 
 variety of subjects of august interest, such as 
 education, high art, the influence of woman in 
 society, the formation of character, and the 
 distril)ution of wealth, on all of which this 
 highly gifted lady was always in the habit of
 
 302 ENDYMION. 
 
 informing her audience, by way of accompani- 
 ment, that she was conscious that the views 
 she entertained were peculiar. The views of 
 Mrs. Neuchatel were peculiar, and therefore 
 not always, or even easily, comprehended. 
 That indeed she felt was rather her fate in life, 
 but a superior intelligence like hers has a 
 degree of sublimated self-respect which defies 
 destiny. 
 
 When she was alone with the ladies, the 
 bulletin of Mrs. Neuchatel was not so copious 
 as had been expected. She announced that 
 Colonel Albert was sentimental, and she sus- 
 pected a poet. But for the rest she had dis- 
 covered nothing, not even his nationality. 
 She had tried hiui both in French and German, 
 but he persisted in talking English, although 
 he spoke of himself as a foreigner. After 
 dinner he conversed chiefly with the men, 
 particularly with the Governor of the Bank, 
 who seemed to interest him much, and a 
 director of one of the dock companies, who 
 offered to show him over their establishment, 
 an offer which Colonel Albert eagerly accej^ted. 
 Then, as if he remembered that homage was
 
 ENDYMIOX. 303 
 
 due at such a moment to the fau'er sex, he 
 went and seated himself by Adriana, and was 
 pla}"ful and agreeable, though when slie was 
 cross-examined afterwards by her friends as 
 to the character of his conversation, she really 
 could not recall anything particular except 
 that he was fond of horses, and said that he 
 should like very much to take a ride with her. 
 Just before he took his departure, Colonel 
 Albert addressed Myra, and in a rather strange 
 manner. He said, ' I have been puzzling my- 
 self all dinner, but I cannot help feeling that 
 we have met before.' 
 
 Myra shook her head and said, ' I think 
 that is impossible.' 
 
 ' AVell,' said the colonel with a look a little 
 perplexed and not altogether satisfied, ' I 
 suppose then it was a dream. l^Iay dreams 
 so delightful,' and he bowed, ' never be want- 
 ing ! ' 
 
 ' So you think he is a poet, Emily,' said 
 Mr. Neuchatel when tliey had all gone. ' We 
 have got a good many of his papers in P)ishops- 
 gate Street, but I have not met with any 
 verses in them yet.'
 
 304 EXDYMION. 
 
 The visit of Colonel Albert was soon re- 
 peated, and he became a rather frequent guest at 
 Hainault. It was evident that he was a favour- 
 ite with Mr. Xeuchatel. ' He knows very few 
 people,' he would say, ' and I wish him to make 
 some friends. Poor young fellow ! he has 
 had rather a hard life of it, and seen some 
 service for such a youth. He is a perfect 
 gentleman, and if he be a poet, Emily, that is 
 all in your way. You like literary people, 
 and are always begging that I should ask 
 them. Well, next Saturday you will have a 
 sort of a lion, — one of the princij^al writers in 
 ' Scaramouch.' He is going to Paris as the 
 foreign correspondent of the ' Chuck-Farthing ' 
 with a thousand a year, and one of my friends 
 in the Stock Exchange, who is his great ally, 
 asked me to give him some letters. So he 
 came to Bishopsgate Street — they all come to 
 Bishopsgate Street — and I asked, him to dine 
 here on Saturday. By the b^^e. Miss Ferrars, 
 ask your brother to come on the same day 
 and stay with us till IMonday. I will take 
 him up to town with me quite in time for his 
 office.'
 
 ENDYMION. 305 
 
 This was tlie first time that Endymion 
 had remained at Hainault. lie looked for- 
 ward to the visit with anticipations of great 
 pleasure. Hainault, and all the people there, 
 and everything about it, delighted him, and 
 most of all the happiness of his sister and the 
 consideration, and generosity, and delicate 
 affection with which she was treated. One 
 morning, to his astonishment, Myra had in- 
 sisted upon his accepting from her no incon- 
 siderable sum of money. ' It is no part of 
 my salary,' she said, when he talked of her 
 necessities. ' ^Mr. Neuchatel said he gave it 
 to me for outfit and to buy gloves. But being 
 in mourning I want to buy nothing, and you, 
 dear darling, must have many wants. Be- 
 sides, Mrs. Xeuchatel has made me so many 
 presents that I really do not think that I 
 shall ever want to buy anything again.' 
 
 It was rather a grand party at Hainault, 
 such as Endymion had little experience of. 
 There was a cabinet minister and his wife, not 
 only an ambassador, but an ambassadress who 
 liad Ijeen asked to meet them, a nephew Neu- 
 chatel, the M.P. with a pretty young wife, and 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 ENDYMION. 
 
 several apparently single gentlemen of note 
 and position. Endymion was nervous when 
 lie entered, and more so because Myra was 
 not in the room. But his trepidation was ab- 
 sorbed in his amazement when in the distance 
 he observed St. Barbe, with a very stiff 
 white cravat, and his hair brushed into un- 
 natural order, and his whole demeanour form- 
 ing a singular contrast to the roUicking cyni- 
 cism of Joe's and the office. 
 
 ]\Ir. Neuchatel presented St. Barbe to 
 the lady of the mansion. ' Here is one of 
 our great wits,' said the banker, ' and he is 
 going to Paris, which is the capital of wits.' 
 The critical moment prevented prolonged con- 
 versation, but the lady of the mansion did 
 contrive to convey to St. Barbe her admir- 
 ino- familiarity with some of his effusions, 
 and threw out a phrase which proved how 
 finely she could distinguish between wit and 
 humour. 
 
 Endymion at dinner sate between two 
 M.P.s, whom his experience at the House of 
 Commons allowed him to recognise. As he 
 was a young man whom neither of them knew,
 
 E^'DYMIOX. 307 
 
 neither L^i^ tlieiii addressed liim, but with deU- 
 cate brectlinii; carried on an active conversation 
 across him, as if in fact he were not present. 
 As Endymion had very little vanity, this did 
 not at all annoy him. On the contrary, he 
 was amused, for they spoke of matters with 
 which he was not unacquainted, though he 
 looked as if he knew or heard nothino;. Their 
 conversation was what is called ' shop : ' all 
 about the House and ofhce ; criticisms on 
 speakers, speculations as to preferment, what 
 Government would do about this, and how well 
 Government o'ot out of that. 
 
 Endymion was amused by seeing Myra, 
 who was remote from him, sitting by St. 
 Barbe, who, warmed by the banquet, was evi- 
 dently holding forth without the slightest 
 conception that his neighbour whom he ad- 
 dressed had long become familiar with his 
 characteristics. 
 
 After dinner, St. Barbe pounced upon 
 Endymion. ' Only think of our meeting 
 here ! ' he said. ' 1 wonder why they asked 
 you. You are not going to Paris, and you 
 are not a wit. Wliat a family this is ! ' lie 
 
 x2
 
 308 ENDYMION. 
 
 said ; ' I liad no idea of wealth before ! Did 
 you observe the silver plates ? I could not 
 hold mine with one hand, it was so heavy. I 
 do not suppose there are such plates in the 
 world. It gives one an idea of the galleons 
 and Anson's plunder. But they deserve their 
 wealth,' he added : ' nobody grudges it to them. 
 I declare when I was eating that truffle, I felt 
 a glow about my heart that, if it were not in- 
 digestion, I think must have been gratitude ; 
 thouo-h that is an article I had not believed 
 in. He is a wonderful man, that Neuchatel. 
 If I had only known him a year ago ! I 
 would have dedicated my novel to him. He 
 is a sort of man who would have given you a 
 cheque immediately. He would not have 
 read it to be sure, but what of that ? If you 
 had dedicated it to a lord, the most he would 
 have done would have been to have asked you 
 to dinner, and then perhaps have cut u]3 your 
 work in one of the Quality reviews, and 
 taken money for doing it out of our pockets ! 
 Oh ! it's too horrid ! There are some top- 
 sawyers here to-day, Ferrars ! It would make 
 Seymour Hicks' mouth water to be here. We
 
 EXDY.AIIOX. 309 
 
 sliould have had it in the papers, and he would 
 have left us out of the list, and called us, etc. 
 Now I dare say that ambassador has been 
 blundering all his life, and jct there is some- 
 thing in that star and ribbon ; I do not know 
 how you feel, but I could almost go down on 
 my knees to him. And there is a cabinet 
 mmister ; well, we know what he is ; I have 
 been squibbing him for these two years, and 
 now that I meet him I feel like a snob. Oh ! 
 there is an immense deal of superstition left in 
 the Avorld. I am glad they are going to the 
 ladies. I am to be honoured by some con- 
 versation with the mistress of the house. 
 She seems a first-rate woman, familiar with 
 the glorious pages of a certain classic work, 
 and my humble effusions. She praised one 
 she thouo-ht I wrote, but between ourselves it 
 was written by that fellow Seymour Hicks, 
 who imitates me ; but I would not put her 
 ri<j:ht, as dinner miuht have been announced 
 every moment. But she is a great woman, 
 sir, — wonderful eyes ! They are all great 
 women here. I sat next to one of the dauij-h- 
 ters, or daughters-in-law, or nieces, T suppose.
 
 310 ENDYMION. 
 
 By Jove ! it was tierce and quart. If you 
 had been there, you would have been run 
 through in a moment. I had to show my art. 
 Now they are rising. I should not be sur- 
 prised if Mr. Neuchatel were to j)resent me to 
 some of the grandees. I believe them to be 
 all impostors, but still it is pleasant to talk to 
 a man with a star. 
 
 " Ye stars which are the poetry of heaven," 
 
 Byron wrote ; a silly line ; he should have 
 written, 
 
 " Ye stars which are tlie poetry of dress." '
 
 EXDYMION. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 St. Baebp: "was not disappointed in his 
 hopes. It "was an evening of glorious success 
 for him. He had even the honour of sitting 
 for a time by the side of ]\Irs. Neuchatel, and 
 being full of good claret, he, as he phrased it, 
 sho"wed his paces ; that is to say, delivered 
 himself of some sarcastic paradoxes duly 
 blended with fulsome flattery. Later in the 
 evening, he contrived to be presented both 
 to the ambassador and the cabinet minister, 
 and treated them as if they Avere demigods ; 
 listened to them as if "with an admiration 
 "v^'hich he vainly endeavoured to repress ; 
 never spoke except to enforce and illustrate 
 the views whicli they had condescended to 
 intimate ; successfully conveyed to his excel- 
 lency that he was conversing witli an enthu- 
 siast for his exalted profession ; and to the
 
 312 EXDYMIOX. 
 
 minister that he had met an ardent sympa- 
 thiser with his noble career. The ambassador 
 was not dissatisfied with the impression he 
 had made on one of the foreign correspon- 
 dents of the ' Chiick-Farthing/ and the 
 minister flattered himself that both the literary 
 and the graphic representations of himself in 
 ' Scaramonch ' might possi]:)ly for the futnre be 
 mitio-ated. 
 
 ' I have done business to-nio:ht,' said St. 
 Barbe to Endymion towards the close of the 
 evenino;. ' You did not know I had left the 
 old shop ? I kept it close. I could stand it 
 no longer. One has energies, sir, though not 
 recosrnised — at least not recos-nised much,' he 
 added thoughtfully. ' But who knows what 
 may happen ? The age of mediocrity is not 
 eternal. You see this thino' offered, and I 
 saw an opening. It has come already. You 
 saw the bia; wio;s all talkinjx to me ? I shall 
 go to Paris now with some eclat. I shall in- 
 vent a new profession ; the literary diploma- 
 tist. The bore is, I know nothimx about 
 foreign politics. My Ime has l^een the other 
 way. Never mind ; I will read the '• Debats "
 
 ENDYMION. 313 
 
 tuul the " IiGvue des Deux Mondes," and make 
 out soinethmg. Foreign affairs are all the 
 future, and my views may be as right as any- 
 body else's ; probably more correct, not so 
 conventional. What a fool I was, Ferrars ! 
 I was asked to remain here to-night and 
 refused ! The truth is, I could not stand 
 those powdered gentlemen, and I should have 
 been under their care. They seem so haughty 
 and supercilious. And yet I was wrong. I 
 spoke to one of them very rudely just now, 
 when he was handing coffee, to show I was 
 not afraid, and he answered me like a seraph. 
 I felt remorse.' 
 
 ' Well, I have made the acquaintance of 
 Mr. St. Barbe,' said Myra to Endymion. 
 ' Strange as he is, he seemed quite f^imiliar to 
 me, and he was so full of himself that he 
 never found me out. I hope some day to 
 know Mr. Trenchard and Mr. Waldershare. 
 Those I look upon as your cliief friends.' 
 
 On the following afternoon, Adriana, 
 Myra, and Endymion took a long walk to- 
 gether in the forest. The green glades in the 
 autumnal woods were inviting, and sometimes
 
 314 EXDYMION. 
 
 they stood before the vast form of some dod- 
 dered oak. The air was fresh and the sun 
 was bright. Adriana was always gay and 
 happy in the company of her adored Myra, 
 and her happiness and her gaiety were not 
 diminished by the presence of Myra's brother. 
 So it was a lively and pleasant walk. 
 
 At the end of a long glade they observed a 
 horseman followed by a groom approaching 
 them. Endymion was some little way behind, 
 ffatherino; wild flowers for Adriana. Canter- 
 ing along, the cavalier soon reached them, 
 and then he suddenly pulled up his horse. 
 It was Colonel Albert. 
 
 ' Yon are walking', ladies ? Permit me to 
 join you,' and he was by their side. ' I 
 delight in forests and in green alleys,' said 
 Colonel Albert. ' Two wandering nymphs 
 make the scene perfect.' 
 
 ' We are not alone,' said Adriana, ' but our 
 guardian is picking some wild flowers for us, 
 which we fancied. I think it is time to re- 
 turn. You are going to Hainault, I believe, 
 Colonel Albert, so we can all walk home 
 together.'
 
 ENDYMION. 315 
 
 [ So they turned, and Endymion with his 
 graceful offerino; in a moment met them. Full 
 of his successful quest, he offered with eager 
 triumph the flowers to Adriana, without cast- 
 ing a glance at her new companion. 
 
 ' Beautiful ! ' exclaimed Aclriana, and she 
 stopped to admire and arrange them. ' See, 
 dear Myra, is not this lovely ? How superior 
 to anything in our glass-houses ! ' 
 
 Myra took the flower and examined it. 
 Colonel Albert, who was silent, was watching 
 all this time Endymion with intentness, who 
 now looked up and encountered the gaze of 
 the new comer. Their eyes met, their coun- 
 tenances were agitated, they seemed perplexed, 
 and then it seemed that at the same time both 
 extended their hands. 
 
 'It is a long time smce we met,' said 
 Colonel Albert, and he retained the hand of 
 Endymion with affection. But Endymion, 
 who was apparently much moved, said 
 nothing, or rather only murmured an echo to 
 tlie remarks of his new friend. And then 
 they all walked on, but Myra fell a little back 
 and made a signal to Endymion to join ]ior.
 
 316 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' You never told me, darling, that you 
 knew Colonel Albert.' 
 
 ' Colonel Albert ! ' said Endymion, look- 
 ing amazed, and then he added, ' Who is 
 Colonel Albert ? ' 
 
 ' That gentleman before us,' said Myra. 
 
 ' That is the Count of Otranto, whose fag 
 I was at Eton.' 
 
 ' The Count of Otranto !'
 
 ENDYMION. ol7 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Colonel Albert from tins day became an 
 object of increased and deeper interest to 
 Myra. His appearance and manners had 
 always been attractive, and the mystery con- 
 nected with him was not calculated to diminish 
 cm'iosity in his conduct or fate. But when 
 she discovered that he was the unseen hero of 
 her childhood, the being who had been kind 
 to her Endymion in what she had ever con- 
 sidered the severest trial of her brother's life, 
 had been his protector from those who would 
 have oppressed liim, and had cherished him in 
 the desolate hour of his delicate and tender 
 boyhood, her heart was disturbed. How often 
 had they talked together of the Count of 
 Otranto, and how often had they wondered 
 who he was ! His memory had been a de- 
 lightful mystery to them in their Berkshire
 
 o 
 
 18 ENDYMION. 
 
 solitude, and ]\Iyra recalled with a secret 
 smile the numberless and ingenious inquiries 
 by which she had endeavoured to elicit from 
 her brother some clue as to his friend, or to 
 discover some detail which might guide her to 
 a conclusion. Endymion had known nothing, 
 and was clear always that the Count of 
 Otranto must have been, and was, an English 
 boy. And now the Count of Otranto called 
 himself Colonel Albert, and, though he per- 
 sisted in speaking English, had admitted to 
 ]\Irs. Keuchatel that he was a foreigner. 
 
 Who was he ? She resolved, when she 
 had an opportunity, to speak to the great 
 banker on the subject. 
 
 ' Do you know, Mr. Neuchatel,' she said, 
 ' that Endymion, my brother, was at school 
 with Colonel Albert ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, ah I ' said Mr. Xeuchatel. 
 
 ' But when he was at school he had 
 another name,' said Myra. 
 
 ' Oh, oh ! ' said Mr. Xeuchatel. 
 
 ' He was then called the Count of Otranto.' 
 
 ' That is a very pretty name,' said Mr. 
 Neuchatel.
 
 EXDYMION^. 319 
 
 ' But why did he change it ? ' asked 
 Myra. 
 
 ' The great world often change their 
 names,' said Mr. Xeuchatel. ' It is only poor 
 City men like myself who are always called 
 Mr., and bear tlie same name as their fathers.' 
 
 ' But when a person is called a count when 
 he is a boy, he is seldom called only a colonel 
 when he is a man,' said Myra. ' Tliere is a 
 great mystery in all this.' 
 
 ' I should not be surprised,' said Mr. Xeu- 
 chatel, ' if he were to chano-e his name aa'ain 
 before this time year.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' asked Myra. 
 
 ' Well, when I have read all his papers in 
 Bishopsgate Street, perhaps I shall be able to 
 tell you,' said ^Ir. Neuchatel, and IMj^ra felt 
 that she could pursue the theme no further. 
 
 She expected that Endymion would in 
 time be able to obtain this information, but 
 it was not so. In their first private conversa- 
 tion after their meeting in tlie forest, Endy- 
 mion had informed Colonel Albert that, 
 thougli they had met now for the first time 
 since his return, tliey liad been for some time
 
 320 ENDYMION. 
 
 lodgers in London under the same roof. 
 Colonel Albert smiled when Endymion told 
 him this ; then falling into thought, he said : 
 ' I hope we may often meet, bnt for the 
 moment it may be as well that the past 
 should be known only to ourselves. I wish 
 my life for the present to be as private as I 
 can arrange it. There is no reason why we 
 should not be sometimes too-ether — that is, 
 when you have leisure. I had the pleasure of 
 making your acquaintance at my banker's.' 
 Parliament had been dissolved throuo-h 
 
 a 
 
 the demise of the crown in the summer of 
 this year (1837), and London society had 
 been prematurely broken up. Waldershare 
 had left town early in July to secure his elec- 
 tion, in which he was successful, with no 
 intention of settling again in his old haunts 
 till the meetino- of the new House of Commons, 
 whicli was to be in November. The Rodneys 
 were away at some Kentish watering-place 
 during August and September, exhibiting to 
 an admiring world their exquisitely made 
 dresses, and enjoying themselves amazingly 
 at balls and assemblies at the public rooms.
 
 EXDYMION. 321 
 
 The resources of private society also were not 
 closed to them. ]\Ir. and Mrs. Gamme were 
 also there and gave immense dinners, and the 
 airy Mrs. Hooghley, who laughed a little at 
 the Gammes' substantial gatherings and herself 
 improvised charmmg pic-nics. So there was 
 really little embarrassment in the social rela- 
 tions between Colonel Albert and Endymion. 
 They resolved themselves chiefly into arrang- 
 ing jomt expeditions to Hainault. Endymion 
 had a perpetual invitation there, and it seemed 
 that the transactions between ]Mr. Neuchatel 
 and the colonel required much conference, for 
 the banker always expected him, although it 
 was well known that they met not unfre- 
 quently in Bishopsgate Street in the course of 
 the week. Colonel Albert and Endymion 
 always stayed at Hainault from Saturday till 
 Monday. It delighted the colonel to mount 
 Endymion on one of his choice steeds, and his 
 former fag enjoyed all this amazingly. 
 
 Colonel Albert became domiciled at Ilain- 
 iiult. The rooms which were occupied by 
 liitii when there were always reserved for him. 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 ENDYMION. 
 
 He had a general invitation, and miglit leave 
 his luggage and books and papers behmd hira. 
 It was evident that the family pleased him. 
 Between Mr. Neuchatel and himself there were 
 obviously affairs of great interest ; but it was 
 equally clear that he liked the female mem- 
 bers of the family — all of them ; and all liked 
 him. And yet it cannot be said that he was 
 entertaining, but there are some silent people 
 who are more interesting than the best talkers. 
 And when he did speak he always said the 
 rio'ht thin Of. His manners were tender and 
 gentle ; he had an unobtrusive sympathy 
 with all they said or did, except, indeed, and 
 that was not rarely, when he was lost in pro- 
 found abstraction. 
 
 ' I delight in your friend the colonel, 
 Adrian,' said Mrs. Xeuchatel, ' but I must say 
 he is very absent.' 
 
 ' He has a good deal to think about/ .said 
 Mr. Neuchatel. 
 
 ' I wonder what it can be,' thought Myra. 
 
 ' He has a claim to a great estate,' said 
 Mr. Neuchatel, ' and he has to think of the 
 best mode of establishing it ; and he has been
 
 EXDYMIOX. 323 
 
 deprived of great honours, and he believes 
 unjustly, and he wishes to regain them.' 
 
 ' Xo TTonder, then, he is absent,' said Mrs. 
 Xeuchatel. ' If he only knew what a bur- 
 then great wealth is, I am sure he would 
 not wish to possess it, and as for honours I 
 never could make out why having a title or a 
 ribbon could make any difference in a human 
 
 beino;.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, my dear Emily,' said Mr. 
 Xeuchatel. ' Great wealth is a great blessing 
 to a man who knows what to do with it, and 
 as for honours, they are inestimable to the 
 honourable.' 
 
 'Well, I ardently hope Colonel Albert 
 may succeed,' said Myra, ' because he was so 
 kind to my brother at Eton. He must have 
 a G-ood heart.' 
 
 ' They say he is the most unscrupulous of 
 living men,' said Mr. Xeuchatel, with his pe- 
 culiar smile. 
 
 ' Good Iieavens ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Xeu- 
 chatel. 
 
 ' How terrible! ' said A<lriana. ' It cannot 
 
 be true.' 
 
 t2
 
 324 ENDYMION. 
 
 ' Perhaps lie is the most determined,' said 
 Myra. ' Moral courage is the rarest of qua- 
 lities, and often maligned.' 
 
 ' Well, he has got a champion,' said Mr. 
 Keuchatel. 
 
 ' I ardently wish him success,' said Myra, 
 ' in all his undertakings. I only wish I knew 
 what they were.' 
 
 ' Has not he told your brother. Miss 
 Ferrars ? ' asked Mr. Neuchatel, with laugh- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 ' He never speaks of himself to Endymion,' 
 said Myra. 
 
 ' He speaks a good deal of himself to me,' 
 said Mr. Neuchatel ; ' and he is going to 
 brino; a friend here to-morrow who knows 
 more about his affairs even than I do. So 
 you will have a very good opportunity, Miss 
 Ferrars, of making yourself acquainted with 
 them, particularly if you sit next to him at 
 dinner, and are very winning.' 
 
 The friend of Colonel Albert was Baron 
 Seroius, the baron who used to visit him in 
 London at twilight in a dark brougham. 
 Mrs. Xeuchatel was greatly taken by his
 
 EXDYMIOX. 325 
 
 appearance, by tlie calmness of Lis mien, 
 his unstudied politeness, and Lis measured 
 voice. He conversed witL lier entirely at 
 dinner on German pLilosopliy, of wliicli lie 
 seemed a complete master, explained to Ler 
 tlie different scLools, and probably tlie suc- 
 cessful ones, and imparted to Ler that precise 
 knowledge wLicL slie required on the subject, 
 and TvLicli sLe Lad otherwise been unable to 
 obtain. It seemed, too, tLat lie personally 
 knew all tlie famous professors, and Le inti- 
 mated their doctrines not only with profound 
 criticism, but described their persons and 
 habits with vividness and picturesque power, 
 never, however, all this time, by any chance 
 raising his voice, the tones of which were ever 
 distinct and a little precise. 
 
 ' Is this the first visit of your friend to 
 this country ? ' asked Llyra of Colonel 
 Albert. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; he has been here often — and 
 everywhere,' added Colonel Albert. 
 
 ' Everywhere ! he must be a most interest- 
 ing companion then.' 
 
 ' I find liim so : T never knew anyone
 
 326 ENDYMIOX. 
 
 whom I thought equal to hmi. But perhaps 
 I am not an impartial judge, for I have known 
 him so long and so intimately. In fact, I 
 have never been out of his si^ht till I was 
 brought over to this country to be placed at 
 Eton. He is the counsellor of our family, and 
 we all of us have ever ao-reed that if his 
 advice had been always followed we should 
 never have had a calamity.' 
 
 ' Indeed a gifted person ! Is he a 
 soldier ? ' 
 
 ' Xo ; Baron Sergius has not followed the 
 profession of arms.' 
 
 ' He looks a diplomatist.' 
 
 ' Well, he is nov\^ nothing but my friend,' 
 said the colonel. ' He might have been any- 
 thuig, but he is a peculiarly domestic cha- 
 racter, and is devoted to private life.' 
 
 ' You are fortanate in such a friend.' 
 
 ' Well, I am glad to be fortunate m some- 
 thing,' said Colonel Albert. 
 
 ' And are you not fortunate in every- 
 thing ? ' 
 
 ' I have not that reputation ; but I shall
 
 EXDYMION. 327 
 
 be more than fortunate if I have your kind 
 wishes.' 
 
 ' That yon have/ said Myra, rather 
 eagerly. ' My brother tanght me, even as a 
 child, to wish nothing but good for yon. I 
 wish I knew only what I was to wish for.' 
 
 ' Wish that my plans may succeed,' said 
 Colonel Albert, lookini'- round to her with 
 interest. 
 
 ' I will more than wish,' said Myra ; ' I 
 will believe that they will succeed, l^ecause I 
 think you have resolved to succeed.' 
 
 ' I shall tell Endymion when I see him,' 
 said Colonel Albert, ' that his sister is the only 
 person who has read my character.'
 
 328 ENDYMION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 Colonel Albert and Baron Sergius drove up 
 in their landau from Hainaiilt while Endymion 
 was at the door in Warwick Street, returnin<T; 
 home. The colonel saluted him cordially, 
 and said, ' The baron is going to take a cup 
 of coffee with me ; join us.' So they went up- 
 stairs. There was a packet on the table, 
 which seemed to catch the colonel's eye im- 
 mediately, and he at once opened it with 
 eagerness. It contained many foreign news- 
 papers. Without waiting for the servant 
 who was about to brine; candles, the colonel 
 lighted a taper on the table with a lucifer, 
 and then withdrew into the adjoining cham- 
 ber, opening, however, with folding doors to 
 the principal and spacious apartment. 
 
 ' A foreign newspaper always interests our 
 friend,' said the baron, taking his coifee.
 
 ENDYMIOX. 329 
 
 ' '\\''ell, it must always be interesting to 
 have news from home, I suppose,' said Endy- 
 mion. 
 
 ' Home ! ' said the baron. ' Xews is 
 always interesting, whether it come from 
 home or not.' 
 
 ' To public men,' said Endymion, sipping 
 his coffee. 
 
 ' To all men if they be wise,' said the 
 baron ; ' as a general rule, the most successful 
 man in life is the man who has the best infor- 
 mation.' 
 
 ' But what a rare thin2: is success in life ! ' 
 said Endjnnion. ' I often wonder whether I 
 sliall ever be able to step out of the crowd.' 
 
 ' You may have success in life without 
 stepping out of the crowd,' said the baron. 
 
 ' A sort of success,' said Endymion ; ' I 
 know what you mean. But what I mean is 
 real success in life. I mean, I should like to 
 be a public man.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' asked the baron. 
 
 ' Well, I should like to have power,' said 
 Endymion, blushing. 
 
 * The most powerful men are not public
 
 330 ENDYMION. 
 
 men,' said the baron. ' A public man is 
 responsible, and a responsible man is a slave. 
 It is private life that governs the world. You 
 ^vill find this out some day. The world talks 
 much of powerful sovereigns and great minis- 
 ters ; and if being talked about made one 
 powerful, they would be irresistible. But the 
 fact is, the more you are talked about the less 
 j)owerful you are.' 
 
 ' But surely King Luitbrand is a powerful 
 monarch ; they say he is the wisest of men. 
 And the Emperor Harold, who has succeeded 
 in everything. And as for ministers, who is 
 a great man if it be not Prince Wenceslaus ? ' 
 
 ' King Luitl^rand is governed by his 
 doctor, who is capable of governing Europe, 
 but has no ambition that way ; the Emperor 
 Harold is directed by his mistress, who is a 
 woman of a certain age with a vast sagacity, 
 but who also believes in sorcery ; and as for 
 Prince Wenceslaus, he is inspired by an indi- 
 vidual as obscure as ourselves, and who, for 
 aught I know, may be, at this moment, like 
 ourselves, drinking a cup of coffee in a hired 
 lodfjino;.'
 
 ENDYMION. 331 
 
 ' AYliat 3^on say about public life amazes 
 me,' said Endpuion musingly. 
 
 ' Think over it,' said the baron. ' As an 
 Englishman, you will have difficulty in avoid- 
 ing public life. But at any rate do not at 
 present be discontented that you are unknown. 
 It is the first condition of real power. When 
 you have succeeded in life according to your 
 views, aiid I am inclined to believe you will 
 so succeed, you will, some day, sigh for real 
 power, and denounce the time when you 
 became a public man, and belonged to anyone 
 but yourself. But our friend calls me. He 
 has found somethiuo: startling;. I will venture 
 to say, if there be anything in it, it has been 
 broufi'ht about bv some individual of whom 
 you never heard.' 
 
 KXD OF THE riFvST VOLUME. 
 
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