Читать книгу Patronage - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 8

Table of Contents

At the time of the fire at Percy-hall, a painted glass window in the passage—we should say the gallery—leading to the study had been destroyed.—Old Martha, whose life Caroline had saved, had a son, who possessed some talents as a painter, and who had learnt the art of painting on glass. He had been early in his life assisted by the Percy family, and, desirous to offer some small testimony of his gratitude, he begged permission to paint a new window for the gallery.—He chose for his subject the fire, and the moment when Caroline was assisting his decrepit mother down the dangerous staircase.—The painting was finished unknown to Caroline, and put up on her birthday, when she had just attained her eighteenth year. This was the only circumstance worth recording which the biographer can find noted in the family annals at this period. In this dearth of events, may we take the liberty of introducing, according to the fashion of modern biography, a few private letters? They are written by persons of whom the reader as yet knows nothing—Mr. Percy’s second and third sons, Alfred and Erasmus. Alfred was a barrister; Erasmus a physician: they were both at this time in London, just commencing their professional career. Their characters—but let their characters speak for themselves in their letters, else neither their letters nor their characters can be worth attention.

ALFRED PERCY TO HIS FATHER.

“MY DEAR FATHER,

“Thank you for the books—I have been reading hard lately, for I have still, alas! leisure enough to read. I cannot expect to be employed, or to have fees for some time to come. I am armed with patience—I am told that I have got through the worst part of my profession, the reading of dry law. This is tiresome enough, to be sure; but I think the courting of attorneys and solicitors is the worst part of the beginning of my profession: for this I was not, and I believe I never shall be, sufficiently prepared. I give them no dinners, and they neglect me; yet I hope I pay them proper attention. To make amends, however, I have been so fortunate as to form acquaintance with some gentlemen of the bar, who possess enlarged minds and general knowledge: their conversation is of the greatest use and pleasure to me. But many barristers here are men who live entirely among themselves, with their heads in their green bags, and their souls narrowed to a point: mere machines for drawing pleas and rejoinders.

“I remember Burke asserts (and I was once, with true professional party-spirit, angry with him for the assertion) that the study of the law has a contractile power on the mind; I am now convinced it has, from what I see, and what I feel; therefore I will do all I can to counteract this contraction by the expansive force of literature. I lose no opportunity of making acquaintance with literary men, and cultivating their society. The other day, at Hookham’s library, I met with a man of considerable talents—a Mr. Temple: he was looking for a passage in the life of the lord-keeper Guildford, which I happened to know. This brought us into a conversation, with which we were mutually so well pleased, that we agreed to dine together, for further information—and we soon knew all that was to be known of each other’s history.

“Temple is of a very good family, though the younger son of a younger brother. He was brought up by his grandfather, with whom he was a favourite. Accustomed, from his childhood, to live with the rich and great, to see a grand establishment, to be waited upon, to have servants, horses, carriages at his command, and always to consider himself as a part of a family who possessed every thing they could wish for in life; he says, he almost forgot, or rather never thought of the time when he was to have nothing, and when he should be obliged to provide entirely for himself. Fortunately for him, his grandfather having early discerned that he had considerable talents, determined that he should have all the advantages of education, which he thought would prepare him to shine in parliament.—His grandfather, however, died when Temple was yet scarcely eighteen.—He had put off writing a codicil to his will, by which Temple lost the provision intended for him.—All hopes of being brought into parliament were over. His uncle, who succeeded to the estate, had sons of his own. There were family jealousies, and young Temple, as having been a favourite, was disliked.—Promises were made by other relations, and by former friends, and by these he was amused and misled for some time; but he found he was only wasting his life, attending upon these great relations. The unkindness and falsehood of some, and the haughty neglect of others, hurt his high spirit, and roused his strong indignation. He, in his turn, neglected and offended, was cast off at last, or forgotten by most of the fine promisers.—At which, he says, he has had reason to rejoice, for this threw him upon his own resources, and made him exert his own mind.—He applied, in earnest, to prepare himself for the profession for which he was best fitted, and went to the bar.—Now comes the part of his history for which he, with reason, blames himself. He was disgusted, not so much by the labour, as by the many disagreeable circumstances, which necessarily occur in the beginning of a barrister’s course.—He could not bear the waiting in the courts, or on circuit, without business, without notice. He thought his merit would never make its way, and was provoked by seeing two or three stupid fellows pushed on by solicitors, or helped up by judges.—He had so much knowledge, talent, and eloquence, that he must in time have made a great figure, and would, undoubtedly, have risen to the first dignities, had he persevered; but he sacrificed himself to pique and impatience. He quitted the bar, and the very summer after he had left it, the illness of a senior counsel on that circuit afforded an opportunity where Temple would have been called upon, and where he could fully have displayed his talents. Once known, such a man would have been always distinguished.—He now bitterly regrets that he abandoned his profession.—This imprudence gave his friends a fair excuse for casting him off; but, he says, their neglect grieves him not, for he had resolved never more to trust to their promises, or to stoop to apply to them for patronage. He has been these last two years in an obscure garret writing for bread. He says, however, that he is sure he is happier, even in this situation, than are some of his cousins at this instant, who are struggling in poverty to be genteel, or to keep up a family name, and he would not change places with those who are in a state of idle and opprobrious dependence. I understand (remember, this is a secret between ourselves)—I understand that Secretary Cunningham Falconer has found him out, and makes good use of his pen, but pays him shabbily. Temple is too much of a man of honour to peach. So Lord Oldborough knows nothing of the matter; and Cunningham gets half his business done, and supplies all his deficiencies, by means of this poor drudging genius. Perhaps I have tired you with this history of my new friend; but he has interested me extremely:—he has faults certainly, perhaps too high a spirit, too much sensibility; but he has such strict integrity, so much generosity of mind, and something so engaging in his manners, that I cannot help loving, admiring, and pitying him—that last sentiment, however, I am obliged to conceal, for he would not bear it.

“I see very little of Erasmus. He has been in the country this fortnight with some patient. I long for his return.—I will make the inquiries you desire about Buckhurst Falconer.

“Your affectionate son,

“ALFRED PERCY.

“P.S. Yes, my dear Rosamond, I shall be obliged to you for the flower-roots for my landlady’s daughter.”