Ferdinand arose next morning at a late hour, refreshed and lighter in spirits than he had been of a long time. The day was bright and balmy; and when he descended to the breakfast-room, the Marquis glanced at his renovated appearance, and addressing Mr. Athelstone, exclaimed—"Already my son\'s cheerful countenance bears witness to the efficacy of this blessed spot!"
The family of the Pastor were assembled round the table; Mrs. Coningsby presided over the dispersion of her fragrant tea; and her daughters, blooming with the freshness of the dewy flowers, did the honours of the coffee and kneaded cakes. Social converse, augmenting in interest with its prolongation, suc[28]ceeded the hospitable meal, till Mr. Athelstone observed Ferdinand turn his eyes wistfully towards the open window. The light foliage of the spruce, which bent towards it, floated into the room on the gentle impulse of a soft south wind; and the aromatic breath that followed, seemed to be regarded by the young Spaniard as an invitation to taste its fragrance nearer. The Pastor, who anticipated the wishes of invalids with the same solicitude he would administer a salutary medicine, turned to his young nieces, and desired they would put on their hats, and introduce Don Ferdinand to their Michaelmas-daisies. The ladies withdrew; and Ferdinand, not requiring a second permission, was soon in the little porch, ready to accompany his fair conductors.
The youthful party had scarcely withdrawn, before a note was brought from Bamborough Castle. It was in answer to one the Pastor had dispatched that morning to Sir Anthony Athelstone, to[29] explain the necessity of Louis\'s immediate return to the Island. Mr. Athelstone took the letter, and read as follows:
"To the Reverend Richard Athelstone.
"Sir Anthony Athelstone is very sensible of the respect due to his reverend Uncle, and to his noble guests; but Louis de Montemar being engaged with a hunting-party, it is impossible he can have the honour of waiting upon them."
"Bamborough Castle,
Saturday Morn."
"From what I can gather from the man who brought the letter, Sir;" said the old servant who had delivered it, "the Duke of Wharton is at the Castle."
At this intimation, an unusual colour spread over the face of Mr. Athelstone. "Peter, that cannot be!—With all Sir Anthony\'s errors, he will not forfeit the honour of a gentleman!"
Peter bowed his grey head, and re[30]spectfully answered; "The lad, Sir, who brought that note, told me a fine Duke from foreign parts, with a company of ladies and gentlemen, came yesterday through all the storm to the Castle; and they were so merry and frolicsome, they sat up all night dancing, and singing outlandish songs, which the butler, who understands tongues, told him were arrant Jacobite."
Mr. Athelstone rose hastily from his seat.—"Peter, I am afraid you are right."—Peter bowed again, and withdrew.—Mr. Athelstone re-seated himself, and for a moment covered his discomposed features with his hand.
"I remember the Duke of Wharton eight years ago in Paris," said the Marquis; "I think it was in the summer of 1716; when he came to pay his homage to the illustrious widow of King James of England.—Wharton was then a very young man, hardly of age; certainly not arrived at the years of discretion; for[31] with a genius that equalled him in some respects to the maturest minds in France, he was perpetually reminding us of his real juvenility, by the boyish extravagance of his passions:—And I have since heard that time has not tamed them."
"It seldom does," exclaimed the Pastor, "when the reins have once been given to their impulse.—Oh, my dear Lord, where-ever human passion is, the law of reason and lawless appetite contend there, like Satan and the archangel.—Duke Wharton has yielded the mastery to the ill spirit:—and he is the less pardonable, his intellectual endowments being equal to any resistance. If the man who only hides his one talent, meet condemnation; what will be the eternal fate of him, who debases a countless portion, to decorate the loathsomeness of sin?"
Mr. Athelstone paused a few moments, and then added:—"I have so great a[32] horror of the contagion of such characters, that I made it a point with Sir Anthony, he would never, willingly, bring his nephew into the company of this dangerous nobleman; and how it has happened now, I cannot guess. Some unexpected circumstance must have brought him to the Castle. For you know, Mrs. Coningsby, your brother has always been scrupulous of a promise."
"Hitherto;" replied she "but if we have rightly explained Peter\'s account, we cannot consider Sir Anthony\'s present detention of Louis, as any thing less than a breach of promise to you."
The Pastor looked more disturbed.—"When the tide serves in the afternoon," cried he, "I will cross to Bamborough myself; and if I find that my confidence has been abused, I shall then know my course."
"Not that my uncle doubts our nephew\'s steadiness in despising the follies of Duke Wharton;" said Mrs. Con[33]ingsby, addressing their guest; "but no engagements ought to be broken with impunity."
"Pardon me, madam," returned the Marquis, "if I say that we should cruelly betray our young people, if we did not so far doubt their steadiness, as always to do our utmost to withdraw them from every separate temptation to vice or folly?—I hold it as great a sin to rush unnecessarily into occasions of moral contest, as to fall by the temptation when it comes unsought. Man should neither tempt himself, nor suffer others to be tempted, when he can put in a prevention. I am, therefore, thoroughly of Mr. Athelstone\'s opinion, not to allow Mr. de Montemar to remain an hour that he can prevent, within the influence of the Duke of Wharton."
The Pastor was roused from anxious meditation, by the last remark of Santa Cruz. And as Mrs. Coningsby soon after left the room, he put his hand upon[34] the arm of the Marquis, and conducting him by a side door into his library; "My good Lord," said he, "your observations are so just; that, as I may appear to have acted inconsistently with what I conscientiously approve, by having permitted my nephew to go at all where he is liable to meet the Duke; you must allow me to explain the peculiar circumstances which compelled my assent."
"I shall be glad, reverend Sir," returned the Marquis, taking a seat, "to hear what can be urged in defence of subjecting the waxen nature of youth to the impressions of perverting society. By painful experience, I know the trial to be perilous."—The last sentence was followed by a sudden coldness in his air towards the Pastor, which passed unfelt, because it was unobserved.
Unconscious of what really actuated the remarks of his auditor, with a benign smile Mr. Athelstone resumed.—
"Your Lordship must indulge me with[35] listening to a little family history, as a preliminary to my apology?—else, I know not how to make you perfectly understand my situation with regard to my nephew Sir Anthony Athelstone."
The Marquis bowed, and Mr. Athelstone proceeded.—
"My only brother, the late Sir Hedworth Athelstone, was the father of the present Sir Anthony, and of two daughters. The eldest, Louisa, was the mother of Louis de Montemar; and the youngest, Catherine, you have seen in Mrs. Coningsby. My brother\'s wife died the same year in which her husband received the commands of his sovereign to go embassador-extraordinary to the Netherlands. Louisa\'s health having been impaired by attendance on her mother, Sir Hedworth made her the companion of his embassy. At the Hague they met the Baron de Ripperda. He was struck with my niece at first sight. And indeed she was the most beautiful creature these eyes ever beheld!—[36]My Lord, you will see a manly copy of this angelic being, in her not unworthy son. Before she went abroad, she had refused the hands of some of the first men in England; for her accomplishments and her virtues were equal to her beauty. My brother had always left her to her own choice. He admired the Baron de Ripperda; and when she granted him permission to address her, Sir Hedworth sanctioned her acquiescence with pride and joy. I think I can recollect the very words he wrote to me on the day of her nuptials. I have often repeated them, though not lately;—yet I will recall them."
The venerable man leaned back in his chair, and shutting his eyes in silent recollection, in a few minutes repeated these words of the letter.
"Congratulate me, my brother!" said he, "This morning I have bestowed the hand of our darling Louisa upon William de Montemar Baron de Ripperda. I need[37] not enlarge in his praise: I have named the Baron de Ripperda; and in that name all human excellence is comprised. My full heart, overflowing with happiness, has but one wish ungratified. Richard, am I ungrateful to the Giver of all good? But my tears are now falling, that I enjoy it without the participation of her beloved mother. Oh, that she had lived to see this blissful day!"
The pious narrator paused a moment, drew his hand over his eyes; and then resumed his story in his usual manner.—
"Thus did my brother write, in the exultation of his heart. And every succeeding letter contained similar intelligence of Louisa\'s happiness; of the high-minded patriotism of her husband; of the honour in which he was held by the States; and of the anxious joy which agitated them all, in the prospect of an heir to this treasure of felicity. Think then, my dear Marquis, what were the feelings with which I read a long-expected[38] letter from the Hague! I had impatiently awaited what seemed so strangely withheld. It was to tell me of the birth of the anticipated blessing. The letter came, sealed with black.—An heir had been born, according to hope, but the mother was no more.—Louisa\'s delicate frame had perished in the trial of that dreadful period. She lingered three weeks after the morning of her child\'s birth, and then died in the arms of her husband and of her father. Next day the afflicted parent wrote to me. How differently did this letter conclude from the one in which he announced her marriage!"
Again the Pastor leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; but he also pressed them down with his hand, as he proceeded to quote his brother\'s words.—
"I come to you, Richard, with all that remains to me of my too precious Louisa.—So young, so beautiful, so beloved!—Ripperda has resigned her infant to my[39] care. When he consented to my earnest supplication, he pressed the poor unconscious babe to his weeping face, and then putting him into my arms:—Take him, Sir Hedworth! (cried he) What compensation is too dear to the father of my lost Louisa? He then rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I thank my God, her mother is spared this last blow, which has laid my grey hairs in the dust."
As Mr. Athelstone closed these remembrances, with a silent address to the Being in whose peace now rested the parent with his child; the Marquis wiped the starting tears from his eyes,—a pause of a few minutes ensued; and then the good man, turning with a serene aspect to his auditor, resumed.—
"My brother returned to Bamborough-Castle. He found me there, with his sole-remaining daughter. Early in the succeeding year, Catherine gave her hand to Mr. Coningsby. Not to leave my brother quite alone, I henceforth conti[40]nued to divide my time between the exercise of my parochial duties, and assisting him in the delightful task of unfolding the mental faculties of my infant nephew. But the drooping spirits of Sir Hedworth were daily depressed by cares more heavy to be borne than anxiety for the sick, or sorrow for the dead. Almost every post brought him accounts of his son\'s follies at college, or in town; and few were the weeks which past without calling on his purse for some disbursement to redeem the pledged honour of this unthinking young man. Mr. Coningsby died the sixth year after his marriage; and not leaving a son, his entailed property went to the male heir; but his daughters have, nevertheless, very noble fortunes. Sir Hedworth and myself were constituted their guardians; and as the best means of rendering them protection, my brother invited their mother from the dismal associations of a jointure-house, to her former home. Poor Catherine gladly obeyed[41] the paternal voice:—and time went smoothly over our heads, till the day on which Louis de Montemar attained his tenth year. It was always a sacred anniversary with my brother; and on that evening, while kneeling in his closet, he was called to a blessed re-union with her he had so long mourned.
"My nephew Anthony hurried from London to take possession of his inheritance. He expressed satisfaction at finding his uncle and his young nephew in the Castle; and requested his sister to honour his table by keeping her place at its head. Notwithstanding the happy promise of this conduct, (for Sir Anthony is kind and liberal to objects in his sight;) we soon found that Bamborough, under its new master, was not a fit residence for Mrs. Coningsby and her children. In short, he was too much a man of pleasure to allow of even the common restraints usual in a family on the recent loss of its head. Whilst the hatchment[42] was yet over the door, the Castle continued to overflow with visitors of the gayest order; and amongst the most conspicuous were the dissipated Earl of Warwick, and the no less worthless Duke of Wharton. Hunting all the morning; feasting all the day; and revelling all the night with wine, cards, music, and dance; formed the unvarying diary of the so lately revered Bamborough. In vain I remonstrated with my nephew on these pursuits; on the evils of his example to the county; and the prejudice he was doing to his fortune and his reputation. To be rid of my arguments, he frequently admitted their reasonableness; but they produced no amendment in his conduct. In short, the castle of my fathers had now become a Babylon, from which I saw the necessity of bearing away my innocent charges, while they were yet too young to be contaminated. In right of my mother Lady Cornelia Percy, Morewick-hall, on the Coquet, belongs to me. But[43] as my pastoral care was constantly required at Bamborough, or in this island, I had never resided on my inheritance. I now wished to make it the home of my niece, and her children, till they became of age. She gladly embraced my proposal. And the young Louis, though the indulged-plaything of the whole party, so far from expressing regret at leaving the castle, heard our arrangement with joy. This may appear more than natural in a boy hardly eleven years of age; but a little affair which took place at that time, will make his acquiescence very credible.
"It was during the Christmas of the very year in which you met Duke Wharton at Paris, that he made his brilliant but baneful appearance at Bamborough. He took an immediate fancy to Louis; who was a fine spirited boy, full of enterprize and invincible good-humour. The Duke delighted in betting on his youthful talents, against the maturest ac[44]quirements in the castle. He exulted in the leaps he made him take on horseback; on the precision of his eye, in firing at a mark; and the dexterity with which he disarmed almost every man, but himself, in the practice of the foils. Even in this there was much to blame. But one evening, when Sir Anthony and the Duke were wearied of the rest of the company, and withdrawn to another room were sitting over their wine, a sudden whim seized their own half-tipsey fancies, to send Louis in masquerade to surprise the boisterous group below. Louis was summoned; and, innocent of their intention, hastened to his uncle. In the ardour of their frolic, they told him they meant to dress him in vine branches, and priming him with wine, introduce him as the festive god to the worship of the revellers in the dining-room. The natural good-sense of the boy started at the proposal; and he modestly refused to comply.—They persuaded, they flattered, they threatened;[45] but in vain. Both resolutely, and with tears, he declared he would not, for his life, do any thing so wicked. Sir Anthony\'s passionate nature was in a blaze at this opposition. Mad with intoxication, he threw the helpless child on the floor, and holding him there, called on his profligate companion to give him the Burgundy. Wharton obeyed; and the inhuman uncle poured so great a quantity down the throat of his struggling victim, that the poor child was taken up insensible. He was carried to bed; and passed the remainder of the night in delirium and fever.
"I was then on one of my occasional visits to Lindisfarne. But on my return next day, the whole was told me by Mrs. Coningsby. Full of horror at the relation, I gave instant orders for our departure; and was passing along the gallery before the servants, who were supporting the suffering child to the carriage, when I encountered my graceless nephew. "An[46]thony!" cried I, in the burst of my indignation; "you have committed an outrage against the morals and life of this innocent child, that will cry against you at the gates of Eternal Justice!" Sir Anthony stood confounded; but Duke Wharton, who was just at his back, with affected solemnity, exclaimed—"It is a prophet who speaks!—Let us take care that in to-morrow\'s hunt, the foxes do not ape the bears of old, and turn upon and rend us!"—The sarcasm of the young libertine, and his irreverent allusion to Scripture, recalled me to a sense of my own unrestrained violence; and turning again to my nephew with a more collected manner, "Sir Anthony, (said I) I do not reply to your companion; having no hope that human reasoning can make any good impression on a mind which studies revelation only to use it to blasphemy. But for you, the son of a virtuous father, and a pious mother!—Recall to your remembrance their happy[47] lives, their honourable reputations, and their blessed deaths! And, notwithstanding all your wit, your merriment, and your splendour, your heart will whisper, that in comparison with them, you are wretched, despised, and now stand on the brink of everlasting perdition!" Sir Anthony remained silent and confused; but the hardened Duke, making me a gay bow, put his arm through the Baronet\'s, and with a jerk turned him into the billiard-room.
"Eight years elapsed before I saw my ill-directed nephew again.—Having established a truly Christian minister at Bamborough, I henceforth passed the winter months at Morewick-hall with Mrs. Coningsby. And how different from the society of the castle was that which visited our residence, and assisted to develope the opening minds of our young charges! Sir Richard Steele, Mr. Craggs, and Mr. Addison, were severally our guests. In short, my dear sir, I drew around me a[48] kind of college for my pupils; and besides the persons named, many others of humbler note, but equal merit, were our constant visitors. One half of the year I devoted to the inspection of my curate\'s ministry; and for that purpose fixed my summer residence in this island. Louis always accompanied me to Lindisfarne; as I considered it my duty, as well as my delight, to share with his various tutors, the anxious task of turning to good account the rich soil of his mind. His nature is so enquiring and ambitious, we had rather to restrain than to stimulate his abilities; and they have ever pointed to a military career. I tried to incline him to the calmer paths of life; but it was stemming a torrent. His spirit is determined to excess. And having fixed his heart on the reputation of a Nassau or a Marlborough, he directs his studies with an undeviating aim to that point. If he begin any language, science, or art, he pursues it steadily till he gains either a perfect[49] knowledge of its principles; or at least acquires as much as his teacher can give him. He will not hear of a slight knowledge of any thing; therefore, what he does not wish to master, he never attempts at all. In short, his talents take the form of passions; and are not to be exhausted by the continuance or impetuosity of their course."
From strong interest, the Marquis had hitherto forborne to interrupt Mr. Athelstone; but he could not now help exclaiming—"Oh, Sir, what a perilous character have you described!—How great is the responsibility of the man who is to guide and impel this youth! Virtue and vice contend alike for the direction of such spirits:—and you are answerable to his father and to heaven, that these powerful impulses should not be turned to evil!"
"I know it," replied the Pastor, devoutly bowing his head to the Almighty Being to whom he especially owed this[50] responsibility; "and at present, I trust, those impulses are blameless. His heart overflows with good-will to every created thing; and, (as he often says with a gay smile,) he seems born with no other concern but to be happy, and to do his best to make others as happy as himself. Dear child!" exclaimed the old man, with glistening eyes;—"if that be his commission, he knows he fulfils it here!—For the sound of his voice, or the tread of his foot in the passage, is sufficient at any time to raise my head from my severest studies; and to make his aunt and cousins start from their chairs, to welcome their gladdening Louis!"
"And yet you trust this gay, this buoyant!—this young man, constituted by nature, to be only too sensible to the world\'s allurements; you trust him to the temptations of his uncle\'s roof?"
"Because," replied the Pastor, "they are no temptations to him. Setting aside the principles with which religion for[51]tifies his heart, his taste is too pure not to be disgusted with the coarse jollity of Sir Anthony\'s usual boon companions. These sots see nothing in their wassal-bowl, but the wine and its spices. It is the possible visits of Duke Wharton, and a few of his anacreontic associates, that excite my apprehension. He drugs the cup with the wreath of genius. The wit, the grace, the sorceries of that man, indeed fill me with alarm: and from his society, as I would snatch a swimmer from the verge of a whirlpool, I shall hasten to bear away my yet uncorrupted nephew."
The Marquis enquired how, with these sentiments, and after the rupture with Sir Anthony, Mr. Athelstone had ever suffered Louis de Montemar to touch such a vortex again.—Mr. Athelstone apologized for having digressed so long from this most necessary part of his narrative; and proceeded to relate the accident which re-introduced the uncle and nephew to each other. What he suc[52]cinctly related, is more particularly given thus:
In the autumn of the preceding year, Louis obtained his guardian\'s permission to accompany a neighbouring gentleman to the Red-deer hunt at Blair Athol in Scotland. On the first day, several fine harts were roused and slain. But just as the two Northumbrians were seating themselves on a high wooded cliff to take some refreshment after a hot pursuit, the forester who attended them approached, crouching on hands and knees, and silently made a sign, pointing to the glen beneath.—On looking where he levelled, they saw two fine stags upon a rock below, which projected over the river Tilt. Louis immediately took aim, and shot one of them on the edge of the precipice; the animal fell headlong into the stream; and the victor, with his followers, hastened down the glen to secure his prize. About the same instant, a huntsman, who had been with[53] the foremost all day, from an opposite direction had espied the companion of the slain stag galloping forward in affright. He lost not a moment, but fired, and wounded the creature in the haunches. The disabled deer slackened his pace, and the huntsman let a hound loose after him, who held him at bay on a high bank; but the stag recovered courage, and broke away again.—Another dog was then unleashed, which brought him to a stand in a deep dell, filled by the current of a mountain-stream. This second hound ran in upon his antagonist, and seized him between the horns. The stag gored him from shoulder to shoulder, and alarmed for the life of his dog, the huntsman made a spring into the water, to shoot the deer without danger to the hound. But in his haste, the man fell, and with his gun under him. At this moment the Northumbrians came up. Louis\'s companion rashly unloosed their dogs, to[54] assist the struggling hounds of the fallen huntsman. The deer, the dogs, all were at once upon the prostrate man. He called for help.—The stag\'s foot was on his breast:—the hounds crushed him as they sprung forward, and hung on the furious animal. The deer\'s eye-balls flashed fire; he dashed his tremendous antlers from side to side, and seemed aiming their next plunge against the life of his fallen enemy.
"He is a dead man!" cried the forester. But Louis drew a dirk, which was always his companion in these excursions 5 and throwing himself at once amidst the terrific group, struck it into the throat of the animal.—The wounded stag instantly recoiled, carrying away the weapon buried in his flesh. The released huntsman sprung on his legs, and extricating himself from the dogs, which hung more fiercely on their dying prey, staggered towards the adjacent bank. With the assistance of his com[55]panions, Louis immediately conveyed the fainting stranger to a neighbouring lodge, where he soon recovered his recollection and wonted spirits.—Perhaps it need hardly be said, that this stranger was Sir Anthony Athelstone!—Louis, being unacquainted with the alteration in his uncle\'s person, which eight years of intemperance had rendered bloated and coarse, had thus exerted himself from humanity alone. But when Sir Anthony enquired the name of his preserver, and learnt that he owed his life to the intrepidity of Louis de Montemar, the joy of the uncle knew no bounds. He embraced his nephew a thousand times; vowed never to marry, that he might adopt him as his son; nay, he declared, that from this day forward, Louis de Montemar should be the lord both of Bamborough and its master. Louis was affected by his uncle\'s gratitude, and self-accusations for the cause of their first separation; but respectfully de[56]clined resuming a stationary residence at the castle, though he gratefully promised to make his visits very frequent.
"Providence having thus reconciled the uncle and nephew," continued the Pastor, "how could I presume to refuse my sanction to the renewal of kindred affection?"
The Marquis assented to the force of this argument; and Mr. Athelstone hastened to conclude his narrative, of which the following is a brief summary.
After this general amnesty, Louis continued to visit Sir Anthony every week. And as the watchful guardian heard of no proceedings in the baronet likely to injure the morals of his nephew, he consented to his accompanying his uncle early in the ensuing spring, to re-visit the scene of their happy reconciliation. They accordingly went to Scotland. And when they left the Duke of Athol\'s, Sir Anthony proposed returning home by Loch Rannock, and paying his respects[57] to old Robertson of Struan. Louis was eager to see the veteran and the poet; though, from his advanced age, he expected to find little of the lyre, and less of the trumpet, at his hospitable board.
The visit was paid; and Louis returned to Lindisfarne in raptures with the country he had seen; delighted with the chief of Struan; but above all, enchanted with one of the old man\'s guests. He seemed intoxicated with some before untasted pleasure, as he discoursed, full of a vague kind of admiration, about this extraordinary personage. Mr. Athelstone asked his name; Louis replied, it was the Duke of Wharton, whom he remembered when a boy; and who, he recollected, had joined his uncle in the folly about the wine. The Duke came to Loch Rannock the day after Sir Anthony\'s arrival. There was a large party in the house, but Wharton selected Louis as his companion; often deserting the rest, to ride alone with him; and to explore with[58] fearless step, sometimes on horseback, but oftener on foot, the caverned recesses of the Loch; its fir-clad islands, and mountains of desolate sublimity. During their wide and stormy rambles, they visited the house of the laird, and the hovel of the shepherd; pleased alike with the generous cheer of the one, and the frugal hospitality of the other. Wharton could speak Gaelic, a language of which his companion was totally ignorant; but Louis did not the less enjoy the hilarity with which his noble friend pledged their entertainers in claret or whiskey: and while a rapid discourse passed in this, to him, unknown tongue, he did not the less sympathise in the pleasure with which gentle and semple seemed to regard their animated guest. Men, women, of all ages and degrees, thronged around their illustrious visitor. Sometimes he was serious, sometimes he was gay; but still he spoke in Gaelic; and all changes renewed their acclamations of delight.
[59]
When Louis narrated these particulars at the tea-table in Lindisfarne, Mr. Athelstone sighed, and thought that in this fortnight\'s sojourn at Rannock, his nephew had seen too much, or too little of this extraordinary man. However, he would not risk knowing all that passed, by any immediate observation to damp the ardour of Louis\'s frank communicativeness. His cousins were eager listeners; and he went rapturously on, describing the Duke as the most fascinating being on earth. So profound in his reflections; so careless in his manner of uttering them; so conscious of his fine person, and yet so gracefully negligent of its effect; so dignified in his carriage, and yet so boyishly fond of mirth; that the mischief he played ever found a ready excuse, in the ingenuity of its contrivance, or the frank apology of the laughing perpetrator.
"I would say," exclaimed Louis,[60] "that he is the merriest devil I ever saw, if I could give so poor a name to so rich a wit!"
"Call him Belial," said the Pastor, with a meaning smile; "and you will name him rightly."
Louis laughed; and replied,—"If you will have him a fallen angel, he must be Satan himself:
For such high-reaching thought, and port superb, Could ne\'er be native with the grov\'ling crew That sunk in raging Phlegethon!"
The Pastor shook his head with another smile; and Louis ran on, talking of the Duke\'s lofty demeanor at one season; of its playful condescension at another: and in the guileless exhilaration of his own heart, described the air with which Wharton drank his Burgundy; how he graced each draught with a brilliant song, adapted by himself to words of Horace or Anacreon, in their original language. Then he spoke of the Duke\'s eloquent criticisms on the classics; of his wit in apt references[61] to them, and to the best writers of France and Italy; and of the sportive manner with which he trifled, with the foibles of the company around him;—"seeming," continued Louis, "to stoop from his native height, merely\' to skim the grosser element, in condescending fellowship with those heavy sons of earth. And the Duke tells me the change is pleasant; for it is only burrowing a little amongst the gnomes, to enjoy with keener relish the etherial joys of the upper regions!"
"Here, my Lord," continued the Pastor, in his narrative to the Marquis, "was the snare I had dreaded. When we were alone, I declared my apprehensions to my nephew; but he combated my suspicions with all the pleadings of ingenuous enthusiasm. Louis had never felt more than general kindliness for any of the young men of his acquaintance. For, I am sorry to say that education is not a principle of these times: and my boy[62] found few to understand any part of his intellectual pursuits, till he met this highly-gifted nobleman. Wharton is also master of every avenue to an unsuspecting heart. This, too, was the first time that any thing like his own ideas of friendship had come before my nephew; and when they were proffered by so specious a character, it was hardly surprising that even the short intimacy of a fortnight should bewilder his imagination and captivate his heart. When I became aware of the depth of the impression, I took up the subject in the serious light it demanded. I narrated several instances of the Duke\'s ill-conduct in various relations of life; and shewed at once to Louis the deleterious cup he was so tenaciously holding, since it had already induced him to confound right and wrong, by denominating the ruffian violence he had received in his helpless childhood, mere folly and frolic! His countenance betrayed there was a powerful contention in his mind.[63] I conjured him to reflect on what I had said; to hearken to my warning voice, as he would to that of his distant father, or to the last admonitions of his departed mother. Tears burst from his eyes; and kissing my hands, he solemnly pledged himself never again to be a willing resident in the same house with the Duke of Wharton. His Grace had separated from the travelling party, and was gone to Ireland. But that did not prevent me calling on Sir Anthony; and though he did not see the reasonableness of my alarm, he was prevailed on to make me a promise that he would not again be instrumental in bringing his nephew into the society of the Duke.
"From that period until now, this dangerous man has been too much engaged in cajoling and thwarting the British ministry, to think of obscurer triumphs in Northumberland. But now that he is come, and his mischievous spirit has not only persuaded Sir Anthony to[64] break his honour with me, but that Louis has been wrought upon to forfeit the verity of his word; I must assume the authority of a guardian; and at once wrest the infatuated boy from the favour of his uncle, and the perverting powers of his friend."
"Venerable Mr. Athelstone!" cried the Marquis, with an emotion of reverence; "this resolution is worthy of a minister of Christ!" But the words were no sooner uttered, than, dropping the hand he had emphatically seized, he quitted the room in disorder.