wisdom or prosperity, remember this; nor despise De Vere for either this temporary depression or causeless elevation. But the neighbourhood of Cleveland Hall afforded another discovery to De Vere, more substantial than a mere emblematic statue, however agreeable. In returning from a distant manor, through the village of Kirkharold, he stopped to view the ancient schoolhouse,—a picturesque compound of gable and cornice, in the most quaint taste of the days of Elizabeth. Struck with its antiquity, he entered by a pair of old gates, now almost off their hinges, into a great court before the building, new laid with greensward. Here he saw a gentleman and his servant, measuring a circular sweep with a chain, and a lady of uncommon elegance of shape, seemingly giving directions. He would have retired, but what was his astonishment, on the gentleman turning towards him, to behold Rivers! Could he have doubted it indeed, all doubt was ended when he came nearer to the lady, for there was no mistaking the pensive eye and clear dark beauty of Zerlina. We may suppose their mutual pleasure and mutual surprise, though Rivers seemed to have less of the latter than his friend. "How good of you," said he, "to find us out so soon, and in such a wild sequestered spot; more hid and less in the track of life than St. Sauveur itself." De Vere expressed his joy at the meeting, but professed his utter ignorance of the meaning of these last words. "Why, I wrote to you," said Rivers, "the moment I arrived in England, which was only ten days ago, to tell you what brought us home, and whither we were bound." "Your letter then is still at Talbois, where I have not been this fortnight," said De Vere; "and the chance of my finding you here is the most surprising thing in the world." "I am sure, then," replied Rivers, "I may say the same; but come into our venerable hermitage, where they are preparing tea for us, and tell us by what adventure (for I see it is one) we are brought together." De Vere protested the adventure must be all on his side, for there was little romantic in visiting an estate on behalf of a relation who had lately succeeded to it, and could not visit it herself. "No more," said Rivers, "than that a gentleman should take possession of a house he has purchased, which, in truth, is also the business which has brought me here." This produced mutual explanations; and it turned out that Rivers, true to his character of acting upon sudden and strong impressions, upon reading the English newspapers one day at Bourdeaux, where he had wandered down from Languedoc, saw among the sales advertised the old schoolhouse of Kirkharold, with its little domain of garden and field. "Mrs. Rivers will tell you," said he, "that I changed colour upon reading it; for, in truth, it had been the paradise of my early childhood, having been the first school I had been at till I went to Winchester. I knew and loved every tree and bush without, and every casement and cornice within. I could reckon up to exactness the number of panels in this oak parlour; and the play-ground there where I let those ragged boys and girls continue to revel at present, is not more known to them than it was to me. In short, our earliest are our sweetest associations; my heart thrilled at the thought that this dear old place might for a very little money be mine. Zerlina wanted to see England, and, to tell you the truth, I was a little tired of France, and so-" "You made the purchase," said De Vere, "and posted home on the wings of imagination." "You have hit it exactly," replied Rivers. De Vere rejoiced, not merely for his own sake, for he thought, if ever his cousin visited Cleveland Hall, how happy she would be in such a companion as Zerlina. He mentioned his hope of it to the latter, and described Constance so glowingly, that Mrs. Rivers's imagination was kindled to a degree worthy her husband's in the prospect of such a friend-a prospect afterward most happily realized. CHAPTER XXIX. CONTENT. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take it to be too little for people to enter. SHAKSPEARE. BEFORE he left Yorkshire, De Vere also made another acquaintance, which, as a picture of happy resignation to an apparently inferior lot in the world, we cannot help describing, though it led to no results of consequence to this history, except that best result of enlarging the number of those whom, for their qualities and virtues, we respect,—always a lasting and a real gain. The little donative of Kirkdale in this remote Cleveland had been given by Lord Clanellan, its patron, to a Mr. Fairfax, the friend of his youth at college, and afterward occasionally in the world. It amounted to barely one hundred and fifty pounds a year, some glebe, and a very small parsonage, the very reverse of that romantic Dovedale where Archer sighed out his discontents. It had a garden, indeed, and a mountain stream at the bottom, which Fairfax often watched, applying to it the beautiful moral strain in the description of Denham: "Hastening to pay its tribute to the sea, That Fairfax should find delight in such applications lets us enough into the character of his mind; but it would take a long time to describe the effects of his practical virtue upon the circle (homely indeed, but not uninteresting) of his rustic neighbours. Cleveland was not a district where many gentlemen abode; and so remote and wild was this part of it, as to appear a backsettlement of England; so that the residence of so kind and civilized a being as Fairfax was a real blessing to its rough inhabitants. They found it so in its influence upon their religious habits, their morals, and their softened manners; and repaid it by a personal love which the great ones of the world, amid all their splendour, are too often without. No one indeed knows who has not witnessed it the immense value of that modest, but respectable character, the parish priest. To think him paid by his stipend is mockery; but he is richly so by the genuine love and well-earned deference shown him by his flock. Fairfax was one of these parish priests; and, unlike Archer in his ambition, would not have exchanged his humble but self-sufficing lot for all the reputation, and even all the expectation of a court-ci aplain. And yet he had a fine mind, many of the acquisitions of learning, and even the flowers of literature. So much so, that he had often been a kind of study with the marquis, who used to prophesy that his hi mble satisfactions would not last, but give way to something more exciting, from being more polished. They did last, however, spite of temptation. “When you go to Cleveland Hall,” said the marquis to De Vere, in London, previous to his journey, "try to find out a Mr. Fairfax, the vicar of a village among the hills called Kirkdale. He has puzzled my notions of human nature, though, to be sure, these cannot be very extensive or very profound, which have been formed chiefly upon what I have seen at St. James's or the common routine of life. But, in truth, he has puzzled them; for his total want of worldly ambition does not arise either from ignorance or apathy: on the contrary, his stores are large, his tastes good, and his feelings active. So much so, that not many years ago I thought I could not do better than to try to procure him as a tutor for my nephew and heir, and at the same time as an agreeable companion for myself." "And could this fail?" asked De Vere. "You shall see," said the marquis: and he took from his scrutoire the answer which Fairfax had returned to his offer. It was in all the freedom of their old collegehabits together, which indeed had never been remitted. "You tempt me," said Fairfax, "from my coleworts and my gooseberry bushes, and propose to me a higher lot in the ease and comfort of your house, the elegance of your table, and, above all, in your own society, and that of persons fitter for me, you are pleased to say, than the uncouth people I am among; and all you ask in return is what I allow would be a pleasure-that I should superintend the improvement of your nephew. Charming, on paper! but will the picture be realized? Can it be so? As to elegance, you know I admire it. But I enjoy it here. A clean cloth within doors, and a turf walk without, with roses which your garden cannot exceed, satisfy my love of elegance as much as all that an upholsterer can do for you. Then, as to your table, what can it supply which my beans and bacon will not equal? Your good friends indeed. But will they be good company to me? Will they look upon your nephew's tutor as having a right to mix with them? Will you yourself always do so? Shall I always have liberty even when alone? May I lounge out of doors at will, seek the lark in the morning, or the thrush at nightfall? And if the evening be mild, may I stray I know not whither, or wander I not where, and yet return unwatched, unblamed, be sure of a good-humoured welcome home, and find an honest smile to wait upon me at supper, as I do here? To be sure, that supper is only milk, or a little fruit and clear water. But so to me would it be if I were with you, only yours would, perhaps, be served in silver, mine in earthenware. Upon the whole, then, excuse me, if, with a grateful heart for your offer, I respectfully decline it." De Vere was charmed with this letter. It suited the then disposition of his own mind; and from his ill success in opening a prospect of fortune, he was not ill pleased to think that a man of fine feelings, with a mind fit to be the companion of Lord Clanellan, could find happiness among coleworts and gooseberry bushes. His visit to him, therefore, was not delayed. He reached Kirkdale at least in a pleasing moment, to view both itself and its pastor. It was one of those evenings, after the glow of the day was over, when nature, seemingly set free, sheds sweetness from garden, field, and wood. The birds sang gladness after hours of silence, and the whole hamlet smiled after labour done. De Vere found Fairfax under an elm at his door, conversing freely with two or three of his parishioners, simple folks, who were moralizing on the advance of the season. One of them, at the moment he came up, while leaning on his hoe, had just observed, that he thought it impossible for a man to be what he called an ateist." De Vere afterward thought much of Lady Elizabeth Partridge and her daughters, and that whole set, in comparison with this homely reasoner, who was a sturdy old man, who never stirred from his own hills, and yet presumed to talk religious philosophy. 66 |
