CHAPTER XLIV. THE ENGLISH LION.
People, who care for nothing, are capable of saying almost anything; but even of these, there are not many, who would call the British House of Commons, a sentimental body. But anybody, being at all a body, must now and then feel its flesh rebel at the ghostly proceedings of its Cock-loft tenant. Pure reason (like the doctrine of free trade) is a very fine existence, if it would only work. But, alas! like the other, it finds practical issue mainly in keeping people out of work.
The deep love of our birth, which arises with our life, rose anew in the heart of every Englishman, and forced him to scorn petty faction, and vote, as his father and mother would have made him. The infamous and traitorous plot (which would have ended, in the ancient days, at Tower Hill) ended in a very hot majority of more than fifty, against the Government. As a last faint hope, they appealed to the Country, which had long borne patiently its sickness of them.
Pending my second return for Larkmount, (which took to itself all the glory of my deed, and pelted every Radical, who dared to show his nose, near the bottom of the hill it stood upon) I ventured to pay a little visit to the Towers; though perhaps I should have waited, till the issue was secure. But I make bold to say, from my own experience, that no one, who has been through all the ins and outs of love, as I have been obliged to do, can stop without hurrying to the end of them, whether good or bad. And in the sad humility, which true love feels, I was even scared by fancies, that my darling might dislike the unusual course I had adopted, for her sake. It was pretty sure to cause some curiosity about her, and perhaps even nasty scientific questions, such as seem to have no reverence for the sanctity of home. Few names were more conspicuous than mine, just now, as perhaps was only natural; and I could not resent it. In a very short time, that would be wiped out; for fame is no better than a schoolboy's slate; and the surest way to expunge it, is to try to write it deeper. My little notoriety soon became a nuisance to me; all I cared for was, that those I loved should love me for my own sake; and any public reputation seems to interfere with that.
Therefore, I have never felt more humble in my life, than when I sat by Laura's side, one lovely April day, beneath the famous Oak-tree, which her mother was fond of sketching. The only leaves upon the tree were a few that had stood the winter; and the young buds were not ready yet, to push their faded history by.
I had always been handy with my knife, from the time I cut bread and bacon with it; and now I carved upon the bench "T. U.," while she looked on, and encouraged me.
Then I said, "Let me put something much better now. Over it I shall cut 'L. T. T.' And when you come here, after I am gone, you will be compelled to think of me."
"How strange you are, Tommy!" she said, as I sharpened my knife on my boot, for my feet are as fine as a lady's. "Any one who did not know you well, would think that your fame had been too much for you. You are not half so simple, as you used to be. I suppose, you expect to be Prime Minister, when the Conservatives come in."
I took no notice of this, because I wanted her to go on with it. So I carved a very excellent "L. T.," while she kept on looking at the cows and sheep.
"Dear me!" she cried, pulling out her watch from a place, which was a very great favourite with my arm; "I had no idea it was so late. I must leave you to finish your sculpture, I am afraid. Good-bye, Tommy, for a long time now."
"What must be, must;" I replied with great firmness. And then up I jumped, with my knife in my hand, because she was making off so fast. "Don't be in such a dreadful hurry, Laura. Why, you are crying, dear!"
"Am I indeed? And even if I were, it need not disturb the condition of your mind. All you care about now is politics, like Roly. How I do despise all politics!"
"And so do I; except for one little thing;" I answered, "and you know well what that little thing is."
"Yes, a very little thing indeed," she replied, taking good care not to look at me; "the smallest thing in all the world, no doubt."
"Do try to have some particle of reason;" I exclaimed.
"I am all pure reason itself," she replied.
"You are all pure beauty, and warm heart;" I answered; "and what is the good of saying, that you don't care about me?"
"Did I say that? I don't believe I ever did. I was only trying to think it, when you behaved so badly. But if I said that, it was a great story, Tommy."
"You know what the penalty for a story is;" I answered. And her eyes shone with sunny tears, while she paid it.
"Darling sweet," I said, for I never touched her, without being carried quite beyond myself; "all I was waiting for, was to know, what last letter I might put here. I want to put a 'U;' I so long to put a 'U;' the one you in the world that just suits me to a T. 'Laura Towers Upmore.' I won't do it, without your full permission."
"Well, dear," she replied, after some consideration; "Roly has given his full consent now; and my dear mother loves you, like her own son. And I—well, never mind about me; I am nobody. Only I feel, that your time should not be wasted, with all the great things that you will have to do, after saving the Country, to begin with. So perhaps it would be wiser, dear, to put me down with 'U.'"
Now what do you suppose that I did next? Embraced her, kissed her, shed tears with her? As young people do, when they agree to get married, to practise for the time to come. Nay, such things are not to be talked about; or why were trees made, and benches, and moss (the very essence, and symbol of silence, all the year), and houses far off, to show what is to come, yet not blink a window beyond their own doors?
The real thing that I did—which will stir every female heart, tenfold more than chastest salutations—was done with a thumb and finger pushed, on each side simultaneously, to the bottom of my double-breasted waistcoat pockets.
"Look at these, Laura, while I put our names into a true lover's knot;" I said, just as if it was a pair of blue kidney-beans I was showing. "They are come to be eclipsed, my darling, by the brilliance of your eyes."
"Why, they are amethysts! But I never saw such amethysts. They seem to have such a lot of light inside them!"
"So they have, Laura. But what a cold light, darling, compared with what comes from your heart into mine!"
* * * *
There is nothing that cannot be denied; except that the present condition of things is a great deal better than the past. The humbug of "free trade" is dead at last. The blessing of "Paternal Government" (delivered over the wrong dish of broth) is gone back, like a curse, to roost at home. An Englishman now may eat his breakfast, without gulping down more lies than tea; and may smile at his children, without a smothered sigh, at prolonging a race of dastards. In a word, we have once more a Government, that knows its own mind, and has a mind to know. Whether it be Radical, or Tory, matters little to the average Englishman; so long as it acts with courage, candour, common sense, and consistency. But if its policy be anarchy, quibbling, robbery, cowardice, and treason—then we cast it out (like a leper, and a leopard, mingling sores, and spots, and crawl) and, to save our home, recall that true supporter of our shield and sword, noble once, and not yet ignoble, the sturdy old lion of England.
FINIS.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.