MORE PANICS THAN ONE.
YOUNG TOM followed his friend's advice, which, indeed, he could not very well help doing; but it went against the grain, as John had feared it might. And I am afraid our old friend Tincroft did not get many thanks from Tom's sister, nor from Helen, nor perhaps even from his own dear Sarah, for the summary dismissal of the faithful squire upon whose services they had calculated during the following week.
This was not of so much consequence, however; and, as John had predicted, Tom had not been home a week before he had forgotten—No, not forgotten, but had determined to root out from his heart, if possible, the seedling affection which had dared to spring up in that flower-bed of nature.
Young Tom had soon other matters to think about, and so had our old friend Grigson, his father; so also had the M.P. at the head of the city firm, as well as every other member of it. Every now and then—say once in ten years or thereabouts—there comes what is known as a crisis, or a panic, or a turning-point, in commercial affairs in "the city" and elsewhere, in which crisis or panic, huge fortunes are dispersed, the best hands are in danger of being bowled out or stumped out at the golden wicket of trade, and all credit seems for the time to come at an end.
Such a state of things came about when young Tom had nearly arrived at his twenty-first birthday; and though the great firm in which he was to be a junior partner, consequent on his fast approaching marriage with his cousin, rode out the storm, it was for a time in a more crippled state than those concerned would have cared to acknowledge. Many months, indeed, transpired before they could look around them with a comfortably complacent sense of security, and of thankfulness for their escape.
Of course, during this critical period, all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage were set aside and deferred to a more convenient season. Nevertheless, young Tom remained faithful to his engagement, and even believed that, when the propitious time should arrive, he should be sufficiently happy with his Blanche, who, to do her justice, was not deficient in attractive charms, either of person or of mind. As to very ardent love—as love is understood by romantic young ladies and gentlemen—this had never been professed on either side; but as a marriage of convenience—well, there are worse transactions of that sort perpetrated every day than that which had been so long designed between these two cousins.
At length, however, serious preparations were being entered upon for the consummation of this great event in their history, when advice reached the young lady's father that his father, the magnate of Mumbleton, and the autocrat of the Mumbles, was suddenly taken ill, and was, as was supposed, on his dying bed. This supposition soon ripened into reality. Old Mr. Elliston, who was in the habit of boasting that he had never had a day's illness in his life of manhood, had now, at eighty years old, to submit to the great and universal decree:
"Dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou return."
He died. He didn't approve of it; but, in this grave business of life (as it has been called) he was overruled, and compelled to yield. He died.
Great changes then took place both at the Mumbles and in London. The son inherited the father's property, which, though not so large as it had been thought to be, and which had suffered in the late commercial panic, was yet a pleasant enough estate to enter upon. And the son, who had all his life been anticipating this possession, entered upon it as his right, and with a sort of feeling (it was said) that if he had had his rights, according to the strict and literal rendering of Scripture, he would have been master of the Mumbles ten years earlier.