“Whether the secretary be right or wrong in this opinion of his lordship, I have not seen enough to be able to determine; and I suspect that Temple is not at present a perfectly calm observer. Ever since his visit to the country he seems not to be entirely master of himself: his heart is still hovering round about some absent object—what object, I do not know; for though he does not deny my charge, he will not tell me the name of his fair one. I suspect Lady Frances Arlington of having stolen his heart. I am very sorry for it—for I am clear she is only coquetting with him. Temple says that he is too poor to marry. He is so amiable, that I am sure he will make any woman he marries happy, if it be not her own fault, and if they have but enough to live upon. It grieves me to hear his unavailing daily regrets for having quitted the bar. Had he continued in his original profession, he might, and in all probability would have been, at this moment (as his competitor, a man much his inferior in talent, actually is), in the receipt of four thousand good pounds per annum, independent of all men; and might have married any woman in any rank. Besides, even with such a patron as Lord Oldborough, Temple feels dependence grievous to his spirit. He is of a very good family, and was not early used to a subservient situation. His health too will be hurt by his close confinement to the business of office—and he has no time for indulging his literary taste—no play for his genius: that was his original grievance at the bar, but his present occupations are less congenial to his taste than law ever was. His brother-secretary, Mr. Shaw, is a mere matter-of-fact man, who is particularly unsuited to him—an objector to every thing new, a curtailer and contemner of all eloquence: poor Temple is uneasy and discontented; he would give up his situation to-morrow but that he cannot quit Lord Oldborough. He says that he has a hundred times resolved to resign—that he has had his letter written, and the words on his lips; but he never could, when it came to the point, present the letter, or pronounce the farewell to Lord Oldborough. Wonderful the ascendancy this man has over the mind!—Extraordinary his power of attaching, with manners so little conciliatory! Adieu, my dear father; I have indulged myself too long in writing to you. I have to read over the late Mr. Panton’s will, and to give our friend Mr. Gresham an opinion upon it—notwithstanding Rosamond’s cruelty to him, he is as much our friend, and her friend, as ever. Panton’s will is on ten skins of parchment: and then I have a plea in rejoinder to draw for Lady Jane Granville; and, worse than all, to read and answer four of her ladyship’s notes now on my table. By-the-bye, I would rather carry on a suit for any four men, than for one such woman of business as poor Lady Jane. She is never at rest one moment; never can believe that either lawyer or solicitor knows what he is about—always thinks her letters and notes can do more than bills in chancery, or than the lord chancellor himself. She frets incessantly. I must request Erasmus to medicine her to repose; she has absolutely a law fever. Erasmus is at Richmond—sent for by some grandee: he is in high practice. He told me he began last week to write to Rosamond, from the bedside of some sleeping patient, a full and true answer to all her questions about Miss Panton; but the sleeper awakened, and the doctor had never time to finish his story.
“Adieu a second time. Love to all.
“Dear father, yours affectionately,
“ALFRED PERCY.
“Just as I began the second skin of Panton’s will, a note was brought to me from—whom do you think? Lord Oldborough, requesting to see me at four o’clock. What can his lordship want with me?—I must send this frank before I can satisfy my own curiosity on this point—or yours, Rosamond.”
After finishing the perusal of Mr. Panton’s long-winded will, writing an opinion upon it for Mr. Gresham, and penning a quieting note for poor Lady Jane Granville, Alfred, eager to be punctual to the appointed hour, went to the minister. He need not have looked at his watch so often, or have walked so fast, for when he arrived it wanted five minutes of the time appointed, and his lordship had not returned from a visit to the Duke of Greenwich. He was told, however, that orders had been given for his admittance; and he was shown into an apartment where he had leisure, during a full quarter of an hour, to admire his own punctuality. At last he heard a noise of loud huzzas in the street, and looking out of the window, he saw a crowd at the farthest end of the street; and as it moved nearer, perceived that the populace had taken the horses from Lord Oldborough’s carriage, and were drawing him to his own door with loud acclamations. His lordship bowed to the multitude as he got out of his carriage rather proudly and coldly, yet still the crowd threw up their hats and huzzaed. He apologized to Alfred, as he entered the room, for having been later than his appointment. Commissioner Falconer and Mr. Temple were with him, and the commissioner immediately began to tell how they had been delayed by the zeal of the people. Lord Oldborough took a paper from his pocket, and walked to the window to read it, without seeming to hear one word that the commissioner was saying, and without paying any attention to the acclamations of the multitude below, which were again repeated on their seeing him at the window. When his lordship had finished looking over the paper, he called upon Alfred to witness it, and then presenting it to Mr. Falconer, he said, in his haughtiest manner, “An equivalent, sir, for that sinecure place which you asked for, and which it was out of my power to obtain for you. That was given as the just reward of merit, and of public services. My private debts—” [Alfred Percy observed that his lordship did not use the word obligation]. “My private debts to your family, Mr. Falconer, could not be paid from the public fund with which I am entrusted, but you will not, I hope, find me the less desirous that they should be properly acknowledged. The annuity,” continued he, putting his finger on the amount, which the commissioner longed to see, but at which he had not dared yet to look, “the annuity is to the full amount of that place which, I think you assured me, would satisfy your and Mrs. Falconer’s expectations.”
“Oh! my lord, more than satisfy: but from your lordship’s private fortune—from your lordship’s own emoluments of office, I cannot possibly think—Mrs. Falconer would, I am sure, be excessively distressed—”
“Do me the favour, sir, to let no more be said upon this subject,” interrupted Lord Oldborough. “As you return home, will you speak to those poor people whom I still hear in the street, and advise them now to return peaceably to their homes. My man Rodney, I am afraid, has thought it for my honour to be too liberal to these good people—but you will speak to them, commissioner.”
The commissioner, who never completely felt Lord Oldborough’s character, imagined that at this moment his lordship secretly enjoyed the clamour of popular applause, and that this cold indifference was affected; Mr. Falconer therefore protested, with a smile, that he would do his best to calm the enthusiasm of the people, but that it was a hard, if not impossible task, to stem the tide of Lord Oldborough’s popularity. “Enjoy it, my lord!” concluded Mr. Falconer; “Enjoy it!—No minister in my memory ever was so popular!”
As soon as the commissioner, after saying these words, had left the room, Lord Oldborough, in a tone of sovereign contempt, repeated the word, “Popularity! There goes a man, now, who thinks me fit to be a fool to fame!”