John de Lancaster: a novel; vol. I.

by Richard Cumberland

The family of this worthy antient Briton consisted of an only son Philip, married to an heiress of the house of Morgan, and a maiden daughter, named Cecilia. He was himself a widower. Mrs. Philip De Lancaster was at this time in that state, which gave speedy hopes of an heir to the very ancient family, into which she had married: in the festivities of the day she had taken little share, and in the superintendence of her father-in-law’s household absolutely none: that province she had found in much more able hands, and never sought to interfere with the administration of it: in short she had no ambition for authority, and very great objection to any thing, that might require exertion, or occasion trouble.

Cecilia De Lancaster from the death of her mother, through a period of more than ten years, had patiently and without repining suffered her youth to pass away, amply repayed by the love and approbation of her father, whilst she devoted herself to all those duties, which had devolved upon her, when Kray Castle lost its mistress. Her brother Philip had quite as little disposition to trouble as his lady, so that all things were under the unenvied government of Cecilia; and every guest, that resorted to the house, every domestic, that belonged to it, bore witness to the excellence of her administration.

A character like hers, though located amidst the recesses of Merionethshire, could not be totally divested of attraction; for she had high pretensions on the score of fortune, and a pedigree, that only stopped where the world began: these might have been enough to satisfy any reasonable man, though some perhaps would have rated them the higher for the loveliness of her person, the excellence of her understanding and the virtues of her mind.

Amongst the many suitors, who in various periods of her celibacy had been induced to propose themselves to her, none had been so persevering in his addresses as Sir Owen ap Owen, baronet, a gentleman by no means of yesterday, and possessed of a very fair and ample landed property, upon which there were no other encumbrances save only the barren rocks and unproductive mountains, over which it stretched. He was indeed not very eminent as a scholar; for although Sir Owen had without doubt been taught to read, he had almost entirely discontinued the practice of it: and indeed, considering the nature of Sir Owen’s more immediate pursuits, reading might very well be dispensed with, as it could only tend to interrupt his evening nap, and not improve him in the art of hallooing to his hounds, or pushing round the tankard to a tawdry toast: he however administered justice to his neighbours, and settled differences in a summary way after a fashion of his own, by reference not to any books of law, but to the beer barrels in his cellar; by which his decisions as a magistrate became extremely popular, and men quarrelled first, that they might get drunk afterwards, and patch up the peace in their cups, which they had broken when they were sober. By these means Sir Owen got a good name in the county, and supported a considerable interest, which he never failed to employ, as his fathers had done before him, in opposing and railing at the minister of the day, whoever that obnoxious animal might chance to be.

This distinguished personage was now in the fifth year of his suitorship, and verging towards the fiftieth of his age, whilst the inexorable Cecilia had already endured a siege half as long as that of Troy, without betraying any symptoms, that might indicate a surrender. In fact Sir Owen seemed now to content himself with a yearly summons, like the Moors before Ceuta, as a compliment to his perseverance, and to keep up appearances and pretensions.

It was now Saint David’s day, when he never failed to be a visitor to the castle, and he had brushed out the lining of his coach, and put himself in his best array, to do honour to the festival, at which he knew Cecilia would preside. His person was not eminently graceful, for he was a round, red-faced gentleman, neither tall of stature, nor light of limb; but his apparel bore the faded marks of ancient splendor, and his huntsman had bestowed uncommon pains in frizzing out a huge white perriwig, which he had powdered with no sparing hand. Sir Owen was at no time apt to be an idle looker-on whilst the bottle was in circulation, and on the present occasion he had charged himself more than usually high to encounter an opposition, which he had reason to expect would be more than usually stubborn; for though due consideration had been paid to his rank, and he had been placed at table close beside the lady, who presided at it, fortune had not favoured him with any striking opportunities for displaying his address, or advancing himself in her good graces. On the contrary he had been rather unlucky in his assiduities, and in his eagerness to dispute the ladle had overset the soup, with sundry other little misadventures, incidental to an awkward operator and an unsteady hand.

It is perfectly well understood, that the worthy baronet had pledged himself to his privy counsellor the huntsman for vigorous measures; confessing to him, whilst assisting at his toilette, with the candour natural to his character, that he was ashamed of hanging so long upon a cold scent, and protesting, with a due degree of spirit, that he would that very day either bring the trail to an entapis, or give up the chace, and draw off; for which manly resolution he had all proper credit given him by the partaker of his secrets, and the companion of his sports.

When the gentlemen had sate a reasonable time after the ladies had retired, it was the custom of the house to adjourn to the drawing room, where Cecilia administered the ceremonials of the tea-table. It was here Sir Owen meditated to plant himself once more by her side, and bring his fortune to a crisis; trusting that wine, which had fortified him with courage, would not fail to inspire him with eloquence. High in hope, and eager to acquit himself of his promise to his confidante at home, upon entering the room he pushed his course directly for the tea-table, where the cluster of candles and the dazzling gleams reflected from the polished apparatus, there displayed in glittering splendor, so confounded his optics, that without discovering the person of Mrs. Philip De Lancaster, or computing distances so as to bring up in time, he came foul of the tea-table, and discharged a part of the wreck with a horrible crash into the lap of the aforesaid lady, whilst his head came to the floor amidst the fragments of broken cups and sawcers with an impunity, which no common head would probably have had to boast of in the like circumstance. Dreadful was the consternation of the company, most alarmingly critical were the screams and convulsive throes of the unfortunate lady, whose lap was ill prepared to receive any such accession to the burden, which it was already doomed to carry. The consequences in short were so immediate, and their symptoms so decisive, that had not Mr. Llewellyn been in attendance, and happily not quite so tipsy as to be incapacitated from affording his assistance, the world might have lost the pleasure of reading these adventures, and I the fame of recording them.

A couch being provided, and the lady laid at her length upon it, she was carried up to her chamber, whilst the castle echoed with her piercing screams.

It would be treating this serious misadventure much too lightly, were I only to remark that the love-scene in projectu was of necessity adjourned by Cecilia’s leaving the company, and attending upon her sister-in-law, whom a whole bevy of females under the conduct of the sage Llewellyn followed up the stairs. We may well suppose, where one so able was present to direct, and so many were assembled, ready either to obey, or sagaciously to look on and edify, that every thing needful for a lady in her critical situation was provided and administered. Every visitor, whose recollection served to remind him that after such a discomfiture the speediest retreat was the best compliment he could pay to the master of the house, called for their horses and their carriages to the great disappointment of their servants, who had not yet paid all the honours to Saint David, that were by customary right Saint David’s due.