Yes, and an acknowledged ignorance of it, said the Doctor. I am apt to think, that it will be perfectly safe to record, that he was six feet high—
Wanting half an inch, rejoined the Lawyer.
Pshaw! exclaimed the Doctor; if you begin to reckon up all that is wanting, there will be no end to the account.
David now unmuzzled his oracle, and began to utter—Gentlemen, give me leave to observe to you, that you wander from the points, that chiefly constituted the exemplary character of the deceased personage, whose incomparable qualities we are even now preparing to commemorate. He possessed, as I can witness, a most laudable respect for the almost miraculous powers of music: I do not say that Mr. Philip De Lancaster was skilled in the practice of that sublime art; but I do say, that he was at the pains of ascending the winding stair-case of my turret, and of entering my chamber on the top of it, for the benevolent purpose of employing me to expel the meagrims, or blue devils, as they are called, from the possession they had taken of his lady, and restoring her to health and spirits by the healing remedy of dulcet tones, elicited by me from my harp.
A fiddlestick for your harp! exclaimed the man of medicine. I tell you, that its dulcet tones were the very death of his wife. You may take that from me, friend David, in verbo medici.
I’ll not take that from you, or any one else, friend or foe, retorted the enraged musician; and now began an altercation between chemicals and galenicals versus chords and crotchets, which was maintained with such heat, (both gentlemen being of the principality,) that in the confusion of tongues all memory of poor Philip’s history was done away, and to this hour no record, anecdote or account of that unfortunate gentleman is any where to be found, save only what the historic tool of the engraver has briefly inscribed upon the lacquered plate, that ornaments his coffin.
CHAPTER VIII.
Our History verges to its Conclusion.—Cornet Roberts arrives at Penruth Abbey.
A very few days had elapsed since the event, recorded in our preceding chapter had taken place, when intelligence reached the castle, that the young heir of Penruth Abbey had arrived there from Lisbon. The servant, who brought this news, was the bearer also of a letter from Cornet Roberts to our hero, signifying that he was charged with a letter from Major Wilson to his father, which with permission, he would have the honour of delivering into his hands. The answer of our hero expressed every thing, that hospitality and politeness could convey; but certain reasons, still in force, prevailed with him to avoid, for the present at least, a visit to the abbey. A very short time however brought young Roberts to the castle, where he was received with all possible cordiality. He had left his friend the Major on the point of setting out for the review at Elvas, and as his marriage with Maria Devereux had taken place, the bride and her father had been invited, and were preparing to accompany him in the royal suite: in his letter to the Colonel he announces his intention of coming over to England upon the close of the campaign, and the family seat in Herefordshire was by order of Mr. Devereux furnishing and preparing for his reception. Prosperity had flowed in upon him; promotion awaited him, and every thing seemed conspiring for his happiness.
Roberts in the mean time ingratiated himself to every body, old or young, in the family of De Lancaster, by that modesty of mind and manners, in which his sudden turn of fortune made no change. He made frequent short excursions to the Abbey, where he had projected several considerable works for the occupation and employment of the labouring poor; but his delicacy never suffered him to ask John De Lancaster to accompany him. John attended upon him however to the house of old Ap Rees, when he went to invest him with the annuity settled upon him and his son. The business was so cautiously introduced, and so delicately conducted, that it created no very painful agitation on the part of the old man—I have so deep a sense, said Roberts, of the injuries you have received from the deceased person, whose property, but not whose principles, I inherit, that so long as life is granted to me, I will be the friend of you and all that may belong to you or yours; so be assured—The venerable minstrel bowed his head; but the sad recollection of his dear-loved daughter weighed upon his heart, and he was silent.
This and so many instances like this, occurred to strengthen and confirm our hero’s high opinion of young Roberts, that in hearts like theirs acquaintance soon was ripened into friendship; in proof of which it may not be entirely out of place to record a circumstance, that happened at the county races. Sir Arthur Floyd, the steward for the year preceding, had nominated John De Lancaster as his successor in that office, and when the time came round for his appearing in that character, his grandfather and friends were of opinion, that he could not handsomely absent himself. He proposed to Roberts to accompany him, and with some hesitation he accepted it. At the ordinary John in right of office took the chair; the cornet, as yet unknown to the gentlemen of the county, in his riding dress, and out of uniform, attracted very little notice, and declined all offers of introduction. It had been whispered however between some at table, that a near relation of Sir David Ap Owen was there, present and amongst them. When the glass had gone round briskly, and Welch blood began to stir, a sporting kind of half gentleman at the bottom of the table, who had been of the Ap Owen hunt, stood up and in a loud voice desired to ask a question of the president: leave was instantly given him from the chair to propose it.