Of the following extraordinary character, though not given as historical fact, there is said to have actually been a prototype lately, if not at present, resident in one of the wildest parts of the county of Suffolk.
Lord Mount-Garth had retired from the world twenty years ago, not only within his own park, but, except on very rare occasions, within his own palace and garden; which, together, occupied a space of nearly a square mile, and were surrounded by a wall fifteen feet high; against which he would amuse himself for hours in playing at hand-ball; sometimes alone, and at others accompanied by a female favourite, the only person he would suffer to come near him, or could ever bear to see, though at a distance, except one man, the son of his father’s gardener, who had been brought up with him at home from his infancy, and was exactly of the same age, being born in the same night and hour. This man had not, any more than his lordship, been without the precincts of the park, and very seldom beyond those of the garden, for the space of thirty years. As they went into this state of voluntary confinement, which is a kind of internal exile, at the age of twenty, they are now, of course, in the fiftieth year of their age. John, for that was the name of the man, had been educated along with his lordship in his father’s family, by a private tutor; and had acquired a competent knowledge, not only of ancient and modern languages, history, and Belles Lettres, but a general idea of the principles and progressive improvement in the arts and sciences. John acted in the capacity of valet de chambre, confidant, and companion; dined at the same table with his lordship, went to bed at the same hour, and slept to the same hour precisely, and almost to the same minute rose in the morning. He was dressed precisely in the same kind of cloaths, even to the sameness of shoe-buckles and sleeve-buttons. If my lord felt himself not very well, and judged it proper to take any medicine, John must take the same medicine also. “John” he would say, “I think we sat up rather too late last night: I think we should not be the worse for an emetic.”—“I think we should be much the better for it, my lord.”—“John, I am afraid we have rather exceeded in our refreshments for some days past: I think we should be none the worse for some cathartics.”—“I think we should be much the better for them, my lord.”—“John, I think we feel somewhat of a vertigo this morning: I think we should be not the worse for a little sal volatile.”—“I think we should be much the better for it, my lord.”—“Have we not felt a somewhat of relaxation of nerves for same days, John?”—“I protest, my lord, on recollection, I think we have.”—“What should you think of a dip in the cold-bath?”—“I think, my lord, it would do us both a great deal of good.”
This singular character, sunk in indolence and sensuality, of all things dreaded cold: but as for snow, he could not endure the sight of it. In winter, he generally lay in bed till ten or eleven o’clock: about that time he would pull his bell, call for John, and ask him what kind of a day it was. “It is a very fine day, my lord; the sun shines out brightly, and the atmosphere is unsullied by a cloud.”—“Why, then, John, I think we should be the better for a race in the garden.” For it was their custom to have frequent races, at the end of which both parties were within a few feet of each other. “John, how looks the weather this morning?”—“Most hideously, my lord! The sky lowers; the feathered creation retreat to their roosts; the cats incessantly curry their hides; and flakes of snow, driving before the wind, announce the coming storm.”—“John, shut the doors and windows; light up a rouzing fire; let candles be brought; let the pastry and cold tongues be laid on the table; and, since it is a bad day, let us make a good night.”
Many efforts were made by the college acquaintance of his lordship to see him; for, with all his singularities, he was an amiable and benevolent man, as well as an excellent scholar; and attached, as by a singular charm, all his acquaintance to his person. They would put up their horses at an adjoining village, and send letters to his lordship, fraught with recollections of former intimacy. His lordship never failed to return answers replete with equal kindness; recollecting former scenes and circumstances, with expressions of the most pleasing emotions, but always declining any personal interview.
As the inn nearest his lordship’s park was but a very wretched one—for in this sequestered spot there was no encouragement for a good one—he took care always to send, on the arrival of strangers, the best provisions of all kinds, unknown to his friends, with orders to the landlord to make some trifling charge, lest he should offend their delicacy, by affording them entertainment when he refused them his company. His lordship’s friend was a good sort of woman: she amused herself, now and then, by giving suppers to the servants and the farmers daughters in the neighbourhood, the nearest house being five miles from the Castle. He had land stewards on his different estates; all business with whom, as with every other mortal, was transacted through the medium of John, or the housekeeper. If he had occasion to go from one quarter of the castle or garden to another, orders were previously sent to all the servants to keep out of the way; for, if he had catched any of them looking at him, he would have immediately dismissed them from his service. He had an excellent library, in which he passed a great part of his time, but into which no publication of any kind had been admitted since the year of his retirement, or sequestration from the world; being that, as already mentioned, on which he left the university, having then succeeded to the estate by the death of his father. No newspapers! no magazines! no reviews! no political pamphlets! no annual registers! No, nor any conversation concerning any political or other event that had happened in Britain, or any other part of the world, from the hour of his seclusion. He turned himself about, and cast his eyes backward, and fixed them wholly on former times. Although, he confessed, that he had often been tempted to enquire what could be the causes of the sudden and enormous accumulation of taxes.
For the New-York Weekly Magazine.
THE CRIMINAL.
[Concluded from [page 375].]