"To balance fortune by a just expense,
Join with economy magnificence."
The quotation I remembered was from Pope, and thought it rather a peculiar sort of taste that had placed it where I now saw it.
By this time, Mr Pentland had succeeded in opening the door; and we entered. I found the house to be an excellent one—well finished, commodious, and judiciously arranged.
Having gone through all the rooms, we finished our survey by a visit to the kitchen. On entering this apartment, the first thing that caught my eye was a small board over the fireplace, on which, in gilt letters on a black ground, were the following lines:—
"To worth or want, well-weigh'd, be bounty given
And ease, or emulate the care of Heaven;
Whose measure full o'erflows on human race,
Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace."
"What!" said I, "Pope again?"
Mr Pentland smiled. "Ou ay, sir," he at length said, "Mr Darsy had an awfu wark wi' Pope; and so had his man Ramsay. It was that brocht them first thegither, and it's maistly that has keepit them thegither ever since, nearly thirty year. Mr Darsy was aye gi'ein us screeds o' Pope; and onybody that could quote Pope to him was sure to win his favour, and to get a' the assistance he could gie them in whatever way they micht want it. It was a queer conceit o' his; and mony a time the worthy man was imposed on, by designin folk, through the medium o' this fancy. When ony o' that kind wanted his assistance, they had naething ado but get twa or three lines o' Pope by heart, come to him wi' a lang face, and tak an opportunity o' slippin out the lines, and their business was done. I've seen him actually shed tears when he was quotin his favourite author. He was just clean crazed about him. He made me a present o' the 'Essay on Man,' and gied me nae rest, nicht or day, till I got every line o't by heart."
"But he did you a good service in that, my friend," said I: "it is a noble poem—full of fine thoughts, beautifully expressed."
"Nae doot o't," replied Mr Pentland: "I like the poem weel, and think as much o' Pope as ony man. He is a great philosopher, as well as a great poet; but my excellent friend, Mr Darsy, just carried the thing a wee owre far. His admiration o' him, or rather his constant and open expression of that admiration, bordered on the ridiculous: it amounted to a weakness—although, in other respects, Mr Darsy was a man of great good sense. I've heard him and his man Ramsay—for he's just as great an admirer o' Pope as his master—firin quotations at ane anither for an hour thegither. Indeed they never spoke for five minutes without exchangin a couplet or twa, and seldom conversed on onything else but the merits o' Pope."
In this sketch of the worthy proprietor of Dryfield, I thought I recognised—what I always took much delight in contemplating—an original character; and this was one of the best sort—a compound of oddity and benevolence. What had just been told me of him was enough to excite my curiosity, but far from being enough to gratify it. This, however, I hoped circumstances would yet effect for me; for, feeling amused by Mr Darsy's peculiarities, and interested by his worth, I determined on learning all about him that I could; and ample opportunity for doing so was subsequently afforded me.