Mr. Degge, when reminded of this conversation, was silent for a moment, and then replied, that there was sound philosophy in William’s remark. He said no more, but went away, and the next day announced to the astonished old man that he had purchased the groves and the whole ancient estate of Rockville.
Simon Degge, the last of a long line of paupers, had become the possessor of the noble estate of Sir Roger Rockville of Rockville, the last of a long line of aristocrats! It may be imagined what was the consternation of the whole Bullockshed and Tenterhook clan; what the delightful amazement of Woodburn, Cotmanhaye, and all Castleborough. To the squirearchy of the old school, the audacity of this purchase surpassed the range of their limited imaginations. This daring and fortunate quondam pauper, and present manufacturing millionaire, squatted down, as they expressed it, amid all the woods and lands, amid all the ancient honours of the line of Rockville. To them it portended something very like the end of the world. They saw all the old fixedness of ancestry and soil broken up, and the despised men of spindles and looms invading everything which to them was sacred. It seemed that Sir Roger and all his ghostly forefathers and foremothers must rise up and scare, in the midnight hours, the plebeian new comers from their hall and possessions of nearly a thousand years. It seemed as if those stately monuments and procumbent effigies of so many Rockvilles in armour, ruffs, and farthingales, must start up from their tombs in the old church, saturated as it was with the presence and emblazoned with the arms and glorious epitaphs of the Rockvilles. But they all remained perfectly quiescent; neither chiselled stone nor ancestral spirit moved. Nature received these terræ filii with as much equanimity and indifference as it had received the Norman hordes before. There was neither storm-wind nor earthquake, but the still small voice of reason was heard whispering in many quarters, that whenever man puts forth his powers he makes himself the lord of the circumstances around him; whenever he sinks into sloth and imbecility, nature throws him from her weird shoulders, as the vigorous but interloping young cuckoo throws the hedge-sparrow from its parental nest. The earth is for the bold.
In how many a quarter of this island of late years has this same revolution been developing itself? The sons of industry, risen by it to wealth, in how many of the seats of the old aristocracy, decayed through luxury and indolence, do we find them planted? Perhaps the new blood thus infusing itself may reinvigorate and thus perpetuate the old race; but at any rate, new ideas, new sentiments, and a more popular spirit must follow these transformations. Novi homines cannot rest on their laurels, and to rest solely on their money were too odious; they must, therefore, proclaim a newer and more popular creed; and so the world moves on its spiral course.
To the inmates of Woodburn Grange, of Cotmanhaye Manor, of Fair Manor, and of the whole population of Castleborough, this was a delightful event. The old odious antagonism was at an end. The more earthy squirearchy receded into the distance, and a spirit of a more genial nature took possession of all this pleasant neighbourhood.
The following summer, when the hay was lying in fragrant cocks in the great meadows below Rockville, and on the little islands of the river, Simon Degge held a grand fête on the occasion of his coming to reside at Rockville Hall, henceforth the family seat of the Degges. Simon Degge remained plain Simon Degge. On occasion of going up to London with an address to the King on some great occasion, the honour of knighthood had been offered him; and further, it had been communicated to him through his friend, Lord Netherland, the Recorder of Castleborough, that his majesty, in consideration of his great wealth and his public spirit, was disposed graciously to create him a baronet. Both these intended honours Simon Degge as graciously declined. He declared that he preferred the simple unadorned name which he had ever borne, and he desired no honours but such as naturally sprung from the exercise of virtue and benevolence.
For the present occasion his house and gardens had all been restored in the most consummate style. For years Mr. Degge had been a great purchaser of works of art and literature—painting, statuary, books, and articles of antiquity, including rich armour and precious works in ivory and gold. As Mrs. Degge had a particular weakness for beautiful china, he had gratified her eyes with a grand array of the most exquisite specimens of the ceramic art.
First and foremost, he now gave a great banquet to his wealthy friends—and no man with a million and a half is without them, and in abundance. In the second place, he gave a substantial dinner to all his tenantry, from the wealthy farmer of five hundred acres to the tenant of a cottage. On this occasion he said, “Game is a subject of great heart-burnings, and of great injustice to the country. It was the bane of my predecessor, let us take care that it is not ours. Let every man kill the game on the land that he rents, then he will neither destroy it utterly, nor allow it to grow into a nuisance. I am fond of a gun myself, and my sons probably will be more so; but we shall find game enough in our own fields and woods for our destructive propensities, without fostering such a swarm of these animals as may lead us to degenerate into game-butchers. Gentlemen, I should as soon think of setting up to kill my own oxen, as to kill game merely for the sake of killing it. The healthy excitement of the chase vanishes when a very inundation of the animals pursued rolls under our feet, and a satiating slaughter takes the place of a keen and vigorous search after it. To hunt!—yes, the word expresses what field-sports once were—the game had to be hunted out. Now the foreign name best designates it—battu, beat it up, and knock it ignobly on the head. Gentlemen, whenever we may occasionally extend our pursuit of game beyond the fields of the home-farm and the woods, across the lands of our tenants, it shall not be to carry off the first-fruits of their feeding, and we will still hold the enjoyment as a favour.”
We need not say that this speech was applauded most vociferously.
Thirdly, and lastly, Mr. Degge gave a grand entertainment to all his work-people, both of the town and country. His house and grounds were thrown open to the inspection of the whole concourse. The delighted crowd admired the pictures and pleasant gardens. On the lawn, lying betwixt the great grove and the hall, an enormous tent was pitched, or rather a vast canvas canopy erected, open on all sides, in which was laid a charming banquet. A military band from Castleborough Barracks played during the time. Here Simon Degge, leaning his hand on the shoulder of his happy mother,—his worthy father-in-law, Spires, was gone to his rest,—surveyed the scene with the utmost delight. His mother, fresh and hale as ever, was seated with William Watson and her old Castleborough neighbours about her; and as her son there stood, he made a speech which was as rapturously applauded as that delivered to the farmers. It was to the effect that all the old privileges of wandering in the groves, of angling and boating on the river, were restored. The inn was already rebuilt in a handsome Elizabethan style, larger than before, and to prevent it ever becoming a fane of intemperance, he had there placed as landlord, he hoped for many years to come, his old friend and benefactor, William Watson. William Watson, he was sure, would protect the inn from riot, and they themselves the groves and river banks from injury.
Long and loud was the applause which this announcement occasioned. The young people turned out upon the green for a dance, and in the evening, after an excellent tea, the whole company descended the river in boats and barges decorated with green boughs and flowers, and singing a song made by William Watson for the occasion, called, “The Health of Simon Degge, the last and first of his line!”