As the mind and feelings of Penelope Primrose were impelled in different directions by her natural constitution, and by her accidental situation, a greater degree of interest was thus attached to her character. There is in our nature a feeling, from whatever source arising, which loves not monotony, but delights in contrast. The tear which is always flowing moves not our sympathy so strongly as that which struggles through a smile; and the sun never shines so sweetly as when it gleams through the drops of an April shower.
To introduce a female character without some description of person, is almost unprecedented, though it might not be injudicious; seeing that then the imagination of the reader might fill the vacant niche with whatever outward, visible form might be best calculated to rouse his attention, to fix his sympathies, and to please his recollections. But we are not of sufficient authority to make precedents. Let it be explicitly said, that Penelope Primrose exceeded the middle stature, that her dark blue eyes were shaded by a deep and graceful fringe, that her complexion was somewhat too pale for beauty, but that its paleness was not perceptible as a defect whenever a smile illumined her countenance, and developed the dimples that lurked in her cheek and under-lip. Her features were regular, her gait exceedingly graceful, and her voice musical in the highest degree. Seldom, indeed, would she indulge in the pleasure of vocal music, but when she did, as was sometimes the case to please the Countess of Smatterton, her ladyship, who was a most excellent judge, used invariably to pronounce Miss Primrose as the finest and purest singer that she had ever heard. More than once indeed the Countess had recommended Penelope to adopt the musical profession as a sure and ready means of acquiring independence; but the young lady had scruples, and so had her uncle.
CHAPTER II.
It has been said in the preceding chapter, that Dr Greendale resumed his studies as soon as Mrs Greendale left his apartment, and that he soon forgot the interruption and the discussion which it had occasioned. After a little while however he found that the train of his thoughts had been seriously broken, and that he could not very easily or conveniently resume and connect it. He therefore determined that he would for a few hours lay aside his pen, and indulge himself with a little relaxation from study. These occasional relaxations are very essential to authors, especially to those whose writings are the result of deep and continuous argumentative thought. The doctor indeed had found this to be the case to a much greater extent than he had anticipated: for, when he first busied himself upon his great work, he thought that three years would be the very utmost of the time which he should occupy in the labours of the pen. But it so happened that he spent so very large a portion of those three years in the pleasing employment of looking to the honor and glory which lay beyond them, that they were absolutely gone before he was well aware of it, and his important and momentous labours were only begun; he had scarcely laid the foundation of that magnificent superstructure, which was destined to be an immortal and unfading monument of his theological and polemic glory. And even long after the expiration of the first three years, he found it necessary to rouse himself to extraordinary, and almost convulsive diligence by preaching some very eloquent discourses on procrastination. In these discourses he quoted Young’s Night Thoughts; and most of his parishioners thought the quotations exceedingly fine; but Mr Kipperson, of whom more hereafter, quite sneered at them, and afterwards told the Earl of Smatterton’s gamekeeper, that Young was nothing of a poet compared to Lord Byron. But, notwithstanding all that the worthy rector of Smatterton had said, thought, or preached, concerning procrastination, he could not help now and then indulging himself and laying aside his pen, just for an hour or two; it could not make much difference; and besides it would not do to be always writing; there must be some interval allowed for thought. In one of these intervals, now accounted for by the interruption of Mrs Greendale, he sent for his niece Penelope; for he thought that in Mrs Greendale’s present humour the young lady would feel herself more at ease in any other company than that of her diligent and managing aunt.
Well it was indeed, for the dependent one, that this humour of relaxation seized the doctor at this moment: for Penelope had met Mrs Greendale on her return from the doctor’s study, and had, in as considerately gentle, and humble terms as possible, proffered her assistance in making preparation for the morrow’s party; and Mrs Greendale, instead of receiving the offered aid courteously, as it was proposed, only replied:
“I beg, Miss Primrose, that I may not take you away from your studies. Besides, it is not quite correct that guests should provide for their own entertainment.”
Much more to this purpose said the angry wife of the rector of Smatterton, and Penelope bore it as patiently as she could. From this discussion however she was soon and most agreeably relieved by a message from the doctor, commanding, or more properly speaking, requesting her attendance in the study.
Hastily but not rudely she quitted the paragon of domestic managers to attend to the best of uncles, and the keenest of polemics. When she entered the doctor’s room, she found the books closed, and the pen laid down, and the chair moved, and the fire stirred, and a chair cleared of its literary lumber and put on the opposite side of the fire-place for her to sit down upon. These were pleasant symptoms, and pleasanter than all were the kind and amiable looks of her uncle.
“Penelope, my dear, if you are not very much engaged I should like to have a little conversation with you. But, perhaps, you are helping your aunt to prepare for tomorrow?”
“No, sir, I am not, for my aunt does not want any help. I was offering my assistance when you sent for me, but my aunt declines it.”