This objection staggered the young gentleman’s resolution, and rendered his scheme not so totally unexceptionable as he had imagined it to be. He looked thoughtful; and Lady Martindale continued, saying, that after all this plan would but increase and perpetuate her son’s dependence: that so long as he was unmarried, an opportunity might occur for him to marry a fortune, and place himself out of the power of Mr. John Martindale’s caprice. But again Philip replied, that if he should marry a fortune, and not please his cousin by his marriage, he should then lose all expectation from him, and that there were very few fortunes accessible that would compensate for the loss of Mr. John Martindale’s friendship. The whole deliberation at last concluded without coming to any definite conclusion.
Lady Martindale repeated, and Lord Martindale coincided with her in the opinion, that the wisest scheme of all would be, that Philip should give himself to public business, and that then he might be independent without forfeiting the friendship of his cousin. But Philip could not get the Jews out of his head, and the Jews could not get Philip out of their books.
In this unpleasant state of mind the honorable gentleman continued for several days; during which time Mr. John Martindale remained still in London, highly delighted with his Italian relatives, and exhibiting them wherever he could, though at that time of year there was comparatively little opportunity of displaying them. Philip made inquiries at his cousin’s cottage every morning, but no intelligence concerning the old gentleman could be procured. Lord and Lady Martindale took their leave of the Abbey, and Philip promised to join them in London before the end of January, by which time, perhaps, something might occur which would decide him as to what steps he should take.
The day at length arrived for the Newmarket meeting. Much business was expected to be transacted, and some very fine races were anticipated. The town was delightfully full, and Philip was in all his glory. He thought not of the Jews, or any of his other creditors. The charms of Clara Rivolta were forgotten; and the lively Celestina would have been forgotten too, but she was present on the ground.
The barouche of Sir Gilbert Sampson was most conveniently placed; and on the box thereof sat Celestina Sampson at her father’s side, and within were two other young ladies attended by the fragrant Henry Augustus Tippetson. The morning was fine, and the ground was brilliant. Rank, beauty, and fashion were there; the cream of English nobility; the stars of English beauty; souls of the first order; the pride of that nation which is the pride of the world. Glorious was the object for which they were assembled, and deep was the feeling with which their minds were animated. Who could look without emotion, or think without interest, on a scene like this? Where should our hereditary legislators, our modern Solons and Lycurguses, so well learn the science of government as in converse with black-legs and stable-boys? What occupation so befitting the most noble, the right honorable of the land—the superfine part of the species—the arbiters of the world’s destiny—the brightest lights of the collective wisdom of the nation—as the spending of princely fortunes to see how much faster one horse can run than another? And when the horses start, and while they are straining all their sinews, and while one rogue or another is trying how much he can make of the simpletons there, how intense is the interest! Every eye is strained, every neck is stretched, breathing is almost suspended, and the heart is almost afraid to beat; and when the great event is decided, then how many purses change hands, and how many blockheads go home again repenting their folly. But let that pass. It is enough for us here to state that the Hon. Philip Martindale was the winner, and that to a very considerable amount. He received the congratulations of his friends. Sir Gilbert and Miss Sampson congratulated him. Henry Augustus Tippetson congratulated him. Philip, however, had many accounts to settle; some on one side, and some on the other. There was not one to whom he lost a bet who found any inconvenience in receiving it—there were a few of whom he won who found it inconvenient to pay. Some of those to whom he paid were so very desirous that he should win again what he had lost, that they politely and considerately invited him to the hazard-table; and when he left the hazard-table, he was not so much an object of congratulation as he had been at the conclusion of the race. He was very much fatigued; quite worn out by the day’s toil and the night’s play. Legislation must be quite rest and refreshment to the honorable, right honorable, and most noble frequenters of the race-course and the hazard-table.
The honorable dependent on the bounty of John Martindale retired to his lodgings, and looked over his betting-book and into his pocket-book, and considering that he was a winner at the race, he found himself much poorer than he expected. He felt no inclination to lay violent hands on himself; he did not clench his fists and strike his knuckles upon the table, nor did he beat his own forehead, nor did he think of hanging himself when he took off his garters, or entertain the slightest idea of cutting his throat when he looked at his razors. From what we have seen in plays and read in story-books about gambling, one should imagine that pistol-making and rope-twisting would be the best trades going at Newmarket; we are not sure that it may not be so, but we have never heard that it is. At all events, we do know that when Philip Martindale found that he was a considerable loser in the long run, though he had been a winner on the turf, he was very deeply mortified, and looked very foolish. He wished himself back in his chambers at the Temple; but he did not use any violent gesticulations, or groan aloud so as to alarm the people of the house. We think it especially necessary to mention these facts, in order to let our readers know what a very curious character Philip Martindale was. His conduct deserves to be particularly mentioned in the present case, because it seems to be the general practice, judging from books, for all gamblers when they lose their money to look very pale, to get very drunk, to clench their fists, and to stamp so as to split the very boards of the floor, and finally to hang, drown, poison, or shoot themselves. The last is the most common. Such is the usual description, and real life no doubt has exhibited some such cases; but powerfully as these may have been painted, we much question if that extreme delineation has been serviceable to the cause of morals. Nor are we afraid that, because we have here stated a very ordinary case of a silly young gentleman losing his money, and not going distracted and blowing out his brains, we shall therefore give encouragement to others to throw away their time and money in the same foolish way.
The poor young man however found it very difficult to sleep after his losses; for though he was not distracted, he was grievously troubled in spirit, and much bewildered in his thoughts. He wished, over and over again, that he had not sat down to hazard; but his wishing did not bring back what he had lost. He almost wished that he had not been born an hereditary legislator, for then he might have applied himself to some useful pursuit, and not have been under the necessity of going to Newmarket and losing his money in a right honorable way to keep up his dignity. But it is very hard if a man of rank and fortune cannot have his amusements, and what else can a man of rank and fortune do with his time and property than waste them among sharpers?
It became now more and more imperative upon the young gentleman that he should seriously set himself to repair his broken fortunes, and his various meditations on the plans which suggested themselves for that purpose very naturally prevented him from sleeping. His habits had not much accustomed him to that application which business might require, and his recent patrician contempt of study had put him into possession of so large a stock of ignorance as to be rather in the way of his promotion. It is not indeed much to be wondered at that, considering how widely and deeply education has lately been diffused, the higher sort of people should now and then court the singularity of not knowing, and preserve their separation from the inferior orders by an ignorance of that which every body knows; for it is very clear that whatever becomes universal, must of necessity cease to be fashionable: therefore the education bestowed upon the multitude must compel the higher ranks in their own defence to cultivate ignorance, unless they would give themselves the trouble of toiling more laboriously in pursuit of knowledge than the lower orders. That is not very likely.