It now became necessary for Markham to return to London; but he forgot not, in his way thither, to pay his dutiful respects to his parents. It is true that he had been placed in a very unpleasant situation, by the unexpectedly large bequest of the late Mr. Martindale; so that, however pleased he might be with an opportunity afforded him of being serviceable to his father, there was an alloy in that pleasure by means of the error in the will, or rather the misapprehension of the devisor. So mingled is the complexion of life’s events, that our brightest days are not cloudless, and our darkest nights are not without some glimmering of a friendly star; and surely we may be content to have our joys a little abated, when by the same token we may anticipate that our sorrows will be somewhat alleviated.
After the interview which Markham had had with the Earl of Trimmerstone he felt his mind lightened of burden, and his spirits were greatly revived. And, considering that he wore the habiliments of sorrow, he carried on his countenance the aspect and look of much cheerfulness and composure of mind: for he was happy in the consciousness of having done that which he knew and felt to be right.
For Markham’s sake and our own we must be allowed a short digression on the subject of bright faces and black suits. It is a piece of arrant foolery, and detestably silly cant, to make a sneering prating about the manner in which people bear or feel the loss of their friends or relatives. Sorrow is not to be measured by everlasting length of face: any one may assume dull, cold, melancholy looks, and heave sighs with every passing minute; but they who most regret the departed have oftentimes brighter and gayer looks than those who think they ought to be sorry, but feel that they are not. Markham regretted the loss of a good friend, of a cheerful companion, of a kind patron, and good adviser; but Markham had reason, good reason, to be pleased and satisfied with himself, that he had got rid of what might be a reproach, and that he possessed the means of saving his venerated and respected parents from the calamity of an old age of poverty and privation.
He spent a very short time with his father and mother, and then hastened to town to give immediate attention to his professional duties, and to his business as executor.
The intelligence of what was called his good fortune reached town long before him. Many and ridiculous were the rumors concerning the immense property which had devolved to him. So outrageous and unfounded were the tales told of his wealth, that had he been disposed to say it, he might have persuaded not a few that his riches were equal to or beyond the largest known property in the kingdom. At his chambers he found a myriad of cards. The little card-racks which Miss Henderson had painted for him were choked even to suffocation. Cards were on his chimney-piece, and cards were lying on his table. There also appeared a goodly host of prospectuses and syllabuses and proposals; and specimens and schemes; and catalogues and first numbers of new periodicals, and shop-bills, and addresses to the public, and cases of distress; and plans of estates, and notices of sale, and recommendatory letters and applications for places; and letters from coachmen, footmen, butlers, stable-boys, postilions, cooks, housemaids, housekeepers, kitchen-maids, valets, and a multitude of others too numerous to mention. There was a whole week’s work before him to read them all.
At sight of all this he sighed, stared, shaked his head and smiled; and he thought to himself, that it was a very good thing that he was not prime minister, for then he should be pestered with myriads more applications, and with matters not so easy to be disposed of.
His card-rack was a complete memorandum-book, for there he read the names of every individual whom he had ever seen or spoken to, and besides them a great many more. What could be more natural than for Mr. Jackson to say to Dr. Smith, “I am going to call on Markham?” And what could be more natural than for Dr. Smith to say, “I will go with you, and you may introduce me?” So then Markham’s friend, Jackson, leaves his card, and Jackson’s friend, Dr. Smith, leaves his card too.
Markham had never been of a covetous disposition; but now he felt most especially and peculiarly delighted, that there was no foundation for the intemperate and extravagant reports concerning his immense wealth.
A paradoxical friend of ours, who makes it a rule to believe every thing that all the world disbelieves, and to disbelieve all that the rest of the world believes, has started an ingenious theory concerning the “fortunate youth,” who made such a noise some years ago. It is our friend’s theory, that the story of his immense wealth was perfectly true, but that he found so much trouble in the disposal of it, and was annoyed by and threatened with such a host of applications, dependents, and acquaintances, that to get rid of all trouble he destroyed all the documents of his wealth, and sunk back for the sake of ease and quiet into his original insignificance and obscurity.