Coningsby | Page 8

the
affection; the noble strife and the tender sentiment; the daring exploit
and the dashing scrape; the passion that pervades our life, and breathes
in everything, from the aspiring study to the inspiring sport: oh! what
hereafter can spur the brain and touch the heart like this; can give us a
world so deeply and variously interesting; a life so full of quick and
bright excitement, passed in a scene so fair?


CHAPTER III.
Lord Monmouth, who detested popular tumults as much as he despised
public opinion, had remained during the agitating year of 1831 in his
luxurious retirement in Italy, contenting himself with opposing the
Reform Bill by proxy. But when his correspondent, Mr. Rigby, had
informed him, in the early part of the spring of 1832, of the probability
of a change in the tactics of the Tory party, and that an opinion was

becoming prevalent among their friends, that the great scheme must be
defeated in detail rather than again withstood on principle, his Lordship,
who was never wanting in energy when his own interests were
concerned, immediately crossed the Alps, and travelled rapidly to
England. He indulged a hope that the weight of his presence and the
influence of his strong character, which was at once shrewd and
courageous, might induce his friends to relinquish their half measure, a
course to which his nature was repugnant. At all events, if they
persisted in their intention, and the Bill went into committee, his
presence was indispensable, for in that stage of a parliamentary
proceeding proxies become ineffective.
The counsels of Lord Monmouth, though they coincided with those of
the Duke of Wellington, did not prevail with the Waverers. Several of
these high-minded personages had had their windows broken, and they
were of opinion that a man who lived at Naples was not a competent
judge of the state of public feeling in England. Besides, the days are
gone by for senates to have their beards plucked in the forum. We live
in an age of prudence. The leaders of the people, now, generally follow.
The truth is, the peers were in a fright. 'Twas a pity; there is scarcely a
less dignified entity than a patrician in a panic.
Among the most intimate companions of Coningsby at Eton, was Lord
Henry Sydney, his kinsman. Coningsby had frequently passed his
holydays of late at Beaumanoir, the seat of the Duke, Lord Henry's
father. The Duke sat next to Lord Monmouth during the debate on the
enfranchising question, and to while away the time, and from kindness
of disposition, spoke, and spoke with warmth and favour, of his
grandson. The polished Lord Monmouth bowed as if he were much
gratified by this notice of one so dear to him. He had too much tact to
admit that he had never yet seen his grandchild; but he asked some
questions as to his progress and pursuits, his tastes and habits, which
intimated the interest of an affectionate relative.
Nothing, however, was ever lost upon Lord Monmouth. No one had a
more retentive memory, or a more observant mind. And the next day,
when he received Mr. Rigby at his morning levee, Lord Monmouth

performed this ceremony in the high style of the old court, and
welcomed his visitors in bed, he said with imperturbable calmness, and
as if he had been talking of trying a new horse, 'Rigby, I should like to
see the boy at Eton.'
There might be some objection to grant leave to Coningsby at this
moment; but it was a rule with Mr. Rigby never to make difficulties, or
at least to persuade his patron that he, and he only, could remove them.
He immediately undertook that the boy should be forthcoming, and
notwithstanding the excitement of the moment, he went off next
morning to fetch him.
They arrived in town rather early; and Rigby, wishing to know how
affairs were going on, ordered the servant to drive immediately to the
head- quarters of the party; where a permanent committee watched
every phasis of the impending revolution; and where every member of
the Opposition, of note and trust, was instantly admitted to receive or to
impart intelligence.
It was certainly not without emotion that Coningsby contemplated his
first interview with his grandfather. All his experience of the ties of
relationship, however limited, was full of tenderness and rapture. His
memory often dwelt on his mother's sweet embrace; and ever and anon
a fitful phantom of some past passage of domestic love haunted his
gushing heart. The image of his father was less fresh in his mind; but
still it was associated with a vague sentiment of kindness and joy; and
the allusions to her husband in his mother's letters had cherished these
impressions. To notice lesser