Evan Harrington | Page 8

with a light shawl drawn
close over her shoulders and bosom, she carried her head well; and her
pale firm features, with the cast of immediate affliction on them, had
much dignity: dignity of an unrelenting physical order, which need not
express any remarkable pride of spirit. The family gossips who, on both
sides, were vain of this rare couple, and would always descant on their
beauty, even when they had occasion to slander their characters, said,
to distinguish them, that Henrietta Maria had a Port, and Melchisedec a
Presence: and that the union of a Port and a Presence, and such a Port
and such a Presence, was so uncommon, that you might search England
through and you would not find another, not even in the highest ranks

of society. There lies some subtle distinction here; due to the minute
perceptions which compel the gossips of a family to coin phrases that
shall express the nicest shades of a domestic difference. By a Port, one
may understand them to indicate something unsympathetically
impressive; whereas a Presence would seem to be a thing that directs
the most affable appeal to our poor human weaknesses. His Majesty
King George IV., for instance, possessed a Port: Beau Brummel
wielded a Presence. Many, it is true, take a Presence to mean no more
than a shirt-frill, and interpret a Port as the art of walking erect. But this
is to look upon language too narrowly.
On a more intimate acquaintance with the couple, you acknowledge the,
aptness of the fine distinction. By birth Mrs. Harrington had claims to
rank as a gentlewoman. That is, her father was a lawyer of Lymport.
The lawyer, however, since we must descend the genealogical tree, was
known to have married his cook, who was the lady's mother. Now Mr.
Melchisedec was mysterious concerning his origin; and, in his cups,
talked largely and wisely of a great Welsh family, issuing from a line of
princes; and it is certain that he knew enough of their history to have
instructed them on particular points of it. He never could think that his
wife had done him any honour in espousing him; nor was she the
woman to tell him so. She had married him for love, rejecting various
suitors, Squire Uplift among them, in his favour. Subsequently she had
committed the profound connubial error of transferring her affections,
or her thoughts, from him to his business, which, indeed, was much in
want of a mate; and while he squandered the guineas, she patiently
picked up the pence. They had not lived unhappily. He was constantly
courteous to her. But to see the Port at that sordid work considerably
ruffled the Presence--put, as it were, the peculiar division between them;
and to behave toward her as the same woman who had attracted his
youthful ardours was a task for his magnificent mind, and may have
ranked with him as an indemnity for his general conduct, if his
reflections ever stretched so far. The townspeople of Lymport were
correct in saying that his wife, and his wife alone, had, as they termed it,
kept him together. Nevertheless, now that he was dead, and could no
longer be kept together, they entirely forgot their respect for her, in the
outburst of their secret admiration for the popular man. Such is the

constitution of the inhabitants of this dear Island of Britain, so falsely
accused by the Great Napoleon of being a nation of shopkeepers. Here
let any one proclaim himself Above Buttons, and act on the assumption,
his fellows with one accord hoist him on their heads, and bear him aloft,
sweating, and groaning, and cursing, but proud of him! And if he can
contrive, or has any good wife at home to help him, to die without
going to the dogs, they are, one may say, unanimous in crying out the
same eulogistic funeral oration as that commenced by Kilne, the
publican, when he was interrupted by Barnes, the butcher, 'Now, there's
a man!--'
Mrs. Harrington was sitting in her parlour with one of her married
nieces, Mrs. Fiske, and on reading Lady Racial's card she gave word
for her to be shown up into the drawing-room. It was customary among
Mrs. Harrington's female relatives, who one and all abused and adored
the great Mel, to attribute his shortcomings pointedly to the ladies;
which was as much as if their jealous generous hearts had said that he
was sinful, but that it was not his fault. Mrs. Fiske caught the card from
her aunt, read the superscription, and exclaimed: 'The idea! At least she
might have had the decency! She never set her foot in the house
before-- and right enough too! What can she want now? I decidedly
would refuse to see