Gryll Grange | Page 8

make any choice at all. The atmosphere of
quiet enjoyment in which she had grown up seemed to have steeped her
feelings in its own tranquillity; and still more, the affection which she
felt for her uncle, and the conviction that, though he had always
premeditated her marriage, her departure from his house would be the
severest blow that fate could inflict on him, led her to postpone what
she knew must be an evil day to him, and might peradventure not be a

good one to her.
'Oh, the ancient name of Gryll!; sighed the squire to himself. 'What if it
should pass away in the nineteenth century, after having lived from the
time of Circe!'
Often, indeed, when he looked at her at the head of his table, the star of
his little circle, joyous herself, and the source of joy in others, he
thought the actual state of things admitted no change for the better, and
the perpetuity of the old name became a secondary consideration; but
though the purpose was dimmed in the evening, it usually brightened in
the morning. In the meantime, the young lady had many suitors, who
were permitted to plead their cause, though they made little apparent
progress.
Several young gentlemen of fair promise, seemingly on the point of
being accepted, had been, each in his turn, suddenly and summarily
dismissed. Why, was the young lady's secret. If it were known, it would
be easy, she said, in these days of artificial manners, to counterfeit the
presence of the qualities she liked, and, still more easy, the absence of
the qualities she disliked. There was sufficient diversity in the
characters of the rejected to place conjecture at fault, and Mr. Gryll
began to despair.
The uncle and niece had come to a clear understanding on this subject.
He might present to her attention any one whom he might deem worthy
to be her suitor, and she might reject the suitor without assigning a
reason for so doing. In this way several had appeared and passed away,
like bubbles on a stream.
[Illustration: Was the young lady too fastidious. 043-12]
Was the young lady over fastidious, or were none among the presented
worthy, or had that which was to touch her heart not yet appeared?
Mr. Gryll was the godfather of his niece, and to please him, she had
been called Morgana. He had had some thoughts of calling her Circe,
but acquiesced in the name of a sister enchantress, who had worked out

her own idea of a beautiful garden, and exercised similar power over
the minds and forms of men.
CHAPTER III
THE DUKE'S FOLLY
Moisten your lungs with wine. The dog-star's sway Returns, and all
things thirst beneath his ray. Alcaeus
Falernum. Opimianum. Annorum. Centum. Heu! Heu! inquit
Trimalchio, ergo diutius vivit vinum quam homuncio! Quare reyye
reviovas faciamus. Vita vinum est.-- Petronius Arbiter.
Falernian Opimian Wine an hundred years old. Alas! Alas! exclaimed
Trimalchio. This wine lives longer than man! Wherefore let us sing,
'moisten your lungs.' Wine is life.
Wordsworth's question, in his Poets Epitaph,
Art thou a man of purple cheer, A rosy man, right plump to see?
might have been answered in the affirmative by the Reverend Doctor
Opimian. The worthy divine dwelt in an agreeably situated vicarage, on
the outskirts of the New Forest. A good living, a comfortable
patrimony, a moderate dowry with his wife, placed him sufficiently
above the cares of the world to enable him to gratify all his tastes
without minute calculations of cost. His tastes, in fact, were four: a
good library, a good dinner, a pleasant garden, and rural walks. He was
an athlete in pedestrianism. He took no pleasure in riding, either on
horseback or in a carriage; but he kept a brougham for the service of
Mrs. Opimian, and for his own occasional use in dining out.
[Illustration: The Rev. Doctor Opimian. 047-16]
Mrs. Opimian was domestic. The care of the doctor had supplied her
with the best books on cookery, to which his own inventive genius and
the kindness of friends had added a large, and always increasing

manuscript volume. The lady studied them carefully, and by diligent
superintendence left the doctor nothing to desire in the service of his
table. His cellar was well stocked with a selection of the best vintages,
under his own especial charge. In all its arrangements his house was a
model of order and comfort; and the whole establishment partook of
the genial physiognomy of the master. From the master and mistress to
the cook, and from the cook to the torn cat, there was about the
inhabitants of the vicarage a sleek and purring rotundity of face and
figure that denoted community of feelings, habits, and diet; each in its
kind, of