Pelham | Page 8

churchyard about a
mile hence, which is such a lion in this ugly part of the country,
because it has three thistles and a tree. Just as I got there, I saw a man
suddenly rise from the earth, where he appeared to have been lying; he
stood still for a moment, and then (evidently not perceiving me) raised
his clasped hands to Heaven, and muttered some words I was not able
distinctly to hear. As I approached nearer to him which I did with no
very pleasant sensations, a large black dog, which, till then, had
remained couchant, sprung towards me with a loud growl,

"'Sonat hic de nare canina Litera,'
as Persius has it. I was too terrified to move--
"'Obstupui--steteruntque comae--'
and I should most infallibly have been converted into dog's meat, if our
mutual acquaintance had not started from his reverie, called his dog by
the very appropriate name of Terror, and then slouching his hat over his
face, passed rapidly by me, dog and all. I did not recover the fright for
an hour and a quarter. I walked--ye gods, how I did walk--no wonder,
by the by, that I mended my pace, for as Pliny says truly: 'Timor est
emendator asperrimus.'"
Mr. Wormwood had been very impatient during this recital, preparing
an attack upon Lord Vincent, when Mr. Davison entering suddenly,
diverted the assault.
"Good God!" said Wormwood, dropping his roll, "how very ill you
look to- day, Mr. Davison; face flushed--veins swelled--oh, those
horrid truffles! Miss Trafford, I'll trouble you for the salt."

CHAPTER V.
Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May; If she be not
so to me, What care I how fair she be? --George Withers.
It was a great pity, so it was, That villanous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow
had destroyed. --First Part of King Henry IV.
Several days passed. I had taken particular pains to ingratiate myself
with Lady Roseville, and so far as common acquaintance went, I had
no reason to be dissatisfied with my success. Any thing else, I soon
discovered, notwithstanding my vanity, (which made no inconsiderable
part in the composition of Henry Pelham) was quite out of the question.
Her mind was wholly of a different mould from my own. She was like

a being, not perhaps of a better, but of another world than myself; we
had not one thought or opinion in common; we looked upon things with
a totally different vision; I was soon convinced that she was of a nature
exactly contrary to what was generally believed--she was any thing but
the mere mechanical woman of the world. She possessed great
sensibility, and even romance of temper, strong passions, and still
stronger imagination; but over all these deeper recesses of her character,
the extreme softness and languor of her manners, threw a veil which no
superficial observer could penetrate. There were times when I could
believe that she was inwardly restless and unhappy; but she was too
well versed in the arts of concealment, to suffer such an appearance to
be more than momentary.
I must own that I consoled myself very easily for my want, in this
particular instance, of that usual good fortune which attends me aupres
des dames; the fact was, that I had another object in pursuit. All the
men at Sir Lionel Garrett's were keen sportsmen. Now, shooting is an
amusement I was never particularly partial to. I was first disgusted with
that species of rational recreation at a battue, where, instead of bagging
anything, I was nearly bagged, having been inserted, like wine in an ice
pail, in a wet ditch for three hours, during which time my hat had been
twice shot at for a pheasant, and my leather gaiters once for a hare; and
to crown all, when these several mistakes were discovered, my
intended exterminators, instead of apologizing for having shot at me,
were quite disappointed at having missed.
Seriously, that same shooting is a most barbarous amusement, only fit
for majors in the army, and royal dukes, and that sort of people; the
mere walking is bad enough, but embarrassing one's arms moreover,
with a gun, and one's legs with turnip tops, exposing oneself to the
mercy of bad shots and the atrocity of good, seems to me only a state of
painful fatigue, enlivened by the probability of being killed.
This digression is meant to signify, that I never joined the single men
and double Mantons that went in and off among Sir Lionel Garrett's
preserves. I used, instead, to take long walks by myself, and found, like
virtue, my own reward, in the additional health and strength these

diurnal exertions produced me.